A Candle For d'Artagnan

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “You are eloquent enough,” said Richelieu, stopping his restless walking long enough to regard her with greater curiosity. “Tell me, Madame, does your militance extend itself to Queen Anne? Or are you one who propounds a notion for no purpose other than your own gain?”

  Olivia bit back the sharp retort she longed to give; Richelieu was too formidable an opponent to be shaken by unkind words. “I am a Roman,” she said. “And well I know that the place of women has”—she nearly said sunk but caught herself in time—“changed since the time the Caesars ruled.” It was tempting to catalogue them, but she knew it would serve no purpose but to fuel her indignation. “Peasant or Queen, women are forever disadvantaged, and for that reason, if no other, there is ample reason for me to lend what aid I can when another woman requests my assistance.”

  “A most … unusual attitude,” said Richelieu, starting to pace again. “Most women, no matter what fondness they profess for other women, would scar the cheeks of every other woman they know. And those that would not are either out of the world in cloisters or are as unnatural in their affections as the King is in his.” He narrowed his eyes and directed a piercing look at her. “Are you very clever, or are you genuine, I wonder.”

  Olivia did not flinch at Richelieu’s scrutiny or accusations. “You will have to discover that for yourself, Eminence, since I suppose you will doubt any answer I give you.”

  “There is some truth to that,” he said, less pugnacious now that Olivia had spoken so coolly. “And you may be assured that I will watch you, that I will have reports of you regularly.”

  “So I supposed; as Mazarini will, and undoubtedly his supporters will, as well as the Pope.” She indicated the chair Richelieu had left. “Eminence, you look tired. Pray sit and rest, and let us discuss what you require of me on the Queen’s behalf.”

  Richelieu stopped in front of the hearth and leaned his shoulder against the marble mantelpiece. His face was pale and the smudges under his sunken eyes appeared muddy now. “I am a little tired,” he admitted. “And I have little time left for my stay. There is so much left to arrange.”

  “For the Queen and the heir?” asked Olivia, who had caught something in Richelieu’s expression that surprised her; for the briefest of moments there had been a softening in his face and a light had come into his eyes that had nothing to do with his health. She wondered if some of the most outrageous of rumors she had heard whispered in the last six months might have a kernel of truth in them. “Eminence?”

  “For the Queen and heir,” said Richelieu softly. “I cannot leave the world knowing they are in danger. Mazarin—you must call him Mazarin, I remind you—will have to be very careful and do all that he may to guard them.” The light was in his eyes again, in spite of his pain and his icy discipline. “The Queen … does not give her trust easily, and too often it has been betrayed. That is why I want your assurance, as I have had from Mazarin, that you will put the preservation of the heir first, along with the safety of his mother. All that I have worked for in France is nothing if I cannot do this for them.”

  “Your … legacy,” said Olivia, choosing the word Richelieu himself had used.

  “Yes,” said Richelieu. “When I went with the Queen Mother into exile, I saw what could become of France if the Crown was compromised and endangered. I vowed that it would not happen again were I able to prevent it.”

  “And you are certain you can prevent it, Eminence?” Olivia asked, this time with kindness.

  “With God’s aid, yes.” He crossed himself, then went on with more asperity, “However, it appears that God is not as urgent a problem as the Pope. I must have Mazarin with me, and soon. He has been granted French citizenship, and the Church has agreed. Why must the Spaniards continue to delay?” He slammed the flat of his hand against the marble. “They wish to thwart me, to wait until I am in my grave, and then they will descend on France to pick her bones. They will say that Anne of Austria is a Spaniard, and for that reason they must seize the throne and remove the heir. I know this is what they want. The Pope must know it, too.”

  “The Pope has many Cardinals, and each Cardinal has demands,” said Olivia, repeating what she had been told many times over the centuries.

  “The justification of cowardly men!” scoffed Richelieu, and Olivia nodded in agreement. “They are afraid to disturb the little peace that has been cobbled together. But if the peace is so fragile that a single Abbe can end it, then it is no peace at all, merely a calm between battles.”

  “In fact,” Olivia went on for him, beginning to like the man in spite of himself, “the battles continue, but they are fought by ones and twos in the dark.”

  Richelieu laughed once. “And what does a widow know of battles?”

  “More than you suppose,” said Olivia, her thoughts going back to the Legions, to the armies of Byzantium and the Ostrogoths, to the Persians riding against Greeks, to the raiding Islamites in Spain, the marauding bandits in Corsica, to mounted Crusaders collapsing in the inexorable sun, to Ottoman troops on the Dalmatian coast, to Swiss mercenaries in Germany clashing with Protestant Dutch.

  “Your husband, then, died in battle?” Richelieu asked, seeing something in her face that he could not fathom.

  “No,” Olivia said. “He did not die in battle.”

  It was apparent that Richelieu wanted to learn more, but would not allow himself to be distracted. “Well, whatever your reason for distrusting battles, I pray it will sustain you while you are here, and will give you the faith to continue to aid the Queen and the heir.” He came back to the upholstered chair and sat down, moving stiffly.

  “Eminence, is there something you require?” Olivia asked, realizing that the Cardinal was in pain.

  “No, nothing,” he said. “God remember you for your kindness.” He closed his eyes, the double lines between his brows deepening. “It will pass.”

  “I will send for—” Olivia began.

  “You will send for no one,” said Richelieu sharply, looking directly at her. “Jesu, there are whispers enough about me; I do not need to have everyone know that I am not as strong as I was. It is one thing to have it suspected that I am growing more ill; I will not help my enemies by confirming their suspicions.”

  “As you wish, Eminence,” said Olivia, her voice dropping.

  “I do not want you mentioning this to Mazarin. What he needs to know he will learn from my couriers and under my seal.” He let out his breath slowly, not quite evenly. “So. The matter of the Queen and heir: I wish you to devote yourself to their interests and the interests of Mazarin, for that is the salvation of France.”

  It took Olivia a moment to decide to ask, “Eminence, you are devoted to the Queen and her boy; why is that?”

  “She is Queen and he will be King,” said Richelieu, a bit startled at so obvious a question. “They are the hope of France.”

  “Pardon me if I intrude, but it seems that there is something more. May I know what it is?” She did not look directly at him, but she observed him with keen attention.

  This time Richelieu hesitated. “I am dedicated to the preservation of France, and her Royal House,” he said, then added, “and I esteem and revere Queen Anne; I pity her for what she has been made to endure because of her marriage. That God has given her a child after so long and … unrewarding wedded years is a sign of the greatest favor.” He looked away from Olivia.

  “I have heard that for many years you were at odds.” She half expected the Cardinal to become angry and depart.

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, there was a time that every time we met we argued, but that was before she … she came to trust me.” His face was less severe and remote now, and there was a warmth in his voice that Olivia had not heard before and had not thought he possessed. “She had made some … unworthy connections, and the King was distressed to learn of it. Her association with the Duke of Buckingham had been bad enough, but it did not touch France directly. The other was more serious, and Louis wanted m
ore than ever to be rid of his unwelcome wife. He wanted to accuse her of … oh, terrible crimes. I did what I could to prevent this.”

  “For Anne,” said Olivia.

  Some of the reserve came back into his manner. “For France, and to prevent a worsening of our dealings with Spain. Her brother would not have tolerated abuses beyond what she had suffered already.” He looked at Olivia. “I hope you are as discreet as Mazarin said you are.”

  “Certainly that is my intention, Eminence,” said Olivia, her brows lifted slightly.

  “It would be most unwise of you to discuss any of what I have said.” His manner was polished now, and cold.

  “Why should I, Eminence?” she asked, uncertain how to proceed with Richelieu now that he had retreated from her so completely.

  “Any reason you might have worries me,” said Richelieu, not answering her directly. He gripped the arms of his chair tightly. “Give me your word. And then call that fool Chape. It is time I was leaving.”

  Olivia sensed the tremendous fatigue that engulfed Richelieu, and the disease that wrought it. “You have my word that I will keep your confidences, Eminence, no matter what they are.” She started toward the door, then paused, watching Richelieu struggle to rise. “Shall I call Pere Chape?”

  “Your word,” Richelieu mused as he got to his feet. “Well, I will have to accept it, for the Queen’s and the heir’s sake as well as my own.” He signaled her to open the door, then held out his ring to be kissed.

  Text of a letter from Alessandro, Cardinal Bichi to Atta Olivia Clemens.

  To the esteemed and well-respected widow, the distinguished lady Atta Olivia Clemens currently abiding in Francia, the blessings and greetings from my hand and soul to yours.

  I cannot express sufficiently the chagrin I feel at the inconvenience of your current situation, being in Francia with Mazarini continuing here in Roma. To be the first of his suite to arrive there and then be forced to endure these endless delays in the arrival of Mazarini is an ordeal that I would not wish placed on any shoulders, let alone those of a worthy and proper widow. You have been deserving of better treatment than we have been able to accord you thus far, and you have my assurances that as soon as Mazarini arrives in Parigi, all will change. The Abbe has undoubtedly said much the same thing to you in his dispatches, and means them as sincerely as I do.

  We have reason now to hope that by the end of this year it will be possible for Mazarini to be in Francia to take up the duties Cardinal Richelieu wishes to share with him. The burdens of statecraft are heavy indeed, the more so for the leagues between Parigi and Roma, and our reliance on your presence has gone beyond what any of us anticipated; so will you be commensurately rewarded by Mazarini for your aid and duty in these difficult times.

  We have reason to believe that some of the reports we have been sent have not been as accurate as we wish them to be, and we must impose on you once more in this regard. There are those who from time to time inform us of various activities in Francia, as you do, and of late the reports supplied by certain of our associates have contained material which has proven to be inaccurate, which distresses us more and more, for we are required to act on faulty information, which serves only to strengthen the position of our enemies and the enemies of Francia. Therefore, we seek to ask for more reports from you, on the subjects we will indicate, and implore both haste and silence on your part until we are confident that those who provide us with this material are honestly mistaken in what they have said, or have been erroneously informed themselves. That will then enable us to make necessary decisions in a responsible manner in regard to those who have obtained the information.

  It is awkward to have to continue this way, but for a short while longer we must. If Mazarini could leave for Parigi at once, then your service in this unpleasant matter would not be required. For that I ask your understanding and pardon, and assure you that you will not have to perform this service for very long.

  The first matter we wish you would explore more in depth is the true position of the various military leaders, since our reports are so varied and confusing as to be worse than useless. I know that such men are often distasteful to women of your station, and that to single out any of these men could be compromising to you, so this is not being asked. Instead, we urge you to attend those functions where these men are present, and to learn what you can of them. It is often the case that such men believe women to be more foolish than God made them, and will say things to them they would not vouchsafe to another man; if you are willing to undertake these inquiries, I am eager to hear all you may learn. The information you gain will be of importance to us, no matter how little it is, for it will enable us to know which of our other reports to believe.

  We are grateful for all your work on our behalf, and to show this gratitude, we have licensed your stud farm at Senza Pari to service to the Papal Court, at the maximum fees. This honor will bring distinction to your horses and gold to your coffers, and in some small part it will acknowledge your assistance to our work in Francia.

  May Our Lord and His Virgin Mother watch over you, keep you in the way of virtue and faith, and may you find earthly joys as well as those in Heaven. Be sure of our gratitude as you are sure of the rising of the sun.

  Alessandro, Cardinal Bichi

  By God’s Grace

  From Roma on the 11th day of April, 1639.

  Destroy after reading.

  PART II

  Charles de Batz-Castelmore

  Text of a letter from Giulio Mazarini to Atta Olivia Clemens, written in Italian.

  To my dear friend and staunch ally, Abbe Mazarini sends his most respectful and heartfelt greetings, and expresses his thanks for all that Atta Olivia Clemens has done in his cause for far too long.

  I am relieved to tell you that at last the barriers to my return to Francia are being broken, and all that has stood in the way is ending. I have had word—though it is clandestine and I cannot allow you to acknowledge what I tell you—from the Queen telling me that those in Francia who oppose my coming have been brought to heel and are not resisting my arrival. Your information on the military men was most hopeful in this regard, the more so for being odious to you. I pray most fervently that you will never again be asked to perform such a task for any reason whatsoever. That you have done this for more than six months is more praiseworthy than I can say, and I beg you to accept my obligation to you as token of all you have done for me and for Francia, little as anyone there may appreciate that.

  I have been assured that I will be summoned to Parigi before the end of the year, and I am putting my household in readiness to travel at the end of this month. Once word has come, I do not wish to contribute to the delays through my lack of preparedness. My goods are much the same as yours, and we anticipate five to six weeks on the road, providing the weather is not severe. Due to the lateness of the season, we may have to add another week to the travel, coming along the coast into Francia and then proceeding to Aix-en-Provence, and from there to Avignon, coming north along the Rhone to Lyon. If the weather is mild, we will come through the mountains. Word will be sent from along the road by courier, so you will know well in advance of my arrival.

  I cannot tell you how I long to see Parigi again. I recall the first sight I had of it, that splendid city, the old walls as grand and imposing as any I have seen. It was a windy day, and all the windmills were turning, their sails making them appear to be a fantastic landlocked navy come to besiege this treasure of a city. That you have chosen to live outside the gates means that you are one with those windmills. I have heard such wonderful things of Eblouir, that it is the jewel of Chatillon, and that to be asked there is an honor. You must tell me when I visit you there if you love the countryside as much as I do, and the vision of Parigi east of you.

  Your note to me with the last courier’s pouch was most distressing, for if your observations are correct, the great Richelieu will not live as long as we all have hoped. Perhaps it was a more difficul
t day for him than others, and you did not see him at advantage. Perhaps, too, as you suggest, he has been skilled at hiding the seriousness of his condition, and that few courtiers are aware of how ill he has actually become. I confess I hope that he is in better health than you fear, but I know I must not assume otherwise, and I am truly saddened at this information. There has never been a greater man in Europe, and to lose him at the point of fruition of his plans is gall to me. I pray that I will be given the perspicacity and strength and wisdom to continue his great work, for he is entrusting it to me, and I am obligated to persevere in his tasks for him.

  Until I have the felicity to speak to you face to face, I send you my warmest greetings and pray that God will continue to protect and favor you for all you are doing on my behalf.

  Giulio Mazarini, Abbe

  From Roma on the 21st day of September, 1639.

  Place under lock and seal or destroy.

  1

  Peyrer de Troisvilles leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, wondering as he did if he needed spectacles, like one of the old priests he knew. Four letters, all petitions to join the King’s Musqueteers, lay in a disorganized pile on his writing table. All would have to be answered, and he was more reluctant than usual to answer them. “What am I to say to them?” he muttered to the walls. “That damned Italian Abbe is coming, and who knows what work he will make of the Musqueteers.” He sighed, the thought of disbanding the Musqueteers hurting him like an old, ill-healed wound.

  There was a discreet knock at the door; when de Troisvilles did not answer at once, it was repeated.