Book 3: The Queen's Musketeers, #3

by R. A. Steffan

  “That black stallion with the white blaze is nice,” Aramis said. A moment later, the horse in question pinned his ears and snapped at his neighbor, swinging his rump around and threatening to kick the ewe-necked gelding next to him. The commotion rippled down the length of the rail as the other horses attempted to give him more space.

  “No thank you. I already own one foul-tempered horse. I don’t need another one,” d’Artagnan said, only to wince when Constance smacked him on the upper arm.

  “Oi!” she said. “Lionne is not foul-tempered. She’s just particular about who she trusts.”

  “Lionne? That’s a lovely name for a chestnut,” Aramis said, and his eyes were smiling as he looked at d’Artagnan, who was rubbing his arm.

  “What do you think of the big bay gelding at the end?” Athos asked.

  D’Artagnan stepped forward to get a better look.

  “That is a good looking animal,” Aramis said.

  The horse was large—perhaps sixteen hands—and had a sensible, steady look about him. His neck was long and nicely muscled over the top line, and his legs were clean and sturdy. D’Artagnan stared at the white stocking on the horse’s left front leg, hit suddenly by the vivid memory of a horse with such a marking rearing and striking out, its hoof catching Paolo in the head.

  “I recognize this animal,” he said. “It killed the man I’d been working with the day that Isabella’s troops arrived here.”

  “Battle-trained?” Athos asked, even as Constance exclaimed, “That’s horrible!”

  “I imagine d’Artagnan’s companion was trying to kill its rider at the time, Constance, to be fair,” Aramis said gently.

  “He was; it’s true,” d’Artagnan confirmed. “Athos, I couldn’t tell if the horse responded from training or instinct, but either way, it showed no inclination to shy away from an attack.”

  “You should try him out,” Athos said.

  “Er,” d’Artagnan said, glancing down at his leg, “I’m not sure that would be a very fair trial. My leg is much less painful today, but it’s still so stiff and swollen I can barely bend it. Perhaps you could try him out for me, since I’m lame and Aramis is still weak?”

  Athos shrugged, as if it mattered nothing to him either way, and motioned for one of the stable boys to saddle the gelding. They watched, noting that the animal stood calmly as the saddle was adjusted and the cinch tightened. The boy was young and small, but the gelding did not attempt to evade the bridle with its metal bit by raising its head beyond the lad’s limited reach.

  “Seems good-tempered,” Aramis said, as Athos walked forward to take the animal from the boy.

  “And I suppose since d’Artagnan is a soldier, I’d want him to be riding a horse that would try to protect him,” Constance said.

  “I haven’t told you about the time that little mare you like so much kicked a man in the chest and saved my life, have I?” d’Artagnan asked. “Remind me to share that story.”

  Constance’s eyes grew wide, but the trio’s attention was drawn back to the center of the yard as Athos gathered up the reins and mounted. The bay gelding stood as still as a statue until Athos was settled, and trotted off at a click of the tongue and a nudge of his rider’s heels. Athos put the animal through his paces in the stable yard before indicating that he was going out for a turn around the grounds.

  “Nice gaits,” Aramis said. “Not flashy at all, but he’s probably comfortable to sit for long periods in the saddle.”

  D’Artagnan felt a pang as he thought of his old pony’s silky-smooth ambling gait, but he swallowed it down. Neither his pony nor the broom-tailed mare was a suitable mount for a soldier... especially a member of the Queen’s personal guard. He nodded in agreement with Aramis’ assessment.

  A few minutes later, Constance pointed toward the entrance to the yard. “Here he comes— look!”

  Athos galloped into the enclosed space and reined to a hard stop, sending a spray of gravel from under the animal’s hooves and making several of the other horses snort and crane around to see the cause of the disturbance. He finished by urging the gelding backwards a few steps and spinning him around in a tight circle over his haunches once in each direction. Then he dropped the reins. The big bay calmed immediately and stood still, blowing gently with exertion.

  “How was he?” Aramis asked.

  “He has a hard mouth,” Athos said. “Not bad, otherwise.”

  “Does he respond well to seat and leg?” Aramis said.

  “Well enough, I suppose,” Athos said, and swung down from the saddle.

  “In that case, his mouth can be improved with better riding,” said Aramis.

  “I concur,” Athos agreed.

  Constance looked up at d’Artagnan. “May I try him?”

  Surprised, d’Artagnan turned to Athos. “Do you think it’s safe?”

  Athos nodded. “Oh, yes. As long as you stay inside the stable yard, Constance, he’ll be fine. He gets a bit strong in the hand out in the open.”

  “It’s a good idea, actually,” Aramis added. “You can gain a better insight into a horse’s temperament after seeing him respond to different types of riders.”

  Athos led the horse over and adjusted the stirrups to accommodate Constance’s smaller frame. Since both d’Artagnan and Aramis were somewhat indisposed, Athos gave Constance a leg up into the saddle, every inch the well-bred gentleman. Constance grinned down at the three of them from her new vantage point.

  “I feel so tall!” she said.

  “If he pulls on you too much or starts to speed up, turn him in a small circle until he slows down,” Athos said, and stepped back to watch with d’Artagnan and Aramis.

  Constance clucked and nudged her heels into the bay horse’s sides, and he moseyed forward at a slow walk. She guided the gelding around in looping circles and figure-eights, and finally kicked him into an easy trot for a few strides before pulling him to a reluctant halt before them.

  “He does seem like a pleasant horse, but I see what you mean about his mouth, Athos,” she said, wriggling the fingers of first one hand, and then the other to relieve the cramp. “All in all, I think I prefer Lionne.”

  She slithered down from the saddle with a slight noise of surprise when her feet hit the ground. D’Artagnan put out a hand to steady her, and she grasped his arm in appreciation as she regained her balance. “That’s a longer way down than I’m used to,” she said, still smiling.

  “So,” said Aramis, “what do you think, d’Artagnan?”

  D’Artagnan moved to the gelding’s head and took the reins, running his other hand up and down the broad, convex forehead. The animal’s eyes drooped in apparent appreciation of the caress, and d’Artagnan breathed out, allowing the horse’s steady, uncomplicated aura to surround him. It was not the same feeling as that engendered by his pony’s long-suffering stoicism, but it was similar.

  “Yes,” he said finally. “I think this horse will do nicely.”

  Athos motioned the stable lad over once more. “Stable this gelding in the empty stall next to the chestnut mare with the short tail. Tell the other boys that they may return the rest of the horses to M. d’Aumont’s stables.”

  D’Artagnan handed the gelding to the child, who led him off to be untacked and rubbed down.

  “What will you call him?” Constance asked.

  “I don’t really know,” d’Artagnan replied. “We didn’t often name horses where I grew up. Perhaps you can think of something for me.”

  “I’m sure something will suggest itself,” Aramis said from his other side.

  “You named your horse after one of your paramours, Aramis,” d’Artagnan said with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not sure that would work for a gelding.”

  Aramis clapped a hand to his heart as if mortally wounded. “Oh, very well... I can see my input is not wanted. Constance, I’m certain you will come up with the perfect appellation.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Constance agreed with a small smile.
/>   * * *

  Several days passed, and d’Artagnan’s knee improved to the point that he could try out his new horse, as well as returning to duty around the palace. Constance seemed increasingly nervous as time went by. She confessed at the end of the first week that she was worried her godfather would be unable or unwilling to help them with their plan to infiltrate Isabella’s palace.

  “I know it’s silly,” she said miserably, “but I feel as though I’d be letting everyone down. I know my connection with him was the reason the Queen took me into her confidence in the first place. Now, they’ve even brought in a new wet nurse for His Majesty to replace me when you and I leave for Paris. What use will I be to anyone if I can’t set this up?”

  “Hey,” d’Artagnan said, ducking his head to catch her eyes. “First of all, I invited you back to dine with the Queen at M. Rougeux’s house that first night because I was completely smitten with you, and the connection with your godfather in Paris was the only excuse I could think of to give to the Captain.”

  “Really?” Constance asked, surprise lighting her eyes.

  “Yes, really,” d’Artagnan replied firmly. “Second, everyone here adores you, Their Majesties included. You’re one of us now, and we never abandon our own, Constance. Never.”

  “Stop,” Constance said in a quavering voice as her eyes welled up. “You’re going to make me cry.” She looked away for a moment, dashing a hand across her eyes and taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. After everything that’s happened recently... some days are good and some are, well, not so good. I think this is one of the ‘not so good’ ones.”

  D’Artagnan reached for her hands, slowly enough that it would not surprise her. Kissing her knuckles did not seem to elicit any bad memories or associations, so that was what he did, trying to pour all of his feelings for her through the slight contact.

  “Believe me,” he said, “I understand.”

  Her smile was watery, but sincere. “I suppose you really do, don’t you? And that’s one of the things I love about you, d’Artagnan.”

  The words were enough to send his heart soaring, and he kissed her hands one more time before letting them go. “Come for a ride with me,” he said. “I need to get a new girth from the saddle maker. My old one is too short and I’ve been borrowing one from Aramis. I’m off duty for the rest of the afternoon—we could go together.”

  “Very well,” Constance said, still smiling. “Let me inform the Queen and I’ll meet you in the stable yard.”

  The two of them passed a pleasant couple of hours on the errand. As they were approaching the palace gates upon their return, Constance grew serious.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she said, “I spoke with Milady about... well, you know. The subject we discussed earlier. We’ve spoken several times, in fact.”

  D’Artagnan felt a jolt of surprise and nervousness. “Is it helping, do you think?” he asked carefully.

  “It’s a lot to think about,” she said, looking straight ahead with an unfocused gaze. “I’m still struggling with some things. Milady is... she’s... well, it’s not really my place to talk about her, honestly. But she’s told me about things that no one has ever spoken to me about before. I’m not sure I can... do... some of those things. I’m trying, though. For both of us. And I am glad that she and I talked.”

  “I can wait for you, Constance,” d’Artagnan said sincerely. “I can wait forever, if it means I get to have you in my life. You’re already perfect, in my eyes.”

  Constance laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I’m very far from perfect, d’Artagnan. But I’m trying to get better.”

  They rode together into the palace grounds and stabled the horses. As they entered the main building and mounted the stairs, they became aware of a buzz of excited conversation coming from the Queen’s chambers.

  De Tréville looked up from his conversation with Porthos when they entered, and said, “Ah! Mme Bonacieux. Excellent. A letter has arrived for you from Paris.”

  D’Artagnan’s heart immediately sped up with excitement, and beside him, he heard Constance inhale sharply.

  “What does it say?” she asked eagerly.

  “You’ll have to tell us, I’m afraid,” replied the Captain, handing her the sealed missive. “I didn’t think it proper to open your correspondence in your absence.”

  “I wouldn’t have minded in this instance,” Constance said, breaking the seal, “but thank you nonetheless.”

  She scanned the letter quickly, and felt behind her for a chair, sitting in it rather abruptly as she reached the end of the note.

  “Well?” d’Artagnan asked, unable to control himself.

  She smiled up at the others arrayed around the table. “He has obtained me a position as a maid, and d’Artagnan, an interview for a position as a footman.”

  There was a collective exhale of relief.

  “I still think this is a ridiculous plan,” Porthos said, breaking the moment of silence, “but at least it’s a ridiculous plan that seems to be going smoothly so far.”

  D’Artagnan had a sudden thought. “What exactly does being a footman entail?” He’d never even heard the term before, much less seen one in the flesh.

  “Standing around in the background and looking pretty, for the most part,” Aramis said, grinning at him from the doorway where he was splitting his attention between guarding the room and unashamedly eavesdropping.

  “You’re perfect for the job, in that case,” Constance said, eyeing him up and down appreciatively. He flushed with sudden self-consciousness even as Porthos let out a surprised guffaw.

  “Seriously, though,” Porthos said when he’d gotten himself under control, “it’s pretty easy. They’ll dress you up like a little porcelain doll and set you to opening and closing doors for people, pouring drinks, carrying luggage, moving furniture around... that sort of thing. You’ll do fine.”

  “... and probably hate every minute of it,” Aramis added helpfully from the doorway.

  “It sounds...” d’Artagnan paused, searching for an appropriate description, “... different than what I’m used to.”

  “Your real mission will be to gauge the mood at the palace and ferry messages between Milady and Porthos,” de Tréville reminded him, “so I imagine you’ll find enough excitement to satisfy yourself.”

  “Have you received word from the Cardinal about Milady’s position at court?” d’Artagnan asked curiously, noting that both Milady and Athos were conspicuously absent.

  “Yes, an encoded letter came this morning,” said the Captain. “I’ve briefed Milady, and I believe she and Athos retired to discuss the details.”

  D’Artagnan suspected that discussing the details was actually polite code for having a blistering row and then taking each other passionately against the nearest convenient vertical or horizontal surface. He felt the tips of his ears heat even as he nodded understanding.

  “What about you, Porthos?” he asked.

  “Apparently I’m buying a bakery a few streets away from the Louvre,” Porthos said, not sounding enthusiastic in the least about the idea.

  “Er... congratulations?” d’Artagnan offered.

  “No, that’s perfect, though,” Constance said. “I can drag d’Artagnan along with me to do the shopping on our days off. You and he can be seen to befriend each other and start spending evenings together at the tavern. That way, we’ll both have excuses to visit you, together or separately. Only... do you actually know anything about running a bakery?”

  Porthos shrugged one shoulder, his usually expressive face closing off. “I worked in one when I was a lad,” he said, his tone effectively cutting off further enquiries.

  “The current owner wishes to retire,” de Tréville said, “and the staff will be staying behind, so it should be fine for our purposes. I will inform Her Majesty of the final details this evening. You will all leave for Paris via three separate routes the day after tomorrow.”

  Chapter IX: S
eptember 2nd, 1631

  THE MORNING OF their departure dawned warm and humid, promising another sweltering day as summer showed no signs of abating. When he arrived at the stables with his bedroll and saddlebags slung over his shoulder, d’Artagnan was surprised to find that Porthos had already departed.

  “Yes,” Aramis said. “He told me to tell you that he’d see you and Constance in a few days.”

  This was unusual enough behavior for the normally gregarious Porthos that d’Artagnan asked, “Is everything all right with him? I expected to be able to wish him a safe journey in person.”

  Aramis shrugged and smiled, though it did not quite reach his eyes. “I don’t believe this mission agrees with him, that’s all. It’s nothing that you need to concern yourself with, you have my word.” His attention was drawn over d’Artagnan’s shoulder, to Constance’s approach. “Ah! Mme d’Artagnan. A fine morning to you, my dear,” he teased.

  D’Artagnan could not prevent the faint flutter of excitement at hearing Constance addressed so, and reminded himself firmly that it was merely a ruse, and nothing over which to get excited.

  “A good morning to you, as well, M. Aramis,” Constance responded in kind. Her twinkling eyes moved to d’Artagnan’s. “And to you, of course, dear husband.”

  Blood rushed to d’Artagnan’s cheeks, staining his face with a flush despite his every effort. “Good morning, Constance,” he managed.

  He was saved from further embarrassment by the arrival of Athos, Milady, and de Tréville. Athos continued on to the stable to stow Milady’s belongings on her horse, and after nodding a greeting to the other two, d’Artagnan hoisted his own bags and followed him. Servants had already sent Constance’s belongings ahead, and her little mare stood saddled and ready next to Milady’s and d’Artagnan’s horses. It was the work of a few moments for d’Artagnan to secure everything across the bay gelding’s back, and when he turned around, Athos was standing behind him, waiting.