Legacy of the Musketeers (The Novella Range Book 1)

by Ian Shimwell

  THE NOVELLA RANGE

  VISIT www.thearmchairdetective.moonfruit.com

  Legacy

  of the Musketeers

  Ian Shimwell

  Legacy of the Musketeers Copyright Ian Shimwell © 2012.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE:

  Although a sequel to the Alexandra Dumas classic The Man in the Iron Mask, Legacy of the Musketeers is only very loosely based upon events from that book.

  Even though a healthy knowledge of the Three Musketeers is desirable, all you really need to know to enjoy this novella is contained within the Prologue.

  ALSO AVAILABLE IN THE NOVELLA RANGE:

  Fuhrerbunker

  The Prime

  Murder By Suspects

  The Novella Range Collection

  The Gift of Christmas

  AND AVAILABLE IN NOVELLA AUDIOBOOKS:

  Legacy of the Musketeers

  The Prime

  The Gift of Christmas

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE: The Man in the Iron Mask

  ONE: Aramis

  TWO: Porthos

  THREE: Athos

  FOUR: D’Artagnan

  EPILOGUE: The Legacy

  PROLOGUE

  The Man in the Iron Mask

  Deep within the Palais de Versailles, Aramis was sat there, brooding, thinking… The blank parchment was uncurled on his ornate desk; the luscious feathered quill was waiting expectantly by the thick, black ink. The once powerful fire was starting to smoke and smoulder as the flames began ebbing away.

  A wry smile crossed Aramis’ lips. He thought about the remarkable recent events that had somehow involved the Musketeers for one very last time. The intrigue, the adventure – yes, even the romance. How could he explain the bewildering secrets that still defied belief? Maybe if he cast his mind back to those last moments in the Bastille when, yes, another shocking secret was revealed… He dipped his quill in the ink, and it hovered over the page. He hesitated; he should perhaps think a little bit more before committing his memories to paper…

  Besieged in that legendary French prison, the Bastille, by the King’s Musketeers and King Louis XIV himself, The Three Musketeers had finally learned of D’Artagnan’s revelation – that he was the actual father of Louis and The King’s secret twin brother, Philippe.

  Aramis stopped his thoughts for a moment. He would have to go back even further to bring meaning to his task…

  Queen Anne had given birth to not just one, but two sons – Louis and Philippe. Philippe had been whisked away minutes after birth to a country estate on the orders of the then King who feared that a twin could destabilize the Throne, even D’Artagnan did not know he had fathered two children until much later. There had obviously been more to D’Artagnan’s relationship with the Queen than merely a dutiful one. The years fell by, and when Louis eventually discovered himself that he had a twin, he cruelly locked his brother’s identity inside an iron mask and threw him in the Bastille to rot. Years later Aramis (I will think of myself in the third person – it is easier that way.), whom had sworn an oath never to reveal this secret, decided it was time to betray his sacred promise. King Louis XIV had become arrogant and callous – he had even sacrificed Athos’s son, Raoul because of his own selfish interest in his fiancé.

  So, with the willing help of Athos and the slightly unwilling assistance of their ale-loving friend, Porthos, he hatched an audacious plot to break the iron-masked Philippe out of the Bastille; and once ready to secretly replace Louis as the King of France. It nearly worked but D’Artagnan – who still refused to believe ill of his son, Louis – became suspicious and they were forced to flee the Palais de Versailles without Philippe, who was once again imprisoned back in the Bastille and back behind the dreaded iron mask. So, Aramis, Athos and Porthos had come for Philippe again, but this time King Louis, D’Artagnan and the King’s Musketeers were waiting for them. The Three Musketeers had somehow managed to capture D’Artagnan in the confusion, and upon discovering that Philippe was also his son he began to agree with Aramis – that Philippe was the suitable one for the Throne. So together, D’Artagnan, The Three Musketeers and Philippe stormed the King’s Musketeers who, despite themselves, could not aim true for the revered legends of D’Artagnan and the Musketeers. Seeing what was happening, Louis grabbed a sword and lunged at Philippe, but D’Artagnan, instinctively protecting his other son, moved in the way and the sword entered deep within the younger Musketeer’s chest. The Three Musketeers acted quickly, removing the mask from Philippe, they encased Louis in the Iron Mask and locked him in a prison cell. D’Artagnan’s body was respectfully removed by the Priests and Philippe was now King Louis XIV of France. Trouble was, Philippe was more merciful than Louis, and one day had his brother’s mask removed…

  Aramis still hadn’t marked the parchment. How could he really write any of that down? Maybe if he wrote about the unfolding drama just past, that even put this amazing story in the shade – could that make sense of it all? Again Aramis paused pensively; it would still be wise to think long and hard before writing. He was once more hypnotised by the soot-like smoke of the crumbling and fading fire, as he thought back to the beginning of the final and most startling Musketeer adventure of all…

  Yes, it would amuse him to sometimes look back through the eyes of others…

  ONE

  Aramis

  Darkness was gathering. Black clouds swept ahead. The torrential rain forged forward at a frightening speed. The lightening flashed venomously to reveal a cold and muddy, but not forgotten graveyard.

  Through the battered gravestones, a darkened figure fought his way through the worsening storm. Finally he came to rest by a particular gravestone. Despite the rain, he lifted his black hood. His greying hair was immediately flattened by the relentless rain. His rugged features somehow showed an intensity and loyalty that was still scarred by a painful loss – one that alas would never leave him.

  Aramis sighed. He pulled his gleaming sword from its sheath and rested it atop of the death stone before him. A mighty streak of fork-lightning struck a nearby tree. The resulting flames enabled Aramis to read the legend on the sacred headstone: ‘The King’s Musketeer – D’Artagnan. His Sword Finally Put To rest’.

  The rain subdued the flames, denying Aramis the chance to read anymore. He looked into the powerful sword in his hands. He thought about the incredible events of recent weeks. He still could not believe them. His eyes seemed to touch the blade itself as the ageing Musketeer started to imagine how the story of D’Artagnan’s amazing legacy began: shrouded in darkness, mystery, secrecy and suspicion. Loyalties would be strained to the limit – and beyond…

  Aramis held his torch aloft as he ventured deeper into the labyrinth of catacombs that secretly lay beneath the Royal Palace. A secret only known and religiously kept by certain Jesuits. Pausing for breath, Aramis turned in the semi-darkness to the High Priest of the Jesuits.

  “As the Leader of the Jesuits and the Bishop of Vannes, why have I never known of these tunnels?” Aramis asked, exasperated and intrigued. “I only know of the lower-levels – but these are even beneath them.”

  The High Priest, whose face was barely distinguishable beneath his brown monk-like hood answered mysteriously. “These tunnels belonged to the Knights of Darkness. Untold years ago, Jesuit Warriors drove them out – and utterly destroyed their blasphemous cult. It was soon after agreed that only the Jesuit High Priest and his successors would know of them.”

  “But why High Priest? I beg of you, why?” Aramis implored.

  “When the Jesuit Warriors surveyed the now Knights-free catacombs, they discovered a terri
ble – and powerful secret. A Sacred Secret that will shortly be disclosed to you.”

  Aramis was till puzzled. “But why now?”

  The mysterious figure beneath the hood became even more enigmatic. “Because it is now time. Other than a Jesuit High Priest, you will be the first and only person to have this honour. When you witness the Knight’s Rock for yourself, you will know why.”

  They ventured deeper and deeper until they seemingly came to a dead end. The High Priest though touched one of the ancient stones from the tunnel wall. The stone moved, and a section of the wall slid back revealing a secret passageway.

  Tension and mounting curiosity fuelling his anticipation, Aramis ventured forwards, his torch illuminating a blood-red curtain. With one swift movement, The High Priest drew the curtain aside.

  Aramis saw the Secret. His pupils dilated, his eyes widened and he gasped a sharp intake of breath. Aramis was too shocked to speak.

  A while later, Aramis was sat down in the High Priest’s ornately decorated chamber.

  The High Priest leant forward, his hands clasped together as if in prayer. “So now Aramis, you know of what you must do.”

  Aramis leant back. His eyes glazed, looking at something beyond reverence. “Yes High Priest I do know, and can only pray for the strength to succeed.”

  The Royal Palais de Versailles of King Louis XIV had a grandiose richness which included an astonishing attention to detail of Renaissance artistry. Through one of the majestic corridors, Aramis walked briskly along. He walked past a Palace Guard who bowed his head in acknowledgement. There was nothing unusual in Aramis visiting the Palace as he was now one of the King’s closest advisors. At the far end of the Hall, Aramis finally saw the King. “Philippe,” he shouted.

  The King strode towards Aramis. A rare annoyed glance marred his usual youthful good-looking profile. “Aramis, you know very well that you address me as Louis inside the inner-court – especially in front of the servants and guards.”

  A lady-in-waiting busily scurried past and a nearby guard simply dared not register that he had heard a thing.

  Aramis huffed and cleared his throat as if pulling himself together. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I seek a very important audience with your Royal self in an, err slightly unusual place.”

  Philippe, who was the twin brother to Louis, had assumed Louis’ identity after Louis had been banished. Philippe had previously faced the unspeakable ordeal of being imprisoned in the Bastille behind a horrifying Iron Mask to conceal the still never-disclosed secret that the King had a brother. After a day in which he had learnt that his French soldiers had suffered setbacks on the borders, he was in no mood to be reminded of bad times gone by.

  “Explain,” Philippe finally snapped.

  “I pray I cannot, King Louis. You must meet me outside the secret Royal Gaol in the old lower levels. Then all will be explained.”

  Philippe studied Aramis’ oddly determined expression which bordered on the zealous. “My most honoured advisor; my loyal Musketeer. Your request is most unusual, but Aramis, as I trust you with my life – I will attend.”

  “In two hours from now, Majesty.” Aramis bowed his head as the King walked away. As he straightened his imposing frame, Aramis’ eyes narrowed with satisfaction.

  Queen Anne was sat by her exquisitely decorated dressing table, brushing her beautifully long, flowing dark hair. There was a knock on the door. The Queen sighed, it must be that new lady-in-waiting – she should know that she can freely enter her bedroom at this hour.

  “Enter,” she cried impatiently.

  The door opened and closed, and the Queen was more than surprised when a masculine voice said: “Your Majesty.”

  Anne swirled round and caught her breath. “Aramis!” Aramis slowly moved nearer to the Queen. I’ll have to stop saying this but – my apologies, your Majesty.” In an elaborate gesture, Aramis grandly took off his Musketeer’s cravat hat and bowed respectfully.

  The Queen Anne of Austria and mother to Louis and Philippe rose. Her pure white night-dress showcased the sensual curves of her body. The almost transparent quality of the silk tempted forbidden thoughts. Aramis tried to look away.

  “May I ask why such a holy man is inside his Queen’s bedroom chamber?” Anne’s eyebrows arched sceptically.

  Again Aramis huffed to forcedly control himself. “I am here, my Queen, to bear forth a message from D’Artagnan.”

  Anne gasped and dropped her hairbrush.

  “As you no doubt are aware, it is exactly two years since your beloved D’Artagnan’s untimely death.”

  Covering her face, Anne cried, “I know you lost a fellow Musketeer but you cannot know what it is like to lose a lover – and Philippe, his father.”

  “And Louis,” thought Aramis who then solemnly said, “such feelings I can only imagine.” Aramis took Anne’s hand gently and they both sat on the edge of her glorious four-poster bed. Aramis decided to tear on. “For secret reasons I cannot as yet explain, the details of D’Artagnan’s legacy have just been revealed to me.”

  The Queen Anne was gushing with anticipation. “And pray what does my beloved want to say to me?”

  “Forgive me, madam.” Aramis placed his other hand on hers. His eyes spoke of a forbidden passion – and then his cloak swirled round as, mysteriously, Aramis took his leave.

  The Palace housed Aramis’ own book-bound study. He was sat at his desk, eagerly looking at the door.

  The door flew open and a dishevelled Athos stormed in. “Why have I been summoned at this time?” he demanded.

  Aramis knew that his old friend was a rigid discipline of plain-speaking so he decided to come straight to the point. “It concerns D’Artagnan’s legacy.”

  Athos could not abide mysteries – especially at his hour. “There is no legacy – if they had been, it would already be known.”

  Standing up, Aramis replied with urgency. “I haven’t time to explain now, but over the next few days many strange things will happen. Loyalties will be strained like never before.”

  Athos put his hands on his hips and looked at his fellow Musketeer incredulously. “Aramis, what are you talking about? You haven’t been at the ale with dear old Porthos, have you?”

  Aramis grabbed hold of Athos’ arm. “Despite everything that may happen, promise me you will have faith – in me, D’Artagnan – in the Musketeers.”

  The great clock chimed twelve times signalling midnight. “Now I must go,” cries Aramis with undue haste. He fled from the study and disappeared down the hallway.

  Deeply concerned, Athos touched the hilt of his sword and decided to follow. What was happening?

  Cautiously and stealthily Athos followed Aramis through the Palace. He saw his fellow Musketeer reach a secret entrance, and traced his steps into the darkness. Athos realised he had reached the old and disused lower-levels of the Palace. He stopped when he saw Aramis and Philippe talking by the now-forgotten Royal Gaol. Aramis spoke reverently, but with ruthless determination. “Your Majesty, Philippe – never in my wildest dreams would I have believed that I would be doing this to you again.” Aramis pushed…

  … and Philippe fell into the Gaol. The door slammed shut. The lock clinked with a frightening familiarity that Philippe dared not even remember. “Aramis what devil has taken hold of you? No, no!” he screamed.

  Ironically, Aramis bowed and proudly declared: “This is the Legacy of D’Artagnan!” He moved to a torch set in the stone wall and pulled it. A whole section of the stone wall slid back.

  Louis, the Louis, Philippe’s twin: King Louis XIV in all his regal finery now stood before Aramis. “You will be honoured for this, Lord Aramis.”

  “Your Majesty, King Louis XIV. Your Musketeer, at your service,” Aramis now spoke with sickly servitude.

  Louis suddenly snapped, “My Black Guards: seek, overcome and dispose of all opposition. Kill all traitors to the real King. Kill them!”

  “No,” cried Aramis, “this isn’t what you promi
sed.”

  Their ruthless swords held aloft, the Black Guards swarmed inside like an army of invading ants.

  Athos was shocked – and horrified. D’Artagnan’s Legacy was a lie. The treacherous Aramis had betrayed him – and the Musketeers. Aramis was a traitor to the whole of France!

  Broken from these troubled thoughts, Athos suddenly realised that the deadly Black Guards were almost upon him. Their swords moving in for the kill…

  TWO

  Porthos

  Athos backed away; luckily his fumbling hands accidently touched a torch holder. The wall moved inwards and Athos slipped away. The wall replaced itself and the Black Guards marched harmlessly by.

  Wasting no time Athos ran through the darkened corridors. He had a lot to think about but he knew if he didn’t flee the Palace soon he wouldn’t be thinking about anything again.

  Panting with breath, Athos looked around him and breathed a sigh of relief. He had reached the old, secret back entranceway. He only had to slip the huge bolts back from the creaking door and he could escape through the passageway underground. He began to draw a bolt when he heard a hated voice.

  “Die, traitor to the true King, die!” The Black Guard lunged his sword at Athos – who ducked and drew his sword as the guard was pulling him from the door.

  Holding his sword in front of his face Athos said, “How very kind of you to warn me of your presence – and stupid. On guard!” Athos drove his attacker back with a mastery display of swordsmanship of a Musketeer. He may be a bit rusty but his sheer exhilaration was lubricating his tired bones.