Distracted though the king was by his dark reflections, this nonetheless caught his attention. He stopped his horse, turned to Parry and said, “Lord above, Parry, who is this man who salutes me thus? Do you suppose, by any chance, that he knows me?”
Parry, pale and agitated, had already turned his horse toward the gate. “Oh, Sire!” he said suddenly, stopping five or six paces from the old man. “Sire, I’m stunned and amazed, for I think I know this good man. Yes, it’s he, himself! Would Your Majesty permit me to speak with him?”
“Of course.”
“Is it really you, Monsieur Grimaud?” asked Parry.
“Yes, it’s me,” said the tall old man, straightening up but retaining his attitude of respect.
“I was right, Sire,” said Parry. “This man is the servant of the Comte de La Fère, that worthy gentlemen whom I’ve spoken of so often with Your Majesty that the memory of him must be engraved on both your mind and your heart.”
“He who assisted the king my father in his final moments?” asked Charles. And the king visibly shuddered at the memory.
“Exactly, Sire.”
“Alas!” said Charles. Then, addressing Grimaud, whose bright, intelligent eyes seemed to encourage him to speak, he said, “Your master, Monsieur le Comte de La Fère, does he live nearby?”
“There,” replied Grimaud, pointing to the red and white house beyond the gate.
“And is the Comte de La Fère home at present?”
“Around back, under the chestnut trees.”
“Parry,” said the king, “I don’t want to miss this unexpected chance to thank the gentleman who’s shown our house such generosity and devotion. Please hold my horse, mon ami.”
And tossing his bridle to Grimaud, the king went alone toward Athos’s house, like an equal to meet an equal. Charles, informed by the laconic Grimaud of where the count would be found, went around the house to the left and then straight to a tree-lined lane. It was easy to find; the tops of those tall trees, already covered with blossoms, towered above their neighbors. Stepping into the pattern of light and shadow cast by the variegated foliage above, the young prince saw a gentleman strolling with his arms behind his back, apparently plunged into a deep reverie. Without any doubt but that this was the gentleman so often described to him, Charles II marched right up to him without hesitation. At the sound of his footsteps the Comte de La Fère turned, and seeing a stranger of elegant and noble aspect approaching him, he drew his hat from his head and waited. A few paces short of him Charles II stopped, took his own hat in his hand, and in response to the count’s mute interrogation, said, “Monsieur le Comte, I have come because I have a duty to perform. I have for a long time wished to express a deep gratitude to you. I am Charles II, son of Charles Stuart, who reigned over England and died on the scaffold.”
At this illustrious name, Athos shivered with frisson, and at the sight of the young prince standing before him and holding out his hand, two tears momentarily stood in his beautiful eyes. He bowed respectfully, but the prince took his hand and said, “See how unfortunate I am, Monsieur le Comte. It’s only by chance that I find myself here. Alas! I ought to have people around me whom I love and honor, but I’m reduced to honoring their services in my heart and holding their names in my memory. If it wasn’t for your servant, who recognized mine as we rode by your gate, I would have passed your house as if it were that of a stranger.”
“All too true,” said Athos, answering with his voice to the first part of the prince’s speech, and with a bow to the second. “Indeed, Your Majesty has seen some dark days.”
“And alas, there may be worse yet to come!” replied Charles.
“We must have hope, Sire!”
“Count, Count!” said Charles, shaking his head. “I hoped until last night, like a good Christian, I swear it.”
Athos looked at the king as if to ask him to continue. “Oh, the story is easily told!” said Charles II. “Exiled, despoiled, and scorned, I resolved, despite my reluctance, to tempt fortune one more time. Is it not written on high that, for our family, all good and ill eternally derive from France? You know something about that, Monsieur, you who were one of those Frenchmen whom my unhappy father found at the foot of his scaffold on the day of his death, as he’d found them at his right hand on the day of battle.”
“Sire,” said Athos modestly, “I wasn’t alone, and my companions and I did, under the circumstances, only what our honor as gentlemen compelled us to do, that’s all. But Your Majesty was about to do me the honor to tell me…”
“Of course. I was under the protection—pardon my hesitation, Count, but for a Stuart, as I know you understand, it’s difficult to say that word—under the protection of my cousin the Stadtholder of Holland, but he wouldn’t undertake to do more than that without the intervention, or at least the authorization, of France. So, I came to ask for the support of the King of France, but he refused me.”
“The king refused you, Sire!”
“Oh, not him! I must be fair to my younger brother Louis. It was Monsieur de Mazarin.”
Athos bit his lips.
“You think perhaps I should have expected such a refusal,” said the king, seeing the count’s expression.
“That was indeed my thought, Sire,” the count replied respectfully. “I know that Italian of old.”
“I’d resolved to push this thing to its end and know once and for all the outcome of my destiny; I told my brother Louis that, to compromise neither France nor Holland, I’d pursue my throne personally, and just needed two hundred gentlemen, if he’d give them to me, or a million in gold, if he’d lend it to me.”
“Well, Sire?”
“Well, Monsieur! I’m now experiencing something strange, the grim satisfaction of despair. There is in some souls, and now I find that I’m one of them, a sort of serenity in the realization that all is lost and it’s time, at last, to give in.”
“Oh!” said Athos. “I hope that Your Majesty has not yet arrived at that extremity.”
“To say that to me, Monsieur le Comte, to try to revive hope in my heart, shows that you don’t understand what I’ve told you. I came to Blois, Count, to beg of my brother Louis the alms of a million that I needed to resolve my troubles, and my brother Louis has refused me. So, you see that all is lost.”
“Would Your Majesty permit me to voice a contrary opinion?”
“Count, do you think me so ill-informed that I don’t understand my own situation?”
“Sire, I have always noted that it’s when things seem darkest that there come the greatest turns of fortune.”
“Thank you, Count, and it is indeed a thing of beauty to encounter hearts like yours with enough confidence in God and in monarchy not to despair of royal fortune, no matter how low it falls. Unfortunately, your words, dear Count, are like those remedies they call ‘sovereign,’ which might heal curable wounds, but have no power over death. Thanks for your perseverance in attempting to console me, and for your past devotions, but I know what to expect.
“Nothing will save me now. You see, my friend, I’m so convinced of it that I’m taking the road to final exile with ancient Parry, and will go savor my poignant sorrow in the hermitage Holland has offered me. There, believe me, Count, all will soon come to an ending and death will quickly find me, the way it’s summoned by a soul that tires of its body and aspires only to heaven!”
“Your Majesty has a mother, a sister, and brothers; he is the head of a family and should ask a long life of God rather than a quick death. Your Majesty may be exiled, even hunted, but you have the right on your side, and should aspire to the dangers of combat and affairs of state rather than the repose of heaven.”
“Count,” said Charles II with a smile of indescribable sadness, “have you ever heard of a king who’s reconquered his realm with no more than a single servant the age of Parry and the three hundred crowns he carries in his purse?”
“No, Sire. But I’ve heard, more than once, of a dethroned ki
ng who’s regained his realm with a firm will, perseverance, some friends, and a million in gold carefully deployed.”
“But didn’t you hear what I said? I asked for that million from my brother Louis and was refused.”
“Sire,” said Athos, “will Your Majesty grant me a few more minutes and listen closely to what I have to tell him?”
Charles II looked searchingly at Athos. “Willingly, Monsieur,” he said.
“I hope Your Majesty will allow me to lead the way,” the count said, going toward the house.
And he led the king into his study and gave him a chair. “Sire,” he said, “Your Majesty has just informed me that, given the state of affairs in England, a million would suffice to reconquer his realm, isn’t that so?”
“Enough to attempt it, at least, and to die like a king if it failed.”
“Well, Sire! Will Your Majesty, as promised, deign to listen to what I have to say?”
Charles nodded his head in assent. Athos went to the door, looked out to make sure no one was near, closed and locked it, and returned. “Sire,” he said, “Your Majesty knows well that I assisted the most noble and unfortunate Charles I when his executioners brought him from St. James to Whitehall.”
“Yes, indeed, I recall and will always remember it.”
“Sire, it’s a mournful story for a son to hear, especially when he’s already heard it countless times, but I must repeat it to Your Majesty without leaving out a single detail.”
“Speak, Monsieur.”
“When the king your father mounted the scaffold, or rather passed from his room onto the scaffold built outside his window, everything had been prepared for his escape. The executioner had been abducted, a hole had been excavated beneath the floor of his apartment, and I myself was concealed below the planks when I suddenly heard them creak above my head.”
“Parry has informed me of all these details, Monsieur.”
Athos bowed and continued, “Then I will tell you what he could not, Sire, for the following passed only between God, your father, and me, and has been shared with no one, not even my dearest friends. ‘Step away,’ the august victim said to the masked executioner, ‘but only for a moment, for I know I belong to you, but strike only at my signal. I want to be free to utter my final prayer.’ ”
“Your pardon,” said Charles II, his features pale, “but you, Count, who know so many details of that fatal event, even some, as you said just now, that you’ve never before revealed—do you know the name of that infernal executioner, of that coward who hid his face so he could assassinate a king with impunity?”
Athos also paled slightly. “His name?” he said. “Yes, I know it, but I will not speak it.”
“And what has become of him? No one in England knows his fate.”
“He is dead.”
“But he didn’t die in bed, not a calm and gentle death, the death of an honest man?”
“He died a violent death on a terrible night, caught between the wrath of men and the gales of God. His body was pierced to the heart by a dagger and sank into the depths of the ocean. May God forgive his murderer!”58
“Very well, then,” said King Charles II, who saw that the count wished to say no more.
“The King of England, after having, as I said, spoken to the masked executioner, added, ‘Don’t strike me, understand, until I extend my arms and say, Remember!’ ”
“In fact,” said Charles in a hollow voice, “I know that was the final word spoken by my unhappy father. But for what purpose, and to whom?”
“To the French gentleman hidden just beneath the scaffold.”
“To you, Monsieur?”
“Yes, Sire, and every word he said, through those planks covered in black fabric, still resounds in my ears. The king got down on one knee. ‘Comte de La Fère,’ he said, ‘can you hear me?’ ‘Yes, Sire,’ I replied. Then the king bent down closer.”
Charles II, heart beating with grief like a hammer, also leaned toward Athos to catch every word that escaped the count’s lips. His head bent till it touched Athos’s head.
“As I said,” continued the count, “the king leaned closer. ‘Comte de La Fère,’ he said, ‘you were unable to save me. It wasn’t meant to be. Now, having spoken to men, and having spoken to God, though I commit a sacrilege, I say my final words to you. On behalf of a cause that I held sacred, I have lost the throne of my fathers and imperiled my children’s inheritance.’ ”
Charles II hid his face between his hands, and a burning tear escaped from between his slender white fingers.
“ ‘A million in gold still remains,’ continued the king. ‘I buried it in the dungeon beneath the abbey keep in Newcastle just before I left that city.’ ”
Charles raised his head with an expression mixing sadness and joy that would have brought tears to the eyes of anyone who knew of his terrible trials. “A million!” he murmured. “Oh, Count!”
“ ‘Only you know of this money’s existence. Use it when the time is right for the greatest benefit to my eldest son. And now, Comte de La Fère, give me your final farewell.’ ‘Adieu, Sire, adieu!’ I whispered.”
Charles II rose and went to lean his burning forehead against the cool glass of the window.
“It was then,” continued Athos, “that the king spoke the word Remember!—addressed to me. And as you see, Sire, I have remembered.”
The king couldn’t resist a flood of emotion. Athos saw his shoulders convulsively shaking, heard sobs escaping from deep in his chest. But Athos was silent, overwhelmed by the bitter memories he’d cascaded onto that royal head. Charles II, with a violent effort, left the window, swallowed his tears, and returned to his seat near the count. “Sire,” Athos said, “I thought till today that it was not yet time to employ this final resource, but I have kept my eyes fixed on England and I felt the time was approaching. Tomorrow I had planned to begin seeking Your Majesty’s whereabouts and then go to him. Since he has come to me, it’s clear that God intended us to find each other.”
“Monsieur,” said Charles, in a voice still choked with emotion, “you are to me as an angel sent by God, a savior sent from beyond the grave by my father himself. But believe me, for ten years civil war has ravaged my country, slaughtering men and plowing up the ground. We’re as unlikely to find gold still buried in the earth as we are to find love in the hearts of my subjects.”
“Sire, the place where His Majesty buried his million is well known to me, and I’m sure no one has disturbed it. Has Newcastle Abbey been demolished, torn down stone by stone? That’s what it would take.”
“No, the abbey still stands, but at the moment General Monck occupies Newcastle and is encamped there. The only place where I can still find aid, my last resource, is in the hands of my enemies.”
“General Monck, Sire, can’t have discovered the treasure of which I speak.”
“Yes, but must I go through Monck to recover this treasure? You can see, Count, that I must yield to destiny, as it strikes me down every time I get up. How could I do it with no servants but Parry, whom Monck has already chased off once? No, no, Count, we must accept this final blow.”
“But where Your Majesty cannot go, what Parry cannot do, don’t you think that I might succeed?”
“You, Count! You would go?”
“If it pleases Your Majesty, yes, Sire,” said Athos, saluting the king, “I will go.”
“But you’re happy and settled here, Count!”
“I am never happy, Sire, when I have a duty unfulfilled, and the king your father charged me with the supreme duty to watch over your fortune and employ it when the time came. Your Majesty has but to give me the sign and I will go with him.”
“Ah, Monsieur!” said the king, forgetting all royal etiquette and throwing his arms around Athos’s neck. “You prove to me there’s still a God in heaven, a God who sometimes sends his messengers to we who suffer on this earth.”
Athos, deeply moved by the young man’s emotional display,
thanked him with profound respect and then went to the window. “Grimaud!” he called. “Our horses.”
“What? You’d go right away?” said the king. “Truly, Monsieur, you’re a man of wonder.”
“Sire!” said Athos. “I can think of nothing more urgent than Your Majesty’s service. Besides,” he added with a smile, “it’s a habit developed while in the service of the queen your aunt and the king your uncle. How could I do otherwise in the service of Your Majesty now?”
“What a man this is,” murmured the king. Then, after a moment’s reflection, “But no, Count, I can’t expose you to such dangers. I have no way to reward such services.”
“Bah!” said Athos, laughing. “Your Majesty must be jesting, as he has a million in gold! If only I had even half that sum, I’d already have raised a regiment. But, thanks be to God, I still have a few rolls of coins and some family jewelry, which Your Majesty, I hope, will deign to let his devoted servant share with him.”
“No, but I’ll share it with a friend—on the condition that my friend allows me to repay him later and share with him thereafter.”
Between Two Kings Page 13