The corrected version is here.
Chapter 1: A Brief Interlude at Zaton’s
The evening of February 12, 1624 found Jacques,
Norbert, and the other five surviving Red Guards in Zaton’s celebrating their recent
victory over the Wolf of Soissons and toasting the memory of their dead comrade
Bellamy. Zaton’s was an eating house best known for gambling, that stood
scarcely a hundred paces from the church of St Jacques la Boucherie. Their
host, Gaston Thibeault the Captain of the Cardinal’s Red Guards was late. But
that had not stopped the others from beginning the drinking. In fact Jacques generously
offered to drink for both himself and the captain until Gaston should arrive
and then he loudly called for Lily, the pretty barmaid at Zaton’s, to bring
them another round.
Gaston was late because he was still waiting
to deliver his report to the Cardinal. One of the hazards of having the
Cardinal as an employer and patron was that Richelieu was always busy which
meant that Gaston was often waiting. Father Signoret was also missing, for
similar reasons. After being away from Paris for nearly two weeks, he had his religious
duties to attend to for the Society of Jesus.
To pass the time until his cousin Gaston
arrived, Norbert opened the letter he had received just before he set out for
Zaton’s. According to the outer wrapping, the letter had been sent from
Marseille about 2 weeks ago.
Ahoy Squire
Great Success!!! After sailing for
several days, we spotted a galley. It was filled with a bunch of filthy moors
that we promptly chained below decks. Thought it’d give them a taste of what
they’d been doing to decent god fearing men! HAHAHA.
Now my fleet consists of two ships --
Yvette’s Revenge and the Black Eel. Soon I’ll be a commodore. YOHOHO.
It won’t be long before more bilge rats
that oppose me wind up in davy jones locker.
Landing soon to get more crew and
refurbish.
By Blackbeards damn eyes,
I am
Capt. Debouchard
The Foul Corsair
Norbert contemplated the letter
with some dissatisfaction. So I finally
get a response from the Corsair. A response, but no coin. Where is the money he
promised me? His angry musing was interrupted as one of the other Red
Guards announced that the Captain had just arrived.
Gaston entered Zaton’s and quickly
spotted the proprietor. Kazimir Zaton was a balding man with a wide waxed
mustache. He was dressed in a fancy coat decorated with elaborate gold braid of
an eastern design that hinted at his origins and his French was heavily
accented. Gaston asked where his men were seated, and Zaton directed him towards
the large dining room in back.
As he hurried to join the others he
nearly collided with a tall, man in the darkly colored but faded attire of a
nobleman. The two men paused as they stared at each other. Their looks were not
precisely friendly, but they were respectful. Each was aware of the other’s
reputation. Berault bore the sobriquet of the Black Death and Gaston had killed
more than one master of the blade in duels. “Monsieur de Berault” Gaston said
quietly.
“Monsieur le Capitain,” de Berault said
as they each nodded slightly to the other. “Were you perhaps looking for me?
“No Monsieur, I am here to play host to some
of my men.”
“Ah, in that case…bon appetite!”
Gaston smiled slightly, but did not
reply. He moved past de Berault and soon found the table where the others were
sitting. His men stood as he arrived. Jacques handed Gaston a full mug as he
proposed the first of many toasts.
Gaston and the Cardinal’s Guards were
not the only soldiers in the backroom of Zaton’s. Also present were the King’s
Musketeers known as the Three Inseparables: Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. In fact
Porthos was gambling against Gaston’s brother-in-law, Claude de Fleury. Gaston
could see his brother-in-law in the large mirror on the wall behind Porthos. By
the stack of coins on his side of the table it seemed Claude was doing well
when suddenly Porthos stood up and roared that his opponent must be cheating.
Quickly Gaston headed over to the table.
While he didn’t especially like his brother-in-law, he knew Claude was
unskilled with a blade and he couldn’t very well see him killed by a swordsman
like Porthos. Besides which, Gaston still had a score he’d like to settle with
Porthos who had previously beaten him in a duel. Jacques, Norbert, and the
other five Red Guards followed their Captain. Seeing a wave of red sweeping
towards their friend Porthos, Athos and Aramis stepped over to stand by their
friend.
Gaston interrupted Porthos’ shouts to
say that he could see everything in the mirror behind Porthos and that Claude
did not need to cheat against such a feeble hand as Porthos had been holding.
Porthos demanded to know if Gaston was calling him a liar.
“I do not say that you are a liar
Monsieur Porthos, but I do say that you are a poor card player, while my
brother-in-law here is not.”
This only angered Porthos further and he
promptly insisted on a duel, which the supporters on each side promptly
seconded. Gaston suggested that they repair to a more suitable location not far
from here. Zaton’s eating house stood scarcely a hundred paces from the church
of Saint Jacques la Boucherie, and half the company went along to watch an
encounter between the King’s Musketeers and the new Cardinal’s Guards. The
evening was wet, the light in the streets was waning, and the streets
themselves were dirty and slippery. There were few passers-by in the Rue St
Antoine; and the large party, which earlier in the day must have attracted
notice and a crowd, crossed unmarked, and entered without interruption the
paved triangle which lies immediately behind the church.
As they walked towards the churchyard,
Gaston quietly spoke to his friends. “I will arrange matters so that I face
Athos. He is the most skilled of the three. Norbert you should face Porthos. He
is the nearest your size and your strength will be useful against him. And that
leaves Aramis for you Jacques. Don’t underestimate him. He has the face of a
handsome cleric, but he is said to be a very skilled duelist.”
Norbert, who was by far the largest man
present stood opposite Porthos the next largest. Gaston indicated that he would
face Athos, which left Jacques to face the mild looking Aramis. The six men
engaged. Norbert quickly found that he was no match with the blade against
Porthos. So he decided to change weapons and picked up one of the enormous urns
that decorated the edges of the triangle. He hurled one urn and then a second
at Porthos. The Musketeer managed to avoid the first urn, but the second struck
him squarely dropping him to the pavement in a rubble of shattered pottery. But
Porthos shook off the shock of the blow then slowly rose, his sword still in hand.
Meanwhile Gaston and Athos traded blows.
First one advanced while the other retreated then the momentum would switch. But
slowly Gaston drove Athos back as he dealt out more wounds to the Musketeer
than he took in return. Finally Athos was near feinting from loss of blood and
he was forced to yield.
Jacques fought cautiously against his
more skilled opponent. He retreated slowly as he played for time in the hope
that one of his friends would be able to come to his aid after defeating their
opponent. Jacques had nearly run out of room to retreat from his foeman’s blade.
But Aramis was tiring and behind Jacques he could see that Norbert, who was
even bigger and stronger than Porthos, was holding his own or better and that
Gaston had defeated Athos and was moving to support Jacques. I could take this one, but hey la Thibeault
has defeated Athos, who is the best swordsman among us and Thibeault looks
ready, even eager for more. Two to one is not appealing, thus I reason,
Jesuitically, that a truce is better than a defeat. Jacques, who was near
collapse, was happy to accept a draw from the Musketeer.
Chapter 2: A New Assignment
The pair of guards in the lead paused as
they saw that road construction had blocked the way ahead. One rider waved to
the coach driver signaling him to make a detour down the side street to avoid
the construction. As followed the two riders into the turn, the coach’s coat of
arms winked in the torchlight from a nearby tavern door and the two footmen gripped
the back rails firmly to avoid being thrown clear. The side street was barely
wide enough for the coach to pass without scraping the buildings on either side
so the driver had already started to slow when he saw something ahead.
Standing in the middle of the alley was
a tall, balding man. One horseman walked his horse forward and told the man to
move. Suddenly the man lifted a large spiked club from behind his back and smashed
the rider’s horse in the face which caused it to rear and fall. The rider fell
and was pinned beneath his mount. At the same moment another man with a pair of
pistols stepped out of a doorway and fired his pistols point blank at the
second rider blasting him from the saddle. The dead rider’s horse trotted past
the balding man and out of the alley.
A third man in a plain black frock coat
leapt from a balcony onto the coach seat. As he did, he swung the butcher knife
it his hand and slashed the driver’s throat while his other hand shoved the
dying man out of the seat.
The man with the spiked club walked over
to the pinned rider who asked, “Who are you?” The man grinned and said, “The
last person you’ll ever see,” as he brought his club down in a vicious arc to
bash in the fallen rider’s face. Then he stepped over put the dying horse out
of its misery.
Meanwhile the frock coated man jumped
down from the coach seat. He opened the door wide, grabbed the sill, and swung
himself into the coach startling the woman inside who screamed as she saw his
face. She frantically backed away and fumbled with the door handle behind her,
but the coach was too close to the building wall to for the door to open. “Now
there milady, we haven’t been properly introduced. It’s much too soon for me to
make you scream.” The man leered as he said this then gestured with a butcher
knife that dripped red with the blood of the driver. “Now let’s have a better
look at you.” His knife moved towards the noblewoman as she screamed again and again.
His majesty, Louis XIII and his Queen,
Anne of Austria, sat upon a pair of informal thrones. Around them stood a group
of their closest advisors and members of their court. In front of them stood a
gentleman whose erect posture and forthright bearing showed that he spent more
time in the camp than in the court. Jean Caylar d'Anduze de Saint-Bonnet, Seigneur
de Toiras had campaigned with his majesty in both the War of the Mother and Son
and for two years after against his co-religionists in the latest round of in a
series of Religious Wars that had watered the fields of France with the blood
of her best and bravest for three generations. The Seigneur de Toiras spoke
hesitantly, not because he was hesitant, nor because he was afraid, but because
Toiras was hesitant in his speech. And at times he stuttered. But today, he
felt forced to speak.
“Your Majesties, I come on behalf of
a…noblewoman who has been…wronged. Whose person…has been assaulted and who has
been subjected to …iniqui…iniqui…to insult. I refer to my cousin…th…th…the
Comtesse de la Peray. This fair lady was attacked here within the
French..c…capital. Her coach was attacked…her person was assaulted, her
servants ki..ki…killed, and her driverless coach set loose with the Comtesse
inside to …race down the streets until it crashed into a cr…cr…crowded
marketplace further injuring the Comtesse and a number of…bystanders. Your
Majesties in the name of my cousin and in the na…name of chivalry. I…ask for
justice.”
The King turned to the Provost of Paris,
the Chevalier de Vezalay. “Monsieur le Provost, what do you have to say about
these terrible acts?”
“Your majesty, this is not the only
coach that has been robbed, though previous robberies included sedan chairs as
well as coaches and were directed against merchants and other commoners. But I
have barely 300 Archers to police a city of over 300,000 people. Majesty, I do
not make excuses but with so few men and with the responsibility for guarding
and policing all of Paris even if I knew where these villains were I should
barely have the men to apprehend them. And with their whereabouts being
unknown, I just do not have enough men to catch the perpetrators and stop the
recent rash of robberies.”
“Your Majesty,” said Cardinal Richelieu.
“The people must see that their King cares for them and your nobles must see
that the crown is strong. Perhaps if the Provost were to be given assistance from
the King’s own Household?”
Monsieur de Treville, the Captain of the
King’s Musketeers quickly said, “You Majesty, your Musketeers are brave and
loyal but they already have an important duty to guard your Majesty’s person.”
Richelieu immediately said, “Monsieur de
Treville is right as usual you Majesty. His men have many other duties and your
person must not be left unprotected. Then might I suggest that Your Majesty
allows my Red Guards to help the Provost?”
“Excellent idea Cardinal,” the King
said.
“But of course,” the Cardinal smoothly
added. “They will need Your Majesty’s authorization to arrest criminals on
behalf of the State and Your Majesty.”
“How might that be done Cardinal?”
Richelieu walked towards the large desk
at the side of the room and pulled a rolled up parchment from his sleeve. “Your
humble servant has endeavored to anticipate Your Majesty’s, wisdom and
foresight this matter.” Richelieu removed a folded letter from his sleeve,
opened it, and placed it on the desk next to a pen and ink stand. “I have a
document here, which if Your Majesty would only sign and affix his seal, would
arrange the matter to everyone’s satisfaction.”
The King stepped over to the desk and
raised the pen. Behind him, Richelieu smiled.
As Gaston walked from Cardinal
Richelieu’s busy office towards his own more modest office in Le Tour Dubois
the old tower along the gallery west of the Louvre proper, he considered the
Cardinal’s words. A new assignment, and
with it an opportunity to impress the King. And the power of arrest, which his
Eminence says ‘may be useful in the future.’ Something is in the wind for sure.
Well, Gaston, here’s where your ambition has brought you. After all, you never
thought the Cardinal hired you for your good looks or your high birth. Forward
or die. Unconsciously Gaston’s pace quickened and he began to whistle the
tune to “Vive le roi Henri.”
Gaston and his men were briefed about
the robberies by one of the Provost’s Archers, Sergeant César-Auguste sieur de
Boisrenard. Boisrenard told them that the
crime spree had started with attacks on sedan chairs which then spread to
attacks on coaches. The victims of the attacks were wealthy townsmen,
travelers, and recently, nobles. The usual tactic was for the gang to detour
the victims off the main road into side roads or allies using a variety of
tactics which included stalled carts or wagons and fake road construction. The
cart or wagon drivers and construction crews were often members of the gang and
the carts and wagons were either left behind or sent galloping away after the
robbery. Most of the victims had been killed and no witnesses had yet come
forward. Gaston, who had some experience with the underworld of Paris,
concluded that this meant that any witnesses were afraid of the gang and
therefore were afraid to come forward. Boisrenard told them that the carts and
wagons used had been stolen, usually from farmers who were in the habit of
bringing their produce to Paris to sell.
After the briefing, Gaston sent Jacques
and Norbert to Les Halles, Paris’ largest produce market, to talk to the
farmers who brought their produce there to market to learn about the thefts of
farm carts by the bandits. After questioning many of farmers, they obtained a description
of one of those involved in stealing carts and wagons two of whom distinctive
appearances. One was said to be a tall, balding man armed with a giant spiked
club and the other was a dark haired man dressed in a black frock coat and
armed with a hatchet. Norbert remembered that he had previously fought with a
club wielding man who matched the first man’s description. The club wielder had
been one of a group of brigands who had attacked two gentlemen, one of whom
wore the tabard of a King's Musketeer. Norbert had helped drive off the
attackers and he had taken away the tall man’s spiked club which he had kept as
a trophy.
After receiving his men’s report, Gaston
decided to consult Father Signoret whose charity work kept him in contact with
both the honest poor as well as many members of the lower criminal classes. The
Jesuit agreed to help and suggested he should contact Rolleau, a cripple who
knew most of what went on in the dark underbelly of Paris. They met Rolleau at the
cripple’s usual hangout, a seedy tavern known as Le Brevage Noir or the Black
Brew.
Rolleau was a legless man who moved
about on a low wheeled platform which he propelled with the wooden blocks he
held in each hand. He rolled up to their table and accepted a tall mug of the darkly
potent brew that was the tavern’s specialty. Rolleau told them that the tall
balding man with the spiked club sounded like Mainard the Nailer a thug and
enforcer who was the lieutenant for a new gang leader in Paris who went by the
name Durgo the Lucky. Durgo had dark hair, beady eyes, and an athletic build.
He usually wore a black frock coat and was said to favor close work with a
large knife or hatchet. The description fit that of the second man that the
farmers had described.
Rolleau said that Durgo was taciturn and
very violent. He preferred to kill his victims either before or after robbing
them. Durgo’s gang were known to frequent three places: their usual hangout was
here in Le Brevage Noir, but they have not been seen at the Black Brew lately;
they also were known to frequent the venerable Le Pomme de Pin on the Ile-de-la-Cite;
and they could sometimes be found in a gambling hell on the Left Bank, known as
Le Trou Perrecte. Gaston and Signoret thanked Rolleau for the information and
the Captain discretely passed him several coins in recompense.
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