Part 19

Then each of those men stepped back to the ditch and took a musket hidden there; the result was that our seven travelers were literally shot down. Aramis received a bullet that went through his shoulder, and Mousqueton another that lodged in the fleshy parts that extend from the lower back. However, only Mousqueton fell from his horse, not because he was gravely wounded, but because, unable to see his wound, he no doubt believed himself more dangerously hurt than he actually was.

"It's an ambush," said d'Artagnan, "don't waste a shot, and let's ride on."

Aramis, wounded as he was, seized his horse's mane, and the animal carried him off with the others. Mousqueton's horse had rejoined them and was galloping along alone in its place.

"That will give us a spare horse," said Athos.

"I'd rather have a hat," said d'Artagnan, "mine was carried off by a bullet. It's very lucky, by my faith, that the letter I'm carrying wasn't in it."

"Ah, but they'll kill poor Porthos when he passes," said Aramis.

"If Porthos were on his feet, he would have joined us by now," said Athos. "I think that, on the ground, the drunkard will have sobered up."

And they galloped on for another two hours, although the horses were so tired that it was to be feared they would soon refuse service.

The travelers had taken a cross-country route, hoping in this way to be less troubled, but at Crève-coeur, Aramis declared he could go no further. Indeed, it had taken all the courage he concealed under his elegant form and polished manners to get that far. At every moment he turned pale, and they had to support him on his horse; they helped him down at the door of a tavern, left Bazin with him—who, moreover, in a skirmish, was more of a hindrance than a help—and set off again in the hope of sleeping at Amiens.

"Damn it!" said Athos, when they found themselves back on the road, reduced to two masters and to Grimaud and Planchet, "damn it! I won't be their dupe anymore, and I swear they won't make me open my mouth or draw my sword from here to Calais. I swear..."

"Let's not swear," said d'Artagnan, "let's gallop, if our horses consent to it."

And the travelers dug their spurs into their horses' bellies, which, vigorously stimulated, regained their strength. They arrived at Amiens at midnight, and put up at the inn of the Golden Lily.

The innkeeper had the look of the most honest man on earth; he received the travelers with his candlestick in one hand and his cotton nightcap in the other; he wanted to lodge the two travelers each in a charming room, but unfortunately each of these rooms was at the far end of the inn. D'Artagnan and Athos refused; the host replied that there were, however, none other worthy of Their Excellencies; but the travelers declared that they would sleep in the common room, each on a mattress thrown on the floor. The host insisted, the travelers stood firm; they had to do as they wished.

They had just arranged their bed and barricaded their door from the inside, when someone knocked on the courtyard shutter; they asked who was there, recognized the voices of their servants, and opened.

Indeed, it was Planchet and Grimaud.

"Grimaud will be enough to watch the horses," said Planchet; "if these gentlemen wish, I will sleep across their door; that way, they'll be sure no one will reach them."

"And what will you sleep on?" asked d'Artagnan.

"Here is my bed," replied Planchet.

And he showed a bundle of straw.

"Come in, then," said d'Artagnan, "you're right: the innkeeper's face doesn't suit me; it's too gracious."

"Nor me either," said Athos.

Planchet climbed in through the window, settled himself across the door, while Grimaud went to lock himself in the stable, saying that at five in the morning he and the four horses would be ready.

The night was fairly quiet; at about two in the morning, someone did try to open the door, but as Planchet woke with a start and shouted, "Who goes there?" they answered that they had made a mistake, and moved away.

At four in the morning, a great noise was heard in the stables. Grimaud had tried to wake the stable boys, and the stable boys were beating him. When they opened the window, they saw the poor boy unconscious, his head split open by a blow from a pitchfork handle.

Planchet went down into the courtyard and tried to saddle the horses; the horses were foundered. Only Mousqueton's horse, which had traveled without a master for five or six hours the previous day, could have continued the journey; but, by an inconceivable error, the veterinary surgeon who had been sent for—apparently to bleed the innkeeper's horse—had bled Mousqueton's horse instead.

This was beginning to become alarming: all these successive accidents might be the result of chance, but they could just as well be the fruit of a plot. Athos and d'Artagnan went out, while Planchet went to find out if there were not three horses for sale in the vicinity. At the door stood two horses, fully saddled, fresh and vigorous. That suited their purpose perfectly. He asked where the masters were; he was told that the masters had spent the night at the inn and were at that moment settling their account with the landlord.

Athos went down to pay the bill, while d'Artagnan and Planchet stood at the street door; the innkeeper was in a low, secluded room, and Athos was asked to go in there.

Athos entered without suspicion and drew out two pistoles to pay: the host was alone, sitting at his desk, one of whose drawers was slightly open. He took the money Athos offered him, turned it over and over in his hands, and suddenly, shouting that the coin was counterfeit, declared that he would have him and his companion arrested as counterfeiters.

"Scoundrel!" said Athos, advancing on him, "I'll cut your ears off!"

At the same moment, four armed men, bristling with weapons, entered through the side doors and threw themselves upon Athos.

"I'm taken!" cried Athos with all the strength of his lungs; "clear out, d'Artagnan! Spur, spur!" And he fired two pistol shots.

D'Artagnan and Planchet did not need to be told twice; they untied the two horses waiting at the door, leaped onto them, dug their spurs into their bellies, and rode off at a triple gallop.

"Do you know what became of Athos?" asked d'Artagnan of Planchet as they rode.

"Ah, sir," said Planchet, "I saw two fall from his two shots, and it seemed to me, through the glass door, that he was crossing swords with the others."

"Brave Athos!" murmured d'Artagnan. "And to think we must abandon him! For the rest, perhaps the same fate awaits us two steps from here. Forward, Planchet, forward! You're a brave man."

"I told you, sir," replied Planchet, "Picards, you know them when put to the test; besides, I'm here in my own country, it excites me."

And both of them, spurring harder than ever, arrived at Saint-Omer without stopping. At Saint-Omer, they let the horses catch their breath, the bridle passed over their arms for fear of accidents, and snatched a quick bite standing up in the street; after which they set off again.

A hundred paces from the gates of Calais, d'Artagnan's horse collapsed, and there was no way to get it up again: blood was coming from its nose and eyes; Planchet's horse remained, but that one had stopped, and there was no way to get it going again.

Fortunately, as we have said, they were a hundred paces from the town; they left both mounts on the highway and ran to the port. Planchet pointed out to his master a gentleman who was arriving with his servant and was only about fifty paces ahead of them.

They quickly approached this gentleman, who seemed very busy. His boots were covered with dust, and he was inquiring whether he might cross to England immediately.

"Nothing could be easier," replied the captain of a ship ready to set sail; "but this morning, an order arrived not to let anyone leave without express permission from M. le Cardinal."

"I have that permission," said the gentleman, pulling a paper from his pocket; "here it is."

"Have it countersigned by the governor of the port," said the captain, "and give me the preference."

"Where shall I find the governor?"

"At his country house."

"And where is this country house?"

"About a quarter of a league from town; look, you can see it from here, at the foot of that little hill, that slate roof."

"Very well!" said the gentleman.

And, followed by his lackey, he took the road to the governor's country house.

D'Artagnan and Planchet followed the gentleman at a distance of five hundred paces.

Once outside the town, d'Artagnan quickened his pace and caught up with the gentleman as he entered a small wood.

"Sir," said d'Artagnan, "you seem to be in a great hurry?"

"I could not be in more of a hurry, sir."

"I am distressed by that," said d'Artagnan, "for, being also in a great hurry myself, I wished to ask you a favor."

"And what is that?"

"To let me go first."

"Impossible," said the gentleman, "I have traveled sixty leagues in forty-four hours, and by tomorrow at noon I must be in London."

"I have covered the same distance in forty hours, and by tomorrow at ten in the morning I must be in London."

"Distressed, sir; but I arrived first and I shall not go second."

"Distressed, sir; but I arrived second and I shall go first."

"On the king's service!" said the gentleman.

"On my own service!" said d'Artagnan.

"It seems to me you are picking a bad quarrel with me."

"By Jove! What else would you have it be?"

"What do you want?"

"You wish to know?"

"Certainly."

"Well, then, I want the order you carry, seeing that I have none myself, and that I need one."

"You are joking, I presume."

"I never joke."

"Let me pass!"

"You shall not pass."

"My brave young man, I'll blow your brains out. Ho there, Lubin! My pistols."

"Planchet," said d'Artagnan, "you take care of the valet; I'll handle the master."

Planchet, emboldened by his first exploit, leaped upon Lubin, and being strong and vigorous, threw him on his back against the ground and put his knee on his chest.

"Do your business, sir," said Planchet; "I've done mine."

Seeing this, the gentleman drew his sword and rushed at d'Artagnan; but he had met his match.

In three seconds d'Artagnan gave him three sword thrusts, saying at each stroke:

"One for Athos, one for Porthos, one for Aramis."

At the third thrust, the gentleman fell like a log.

D'Artagnan believed him dead, or at least unconscious, and approached to take the order from him; but at the moment he extended his arm to search him, the wounded man, who had not let go of his sword, gave him a thrust in the chest, saying:

"One for you."

"And one for me! Last and best!" cried d'Artagnan, furious, pinning him to the ground with a fourth sword thrust in the belly.

This time the gentleman closed his eyes and fainted.

D'Artagnan searched the pocket where he had seen him replace the pass, and took it. It was in the name of the Comte de Wardes.

Then, casting a last glance at the handsome young man, who was barely twenty-five years old and whom he was leaving there, lying senseless and perhaps dead, he sighed over that strange destiny which drives men to destroy one another for the interests of people who are strangers to them and who often do not even know they exist.

But he was soon roused from these reflections by Lubin, who was howling and crying for help at the top of his voice.

Planchet put his hand over his throat and squeezed with all his might.

"Sir," he said, "as long as I hold him like this, he won't cry out, I'm quite sure; but as soon as I let him go, he'll start crying again. I recognize him as a Norman, and Normans are stubborn."

Indeed, compressed as he was, Lubin was still trying to produce sounds.

"Wait!" said d'Artagnan.

And taking his handkerchief, he gagged him.

"Now," said Planchet, "let's tie him to a tree."

The thing was done conscientiously; then they dragged the Comte de Wardes near his servant; and as night was beginning to fall and both the bound man and the wounded man were a few paces into the wood, it was evident that they would have to stay until the next day.

"And now," said d'Artagnan, "to the governor's!"

"But you are wounded, it seems to me?" said Planchet.

"It's nothing; let's attend to what is most urgent; then we'll come back to my wound, which, besides, does not seem to me very dangerous."

And both proceeded at a rapid pace toward the country house of the worthy official.

Monsieur le Comte de Wardes was announced.

D'Artagnan was ushered in.

"You have an order signed by the cardinal?" said the governor.

"Yes, sir," replied d'Artagnan, "here it is."

"Ah! ah! It is in order and well recommended," said the governor.

"That is quite natural," replied d'Artagnan, "for I am one of his most faithful servants."

"It seems His Eminence wishes to prevent someone from reaching England."

"Yes, a certain d'Artagnan, a Béarnais gentleman who left Paris with three of his friends intending to reach London."

"Do you know him personally?" asked the governor.

"Whom?"

"This d'Artagnan?"

"Perfectly."

"Then give me his description."

"Nothing easier."

And d'Artagnan gave, feature for feature, the description of the Comte de Wardes.

"Is he accompanied?" asked the governor.

"Yes, by a valet named Lubin."

"Watch will be kept for them, and if they are apprehended, His Eminence may rest assured, they will be sent back to Paris under good escort."

"And in so doing, Monsieur le Gouverneur," said d'Artagnan, "you will have deserved well of the cardinal."

"You will see him on your return, Monsieur le Comte?"

"Without any doubt."

"Tell him, I pray you, that I am his humble servant."

"I shall not fail to do so."

And delighted with this assurance, the governor signed the pass and handed it to d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan wasted no time in useless compliments; he saluted the governor, thanked him, and left.

Once outside, he and Planchet took to their heels, and making a long detour, they avoided the wood and re-entered by another gate.

The ship was still ready to sail; the captain was waiting on the quay.

"Well?" he said, catching sight of d'Artagnan.

"Here is my pass, countersigned," said the latter.

"And the other gentleman?"

"He will not sail today," said d'Artagnan, "but be easy, I will pay the passage for both of us."

"In that case, let's go," said the captain.

"Let's go!" repeated d'Artagnan.

And he jumped with Planchet into the boat; five minutes later, they were on board.

It was time: half a league out at sea, d'Artagnan saw a light shine and heard a detonation.

It was the cannon shot announcing the closing of the port.

It was time to attend to his wound; fortunately, as d'Artagnan had thought, it was not among the most dangerous: the point of the sword had hit a rib and slid along the bone; moreover, his shirt had immediately stuck to the wound, and it had scarcely shed a few drops of blood.

D'Artagnan was worn out with fatigue. They spread a mattress for him on the deck; he threw himself upon it and fell asleep.

The next day, at daybreak, he found himself only three or four leagues from the English coast; the breeze had been light all night, and they had made little progress.

At ten o'clock, the vessel cast anchor in the port of Dover.

At half-past ten, d'Artagnan set foot on English soil, exclaiming:

"At last, here I am!"

But that was not all: he had to reach London. In England, the post was fairly well served. D'Artagnan and Planchet each took a pony; a postillion rode before them; in four hours they arrived at the gates of the capital.

D'Artagnan did not know London; d'Artagnan did not know a word of English; but he wrote the name of Buckingham on a piece of paper, and everyone pointed out the duke's mansion.

The duke was hunting at Windsor with the king.

D'Artagnan asked for the duke's confidential valet, who, having accompanied him on all his travels, spoke perfect French; he told him he had just arrived from Paris on a matter of life and death, and that he must speak to his master instantly.

The confidence with which d'Artagnan spoke convinced Patrice (that was the name of this minister to the minister). He had two horses saddled and undertook to conduct the young guardsman. As for Planchet, they had lifted him from his mount, stiff as a reed; the poor boy was at the end of his strength; d'Artagnan seemed made of iron.

They arrived at the castle; there they made inquiries: the king and Buckingham were hawking in marshes situated two or three leagues away.

In twenty minutes they were at the place indicated. Soon Patrice heard his master's voice calling his falcon.

"Whom shall I announce to my Lord Duke?" asked Patrice.

"The young man who one evening picked a quarrel with him on the Pont-Neuf, opposite the Samaritaine."

"A singular recommendation!"

"You will see that it is as good as any other."

Patrice put his horse to a gallop, overtook the duke, and announced to him in the terms we have said that a messenger was waiting for him.

Buckingham recognized d'Artagnan instantly, and suspecting that something was happening in France of which news was being brought to him, he only took time to ask where the bearer of it was; and having recognized from afar the guardsman's uniform, he put his horse to a gallop and came straight to d'Artagnan. Patrice, out of discretion, stood aside.

"Has no misfortune happened to the queen?" cried Buckingham, pouring all his thoughts and all his love into that question.

"I think not; nevertheless, I believe she is running some great danger from which Your Grace alone can save her."

"I?" cried Buckingham. "What! I should be happy enough to be of some use to her! Speak! Speak!"

"Take this letter," said d'Artagnan.

"This letter! From whom does this letter come?"

"From Her Majesty, I believe."

"From Her Majesty!" said Buckingham, growing so pale that d'Artagnan thought he was going to faint.

And he broke the seal.

"What is this tear?" he said, showing d'Artagnan a place where it was pierced through.

"Ah! ah!" said d'Artagnan, "I hadn't seen that; it was the Comte de Wardes' sword that made that fine cut by piercing my chest."

"You are wounded?" asked Buckingham, breaking the seal.

"Oh! nothing!" said d'Artagnan, "a scratch."

"Good Heavens! what do I read?" cried the duke. "Patrice, stay here, or rather rejoin the king wherever he may be, and tell His Majesty that I most humbly beg his pardon, but that an affair of the highest importance calls me back to London. Come, sir, come."

And both of them galloped back toward the capital.

CHAPTER 21. THE COUNTESS DE WINTER

All along the road, the duke had d'Artagnan tell him not all that had happened, but what d'Artagnan knew. By comparing what he had heard from the young man's lips with his own recollections, he was thus able to form a fairly accurate idea of a situation of whose gravity, moreover, the queen's letter, however short and unexplicit, gave him the measure. But what astonished him above all was that the cardinal, interested as he was in preventing the young man from setting foot in England, had not succeeded in stopping him on the way. It was then, and upon this expression of astonishment, that d'Artagnan told him of the precautions taken, and how, thanks to the devotion of his three friends whom he had left scattered and bleeding along the road, he had got off with only the sword thrust that had pierced the queen's note, and which he had repaid to M. de Wardes in such terrible coin. While listening to this story, told with the greatest simplicity, the duke looked at the young man from time to time with an astonished air, as if he could not understand how so much prudence, courage, and devotion could be allied with a face that had not yet seen twenty years.

The horses went like the wind, and in a few minutes they were at the gates of London. D'Artagnan had thought that on entering the city the duke would slacken his horse's pace, but this was not the case: he continued at full speed, caring little about knocking over those in his path. Indeed, while crossing the City, two or three accidents of this kind occurred; but Buckingham did not even turn his head to see what had become of those he had knocked down. D'Artagnan followed him amid cries that closely resembled curses.

On entering the courtyard of the mansion, Buckingham leaped from his horse, and without troubling himself about what would become of it, threw the bridle over its neck and bounded up the steps. D'Artagnan did the same, though with a little more concern for these noble animals whose merits he could appreciate; but he had the consolation of seeing three or four servants already rushing from the kitchens and stables to take charge of their mounts.

The duke walked so fast that d'Artagnan could hardly follow him. He passed successively through several drawing-rooms of an elegance of which the greatest noblemen of France had no idea, and finally came to a bedroom that was at once a miracle of taste and richness. In the alcove of this room was a door, hidden in the tapestry, which the duke opened with a small gold key that he wore around his neck on a chain of the same metal. Out of discretion, d'Artagnan had remained behind; but as Buckingham was crossing the threshold of this door, he turned around, and seeing the young man's hesitation, said:

"Come," he said, "and if you have the happiness to be admitted into Her Majesty's presence, tell her what you have seen."

Encouraged by this invitation, d'Artagnan followed the duke, who closed the door behind them.

Both then found themselves in a small chapel entirely hung with Persian silk embroidered with gold, ardently illuminated by a great number of candles. Above a kind of altar, and beneath a canopy of blue velvet surmounted by white and red plumes, was a full-length portrait of Anne of Austria, so perfectly lifelike that d'Artagnan uttered a cry of surprise: one would have thought the queen was about to speak.

On the altar, and below the portrait, was the casket containing the diamond studs.

The duke approached the altar, knelt as a priest might have done before Christ; then he opened the casket.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”