The Cardinal's Blades

2

In bed a little earlier than usual, Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu was reading when he heard the scratch at the door. Candles were burning and on this cold spring night a huge, greedy log fire burned in the hearth. Of the three secretaries who shared the cardinal’s chamber, always ready to take down a letter by dictation or to provide the care which their master’s failing health required, two slept on trestle beds arranged against the walls while the third stayed awake on a chair. This one rose, and after a nod from His Eminence, opened the door slightly, then wider still.

A Capuchin monk in his fifties entered. Dressed in a grey robe and shod in sandals, he silently approached the grand four-poster bed in which Richelieu was sitting, his back propped up against pillows to allay the pain in his back.

“This missive has just arrived from Ratisbonne,” he said, presenting a letter. “No doubt you would like to read it before tomorrow.”

Born Francois-Joseph Leclerc du Tremblay, and known to the world as Pere Joseph, he was of a noble family and had received a solid military education before joining the Capuchins at the age of twenty-two, by religious vocation. A reformer of his order and also founder of the Filles du Calvaire congregation of nuns, he had distinguished himself through his zeal and his sermons to the royal court. But above all, he was the famous “Grey Eminence,” the most intimate and influential of Richelieu’s confederates, to whom His Eminence was prepared to entrust certain affairs of state. He sometimes took part in the deliberations of the king’s Council and later became a minister of the Crown in his own right. A sincere friendship, a mutual high esteem, and a shared view on the policies needed to counter Habsburg influence in Europe united the two men.

Closing his copy of Plutarch’s Lives, the cardinal took the missive and thanked him.

“There is one other thing,” said Pere Joseph.

Richelieu waited, then understood and ordered his secretaries out. When the one who was on duty had wakened and accompanied his colleagues into the next room, the monk took a chair and the cardinal said: “I’m listening.”

“I would like to speak to you again about your… Blades.”

“I thought this matter was settled between us.”

“I yielded to you without being persuaded by all of your arguments.”

“You know that men of such temper will soon be necessary to France-”

“There are other men beside these.”

Richelieu smiled.

“Not so many. And when you say ‘these,’ you’re thinking ‘him,’ aren’t you?”

“It is true that I have little love for monsieur de la Fargue. He is inflexible and has disobeyed you too often.”

“Really?”

Pere Joseph launched into a rapid inventory, ticking each item off on his fingers.

“To refresh your memory: in Cologne, in Breda, and in Bohemia. And I’ve not even mentioned the disaster at La Rochelle-”

“If La Rochelle was torn from the bosom of France to become a Protestant republic, I do not think that the responsibility can be laid at Captain La Fargue’s door. After all, if the dam we built had resisted the force of the ocean tides for a few more days, the outcome would be quite different today… As for the other events you mention, I believe that La Fargue only ‘forgot’ his orders when doing so increased the chances of his mission’s success.”

“He will always be headstrong. He is one of those men who never change.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Pere Joseph sighed, reflected a moment, and then returned to his argument: “And what do you think will happen when La Fargue uncovers the secret motives behind the task we are about to confer on him? He will feel deceived and, in view of his grievances against you, he could be tempted to ruin everything. If he stumbles across the comte de Pontevedra’s true identity-!”

“He would have to stumble across the comte’s existence first.”

“He will, without question. Your Blades are spies as much as they are soldiers. They have no end of craftiness and imagination, and we have seen them unravel far more complicated knots than this.”

It was His Eminence’s turn to utter a sigh.

“If it comes to that, we shall take the necessary measures… For the moment, what matters is that this mission is vital for France. And for reasons with which you are well acquainted, the Blades are the ones best able to carry it out successfully-as well as the ones who must be prevented from learning about this cabal…”

“A curious paradox.”

“Yesterday I told the captain that I do not always have a choice of weapons. It’s very true. In this business, the Blades are the weapon which I must employ. Spain has set her conditions. I have preferred to give her some degree of satisfaction rather than seeing her harm us.”

Pere Joseph nodded resignedly.

“You’re tired,” continued the cardinal in a solicitous, almost affectionate, tone. “Take some rest, my friend.”

In the Palais-Cardinal the monk’s chamber was next to Richelieu’s. Pere Joseph glanced at the door leading to it.

“Yes,” he said. “You’re right.”

“And if it helps you sleep, remember that we are speaking of a ship that has already set sail and cannot be recalled to port.”

Pere Joseph look puzzled.

“At this very moment,” explained the cardinal, “Rochefort is briefing La Fargue on the details of his assignment.”

“So the dice are thrown.”