The Cardinal's Blades

9

On Sundays and feast days, when the weather was fine, Parisians were happy to travel beyond the capital for their pleasure. Once past the faubourgs the country villages of Vanves, Gentilly, and Belleville, and the market towns of Meudon and Saint-Cloud offered hospitable inns where all could drink, dance, play bowls beneath the trees, or simply partake of the cool shade and fresh air. The atmosphere was joyful and people took liberties or, in the eyes of some, indulged in scandalous licence. And it is true that spontaneous revels of lovemaking at times took place there in the evenings, enlivened by wine and a desire to taste all of life’s pleasures. There being fewer customers during the week, these establishments then became retreats which were visited mainly for their tranquillity and the quality of their table-such as Le Petit Maure, in Vaugirard, renowned for its peas and strawberries.

Saint-Lucq and Bailleux had temporarily found refuge in one of these inns. Having jumped into the river through a window in the water mill where the notary had been held captive, they successfully escaped the cavaliers who had come to collect their prisoner but were also carried far from their horses by the current. Rather than turn back toward their enemies Saint-Lucq had decided they would continue on foot. They therefore walked for several hours through woods and across fields, scanning the horizon on constant lookout for signs of pursuit, and arrived, exhausted, at a village with a hostelry standing by its entrance.

For the time being Lucien Bailleux found himself alone in a room on the first floor. Sitting at a table laid for the purpose, he ate with a ferocious appetite born of three days’ captivity, poor treatment, and fasting. He was still in his nightshirt-the same one he had been wearing when he was dragged from his bed in the middle of the night. But at least he was clean, after his forced bath in the river. Thin, his face drawn, and his hair falling across his eyes, he looked exactly what he was: a survivor.

He gave a sharp, worried glance toward the door when Saint-Lucq entered without knocking. The half-blood brought a package of clothes which he threw onto the bed.

“For you. They belonged to a guest who left without paying.”

“Thank you.”

“I also found us two saddled horses,” continued Saint-Lucq, risking a quick glance out of the window. “Can you ride?”

“Uh… Yes. A little… You think the cavaliers are still after us?”

“I’m sure of it. They want you and they’ve not given up the fight… The bodies of the brigands I killed at the mill were still warm when they arrived and as a result, these cavaliers know they only missed us by a tiny margin. And if they found the horses I had planned to use in our flight, they also know there are two of us, and that we are on foot. They are no doubt scouring the countryside for us at this very moment.”

“But we’ll escape them, won’t we?”

“We’ll have a chance if we don’t delay. After all, they don’t know where we’re going.”

“To Paris?”

“Not before we’ve reclaimed that document. Not before we’ve put it in a safe place. Get dressed.”

A little later, Bailleux was just finishing dressing when he broke down. He dropped onto the bed, put his face in his hands, and burst into sobs.

“I… I don’t understand,” was all he managed to say.

“What?” said the stone-faced half-blood.

“Why me? Why has all this happened to me…? I’ve led the most orderly of lives. I studied and worked with my father before inheriting his position. I married the daughter of a colleague. I was a good son and I believe I am a good husband. I’m charitable and I pray. I conduct my business with honour and honesty. And in return, I have asked for nothing but to be allowed to live in peace… So why?”

“You opened the wrong testament. And, what is worse, you let that fact be known.”

“But it was my duty as a notary!”

“Undoubtedly.”

“It’s not fair.”

To that, Saint-Lucq did not reply.

From his point of view, there was no fairness in life. There were only strong men and weak ones, the rich and the poor, the wolves and the sheep, the living and the dead. That was how the world was, and how it would always be. Anything else was merely fiction.

He approached the notary in the hope of encouraging him to get a grip on himself. The notary rose suddenly and hugged him hard. The half-blood braced himself as the other spoke: “Thank you, monsieur. Thank you… I don’t know who you are, in truth. I don’t know who sent you… But without you… my God, without you…! Believe me when I say that you have my eternal regard, monsieur. There is nothing, from now on, that I could refuse you. You saved me. I owe you my life.”

Slowly but firmly, Saint-Lucq moved away from him.

Then, his hands resting on Bailleux’s shoulders, he gave him a shake and ordered: “Look at me, monsieur.”

The notary obeyed and the crimson spectacles returned his gaze.

“Do not thank me,” continued Saint-Lucq. “And do not trouble yourself any further with the question of who employs me, or why. I do what I do because I’m paid to. If I had been required to kill you, you would be dead. So never thank me again. My place is neither in sensational novels, nor in the chronicles of our times. I’m not a hero. I’m only a swordsman. Contrary to your opinion, I do not deserve anyone’s esteem.”

Initially incredulous, Bailleux was visibly hurt by this declaration.

Finally, still looking dazed, he nodded and pulled on the beret the half-blood had brought him.

“We should hurry,” concluded Saint-Lucq. “Each minute that passes is a minute lost.”

The notary left the room first and while he climbed gracelessly into the saddle in the courtyard the half-blood paused inside for a moment to pay the landlord and slip a few words into his ear. The man listened to his instructions attentively, then nodded and pocketed an additional piece of gold.

Less than half an hour after Saint-Lucq and Bailleux left, armed riders arrived. The landlord was waiting for them on the doorstep.