The Cardinal's Blades

"Pff. . . . What harm did I do? . . . And anyway, I only caught a brief glimpse of a silhouette in the corner of a very dark corridor. He could have shook hands with me without my recognising him."

Brussand, still absorbed by his game, smoothed his salt-and-pepper moustache without comment, then with an air of satisfaction laid the wyvern of spades, which had appeared at the opportune moment, upon the previously troublesome knave of hearts.

"All these mysteries intrigue me," Neuvelle blurted.

"They shouldn't."

"Really? And why is that?"

Although he gave no sign, Brussand, unlike his young companion, had noticed Laincourt's discreet arrival.

"Would you explain it to him, monsieur de Laincourt?"

"Certainly, monsieur de Brussand."

Neuvelle watched Laincourt, who turned a page and said: "Accept that there are secrets into which it is better not to pry, nor even to pretend to have stumbled across. It can prove to be harmful. To your career, of course. But also to your health."

"You mean to say that—"

"Yes. I mean to say exactly that."

Neuvelle mustered a weak smile.

"Go on! You're trying to frighten me."

"Precisely. And for your own good, believe me."

"But I'm a member of the Guards!"

'litis time, Laincourt lifted his eyes from his book. And smiled.

Neuvelle wore his scarlet cape with a mixture of confidence and pride, convinced, not without reason, that he was protected to the same degree that he had been promoted. Because he entrusted his life to them, Richelieu chose all his guards personally. He wanted them to be gentlemen of at least twenty-five years in age, and required most of them to have served for three years in the army. Perfectly trained and equipped, subjected to an iron discipline, they were a company of elite horsemen. The cardinal preferred them by far to the company of musketeers—foot soldiers—that he also maintained and which recruited professional soldiers from the ranks of ordinary folk. And he rewarded his guards for their devotion by extending his protection to them in turn.

However . . .

"To be in the Guards, Neuvelle, is an honour which particularly exposes you to dangers that the common run of people do not even suspect—or which they exaggerate, which amounts to the same thing. We are like the fire dogs before a hearth which holds an eternal flame. This blazing fire is the cardinal. We defend him, but if you draw too near, you risk being burned. Serve His Eminence faithfully. Die for him if circumstances require it. Nevertheless, only listen to what he wishes you to hear. See only that which you are given to see. Guess only at what you are supposed to understand. And be quick to forget the rest."

His tirade complete, Laincourt peacefully returned to his reading.

He believed the matter was settled, but still Neuvelle persisted.

"But you—"

The ensign frowned.

"Yes?"

"I mean ..."

Searching for words, Neuvelle's eyes implored for help from Brussand, who rewarded him with a black look in reply. The young guard suddenly understood that he had ventured into territory which was delicate, if not dangerous. He would have given a great deal to have been suddenly transported elsewhere and was very relieved when Laincourt chose another target.

"Monsieur de Brussand, have you spoken to monsieur de Neuvelle about me?"

The interested party shrugged his shoulders, as though excusing himself.

"We're often bored, when we're on guard."

"And what have you said?"

"On my word, I said what everyone says."

"Which is?"

Brussand took a breath.

"Which is that you had intended to become a lawyer, before the cardinal noticed you. That you joined the ranks of his personal secretaries. That he soon entrusted you with confidential missions. That on one of these missions you left France for two years and, when you returned, you took the cape and the rank of ensign. There. That's everything."

"Ah . . ." said Arnaud de Laincourt without betraying any emotion.

There was a silence in which he seemed to reflect on what he had heard.

Finally, with a vague glance, he nodded.

Laincourt returned to his reading while Neuvelle found other things to do elsewhere and Brussand began a new game of patience. A few minutes passed, and then the veteran guard blurted out: "To you, and you alone, Laincourt, I would say—"

"What is it?"

"I know who His Eminence received last night. I saw his outline as he was leaving, and I recognised him. His name is La Fargue."

"This name means nothing to me," said Laincourt.

"At one time, he commanded a troop of highly trusted men and carried out secret missions on the cardinal's behalf. They were called, in a whisper, the Cardinal's Blades. Then there was some nasty business during the siege of La Rochelle. I don't know the details but it brought about the disappearance

of the Blades. Until last night, I had believed they were permanently disbanded. But now—"

Arnaud de Laincourt closed his book.