CHAPTER 15 – GOODBYE, D’ARTAGNAN
11:39 (Paris Time)
Sunday, June 25, 1673 ‘A’
French Army siege lines
Maastricht, Dutch United Provinces
King Louis XIV, as per his habit, was touring on his horse the siege lines of his army to help sustain the morale of his soldiers, ignoring the occasional cannonball fired in his direction from the fortified walls of the city of Maastricht. A number of his officers, musketeer guards and court nobles also accompanied him on his tour. While the officers and musketeers took the enemy fire in stride, like their king, many of the nobles of his suite only hid with difficulty their anxiety and fear, being more accustomed to the comfort and safety of the court than to the rigors and dangers of a war campaign. One of the rare nobles present to show no fear was funnily enough Philippe, Duke of Orléans and brother of the King. Despite his notorious homosexuality, his personal bravery was not disputed by anyone around the court. Another noble of the suite not showing fear was also the only woman of the group. Dressed in a male riding outfit and armed to the teeth, Nancy, Marquess of Saint-Laurent, made a lot of heads turn among the soldiers not familiar with the King’s court. However, her reputation among the royal court of being a very dangerous woman was well established after twenty years of clandestine missions, much of them outside of France. That reputation was however starting to be known in other countries as well, complicating her work to no small degree and forcing her to wear more and more often disguises during her missions. Her last such mission had in fact been a mere two months ago, when she had infiltrated Maastricht under disguise and had spied out the defensive preparations and capabilities of the fortress. She was thus very aware of how tough a nut Maastricht was to crack. She was also painfully aware of what was supposed to happen this very day during the siege but had managed to keep a straight face up to now.
As King Louis and his escort was stopped behind a French artillery battery to inspect it, a royal musketeer riding hard from the front lines halted his horse in front of the monarch and saluted him with his hat.
“Your Majesty, the Duke of Monmouth is about to assault again the enemy defensive works on the southwest side. A company of musketeers will be in support of his attack.”
King Louis, now a 36 year-old man in his prime, nodded with satisfaction at that news: James Scott, Duke of Monmouth and illegitimate son of his ally King Charles II of England, was a brave and capable military leader.
“Who is commanding the musketeers in that assault?”
“Count D’Artagnan is, Your Majesty.”
“Very well. You may return to your unit. Tell the men that I will be watching their assault.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Replied the musketeer, saluting again before turning his horse around and galloping away. King Louis then remounted his horse and looked at his followers.
“To the southwest trenches!”
He then pushed his horse to a gallop, not bothering to look behind him to see if his suite was following him. The members of the suite had however no choice but to follow, as any hesitation on the battlefield in front of their king would mean instant disgrace. Some of the court nobles however had a hard time keeping up, the king being a first class rider who could stay days on horseback without apparent fatigue. The royal troop galloped a good kilometer before stopping and dismounting behind the French and English trenches. Leaving his horse in the hands of a young musketeer, King Louis then marched towards the trenches, followed by his suite and by one musketeer bearing high the King’s colors. As the group was about to climb a small knoll overlooking the trenches and facing the enemy defensive works, a loud concert of war cries and musket shots broke out. The King went to a run at once and stopped after cresting the knoll, his standard bearer and Nancy close behind. As the rest of his followers joined him, many of them short of breath, Louis eyed the bloody but grandiose spectacle of hundreds of men rushing towards the enemy field works under a deluge of bullets and cannonballs. The clouds of white smoke from gunpowder however quickly obscured most of the field works, making it hard to follow the action. As the attack was still in full swing, with heavy shooting from both sides, a musket ball whizzed by the King’s head, while another ball struck squarely his standard bearer in the head, killing him instantly. Before the royal standard could fall to the ground, Nancy hurried to grab it and raised it again high. The King smiled and nodded to her then.
“Well done, Nancy.”
“It is the least I could do, Your Majesty, especially in view of the valor displayed by the soldiers fighting for you in this assault.”
Both of them then concentrated their attention on the ongoing assault, which was indeed turning into a very bloody affair. Forty minutes later, loud cheers from the assaulting troops told the King that the enemy position was in their hands.
“It is a true honor to command such brave men.” Said proudly Louis. He then watched as soldiers started coming back, carrying dozens of wounded comrades back to safety. Despite the position having been taken, enemy fire from the adjacent works was still heavy, making the task of carrying back the wounded a dangerous one indeed. Louis watched this with obvious sadness. Despite his feelings of personal grandeur, Louis honestly felt for the men who were serving him loyally. Staying visible and in sight of them, even if it meant attracting enemy fire, was the least he could do for them now. A musketeer sub-lieutenant climbed the knoll towards him fifteen minutes later, stopping in front of him and bowing while saluting with his hat.
“Your Majesty, the enemy works are in our hands. The Duke of Monmouth however report that he suffered heavy losses in the assault.”
“What about my musketeers?”
“We are still bringing back wounded men but our company suffered at least seventy men killed and many more wounded. Count D’Artagnan is missing as well, Your Majesty. A squad of men has gone back into the works to find him.”
Struck hard by that news, as D’Artagnan was one of his most loyal soldiers, King Louis eyed Nancy’s reaction. He was not surprised to see her break into tears at once and patted gently her shoulder.
“He is probably only wounded, Nancy. D’Artagnan is a hard man to kill. They will bring him back, you will see.”
“I want to go see by myself, Your Majesty.” Said resolutely Nancy despite her tears. “Permission to go forward.”
The King hesitated only for a second, then nodded once, shocking the men in his entourage.
“Granted! Be careful, Nancy.”
Nancy gave to a musketeer guard the standard she was holding, then ran down the knoll towards the trenches, followed by the sub-lieutenant of the musketeers. The soldiers she passed by once in the trenches couldn’t help look with stunned surprise at her but she ignored them, pressing forward towards the freshly captured enemy position. She however braked hard at the sight of a young musketeer whose face was blackened by gunpowder and whose sword was covered with blood.
“Charles, are you alright?”
Her son, a member of the King’s musketeers for the last three years, nodded wearily.
“I am a bit shook up but I’m alright, Mother. Father has not returned yet from the enemy works, though.”
“I know! I am going forward to find him.”
“Then I’m going with you!”
Knowing that trying to stop her son would be futile, Nancy didn’t reply to that and resumed her advance, Charles close behind her. They were about to enter the captured bastion when they encountered a group of six musketeers making their way back to the trenches. The six men were carrying the inert body of someone Nancy and Charles knew too well. Despite having known for decades that this would happen, Nancy nearly became hysterical with grief and held up the head of the man she had been loving for 22 years. A musket ball had pierced D’Artagnan’s throat and had probably killed him instantly.
“D’Artagnan, my love…” She said between sobs. Her son Charles, despite being as touched as her, then grabbed her left arm.
“Mother, please let them carry his body back to the trenches: balls are still flying thick around the position.”
It took a vigorous shake from him to return Nancy to reality. Still holding up D’Artagnan’s head, she walked back with the group of musketeers to the French trenches, where the body of the illustrious musketeer was finally laid down behind a cannon position. The musketeers present then removed their hats and bowed their heads, many having tears in their eyes as they grieved their fallen officer with Nancy and Charles. After a minute of silence, Charles looked sadly at Nancy and spoke softly.
“Mother, we will have to go back to the fighting now. I will leave you with Father.”
With tears still in her eyes, Nancy nodded softly at those words.
“Do your duty to France, Charles. I will care for D’Artagnan in the meantime. Please, be careful, my son.”
“I will, Mother.”
Charles and the other musketeers then walked away, heading back into the fighting. Now alone with the body of her lover, Nancy took out a handkerchief and her water flask and cleaned as best she could the blood smearing D’Artagnan’s neck and throat. She then gave him an ultimate kiss.
“Goodbye, my beloved D’Artagnan. History will remember you forever. I will remember you forever.”