Twenty years after
“D’Artagnan, sire, the same who had so nearly rescued you when Colonel
Harrison made his untimely entrance.”
“You are, indeed, wonderful men,” said the king; “if such things had
been related to me I should not have believed them.”
“Now, sire,” resumed Aramis, “listen to me. Do not forget for a single
instant that we are watching over your safety; observe the smallest
gesture, the least bit of song, the least sign from any one near you;
watch everything, hear everything, interpret everything.”
“Oh, chevalier!” cried the king, “what can I say to you? There is no
word, though it should come from the profoundest depth of my heart,
that can express my gratitude. If you succeed I do not say that you
will save a king; no, in presence of the scaffold as I am, royalty, I
assure you, is a very small affair; but you will save a husband to his
wife, a father to his children. Chevalier, take my hand; it is that of
a friend who will love you to his last sigh.”
Aramis stooped to kiss the king’s hand, but Charles clasped his and
pressed it to his heart.
At this moment a man entered, without even knocking at the door. Aramis
tried to withdraw his hand, but the king still held it. The man was one
of those Puritans, half preacher and half soldier, who swarmed around
Cromwell.
“What do you want, sir?” said the king.
“I desire to know if the confession of Charles Stuart is at an end?”
said the stranger.
“And what is it to you?” replied the king; “we are not of the same
religion.”
“All men are brothers,” said the Puritan. “One of my brothers is about
to die and I come to prepare him.”
“Bear with him,” whispered Aramis; “it is doubtless some spy.”
“After my reverend lord bishop,” said the king to the man, “I shall
hear you with pleasure, sir.”
The man retired, but not before examining the supposed Juxon with an
attention which did not escape the king.
“Chevalier,” said the king, when the door was closed, “I believe you
are right and that this man only came here with evil intentions. Take
care that no misfortune befalls you when you leave.”
“I thank your majesty,” said Aramis, “but under these robes I have a
coat of mail, a pistol and a dagger.”
“Go, then, sir, and God keep you!”
The king accompanied him to the door, where Aramis pronounced his
benediction upon him, and passing through the ante-rooms, filled with
soldiers, jumped into his carriage and drove to the bishop’s palace.
Juxon was waiting for him impatiently.
“Well?” said he, on perceiving Aramis.
“Everything has succeeded as I expected; spies, guards, satellites, all
took me for you, and the king blesses you while waiting for you to
bless him.”
“May God protect you, my son; for your example has given me at the same
time hope and courage.”
Aramis resumed his own attire and left Juxon with the assurance that he
might again have recourse to him.
He had scarcely gone ten yards in the street when he perceived that he
was followed by a man, wrapped in a large cloak. He placed his hand on
his dagger and stopped. The man came straight toward him. It was
Porthos.
“My dear friend,” cried Aramis.
“You see, we had each our mission,” said Porthos; “mine was to guard
you and I am doing so. Have you seen the king?”
“Yes, and all goes well.”
“We are to meet our friends at the hotel at eleven.”
It was then striking half-past ten by St. Paul’s.
Arrived at the hotel it was not long before Athos entered.
“All’s well,” he cried, as he entered; “I have hired a cedar wherry, as
light as a canoe, as easy on the wing as any swallow. It is waiting for
us at Greenwich, opposite the Isle of Dogs, manned by a captain and
four men, who for the sum of fifty pounds sterling will keep themselves
at our disposition three successive nights. Once on board we drop down
the Thames and in two hours are on the open sea. In case I am killed,
the captain’s name is Roger and the skiff is called the _Lightning_. A
handkerchief, tied at the four corners, is to be the signal.”
Next moment D’Artagnan entered.
“Empty your pockets,” said he; “I want a hundred pounds, and as for my
own——” and he emptied them inside out.
The sum was collected in a minute. D’Artagnan ran out and returned
directly after.
“There,” said he, “it’s done. Ough! and not without a deal of trouble,
too.”
“Has the executioner left London?” asked Athos.
“Ah, you see that plan was not sure enough; he might go out by one gate
and return by another.”
“Where is he, then?”
“In the cellar.”
“The cellar—what cellar?”
“Our landlord’s, to be sure. Mousqueton is propped against the door and
here’s the key.”
“Bravo!” said Aramis, “how did you manage it?”
“Like everything else, with money; but it cost me dear.”
“How much?” asked Athos.
“Five hundred pounds.”
“And where did you get so much money?” said Athos. “Had you, then, that
sum?”
“The queen’s famous diamond,” answered D’Artagnan, with a sigh.
“Ah, true,” said Aramis. “I recognized it on your finger.”
“You bought it back, then, from Monsieur des Essarts?” asked Porthos.
“Yes, but it was fated that I should not keep it.”
“So, then, we are all right as regards the executioner,” said Athos;
“but unfortunately every executioner has his assistant, his man, or
whatever you call him.”
“And this one had his,” said D’Artagnan; “but, as good luck would have
it, just as I thought I should have two affairs to manage, our friend
was brought home with a broken leg. In the excess of his zeal he had
accompanied the cart containing the scaffolding as far as the king’s
window, and one of the crossbeams fell on his leg and broke it.”
“Ah!” cried Aramis, “that accounts for the cry I heard.”
“Probably,” said D’Artagnan, “but as he is a thoughtful young man he
promised to send four expert workmen in his place to help those already
at the scaffold, and wrote the moment he was brought home to Master Tom
Lowe, an assistant carpenter and friend of his, to go down to
Whitehall, with three of his friends. Here’s the letter he sent by a
messenger, for sixpence, who sold it to me for a guinea.”
“And what on earth are you going to do with it?” asked Athos.
“Can’t you guess, my dear Athos? You, who speak English like John Bull
himself, are Master Tom Lowe, we, your three companions. Do you
understand it _now?_”
Athos uttered a cry of joy and admiration, ran to a closet and drew
forth workmen’s clothes, which the four friends immediately put on;
they then left the hotel, Athos carrying a saw, Porthos a vise, Aramis
an axe and D’Artagnan a hammer and some nails.
The letter from the executioner’s assistant satisfied the master
carpenter that those were the men he expected.
Chapter LXV.
The Workmen.
Toward midnight Charles heard a great noise beneath his window. It
arose from blows of hammer and hatchet, clinking of pincers and
cranching of saws.
Lying dressed upon his bed, the noise awoke him with a start and found
a gloomy echo in his heart. He could not endure it, and sent Parry to
ask the sentinel to beg the workmen to strike more gently and not
disturb the last slumber of one who had been their king. The sentinel
was unwilling to leave his post, but allowed Parry to pass.
Arriving at the window Parry found an unfinished scaffold, over which
they were nailing a covering of black serge. Raised to the height of
twenty feet, so as to be on a level with the window, it had two lower
stories. Parry, odious as was this sight to him, sought for those among
some eight or ten workmen who were making the most noise; and fixed on
two men, who were loosening the last hooks of the iron balcony.
“My friends,” said Parry, mounting the scaffold and standing beside
them, “would you work a little more quietly? The king wishes to get a
sleep.”
One of the two, who was standing up, was of gigantic size and was
driving a pick with all his might into the wall, whilst the other,
kneeling beside him, was collecting the pieces of stone. The face of
the first was lost to Parry in the darkness; but as the second turned
around and placed his finger on his lips Parry started back in
amazement.
“Very well, very well,” said the workman aloud, in excellent English.
“Tell the king that if he sleeps badly to-night he will sleep better
to-morrow night.”
These blunt words, so terrible if taken literally, were received by the
other workmen with a roar of laughter. But Parry withdrew, thinking he
was dreaming.
Charles was impatiently awaiting his return. At the moment he
re-entered, the sentinel who guarded the door put his head through the
opening, curious as to what the king was doing. The king was lying on
his bed, resting on his elbow. Parry closed the door and approaching
the king, his face radiant with joy:
“Sire,” he said, in a low voice, “do you know who these workmen are who
are making so much noise?”
“I? No; how would you have me know?”
Parry bent his head and whispered to the king: “It is the Comte de la
Fère and his friends.”
“Raising my scaffold!” cried the king, astounded.
“Yes, and at the same time making a hole in the wall.”
The king clasped his hands and raised his eyes to Heaven; then leaping
down from his bed he went to the window, and pulling aside the curtain
tried to distinguish the figures outside, but in vain.
Parry was not wrong. It was Athos he had recognized, and Porthos who
was boring a hole through the wall.
This hole communicated with a kind of loft—the space between the floor
of the king’s room and the ceiling of the one below it. Their plan was
to pass through the hole they were making into this loft and cut out
from below a piece of the flooring of the king’s room, so as to form a
kind of trap-door.
Through this the king was to escape the next night, and, hidden by the
black covering of the scaffold, was to change his dress for that of a
workman, slip out with his deliverers, pass the sentinels, who would
suspect nothing, and so reach the skiff that was waiting for him at
Greenwich.
Day gilded the tops of the houses. The aperture was finished and Athos
passed through it, carrying the clothes destined for the king wrapped
in black cloth, and the tools with which he was to open a communication
with the king’s room. He had only two hours’ work to do to open
communication with the king and, according to the calculations of the
four friends, they had the entire day before them, since, the
executioner being absent, another must be sent for to Bristol.
D’Artagnan returned to change his workman’s clothes for his
chestnut-colored suit, and Porthos to put on his red doublet. As for
Aramis, he went off to the bishop’s palace to see if he could possibly
pass in with Juxon to the king’s presence. All three agreed to meet at
noon in Whitehall Place to see how things went on.
Before leaving the scaffold Aramis had approached the opening where
Athos was concealed to tell him that he was about to make an attempt to
gain another interview with the king.
“Adieu, then, and be of good courage,” said Athos. “Report to the king
the condition of affairs. Say to him that when he is alone it will help
us if he will knock on the floor, for then I can continue my work in
safety. Try, Aramis, to keep near the king. Speak loud, very loud, for
they will be listening at the door. If there is a sentinel within the
apartment, kill him without hesitation. If there are two, let Parry
kill one and you the other. If there are three, let yourself be slain,
but save the king.”
“Be easy,” said Aramis; “I will take two poniards and give one to
Parry. Is that all?”
“Yes, go; but urge the king strongly not to stand on false generosity.
While you are fighting if there is a fight, he must flee. The trap once
replaced over his head, you being on the trap, dead or alive, they will