1636: The Cardinal Virtues (26 page)

Chapter 34

June, 1636

Luçon

Jean d’Aubisson had always been the youngest, the newest, the least experienced member of the Cardinal’s Guard; but in the last few months, that status had actually been an asset. Without the uniform, he was just another soldier in Paris, a member of some company or regiment, not of the most well-known one in the capital—which was just as well: most of the Guardsmen had disappeared from Paris, or had wound up in the brand-new prison of l’Abbaye, near Saint-Germain-des-Prés. It was said that the king was looking out for prominent members of the Guard, because he was certain that Cardinal Richelieu was somewhere building up a power base. The word that passed from man to man, from tavern to tavern, was that King Gaston was frustrated and angry that they were largely nowhere to be seen.

D’Aubisson knew where the missing Guardsmen had gone; and d’Aubisson, as the youngest and newest and—by extension—least well known member of the Guard, had been able to remain in Paris in service to the cardinal de Tremblay. He was just another face in the crowd—a
gentilhomme
bringing his master a cup of wine, attending to his cloak and holding a cover over his head in foul weather, running errands.

But with the coronation of King Gaston now past, and the feast of Pentecost done, it was time for him to follow the others.

◊ ◊ ◊

“Welcome, little brother, welcome!”

Jean d’Aubisson had no sooner dismounted than he was wrapped in a bear hug and surrounded by a half-dozen men. They were not dressed in any particular uniform, but they carried themselves as fighting men. He knew a few of them—Louis-Marie, Therrien, Guillaume—but there were several who were strangers.

It was well past vespers, dark and quiet. The group of Cardinal’s Guards escorted d’Aubisson through the quiet courtyard to the entrance to the chapter-house of
Notre-Dame-de-l’Assomption
, the cathedral church of Luçon.

“Is that a beard I see, Jean?” Therrien asked. “You look like you’ve aged a year since—”

The older Guardsman did not finish his sentence. The last time they’d seen each other was when d’Aubisson had ridden out of Paris with his king and Cardinal Richelieu.

“I feel as if I’m much older.”

“Well, you’re not a boy anymore, are you,” Therrien said. “No more than we are.”

“And no less.”

“
Oui
, that’s true,” Therrien answered. “Now. You’re here in time, lad. Best get dressed.”

“Dressed?”

Therrien accompanied him into an alcove dimly lit by torches, where a dozen Cardinal’s Guard uniforms hung in neat rows.

“You know,” Jean said, running his hand along the sleeve of one of the uniform blouses, “when I was a young page—”

“Not so long ago,” Therrien said, undoing his vest.

“Not so long ago,” Jean continued. “When I was a page, and I saw men going about the city in the uniform of the Cardinal’s Guard, I wanted more than anything to be one of them. They were feared—but they were respected.”

He took a hat from a shelf and looked at it, turning it so that its gold edging caught the light.

“And now it means nothing,” he said after a moment. “The Cardinal’s Guard. Our time is gone.”

“Right and wrong, young Jean,” Therrien said. He pulled his blouse off and picked up the uniform one, and began to shrug it over his shoulders. “Our time
has
gone. But it does not mean nothing. You are here because of what it means.”

Once dressed, the half-dozen Guardsmen who had accompanied Jean d’Aubisson formed a small procession to walk along the ambulatory between the chapter house and the nave of the cathedral. Each was dressed in the uniform of the Cardinal’s Guard; each carried a red beeswax candle.

As they entered the church, Jean could see that there were dozens more waiting, each in uniform and each holding a candle. The nave was dark but for them, the few votive candles in the side-alcoves, and the candles on the high altar. They joined the line, three to one side and four to the other.

From the rear of the church a small procession began to move toward the altar. It was led by an acolyte bearing a censer, from which he aspersed incense; two others carried staves topped by crosses, and yet another bore a silken pillow that held the ducal coronet.

Behind them was the abbot of Luçon, and behind him Joseph François LeClerc, Cardinal de Tremblay, dressed in the habit of a Capuchin friar. Abbot and cardinal looked neither right nor left. In the flickering light of the church, Jean could see tears on many of the faces of the Guardsmen, looking straight ahead; he assumed that the clergymen noticed it too.

From above, the choir softly intoned the introit
: “Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine; et lux perpetua luceat eis.” Eternal rest give to them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them.
When they reached the front of the line of Guardsmen, they parted: two acolytes and Tremblay to the left, two others and the abbot to the right. There was no bier, of course: Cardinal Richelieu had died weeks ago, and only persistent rumor and the king’s paranoia had kept him alive. Instead, a stand bearing a portrait of Richelieu in his full episcopal garb had been placed at the crossing of the nave and transept.

“‘Cast thy care upon the Lord,’” the abbot said, when the introit had been sung. “‘He shall sustain thee.’ In death is there life eternal; and those who shall give themselves over to God will be sustained by Him, and brought forth from the grave to sit at His Right Hand.

“Grant him eternal rest, O Lord,” he continued. “Thou art praised in Sion: and unto Thee shall the vow be performed in Jerusalem. Thou that hearest prayer, unto Thee shall all flesh come.”

The acolyte with the censer slowly moved forward, swinging it back and forth over the portrait.

“O God, whose property is always to have mercy and forgive, we humbly pray Thee on behalf of thy servant Armand Jean which Thou hast commanded to depart out of this world; deliver it not into the hands of the enemy, nor forget it at the last, but command it to be received by the holy angels, and to be carried into the land of the living; and forasmuch as he hoped and believed in Thee, let him be accounted worthy to rejoice in the communion of Thy saints.”

“Glory be to God,” the Guardsmen intoned, and it was echoed in the choir.

“I would not have you be ignorant, my brothers in Christ. Comfort one another with these words. ‘For we believe that Jesus died and rose again: even so them who have slept through Jesus, will God bring with him. For this we say unto you in the word of the Lord, that we who are alive, who remain unto the coming of the Lord, shall not prevent them who have slept. For the Lord himself shall come down from heaven with commandment and with the voice of an archangel and with the trumpet of God: and the dead who are in Christ shall rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, shall be taken up together with them in the clouds to meet Christ, into the air: and so shall we be always with the Lord.

“We gather here tonight in the presence of the Almighty to give thanks for the life of a true servant of the One True Faith, a prince of the Church and a child of God. Armand Jean du Plessis, Cardinal-Duke de Richelieu et de Fronsac, walked upon this earth for fifty years and seven months; at the age of twenty, he took vows as a Carthusian monk, and two years later was consecrated here as Bishop of Luçon.

“For nearly twenty years our good bishop was a loyal and trusted servant of the king of France, of the Holy Father, and of the good people he served. In the fullness of time he would have done even greater things in their service, but a cruel fate was visited upon him. Now he has gone to the land where there is no pain, no strife and no cruelty. As the apostle assures us, those who remain faithful in the Lord shall be taken up on the last day.

“As the psalmist says: ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me, O Lord.’”

“Thy rod and Thy staff comfort me,” the Guardsmen and choir responded.

“Grant your servant, O Lord, eternal rest, and let light perpetual shine upon him. His soul shall dwell at ease. We ask in the name of your son Jesus Christ, King of Glory, that you deliver the souls of all the faithful departed from the hand of hell, and from the deep pit: from the lion’s mouth and the blackness of darkness. Let Saint Michael the Standard-bearer bring them into the holy light which you promised of old to Abraham and his seed.”

“For ever and ever, world without end, Amen,” the Guardsmen replied.

“Accept, we beseech you, O Lord, merciful Father, the oblation which we offer unto Thee on behalf of thy servant Armand, whom Thou hast delivered from the corruption of the flesh; and grant that he may be restored and absolved from all the errors of this mortal state, and in eternal rest may await the day of resurrection.”

“Let light perpetual shine upon him. Grant unto thee, O Lord, in memory of whom the Blood of Christ is received, eternal rest.”

“Grant, we beseech Thee, Almighty God, that the soul of Thy servant Armand, may be received by the angels of light, and carried to the habitations prepared for the blessed.”

◊ ◊ ◊

After the mass was done and the Guardsmen had filed out singing, Jean and Therrien returned to the sanctuary. One of the alcoves held a shrine to the Blessed Virgin, and the two Guardsmen knelt on the hassock and prayed quietly for some time.

“What will we do now?” Jean asked at last.

Therrien crossed himself. “I’m not sure what
I’m
going to do. There is no more
we
, my friend . . . Perhaps I’ll go home. Gascony. It’s beautiful in the summertime.”

“I’m from Paris,” Jean said. “My mother and her sisters were from there. I’m not sure I have any place to go.”

“You could stay with the old crow, I suppose.”

“Cardinal de Tremblay?”

“That’s the old crow I was talking about, yes. Haven’t you been his manservant, or messenger, or some such? The last of us to leave the city to come here, to say goodbye to the cardinal. Why don’t you go on doing that?”

“I don’t think it’s even safe for him anymore in Paris. So . . . you mean that we’re just going to go our separate ways.”

“There’s no reason to stay.” Therrien made to rise, but Jean grabbed him by the arm.

“There’s
every
reason to stay. The man who killed our cardinal is still walking abroad, safe and in service to the new king. To the usurper.”

“First,” Therrien said, shrugging off Jean’s grasp and getting to his feet, “the man you’re talking about is a peer of the realm, a prince of the Blood. And second, those are dangerous words. Even coming here, tonight, is dangerous: if the ‘new king’ has spies among us, he will now know the truth. His bitterest enemy, his brother’s minister, is in the ground and food for worms. If you don’t want to join him straightaway, I suggest you find somewhere else to be.”

Therrien genuflected and crossed himself again. “The Blessed Virgin may protect you and light your way, my friend. But you’ll find more safety in becoming someone’s
créature
—the old crow, or someone else.”

“You know,” a voice said from behind, coming slowly into the light from the Virgin’s
prie-dieu
, “I think I could become weary of being called the ‘old crow.’”

Cardinal de Tremblay came into view, his face etched in flickering light and shadow, partially hidden by the hood of his Capuchin robe. Jean scrambled to his feet, while Therrien took a step back.

“I beg your pardon, Eminence,” he managed to say. “I didn’t know you were there—I didn’t mean—”

“I suspect, young man, that you meant exactly what you said: that associating oneself with a new patron is the best course, and that I am a possible choice. But you must keep this final secret: that you know nothing of the whereabouts of Cardinal Richelieu. As indeed you do not—this was not a funeral mass, but rather a requiem and offertory. We come not to bury Caesar, but to praise him.” Tremblay smiled. “Shakespeare so often knew the right words to say, even if he showed poor taste by writing them in English.”

“You have my word as a C—” Therrien began, then stopped. “As a gentleman.”

“I promise as well,” Jean said.

“That is good enough for me. Now.
Requiescat in Pace
to my old friend—and
pax vobiscum
to you, and to the rest of your brethren. As for you, my son,” Tremblay said, placing his hand on Jean d’Aubusson’s shoulder, “if you are willing to take the risk, you would be welcome to continue in my service.”

“Eminence, I would be honored.”

◊ ◊ ◊

At matins, the quiet, empty church was dark, but for the lights on the altar and the flickering of the presence lamps in the side chapels. Tremblay knelt, his eyes well adjusted to the dimness; the Blessed Virgin gazed down at him beneficently, her hands spread in a blessing, her face etched by the intermittent light.

He had been told by the brother who had attended Richelieu in his final hours that the man had never given in to his injuries, though he knew they were mortal; at last, soothed by the monk’s ministrations, he had drifted into a painful sleep, apparently troubled by dreams. His last words, whispered during some moment of lucidity, had been, “Armand—Armand for the king.” But Tremblay had not seen the body, of course—that was weeks ago in any case.

The prayers he had offered were not to be answered, if what the monk had told him was true. He had come to accept that; the outcome he most wanted, the blessing he most ardently sought, was beyond the capacity of the Blessed Mother or her Divine Son to grant. Death for a simple mortal, even one so exalted as his former master, was a final judgment. It was a final grace as well, perhaps, for Cardinal Richelieu had endured illness and pain in his service to his king, now also beyond the mortal pale. The last chapter of their deeds on earth had been written.

It would not be beyond him to have arranged all of this . . .
Tremblay thought, but dismissed it; all that he had heard suggested that even the great Cardinal Richelieu could not have escaped death, nor avoided detection.

And surely
, he added,
he would have tried to contact me.