The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3) (21 page)

Drawing a long breath, she summoned up her craft and said indifferently, ‘Oh well.
 
If you say so.’
 
Then, half-turning and managing a flippant smile, ‘And I suppose having two gallants upstairs could come in useful.
 
At need, they might even frighten off the Marquis d’Auxerre.’

*
 
*
 
*

After taking formal leave of Marshall Turenne, Ashley returned to Paris and went directly to see the King – now once more inhabiting the Louvre.
 
Charles received him in a vast, dilapidated salon where one small fire fought a losing battle with the damp and the draughts.
 
Ashley bowed and then said bitterly, ‘My God, Sir – do you
have
to live in this mausoleum?’

‘Awful, isn’t it?’ grinned Charles.
 
‘There’s moth in the hangings, worm in the furniture and rot in the floorboards.
 
Father would have had a fit.’

‘And Her Majesty, your mother?’

‘Has them constantly.’ And, waving the Colonel into a chair near the pitiful fire, ‘What’s on your mind?
 
I don’t suppose you’re here just to cheer me up.’

‘As it happens, I was rather hoping to cheer us both up.’

‘Ah.’
 
Dropping into the other chair and hooking one long leg over its arm, Charles regarded his visitor with mild foreboding.
 
‘You want to talk me into sanctioning something no one else will sanction.
 
Yes?’

A smile touched the green eyes.
 
‘Yes.’

‘I thought so.
 
You don’t change much, do you?’

‘I change more than you think, Sir.
 
And I’m not the only one.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Meaning that we’ve been licking our wounds for nearly a year and that if we want to salvage anything from the wreckage, we ought to be doing so before it’s too late. Think about it, Sir.
 
Ireland surrendered to Cromwell three months ago and Scotland’s likely to go the same way very soon. Your friends in England have been left to try and make the best of a bad job.
 
Given long enough, they’ll succeed. As to your friends here, they’re living hand-to-mouth, without either purpose or hope.
 
Another year like the last and they’ll either be so dissolute or disillusioned that they’ll be useless to you.’
 
Ashley paused.
 
‘I know our resources are limited – but we ought at least to be
trying
.
 
If we don’t, the day will come when we won’t have a man left worth counting on.’

‘Including yourself?’

‘Perhaps.
 
Sir, I could name you at least three fellows who’ve taken to the bottle and a couple of others who spend their time picking fights.
 
Major Langley is turning into a confirmed gamester – which, given the company he’s keeping, is likely to result in someone sticking a knife in his back one dark night.
 
I call that a damned waste.’

The dark brows rose and Charles said, ‘So what are you suggesting?
 
That I start a hare purely for the purpose of giving the out-of-work soldiery employment?’

‘No, Sir.’
 
Ashley battened down a flicker of irritation and his voice, though cool, was perfectly level.
 
‘But I do think that – after the years of service these men have given to your father and yourself – they deserve some consideration.’

Flushing slightly, Charles left his chair and paced off across the room.
 
Over his shoulder, he said curtly, ‘Do you think I don’t know that?
 
But I’m not my own master.
 
I’m just a piece on a chessboard.
 
All my moves are dictated by knights and bishops and queens, in a stream of never-ending advice.
 
God!
 
I can’t even sneeze without weighing the consequences.’
 
He swung round to face the Colonel and added explosively, ‘Do you think I’m not sick of it, too?
 
But when you don’t even own the clothes on your back, it’s a bit difficult to formulate any grand plans.’

There was a long pause.
 
Finally, Ashley said, ‘So your hands are tied.
 
But what if they weren’t?’

Charles gave a bitter laugh.

‘That’s just the trouble.
 
I can’t field an army without foreign help and that help isn’t forthcoming.
 
The Dutch are busy fighting Cromwell at sea – not for me, but because the Commonwealth insists on searching their cargo vessels for French goods and expects them to dip their flags every time they catch sight of the English Navy. Spain and France are still locked in a struggle the rest of Europe finally put behind it four years ago.
 
Spain, of course, recognised the Commonwealth like a shot and though Mazarin’s so far refused – and had his envoy tossed out of Whitehall as a result – I think he’ll give way before the year is out rather than end up fighting on another front while he’s still got Spain nipping at his backside.
 
So who is there, do you suppose, with either the interest or the motive to help the beggar-King take back his own?’

‘The beggar-King’s followers,’ replied Ashley quietly, ‘because they’ve nothing to lose and everything to gain.
 
Also, perhaps a few of your former enemies who are now dissatisfied with everything from trade to the absence of Christmas and Sunday football.’

‘Dissatisfied enough to budge from their hearths?’

‘As yet, probably not.
 
But since we’re not in a position to issue a call to arms, that hardly matters.
 
What
does
matter is nourishing the support Your Majesty already has, whilst exploiting the difficulties and divisions of your enemies.
 
Two sides of the same coin.’

Charles sighed.
 
‘I’m sorry, Ash.
 
It’s too --’
 
He broke off as the door opened to admit Sir William Brierley and then, with relief, said, ‘Perfect timing, Will.’

‘Thank you, Sir.
 
Sadly, however, I came to inform you that the Queen, your mother, desires your presence.
 
And I should add that she has La Grande Mademoiselle with her.’

‘In which case,’ responded Charles dryly, ‘I won’t hurry.
 
Meanwhile, perhaps you can convince our friend here that it’s too soon to start canvassing support again at home.’

‘Far too soon,’ agreed Sir William, advancing towards the fire. ‘His Majesty’s loyal subjects in England are busy keeping their heads down and their mouths shut.
 
In short, Ashley, you can go to England, if you like – but no one is going to let you past the front door.’

‘You can’t be sure of that.’

‘Unfortunately, I can – and have numerous letters to prove it.’
 
He paused and then added, ‘I know how you feel – really, I do.
 
But the time for action is not yet.
 
I’m afraid you’re just going to have to be patient.’

‘I’ve
been
patient!’
 
snapped Ashley.
 
And, belatedly remembering the presence of his sovereign, ‘I’m sorry, Sir.
 
I just can’t --’

Charles held up one long-fingered hand.

‘I know.
 
And as soon as there’s work to be done, you’ll be the first to hear it.
 
But brow-beating Ned Hyde and myself won’t make it happen any quicker.’

Colonel Peverell drew a long breath and released it.
 
‘No, Sir.’

‘Upon which note,’ said the King, ‘I shall go and try charming Mademoiselle into buying me an army.
 
It won’t work, of course.
 
But I draw the line at marrying the woman.’
 

As Charles left the room, Sir William awarded Ashley an acid-edged smile.

‘You see, my dear?
 
We all have our crosses to bear.’

‘I’m well-aware of that but --’

‘Do you know, Ashley … I don’t somehow think that you are.
 
But let us not quarrel.
 
Instead, let’s remove ourselves from this depressing place and find a tavern.
 
I suggest you spend a couple of nights at my lodging.’

‘That’s tempting – but what of Louise?’

‘Louise,’ said Will, in a tone defying either interpretation or question, ‘has decamped in search of better prospects.
 
And so, like you, I am in need of a diversion.
 
Luckily, I know just the fellow to supply it.’

Sir William’s idea of a diversion turned out to be an alarmingly clever fellow with a quick temper, a wild sense of humour and a very large nose.
 
A man Ashley had heard much about but never previously met – and close acquaintance with whom, he later suspected, could take years off a man’s life.
 
In short, it was Cyrano de Bergerac.

Towards the end of the third bottle, this gentleman announced that they must go to the H
ô
tel de Bourgogne.
 
Ashley squinted at him and remarked that, if they
had
to see a play, he’d sooner go to the Marais.

‘But no, my friend,’ said Cyrano firmly. ‘I have business at the Bourgogne tonight.
 
They are staging my new comedy,
Le P
é
dant Jou
é
.
 
Last night, Montfleury mangled his role so badly that I ordered him to stay off the stage for a month while he learns his lines.
 
Sadly, he hasn’t taken me seriously.
 
And so, we go to the Bourgogne.’

All of Paris appeared to know of Montfleury’s intention to perform. The theatre was full to bursting and the atmosphere was one of gleeful anticipation which rose to a positive zenith of excitement when Cyrano strolled in half-way through the first act.

 
Ashley glanced at Sir William and murmured, ‘Is this really necessary?’

‘Yes.
 
Apart from making up the words as he goes along, Montfleury is as stiff as our sovereign lord’s cock.’

With every step Cyrano took, more and more voices fell silent until a deathly hush spread throughout the entire theatre while, on the stage, Montfleury gradually faltered to a stop, mid-sentence.
 
Smiling, Cyrano hoisted himself on to the boards and advanced, implacably but without haste, until he was nose to nose with the quivering actor.

‘I warned you,’ he remarked calmly.
 
‘You should have listened.’
 

And picking Montfleury up by the collar of his coat, Cyrano dropped him in the pit.

The wits howled with laughter and, within seconds, were passing the unfortunate man hand-to-hand over their heads to the door.
 

‘Play the role yourself, Cyrano!’ shouted somebody; and suddenly it became a chant. ‘Go on – play it yourself!’

De Bergerac held up a hand for silence and eventually got it.
 

‘No, no, my friends.
 
You have already had as much entertainment as is justified in the price of your ticket.’
 
He tilted his head and thought for a moment. ‘However … perhaps a brief ode?’

The pit roared its approval and, with a mocking bow, Cyrano embarked on a cripplingly funny extemporisation of Montfleury’s shortcomings.
 
By the time he was done, Ashley’s stomach hurt.

Sailing out into the street some time later, the three of them drank some more and got into two fights.
 
Ashley ended up with skinned knuckles and a graze on one cheek.
 
It was not, he reflected blearily, a good long-term solution for boredom.
 
Or not if he wanted to see his next birthday.

*
 
*
 
*

Returning to his lodgings two days later than expected, he walked in to find all their gear packed in a neat heap and the room once more reduced to its original dismal state.
 
Raising an enquiring brow, he said, ‘Are we going somewhere?’

‘Yes,’ replied Francis coldly.

‘Voluntarily – or the other way?’

‘Does it matter?

‘I suppose not.’
 
Ashley paused and, when Francis continued to look icily aggrieved, said, ‘All right.
 
Spit it out and let’s have done with it.
 
I’m not in the mood for --’

‘
Bleedin
’ hell,’ remarked Jem Barker from the doorway.
 
‘Been busy as a body-louse, ain’t you, Major?’

‘Yes,’ responded Francis with asperity.
 
And, to Ashley, ‘God forbid that you should feel impelled to account for your movements.
 
But it would occasionally be helpful if you could come back when you say you will.’

‘Oh Christ,’ sighed Ashley. ‘Not again.
 
You sound like somebody’s wife.’