The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [229]
Four shots replied to them at almost the same moment, but they were better aimed than those of the attackers: three soldiers were killed outright, and one of the workers was wounded.
“Grimaud, another musket!” said Athos, still in the breach.
Grimaud obeyed at once. For their part, the three friends had already loaded their weapons. A second volley followed the first: the corporal and two pioneers fell dead; the rest of the troop took flight.
“Come, gentlemen, a sortie!” said Athos.
And the four friends, rushing out of the fort, made their way to the battlefield, gathered up the four muskets of the soldiers and the corporal’s half pike, and, convinced that the fugitives would not stop before they reached town, made their way back to the bastion, bringing with them the trophies of their victory.
“Reload the guns, Grimaud,” said Athos, “and we, gentlemen, will return to our lunch and our conversation. Where were we?”
“I remember,” said d’Artagnan, who was greatly concerned with the itinerary Milady was to follow.
“She’s going to England,” replied Athos.
“What for?”
“To assassinate Buckingham, or have him assassinated.”
D’Artagnan uttered an exclamation of surprise and indignation.
“But that is infamous!” he cried.
“Oh, as for that,” said Athos, “I beg you to believe that it worries me very little. Now that you’ve finished, Grimaud,” Athos went on, “take our corporal’s half pike, tie a napkin to it, and plant it at the top of our bastion, so that the rebellious Rochelois see that they’re dealing with brave and loyal soldiers of the king.”
Grimaud obeyed without reply. A moment later the white flag was floating above the heads of the four friends. Thunderous applause broke out at its appearance; half the camp was at the gates.
“How’s that?” d’Artagnan picked up. “It worries you very little that she will kill Buckingham or have him killed? But the duke is our friend!”
“The duke is English, the duke is fighting against us; let her do as she likes with the duke, I care as much as for an empty bottle.”
And Athos tossed the bottle he was holding some fifteen feet away, having just drained it to the last drop into his glass.
“Wait a minute,” said d’Artagnan, “I’m not abandoning Buckingham like this. He gave us very fine horses.”
“And above all very fine saddles,” added Porthos, who at that very moment was wearing the gold braid of his on the shoulder of his cloak.
“Then, too,” observed Aramis, “God wishes the conversion and not the death of the sinner.”
“Amen,” said Athos, “and we will come back to that later, if such is your pleasure; but what concerned me most for the moment—and I’m sure you will understand me, d’Artagnan—was getting hold of a sort of blank permit the woman had extorted from the cardinal and by means of which she could get rid of you, and maybe of us, with impunity.”
“This creature is a real demon!” exclaimed Porthos, holding out his plate to Aramis, who was cutting up a chicken.
“And this blank permit,” said d’Artagnan, “this blank permit remained in her hands?”
“No, it came into mine—I won’t say without difficulty, though, for I would be lying.”
“My dear Athos,” said d’Artagnan, “I can no longer count how many times I’ve owed you my life.”
“So you left us in order to go to her?” asked Aramis.
“Exactly.”
“And you have this letter from the cardinal?” asked d’Artagnan.
“Here it is,” said Athos.
And he took the precious paper from the pocket of his tabard.
D’Artagan unfolded it, not even trying to conceal the trembling of his hand, and read:
It is by my orders and for the good of the State that the bearer of this present has done what he has done.
5 December 1627
Richelieu
“Indeed,” said Aramis, “that is an absolution according to all the rules.”
“This paper must be torn up!” cried d’Artagnan, who seemed to read his death sentence in it.
“Quite the contrary,” said Athos, “it must be carefully kept. I wouldn’t give this paper away if they covered it with gold pieces.”
“And what is she going to do now?