“That would be suicide, monsieur,” said Laincourt, emerging from an antechamber. “I am not an assassin. I am a messenger.”
“Who sent you?”
“The Black Claw.”
In his fifties, tall, dignified, with greying temples and a fine scar decorating his cheekbone, the ambassador was still a handsome man. He was not trembling, but he had grown pale.
“I see,” added Laincourt, “that you have guessed the reason for my visit…”
“Speak, monsieur.”
“We have your daughter.”
Pontevedra remained expressionless.
“You don’t believe me,” inferred Laincourt after a moment.
“On what grounds should I believe you? I await your proof. Can you show me a jewel that could only belong to her? Or perhaps a lock of her hair?”
“Neither jewel, nor hair. But I could return with an eye…”
There was another silence, during which the two men exchanged stares, each trying to probe the other.
“What do you want? Money?”
Laincourt gave a faint but amiable smile.
“Why don’t you sit down, monsieur? In this armchair. That will place you away from the table you are edging toward and the letter opener that rests upon it.”
Pontevedra obeyed.
In turn, the Black Claw’s envoy also took a seat, but one a good distance from the ambassador, while constantly covering him with his pistol.
“Once upon a time,” said Laincourt, “there was an adventurous French gentleman who became a great lord in Spain. This gentleman had a daughter who, one day, wished to remove herself from his company. The gentleman did not want this to happen. So his daughter fled, crossing the border disguised as a cavalier and finding refuge in Paris. The gentleman received word of this. And he soon learned, through his spies, that one of his most powerful enemies was threatening, or at least also pursuing, his daughter. The gentleman, understandably, became worried… What do you think of my story, monsieur? Is it accurate enough that I should continue?”
Pontevedra nodded.
“In that case, I’ll go on… At the same time, an ambassadorial mission was being prepared in Madrid. Did our gentleman engage in a few little intrigues to have this mission entrusted to him, or did fate serve him by happenstance? It matters little. What does matter is that he was named ambassador extraordinary and came to Paris to negotiate with the king of France and his most eminent minister. His political mission was of the utmost importance, but he merely regarded it as the means of saving his daughter. Using all the influence he was able to wield, he obtained a promise from France, via Cardinal Richelieu, that she would endeavour to search for his daughter. Or rather, to search for the chevalier d’Ireban, since it was under this name and this disguise that she had secretly reached Paris. Our gentleman gave the chevalier prestigious origins, so that the cardinal might believe that he was rendering a service to the Spanish crown rather than to its ambassador… Does my tale still have the ring of truth?”
“Yes.”
“Good… This gentleman, in fact, did more than simply demand that France search for his daughter. He wanted France to use her best men for this delicate mission. He wanted the Cardinal’s Blades… When Richelieu asked him why, he answered that Spain wished to assure herself that France was doing everything in her power to succeed: she would therefore show the best possible goodwill by having recourse to the Blades. Careful not to give offence to Spain on the eve of crucial negotiations, the cardinal no doubt agreed to this demand with fairly good grace. After all, for him it was simply a question of recruiting men who had already demonstrated their worth and could soon prove useful once again. And so it was arranged… But I see with regret that my tale has started to bore you…”
“It is a tale whose subject matter is already familiar to me.”
“I am coming now to precisely those elements of which you are perhaps ignorant.”
“Very well. Continue.”
“I said earlier, our gentleman was worried that a particular enemy of his was pursuing his daughter. He was indeed worried, but was not surprised by this. It must be said that his daughter had become bound by ties of affection to a handsome adventurer who was in the pay of the enemy in question. That is to say, the Black Claw. The daughter was unaware of this fact. But the gentleman knew. And it was no doubt in seeking to separate her from her dangerous admirer that he provoked her anger and subsequent flight. Because the girl was of an age when people are willing to sacrifice everything for love-”
“You promised to speak of developments that are unknown to me.”
“And here they are: your daughter’s lover is dead, but before he died he told us who she is, which we did not know until then. You must recognise that she constitutes a significant prize for us… But it remains the case that your manoeuvres have placed the Blades on our trail. This must cease. As of today.”
“What guarantees do you offer me?”
“None. You have persuaded Richelieu to deploy his Blades against us. See that he henceforth employs them for another purpose and your daughter shall live.”
“Richelieu will refuse if he suspects something.”
“Richelieu already suspects something. His suspicions began the instant you demanded he involve the Blades in this matter. Don’t forget that he knows who you really are. But does your daughter know? And if she doesn’t, do you want her to remain ignorant of the facts?”
14
Escorted by riders, the coach had all its curtains lowered and was travelling at a rapid pace along a dusty, rutted road that subjected its creaking axles to constant torment. Inside, shaken by the bouncing of the cabin, Agnes did not utter a word. She was sitting in front of the one-eyed victim of the ranse who had abducted her. Savelda pretended to pay her no attention, but he discreetly kept his eye on her, watching her slightest movement.
After surprising her at Cecile’s dwelling, Savelda and his henchmen had taken Agnes to the courtyard of a nearby inn where their horses were waiting for them. She was placed on the rump of one of their mounts and, still led by the Spaniard, the riders left the faubourg Saint-Victor at a trot, depriving Saint-Lucq of any chance of following them. Their destination was an isolated house where Agnes was kept under guard for a while, no doubt just long enough for news of her capture to be transmitted and for orders to come back. Finally, she had been forced to embark in this coach, which had been on the move ever since. But where was it going?
No one had questioned her yet. For her part she did not speak, remained docile, and tried to appear anxious and overwhelmed by all these events. She wanted to lull her guardians into a false sense of security until the moment came for her to act and, until then, she did not wish to say or do anything that risked compromising the misunderstanding that had led to her abduction. These men-Savelda at their head-mistook her for Cecile. Agnes wanted that to last until she was able to discover who she was dealing with and what their motivations were. As they seemed to attach great value to their hostage, Agnes did not feel actually threatened. But the problem remained that she herself did not know Cecile’s true identity. She was playing a dangerous game, trying to impersonate someone about whom she knew almost nothing. The best she could do was to adopt a low profile in order to avoid making any blunders. She didn’t fancy her chances if her deception was revealed.
If her story were to be believed, Cecile was an innocent young woman searching for her elder sister who had disappeared at the same time as her lover, the chevalier d’Ireban. Agnes was convinced that she had been lying to the Blades, at least in part. Therefore, Cecile no doubt knew more than she was prepared to say about the hired swordsmen Marciac had saved her from the previous night: she must have some idea what they wanted and why. If it was simply a question of their wishing to eliminate an overly curious sister, then they would have tried to murder her, not abduct her. Rather than merely an awkward witness, she was in their eyes a bargaining token, or perhaps a means of applying pressure on someone.