And he led the king into his study and gave him a chair. “Sire,” he said, “Your Majesty has just informed me that, given the state of affairs in England, a million would suffice to reconquer his realm, isn’t that so?”

“Enough to attempt it, at least, and to die like a king if it failed.”

“Well, Sire! Will Your Majesty, as promised, deign to listen to what I have to say?”

Charles nodded his head in assent. Athos went to the door, looked out to make sure no one was near, closed and locked it, and returned. “Sire,” he said, “Your Majesty knows well that I assisted the most noble and unfortunate Charles I when his executioners brought him from St. James to Whitehall.”

“Yes, indeed, I recall and will always remember it.”

“Sire, it’s a mournful story for a son to hear, especially when he’s already heard it countless times, but I must repeat it to Your Majesty without leaving out a single detail.”

“Speak, Monsieur.”

“When the king your father mounted the scaffold, or rather passed from his room onto the scaffold built outside his window, everything had been prepared for his escape. The executioner had been abducted, a hole had been excavated beneath the floor of his apartment, and I myself was concealed below the planks when I suddenly heard them creak above my head.”

“Parry has informed me of all these details, Monsieur.”

Athos bowed and continued, “Then I will tell you what he could not, Sire, for the following passed only between God, your father, and me, and has been shared with no one, not even my dearest friends. ‘Step away,’ the august victim said to the masked executioner, ‘but only for a moment, for I know I belong to you, but strike only at my signal. I want to be free to utter my final prayer.’ ”

“Your pardon,” said Charles II, his features pale, “but you, Count, who know so many details of that fatal event, even some, as you said just now, that you’ve never before revealed—do you know the name of that infernal executioner, of that coward who hid his face so he could assassinate a king with impunity?”

Athos also paled slightly. “His name?” he said. “Yes, I know it, but I will not speak it.”

“And what has become of him? No one in England knows his fate.”

“He is dead.”

“But he didn’t die in bed, not a calm and gentle death, the death of an honest man?”

“He died a violent death on a terrible night, caught between the wrath of men and the gales of God. His body was pierced to the heart by a dagger and sank into the depths of the ocean. May God forgive his murderer!”⁵⁸

“Very well, then,” said King Charles II, who saw that the count wished to say no more.

“The King of England, after having, as I said, spoken to the masked executioner, added, ‘Don’t strike me, understand, until I extend my arms and say, Remember!’ ”

“In fact,” said Charles in a hollow voice, “I know that was the final word spoken by my unhappy father. But for what purpose, and to whom?”

“To the French gentleman hidden just beneath the scaffold.”

“To you, Monsieur?”

“Yes, Sire, and every word he said, through those planks covered in black fabric, still resounds in my ears. The king got down on one knee. ‘Comte de La Fère,’ he said, ‘can you hear me?’ ‘Yes, Sire,’ I replied. Then the king bent down closer.”

Charles II, heart beating with grief like a hammer, also leaned toward Athos to catch every word that escaped the count’s lips. His head bent till it touched Athos’s head.

“As I said,” continued the count, “the king leaned closer. ‘Comte de La Fère,’ he said, ‘you were unable to save me. It wasn’t meant to be. Now, having spoken to men, and having spoken to God, though I commit a sacrilege, I say my final words to you. On behalf of a cause that I held sacred, I have lost the throne of my fathers and imperiled my children’s inheritance.’ ”

Charles II hid his face between his hands, and a burning tear escaped from between his slender white fingers.

“ ‘A million in gold still remains,’ continued the king. ‘I buried it in the dungeon beneath the abbey keep in Newcastle just before I left that city.’ ”

Charles raised his head with an expression mixing sadness and joy that would have brought tears to the eyes of anyone who knew of his terrible trials. “A million!” he murmured. “Oh, Count!”

“ ‘Only you know of this money’s existence. Use it when the time is right for the greatest benefit to my eldest son. And now, Comte de La Fère, give me your final farewell.’ ‘Adieu, Sire, adieu!’ I whispered.”

Charles II rose and went to lean his burning forehead against the cool glass of the window.

“It was then,” continued Athos, “that the king spoke the word Remember!—addressed to me. And as you see, Sire, I have remembered.”

The king couldn’t resist a flood of emotion. Athos saw his shoulders convulsively shaking, heard sobs escaping from deep in his chest. But Athos was silent, overwhelmed by the bitter memories he’d cascaded onto that royal head. Charles II, with a violent effort, left the window, swallowed his tears, and returned to his seat near the count. “Sire,” Athos said, “I thought till today that it was not yet time to employ this final resource, but I have kept my eyes fixed on England and I felt the time was approaching. Tomorrow I had planned to begin seeking Your Majesty’s whereabouts and then go to him. Since he has come to me, it’s clear that God intended us to find each other.”

“Monsieur,” said Charles, in a voice still choked with emotion, “you are to me as an angel sent by God, a savior sent from beyond the grave by my father himself. But believe me, for ten years civil war has ravaged my country, slaughtering men and plowing up the ground. We’re as unlikely to find gold still buried in the earth as we are to find love in the hearts of my subjects.”

“Sire, the place where His Majesty buried his million is well known to me, and I’m sure no one has disturbed it. Has Newcastle Abbey been demolished, torn down stone by stone? That’s what it would take.”

“No, the abbey still stands, but at the moment General Monck occupies Newcastle and is encamped there. The only place where I can still find aid, my last resource, is in the hands of my enemies.”

“General Monck, Sire, can’t have discovered the treasure of which I speak.”

“Yes, but must I go through Monck to recover this treasure? You can see, Count, that I must yield to destiny, as it strikes me down every time I get up. How could I do it with no servants but Parry, whom Monck has already chased off once? No, no, Count, we must accept this final blow.”

“But where Your Majesty cannot go, what Parry cannot do, don’t you think that I might succeed?”

“You, Count! You would go?”

“If it pleases Your Majesty, yes, Sire,” said Athos, saluting the king, “I will go.”

“But you’re happy and settled here, Count!”

“I am never happy, Sire, when I have a duty unfulfilled, and the king your father charged me with the supreme duty to watch over your fortune and employ it when the time came. Your Majesty has but to give me the sign and I will go with him.”

“Ah, Monsieur!” said the king, forgetting all royal etiquette and throwing his arms around Athos’s neck. “You prove to me there’s still a God in heaven, a God who sometimes sends his messengers to we who suffer on this earth.”

Athos, deeply moved by the young man’s emotional display, thanked him with profound respect and then went to the window. “Grimaud!” he called. “Our horses.”

“What? You’d go right away?” said the king. “Truly, Monsieur, you’re a man of wonder.”

“Sire!” said Athos. “I can think of nothing more urgent than Your Majesty’s service. Besides,” he added with a smile, “it’s a habit developed while in the service of the queen your aunt and the king your uncle. How could I do otherwise in the service of Your Majesty now?”

“What a man this is,” murmured the king. Then, after a moment’s reflection, “But no, Count, I can’t expose you to such dangers. I have no way to reward such services.”

“Bah!” said Athos, laughing. “Your Majesty must be jesting, as he has a million in gold! If only I had even half that sum, I’d already have raised a regiment. But, thanks be to God, I still have a few rolls of coins and some family jewelry, which Your Majesty, I hope, will deign to let his devoted servant share with him.”

“No, but I’ll share it with a friend—on the condition that my friend allows me to repay him later and share with him thereafter.”

“Sire,” said Athos, opening a coffer and drawing out gold and gems, “here’s more than we need. Fortunately, there are four of us in case we encounter thieves.”

Joy brought a rosy flush to the pale cheeks of Charles II. He saw two horses being led up to the portico by Grimaud, who was already booted for the road.

At the gate, the count said to a servant, “Blaisois, give this letter to the Vicomte de Bragelonne. For everyone else, we’ve gone to Paris. I entrust the house to you, Blaisois.” His servant bowed, embraced Grimaud, and shut the gate behind them.