The Ugly, Unvarnished Streets of Paris

As it happened, Sebastian's friend had a lover on Turbigo Street. Her father was a stubborn, hot-tempered man, so Sebastian's friend had to sneak through the little alleys to meet her. The moment he heard what the Prince's servant said, he immediately knew where the Prince was. "But you can't ride horses through those kinds of alleys," he said awkwardly. "Even going on foot will be difficult."

"Then we won't ride." The King said, then drew his short sword and tore his horse blanket to pieces, wrapping them around his soft, elegant square-toed shoes. They were going into battle, so naturally they could no longer wear clogs. And one only had to look at the Market that had already been "cleared" to know how terrible the streets and alleys kept beyond the King's sight must be.

The Musketeers did the same. Their horses were left in the mayor's care. Sebastian and his friends wore boots, which spared them that trouble. The King's gaze lingered for a moment on their light chestnut shoulder belts. "Are you officers of the Condé Regiment?"

"Not all of us, Your Majesty," Sebastian Vauban said proudly. "I am still an officer cadet. I came to Paris because I won the Prince's favor and was summoned here to receive commendation and an officer's commission."

His friend cast the King an uneasy glance.

Louis smiled. "I swear Prince of Condé will be more than willing to grant you that post," he said. "You and your friends will receive not only the Prince's reward for your courage, but mine as well. I said before that I would give every young man five gold louis. That includes you."

Sebastian's friend's lips moved as though he wanted to say something, but they had to leave at once. Dejectedly, he led the exalted figure and the Musketeers into the nearest narrow alley.

Everything was as Louis had expected. Where the King could not see, there was filth and squalor everywhere—at least the road through Red Children Market had been level earth, but here there was only mud and potholes. The pits brimmed with black water, and unidentifiable refuse rose from the mire like little hills. Maggots and flies feasted and danced over them all day long. Every sort of stench assaulted their nostrils: most of all the hot reek of fermenting excrement, but also the moldy stink of cured meat, the sour odor of cheese, the sticky rot-stench of soaked and decaying hides, and the chilling, rigid smell given off by dead cats and dogs... As they passed an open courtyard, they saw a heavily pregnant woman squatting atop a pile of coal ash. Numbly, she watched every man who passed before her, continuing to give birth without the slightest attempt at concealment. A baby dropped from beneath her skirt, landing with a thump that sent up a considerable cloud of dust.

She lowered her head and glanced at it, lifted her skirts, tossed the baby onto the coal ash just like that, and went back to her work—washing clothes in urine.

Sebastian nearly rushed over, but his friend seized him and shook his head. They had more urgent matters to attend to.

Louis could only commit the matter to memory as well. It was not that he could not give the woman some money, but he also knew perfectly well that behind those pitch-black windows, which seemed to declare the rooms empty, there were hungry mobs everywhere. They had restrained themselves only because the King's party was finely dressed and armed with muskets and short swords. But if he brought out gold coins, he would light the fuse leading to crime. He knew how terrifying people could be in a frenzy; sometimes they did not even know what they were doing, utterly ruled by impulse.

Fortunately, Sebastian's friend knew this little alley well. Though it was indeed filthy, foul-smelling, uneven, and narrow—the widest parts allowed only two slender women to pass each other face-to-face, while at the narrowest points the Musketeers had to raise their hands and sidle through—every house had been built upward and outward. The upper floors jutted several feet beyond the lower walls, directly over the alley floor, shutting out nearly all light. Through the sparse gaps between the wooden planks, they could see into the rooms: signs of scorching and water damage, as well as holes deliberately dug out. Beneath them lay piles of age-old excrement; apparently, someone had made this place his private latrine.

These overhangs varied in height. At the lowest points, even Louis had to bow his head; at the highest, they could only just straighten up.

The sole advantage was that they saved a great deal of time. In only a few minutes, they reached the place where Prince of Condé had met with trouble. The Prince's carriage lay overturned across the street, its harness loose and its horses gone. Sebastian's sharp eyes swept over the street and immediately pointed out where the Prince was likely to be. The Musketeer captain was unwilling to believe him, but Sebastian argued that it was precisely because he had shown extraordinary talent in barricade tactics that his superiors had noticed him and recommended him to Prince of Condé. At a glance, he could tell the carriage had been overturned deliberately, perhaps used by Prince of Condé as a protective barrier—there were clear marks where musket balls had punched through and shattered it. He had seen such things countless times in Lorraine.

And the marks left by those balls were almost all concentrated on the carriage's left side. That meant the Prince must have been hiding on the right. On that side stood a tavern, an antique shop, and a stiff-collar shop. Without hesitation, he chose the antique shop. "But how do you know the Prince is in the antique shop?" the King asked.

"It is inevitable," Sebastian said. "If it were me, I would choose the antique shop as well, Your Majesty. The Prince is a brave warrior. Besides jewelry favored by ladies, an antique shop also has short swords and armor favored by gentlemen. He could arm himself at once."

Sebastian's deduction was correct. The moment they rushed into the shop, they saw Prince of Condé holding a small shield and a rapier, facing three assassins at once.

There was a reason Duchess of Montpensier was so infatuated with this Prince. He was at the finest age of manhood, having fought for France for twelve years. His long military life had given him a healthy body and fearless courage. He had a broad forehead, black curls spilling over his shoulders, and eyes that gleamed with rage. His neat white teeth were clenched tight, yet every sweep of his sword came with a lion's roar.

Because they were too close together, the King did not order the Musketeers to fire. Instead, they drew their swords and engaged the assassins. The Musketeers were all strong, brave young men, and the two helpers who had volunteered were no less formidable. Yet the cramped, cluttered shop restricted their movements. At the King's signal, Sebastian and his friend went to aid the Prince, while the others helped the remaining two men.

The moment the assassins saw so many reinforcements arrive for the Prince, their faces immediately showed fear. Prince of Condé, meanwhile, displayed courage many times greater than one would expect from a man raised in luxury. Even when one enemy fled, he pursued him and personally drove his sword into the man's back, then turned to fight shoulder to shoulder with the two officers who clearly belonged to the Condé Regiment.

Nearly all the shelves in the antique shop were knocked down. At first, the Prince had done it to slow his pursuers; later, the assassins did it to break free from the Musketeers' entanglement. They leaped about the shop, turning anything at hand into a shield or weapon. Clattering and crashing never ceased. Only two Musketeers remained at the King's side, vigilantly watching their surroundings. Though they regretted being unable to show His Majesty their outstanding skill and strength, guarding the King was an honor beyond compare.

When they saw Prince of Condé walking toward the King with his sword in hand, they immediately laid their hands on their muskets and sword hilts, ready to threaten him. Only then did Prince of Condé seem to realize something. He threw his weapon to the ground and knelt before the King.

The King extended his hand, and the Prince immediately kissed it.