The water was icy cold. All Colbert could see was darkness.
He could swim, but the raging current gave him not even the slightest room to move his limbs. Swept along, he sped downstream. Whenever the waning moon occasionally shoved aside the heavy clouds and let him glimpse his situation, he could see the scenery around him spinning wildly—he was whirling madly in the river. All this merchant's son could do was keep himself afloat rather than let the current drag him to the riverbed. Water filled his ears; he could hear nothing but a loud buzzing. But he had no time to worry about that. Whenever he managed to lift his head above the surface, he desperately gulped in great breaths of air.
Whenever damp air filled his lungs, Colbert also found himself thinking back on how he had ended up in such a plight.
What he could remember now was that he and D'Artagnan had completed the weighty task entrusted to them by the King, accepted the Duchess's thanks and gifts, and happily set out on their return journey. Burgundy lay south of Paris, bordering both the Holy Roman Empire and Switzerland. It was both a springboard and a strategic pass, so naturally there was a great road connecting it to Paris. But a journey of nearly ninety leagues meant they would inevitably need to stop and rest in villages, towns, cities, or even nameless roadside inns. D'Artagnan in particular cherished the horse the King had bestowed upon him. More than his servant or himself, he could not bear to see his mount overly exhausted. This slowed them down considerably, but considering that their mission was complete and they were already on their way back, Colbert said nothing.
Last night, they had lodged at a small inn that