Chapter 127: You Can Absolutely Trust My Loyalty
Queen Mary was startled, growing anxious. Her son's proactive attitude—could he be interested in the Princess of the Two Sicilies?
'Oh, right, I heard Maria is also a very clever girl, good at astronomy and mathematics. Perhaps those are what attract Joseph.'
She nodded with some effort, "That would be wonderful, dear. It will show the Princess of the Two Sicilies our warmth and courtesy."
She immediately added, "Oh, and Clémentine will be in Paris soon. Won't you also..."
Joseph smiled and bowed at once. "Of course, Mother. How could I not welcome my cousin who has traveled so far?"
He certainly didn't mind greeting a few more princesses. Besides, it would also mask his intention to use Maria's arrival as a pretext to set a trap for Besenval.
Only then did the Queen relax. 'Excellent! It seems my son is merely focused on etiquette, rather than being particularly interested in the Princess of the Two Sicilies. Clémentine, you must try your best to capture the Crown Prince's heart!'
After speaking with the Queen, Joseph immediately sought out the Grand Master of the Household to discuss in detail the ceremonial procedures for welcoming the Princess of the Two Sicilies and the arrangements along the route.
"Hmm, I think the roadsides here should be adorned with colorful ribbons," Joseph said, pointing at a map. "Otherwise, the bare trees in winter look too dreary. And these farmhouses, which the Princess will see from her carriage in the distance, must all be properly decorated."
He knew that this princess was not coming simply for "tourism," but was very likely to become the Crown Prince's fiancée. Thus, it was no surprise that His Highness placed such importance on making the welcome grand.
After discussing the welcoming ceremony with the Grand Master of the Household, Joseph did not return to Paris but instead went back to the Crown Prince's chambers, which he hadn't occupied in quite some time.
He walked slowly before a row of massive arched floor-to-ceiling windows, his gaze sweeping over the colorful reflections on the glass. He suddenly turned to Clauzel, who stood nearby, and asked, "Viscount Clauzel, how long have you been my captain of the guard? Seven or eight years now?"
Clauzel, a little surprised, immediately took a few steps closer. "Yes, eight full years, Your Highness. I had the honor of becoming your bodyguard when you were four years old. Two years later, Her Majesty the Queen promoted me to captain."
Joseph turned to him. "So, in this world, aside from the King and Her Majesty the Queen, you are the person I trust most."
Clauzel quickly doffed his hat and bowed. "By God, Your Highness, you can absolutely trust my loyalty."
Joseph nodded, then looked at him gravely. "Jacques, my friend, I am about to face a challenge that will profoundly affect me. I truly need your help."
Clauzel immediately stood tall, his voice firm. "Your Highness, I will do anything for you, even lay down my life!"
...
Eastern outskirts of Paris.
Beside the road leading to a nearby small town stood a small mound, about ten meters high, sparsely covered with low bushes.
At this moment, hidden among the bushes, several men—wearing greasy rough cloth jackets, equally dirty felt hats, and various weapons tucked into their belts or on their backs—sat casually on the ground, chatting idly.
"It'll be dark in an hour at most," grumbled a bald, middle-aged man, who was fiddling with an axe, looking up at the sky. "Looks like another wasted day of waiting."
"Even if he doesn't come today, he'll definitely come tomorrow," said a red-haired man beside him, rubbing his neck while peering down the mound. "That's tens of thousands of livres; it's absolutely worth waiting a few extra days!"
The man on the far side, with a sinister glint in his eyes, suddenly spoke. "Colette, if we don't catch him within three days, I'll smash your backside with my rifle butt."
The red-haired man shivered, hastily forcing a smile. "Boss, it's all over town. Baron de Gédéon has sold his house and all his land, preparing to go to Paris and marry that widow.
"Oh, I saw his servants loading box after box of luggage onto a carriage outside Baron de Gédéon's yard."
A burly man next to him, with a prosthetic left hand somewhat resembling Captain Hook, immediately nodded. "That fellow even posted notices in town, recruiting bodyguards. Clearly, he'll be leaving in the next few days."
Before he finished speaking, an urgent whisper came from the top of the mound: "Quick! He's here!"
The previously sluggish men instantly sprang to their feet. The sinister man gestured to his subordinates: "As planned, move!"
"Yes, Boss."
The men split up and surrounded the road at the foot of the mound, while the nearly 200-pound man keeping watch from the top of the mound forcefully pulled a rope.
Dozens of prepared logs rumbled down, blocking the road, which was over ten meters wide.
The carriage, which had been moving leisurely, screeched to a halt. Both coachmen leaped from their seats in fright and fled towards the distant woods.
The sinister man fired another shot at the carriage, then led his men to surround the two carriages, shouting triumphantly, "Baron de Gédéon, we are just poor folk. We hope you'll be generous and leave us some silver coins. Otherwise, we'll have to give you a few cuts and take the money ourselves."
He was just about to open the carriage door when he suddenly heard a gunshot from behind him.
He felt as if a giant hammer had slammed into his back, and he crashed violently against the carriage, then saw the carriage turn red—it was his blood.
The other bandits jumped in fright, hurriedly turning around, only to find two pistols extended from inside the carriage, pressed against the backs of "Captain Hook" and the bald man. At the same time, several armed men burst out from the tall grass on both sides of the road.
The fat man's pleading cries came from the top of the mound. The bandits turned to look and saw a man of average height, resembling a common farmer, waving a pistol as he brought the fat man down.
Before long, apart from their dead leader, the other four bandits had their weapons confiscated. With guns pointed at their heads, they squatted fearfully in the open space beside the road.
A carriage approached from a distance and stopped beside them. Fouché opened the door and stepped out. To capture this gang alive, he had personally led men to this small town, concocted the story of Baron de Gédéon, and finally waited for the "fish" to bite.
Fouché idly handled a pistol, his dead-fish eyes scanning the bandits. He snorted through his nose, "Hmm, the Blood Blade Gang, are we?"
The fat man who had been keeping watch earlier cried out in fear, "L-let me go, I can tell you where the boss hid the money..."
The bald man glared at him, then stiffened his neck and declared, "Yes! We are the Blood Blade Gang. It's our bad luck to be caught by the army."
At this time in France, everyone implicitly believed that only the army could deal with ferocious gangs like the Blood Blade Gang; the police were simply not up to the task.
Prosper, holding his gun, shook his head and sneered, "Who said we're the army?"
"We're from the L'Écuyer Gang," Fouché added. "We have a big job coming up soon, and we need some extra hands."
Hearing this, the Blood Blade Gang members all breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed they wouldn't be sent to the gallows. They looked up at Fouché, "I'll join."
"I'll join too."
"And me..."
Fouché, however, let out a cold snort. "But I only need two of you. We'll see who's more capable."
With that, he tossed two daggers onto the ground, his eyes filled with excitement and madness.
The bald man and the red-haired man reacted fastest, instantly lunging forward, snatching up the daggers, and without hesitation, plunging them into their two comrades.
...
Southern outskirts of Paris.
The trees lining the avenue leading into the city were draped with colorful ribbons, as if beautiful coral grew there.
In the distance, scattered farmhouses were freshly painted in pretty white and gold, like treasure chests sparkling among the coral.
And along the forty-meter-wide avenue between the "coral" and "treasure chests," a French Guards soldier stood at attention every five or six meters, rifle at the ready. The security detail stretched from the distant outskirts all the way into the city of Paris.
Since two days prior, the area had been under martial law, yet Besenval tirelessly personally led his officers, inspecting this route, over two kilometers long, again and again. The Princess of the Two Sicilies was arriving tomorrow, and according to arrangements from Versailles, the Crown Prince would also be here to welcome her. Not a single slip-up could be allowed.
Just then, a team of artisans carrying paint and brushes, led by French Guards soldiers, headed towards a farmhouse on the eastern side.
Besenval casually asked the officer beside him, "Who are those people?"
The officer quickly replied, "General, they are artisans from Versailles. Their documents have all been thoroughly checked; no issues. They always say this or that isn't perfect enough, and keep redecorating everywhere. If you ask me, they're just trying to skim a bit more off the budget."
Besenval nodded, his face stern. "Don't be careless. Keep a close eye on everyone."
"Yes, General."
As they spoke, several officers, leading twenty or thirty soldiers whose uniforms were distinctly more imposing and crisp than those of the French Guards, approached them.
'Imperial Guards?'
Besenval frowned. Only when they drew closer could he clearly see the newcomers. He quickly put on a smile, raised his hat, and greeted them, "Viscount Clauzel, what brings you out here?"
Clauzel, seated on his horse, also raised his hat in return. "Pleasure to see you, General Besenval. You know, I cannot afford the slightest mistake at tomorrow's event, so I must familiarize myself with the environment beforehand."
"Indeed!" Besenval chuckled. "Look, I've already made a dozen rounds here today."
Clauzel glanced at the undeveloped land bordering the road. "Oh, I'll go check over there. You carry on with your duties. After the princess's welcome, I'll invite you for a drink."
"Ha! I look forward to your invitation."
The two men passed each other. Clauzel seemed very serious, leading his men to meticulously inspect both sides of the road several times.
The officer beside Besenval cast a disdainful glance at Clauzel's retreating back. "Hmph, just for show. We have men everywhere here; what's there to see?"
Besenval waved his hand dismissively. "The Crown Prince will be here, so it's normal for his guard to conduct routine inspections."
On the other side, Clauzel's squad passed by a thicket of bushes. At the same time, seven or eight court painters approached them.
When Clauzel saw the leading painter's face, he quickly reined in his horse and signaled behind him. A robust soldier with a prominent nose immediately nodded to him, then pulled two other men into the bushes.
Clauzel's squad halted in place, completely concealing the three men.
The robust, high-nosed soldier and his two subordinates swiftly shed their military uniforms, revealing the painters' clothes they had already been wearing underneath, smudged with traces of paint.
The three men stuffed their uniforms into empty paint buckets, handed their weapons to the soldiers behind Clauzel, then picked up the paint buckets and, as if nothing had happened, followed the other painters into the distance.
Clauzel's group, meanwhile, circled the vicinity a few times as if nothing had occurred, then returned the way they came.
No officer or soldier of the French Guards noticed that three men were missing from the twenty-odd members of the Crown Prince's personal guard.
The painters excitedly made their way towards a farmhouse nearby.
Within the group, a red-haired man nervously glanced around, quietly asking the high-nosed "painter" beside him, "Boss, why are there so many soldiers? What exactly are we doing? Is it very dangerous?"
The high-nosed man smiled easily. "You're new, so you don't know the strength of our L'Écuyer Gang. Let me tell you, half of these soldiers around us are our people."
As he spoke, he waved at a soldier in the distance. The soldier also gave a perfunctory wave back, smiling. These artisans were all from Versailles, and who knew which important figure they worked for, so the lower-ranking soldiers, adhering to the principle of not offending anyone if possible, were very polite to them.
"They really are our own men," exclaimed the middle-aged "painter" beside him, who was none the wiser.
If one were to remove his felt hat, they would find he was actually bald.
Yes, this man and the red-haired man were the surviving members of the Blood Blade Gang. And the high-nosed man leading them was Clauzel's confidant, named Odoric.
Since the matter was of such critical importance, Joseph didn't even involve Fouché. After Fouché captured the Blood Blade Gang members, he handed them over to Clauzel, and all subsequent affairs were overseen by Clauzel.
The red-haired man was still uneasy. "Boss, what exactly are we doing this time?"
Odoric replied according to the "script": "A robbery. Tomorrow, a noble will pass through here with several carts of gold. That's money from the discount bank. They have some connections with the military, so they hired these soldiers as bodyguards.
"But how could he know that our boss has powerful backing and has already infiltrated our people into the army?
"You all saw it just now; no one even questioned us."
He continued to encourage the two bandits: "Besides, our task is merely to stand watch from a distance. Once the gold is seized, we'll hide in the woods behind. There's no risk at all, and you'll get at least seven or eight thousand livres each."
As they spoke, the painters arrived at the farmhouse. The owner of the house had already been "invited" elsewhere by the French Guards, leaving only one soldier to guard it.
The painters greeted the guard, then dispersed to begin their work.
Odoric, meanwhile, led his two "subordinates," casually slipping into the attic and hiding inside a wooden cabinet.
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