This story is set between seasons one and two.
Nowhere to Run
Chapter One
After riding since sun-up with only a brief stop for lunch it was a relief to see the chimneys of the manor house rising above the trees. They had crossed into the estate of the Baron Berreyer approximately an hour previously and had been impressed with the neat fields which were either filled with cattle and sheep or wheat and barley. It was harvest time and there were men working on cutting down the crops, while women with large baskets gathered apples and pears from a small orchard. Birds trilled from the treetops and scavenged among the bruised fruit which had been discarded on the ground. It was peaceful; almost idyllic, Aramis thought.
Although the four of them had started out together they would soon split up. The King appeared to have written to every provincial nobleman within a two-day journey from Paris and had entrusted the letters to his Musketeers to deliver. Despite the menial task Aramis was determined to enjoy himself. Autumn had started blustery and wet before settling into sun-drenched days and mild nights. The weather was as perfect as the surroundings.
They rode through a small copse of trees and there was the house in front of them. It was three storey's high, built of brick and devoid of any decoration. In size it wasn't dissimilar to the home of the former Comte de la Fere. Aramis looked speculatively at the back of Athos' head. He couldn't imagine giving up a life of luxury to become a soldier although he understood what had motivated his brother to do just that.
The front door opened as they approached and a man walked out to greet them. He was tall, of middle years, and with a fringe of nondescript brown hair surrounding a bald head bronzed by the sun. His smile was professional and didn't reach his eyes which remained wary. Aramis assumed that it wasn't often four soldiers turned up on the doorstep.
Athos stopped his horse and inclined his head in greeting. "I am Athos of the King's Musketeers. These are Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan. We have a letter from the King for Baron Berreyer."
"You are welcome, gentlemen. My name is Vayle and I have the honour of being the Baron's steward. Come inside. The stable boy will care for your mounts. Can I offer you any refreshments?"
"Thank you, but we just need to see the Baron."
"Of course. If you would follow me."
He led them into the entrance hall. It had a faded grandeur about it. There were vases on plinths but no flowers. The tapestries which must once have been vibrant now looked dull and lifeless. Surfaces which should have contained ornaments to demonstrate the owner's wealth lay empty.
"Please wait here while I announce you," Vayle said before leaving them.
Porthos looked around. "Seems to me the Baron might have fallen on hard times," he said.
"That's surprising having seen his lands. They are bountiful." Athos walked over to a particularly delicate wall hanging and examined it. "This would not have been cheap."
"I haven't seen any other servants," d'Artagnan said. "How many would it take to run a household of this size?"
"Between fifteen and twenty probably, including gardeners and stable hands."
"I saw a patch of garden on the way in and it looked neglected," Aramis said.
"Yes. The gardens are usually the province of the lady of the house and Treville told us she died just over a year ago. Perhaps the Baron has no interest in horticulture." Athos rejoined his colleagues and pulled the letter out of his doublet.
When Vayle returned he beckoned them forwards. "The Baron will see you now."
He ushered them into a large study. There was a picture window behind a beautifully polished oak desk and the walls were lined with shelves. Each shelf was laden with books and parchments. This was clearly the Baron's passion and not a cheap one. Athos and Aramis removed their hats and all stood respectfully in front of the desk.
The Baron had dark hair which was turning grey at the temples. His shoulders were stooped, giving the impression that he spent much of his time hunched over his desk. Clear brown eyes gazed at them amiably although there was no welcoming smile.
"I believe you have a missive from the King."
"Yes, my lord." Athos stepped forward and laid the letter on the desk.
The Baron looked at it but made no attempt to open it. Aramis had no idea what it contained, although these days it was usually a plea for money. Rumour had it that the treasury was almost bare.
"Thank you," the Baron said. "You will stay the night? There is plenty of room."
"That's very kind of you," Athos said. "We can manage just as well outdoors."
"Nonsense. It isn't often we receive visitors. You will dine with my family and I tonight. I insist. Vayle, make up some rooms on the third floor."
"Yes, sir."
The third floor, Aramis knew, would contain the servants' quarters so the rooms were likely to be tiny. Still, it was better than camping out on the hard ground and having to catch their own dinner.
"There is a well out at the back of the house where you can draw water to freshen yourselves up. Dinner is at seven."
It was a dismissal. All bowed and took their leave. The horses had gone, presumably to the stables. They still hadn't seen any servants either inside or outside the house. The well was in full sunshine and, after washing the dirt from their face and hands, Aramis perched on the rim and looked around.
"Does it seem too quiet around here?" he asked. He looked to Athos for a response.
"Yes. I get the feeling that all is not well here despite the warmth of our welcome."
"I wonder what family he has," d'Artagnan said. He was squinting in the bright sunshine.
"Treville didn't say. Well, we'll find out at dinner. I suggest we go and retrieve our saddlebags then find the rooms allocated to us. It would be pleasant to rest for a while before we join our host." Athos wiped the moisture off his face with a handkerchief before leading the way to the stables.
TMTMTM
They had been given two rooms each containing two beds. Aramis and Porthos took one while Athos and d'Artagnan took the other. Shortly before seven Vayle knocked on their doors, saying he would show them the way to the dining room. During the last couple of hours, they had brushed the detritus of the road from their clothes, polished their boots and oiled and sharpened their weapons. They were as respectable as they were going to get.
They followed Vayle down two flights of stairs. At the bottom he turned left and led them along a hallway. As they neared the end Athos could hear raised voices coming from the room ahead of them. He couldn't make out the words but it was clear that someone wasn't happy. Vayle hesitated before opening the door and standing aside so that they could enter.
The voices stilled. The Baron sat at one end of the table where a young man loomed over him, his face red and angry. He backed away when he saw them. A distressed look crossed the Baron's face to be replaced by an urbane expression.
"May I introduce my son, Francois? Francois, these gentlemen come from the King."
"They're soldiers," Francois said in a condescending tone. "I'm surprised you invited them to dine with us."
"Hush. Where are your manners?"
That rebuke only served to increase the young man's ire. There was an uncomfortable silence broken by the sound of something striking the floor outside the room. The door opened and a woman entered. She was limping and using a cane for support. Athos glanced quickly at her leg and then looked away. Her right foot was twisted outwards which accounted for her uneven gait. He and the others bowed politely. With her blond hair and blue eyes she would have been attractive except for the fact that her mouth was pulled down at the corners and there was a crease between her eyes. She ignored them as she made her way towards the chair at the Baron's left hand.
"My daughter, Josette," the Baron said. "Please come and sit."
Francois took his place at his father's right hand before the Musketeers ranged themselves on either side of the table. The Baron cleared his throat and then rang a small bell. Immediately Vayle entered through a door in the side wall. Athos caught a glimpse of the kitchen on the other side of it. Plates and a tureen of soup were placed on the table.
"You came straight from Paris?" the Baron asked.
"Yes," Athos said. "It's nice to be out of the city for a while. We were very impressed with your estate as we rode through it. Is the harvest going well?"
"It's been a good year."
"How many villages are there on the estate?" Aramis asked.
"Three. None is particularly large. We supply them with meat through the winter and, in return, they provide services and pay taxes."
"You are too lax with them," Francois said. "They can afford more than they pay."
"They have a right to make a living as well," the Baron said. "How would it serve our interests if they were to starve."
Athos had the feeling this was a long running argument and pitied the villagers once Francois inherited the estate. While they had been talking Vayle had poured wine. Athos sampled it. The taste of cherries exploded in his mouth. "This is very fine wine."
"It comes from the Loire valley," the Baron said. "My cousin has a vineyard there."
"I'm sure it's far superior to what you usually drink," Francois said with a sneer.
Athos decided to ignore the insulting remark and turned his attention to the soup. It was thick with vegetables and very well-seasoned.
"You look young to be a Musketeer." Josette spoke for the first time and was looking at d'Artagnan.
"I was fortunate that the King granted me a commission," d'Artagnan said.
"He deserved it," Porthos added.
"I'm sure he's very brave," she said, giving him a shy smile.
D'Artagnan looked away, appearing discomfited by the attention. Athos knew he was still pining after Constance who had chosen to stay with her husband.
The soup plates were cleared away before Vayle brought in roast goose and mounds of vegetables. The Baron carved and handed out the plates.
"I hear the Queen is expecting a child," the Baron said. "After all these years of marriage that is welcome news."
Athos glanced across the table at Aramis. "There was great rejoicing when Her Majesty's pregnancy was announced."
"The country needs the stability of an heir," the Baron went on, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around Athos and Aramis.
"The King, as you can imagine, is very happy," Athos said.
"Tell us about life at Court," Josette asked.
"I'm afraid from our perspective it is very dull but, the King does hold spectacular balls at Easter and Christmas," Aramis said. "With everyone in their finery they are glittering occasions."
"I wish I could go to Court," she said wistfully.
"Why?" Francois said. "It's not as if you could dance," he added spitefully.
She immediately coloured and the animation left her face. "That's just cruel."
"Francois. That's enough. You have upset your sister and embarrassed our guests."
Athos laid down his knife and fork. "Thank you for your hospitality, my Lord. If you will excuse us, we need to get an early start in the morning."
"Of course. I will ask the cook to pack you some food for your journey."
"You are very generous." Athos stood, followed by the others. He inclined his head to Josette. "Good night, mademoiselle, Sirs."
Once out of the dining room he heaved a sigh of relief.
"That's one unhappy family," Porthos said. He nudged d'Artagnan. "She took quite a shine to you though."
"That's not funny."
"Oh, it is," Aramis said. "You should have seen your face."
"That's enough, gentlemen," Athos said. "I'm going to the stables to check on the horses. Try not to get into any trouble while I'm gone."
"Not much chance of that," Porthos said. "We're in the middle of no-where. I bet nothin' interestin' ever happens."
Tbc