Farmer Speak
By: Tidia
Beta: That Girl Six AWESOME
Please note: Follow up to The Peasantry, but you do not have to read that story as this is a different idea.
Author's Note: Many people asked for more to The Peasantry, but instead I came up with this, which I hope you all like. Thank you always for the review, readers, faves and follows.
d'Artagnan and Porthos were walking their horses behind Aramis and Athos through a farmer's land. The worked surface had a tendency to be filled with unseen dips covered by grass, which could prove treacherous to horses. Once they reached better terrain, they would mount once more.
Porthos came shoulder to shoulder to d'Artagnan, shifting his eyes to the front before speaking in a lower voice. "You haven't figured it out yet, have you?"
"Figured out what?" d'Artagnan asked, patting his horse's neck. Buttercup did not need much incentive to follow him.
The larger man's eyes darted once more to Aramis and Athos, who were five horse lengths ahead. Both men were engaged in their own quiet conversation. It didn't seem possible, but Porthos quieted his voice even more than a moment ago. "Every time we need to speak to a farmer or farm hand they have you do it."
"That's not. . ." True, he had just spoken to this farmer to ask for permission to cross the land. Then there was the other time to clarify directions. In Toulons he was sent to get the apples, but that meant nothing. It meant everything. "How is that possible? Why?"
Porthos smiled. "They think you have your own language. Farmers, I mean."
d'Artagnan paused, but his horse kept up the momentum so he went forward. Trying to find some justification only led the young musketeer to see absurdity. "What? It's farming, not a language." However, this was Porthos. "You're telling me this for a reason."
A sigh was the initial response. "I'm bored. And now that there are four of us there is no one left out."
It didn't take long for d'Artagnan agree, a matter of a few seconds to decide to trick the other two men. "This is going to take some time."
"I can wait," Porthos assured him.
d'Artagnan snorted at the patience it may take to create a plausible plan and find an occasion. They didn't come across farmers too frequently as musketeers.
((()))
Approximately two months later the opportunity arose when Aramis and Athos requested d'Artagnan talk to a farmer about refreshing some supplies. The mission had gone on longer than expected without a town nearby. With a wink and nudge from Porthos, he approached the farmer missed by the other two musketeers.
It was an odd request to make, but the farmer took it in stride to find the humor, especially after d'Artagnan explained how his father was a farmer in Lupiac, along with his knowledge of the land.
His friends were waiting for him, not appreciating the smell of damp dirt mingling with clean grass. It made him wistful and proud of his roots. d'Artagnan would always be in awe of the earth, respectful of the caretakers and their ways. "We can stay in the barn," he announced, taking the reins from Porthos.
"The supplies," Athos enunciated each word as if d'Artagnan had misunderstood the initial directions.
"He'll give us those, too." The young musketeer shrugged his shoulders. Farmers always had a willingness to help, as they needed help from their neighbors. "Says rain is going to come soon and we're better off waiting."
Aramis snickered, gesturing with a flourish to the clear sky. "He can predict the weather?"
No one was following him into the barn. The farmer said he was expecting rain, mentioning his knee and wrist as judges. "Sure. Why, one of my father's workers was almost nearly right."
"Nearly?" Aramis sputtered the same time Athos haughtily replied, "Almost?"
Maybe farmers relied on experiences and interpretation to till their land. d'Artagnan internally cringed at the scoffing. "Hail is tricky."
"Of course." Aramis snickered.
Porthos proved himself to be the one who brought a rational mind to the situation. "This mission's already taken longer than expected. What's a little rest? We could use it."
Of course Porthos understood the need for an appeal to make Aramis and Athos stay. "He said he would share his food, too." With too many bad meals on the road, a home cooked meal would be welcomed. d'Artagnan could be devious, too.
"You should have mentioned that at the start, lad."
Aramis and Athos agreed with Porthos—so easily played. They brought their horses into the barn and took the time to tend to them, removing the tack, brushing them, and seeing to the horses' needs.
"It does look like rain," Aramis admitted, taking his hat off to squint at the sky. Clouds were gathering to a thickening gray.
The farmer's wife greeted them at the door, gesturing for them to sit as the aroma of chicken and baked bread wafted its tempting scent to their growling stomachs. A larger woman in comparison to her thin husband, she was excited and giggling at having company to cook for instead of just one man.
d'Artagnan noted that Aramis and Athos did seem slightly uncomfortable. Aramis especially was searching for a conversation, deciding to start with innocuous news of Paris after he thanked Madame for the meal. The farmer and wife responded in kind until d'Artagnan nodded a prearranged signal. He rubbed his hands together.
"Chickens are giving us eggs," the farmer announced after finishing his forkful of food.
Such a sudden statement caught all the musketeers off guard except for d'Artagnan. "So your children live nearby except for one of them?"
"What?" Aramis sputtered, covering his uncouth behavior by sipping his wine.
Ignoring the sharpshooter's confusion, d'Artagnan explained, "Monsiuer Lionel and Madame Bernadette have five children. Their youngest took to the seas."
"How do you know that?" Athos leaned away from the table as if wondering if he missed part of the conversation while lost in his own thoughts.
d'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "He said that."
"He did not," Athos replied but did not pursue the matter.
Lionel, the farmer, had watched the exchanged. "Henri does write us letters." This confirmed what d'Artagnan had translated. "Then there is the plowing."
"How long does it take to plow the fields?" Athos asked, participating in the conversation to make sure nothing passed by him unnoticed.
Struggling to keep the amusement out his voice, the young musketeer corrected his mentor. "Athos, there is a country dance that will be happening in a fortnight."
"d'Artagnan," Athos raised one brow, "the man is talking about plowing his fields."
"Madame?" Porthos intervened, schooling his features and hiding his eyes, which were glowing with merriment so much that d'Artagan had to divert his attention to the slatted wooden table. It had been well used by all the children with crevices created by knives and forks.
"This is not Paris, gentlemen," Bernadette replied. "We look forward to our dancing."
"I see." Athos crossed his arms in a steaming anger hidden by his good manners.
Talk of the dance continued until the farmer changed the subject to horse raising. "The horses are fed well with a good mix."
"So there has been a drought?" Aramis said in perfect innocence as he veered off to a different topic.
d'Artagnan tucked his lips in for a moment to stop the snort. "Aramis, what are you talking about? Lionel feeds his horses well — you saw the grain."
Aramis looked towards Athos, who shook his head. "I thought. . ." The sharpshooter trailed off, his charm having failed him. d'Artagnan did not quite catch the mumbling.
"He's had a long day, excuse him." Porthos explained his friend's behavior.
Silence occurred since Athos and Aramis did not want to participate in any conversation where they did not know the rules of the language. "Stopped raining."
"That it has."
Porthos puffed up in pride at having given the right answer to the farmer.
"Then we will be on our way. Thank you for the hospitality." Athos moved quickly out of his chair and to the door with Aramis behind him, pausing only to give an aborted bow to Bernadette.
"Strange ones, musketeers." Lionel stood next to his wife before she scurried to pack up a loaf of bread.
"You have no idea," Porthos chuckled as he fished for his purse and handed over a few sous.
Bernadette handed over the bread to d'Artagnan. He could smell butter and flour. "I hope we were not too inappropriate."
"No, Madame, not at all," the young musketeer answered. Athos and Aramis were about to realize they had learned a valuable lesson about judgment.
The goal for Athos was to put as much space between them and the farm. When finally they were through the fields, d'Artagnan spoke up.
"Madame gave us bread." The younger man patted his saddle bag. "They were nice people."
"If you could understand them," Athos drawled laconically.
Aramis pulled up to d'Artagnan's other side. "Farmers seem to have their own language."
"So you believe they should only speak to their tenants, farm hands, and other farmers?"
"Only you could communicate with them." Aramis referred to d'Artagnan's ability to translate what the farmer was saying.
"And Porthos." d'Artagnan turned his head back to Porthos.
Aramis slowly looked behind him, taking in his friend's grin. "You didn't."
"We did." Porthos pushed his horse forward to be near Athos.
"Lionel was very amused and willing once he learned about your misconceptions." The man was entertained and amused, and his wife wanted to join the fun. She was looking forward to writing the tale to her children.
"Misconceptions?" Athos's voice went at a higher octave, losing his cool demeanor.
The young Gascon straightened his shoulders as he was about to educate his fellow musketeers about the provincial France beyond Paris. "My father was a gentleman farmer with tenants, nobility even from many generations past, as are many of the bourgeois."
"You've insulted the lot of them," Porthos added with a little too much glee.
But Aramis huffed away his friend's witticism. "We thought you enjoyed talking to farmers, a reminder of home."
d'Artagnan raised his brow in a disbelieving taunt.
"Very well, apologies," Athos said with contriteness before looking away. The older musketeer did not like being toyed with, but d'Artagnan could not resist.
"Sheep," he howled, assuming the others would understand the meaning of apology accepted.
"Really," Athos said with a smirk while Aramis and Porthos laughed.
The end