Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas.
This is 2011 movie-verse. Pre-movie. Carnival time in Venice. Gondolas, romance and fireworks.
Taking a little rest from my multi-chapter fic for this one-shot.
Masquerade
"Olivier…" her voice whispered teasingly from the stairway above him. Athos smiled and followed. A flash of white lace betrayed her position in the dimly-lit upper walkway. This was their special time alone, just the two of them. She was looking out of the window, out at the fair city of Venice. The setting sun painted the sky a soft pink and rose. The city was bustling with life. It was the time of the Carnival, a last chance for the populace to indulge in pleasure before the penance of Lent. Aramis and Porthos would be out among them. He wrapped his arms around her slim waist and kissed her fiery red hair. She laughed melodiously and he believed it was the sweetest sound on earth.
"Look," she clapped and pointed at the streets where the masked revellers were parading in their riotous colours. Jugglers, jesters, fire-eaters… One stilt-walker was dressed as the devil and leered menacingly at a knot of laughing children caught up in the festivities. Horns and trumpets blared, summoning all from their homes. Further down the street towards the lagoon, the narrow cobblestone streets gave way to the square of St Mark. The revellers would have to stop there or else continue their parade by boat.
"Carnival time. Last chance for pleasure and sin before Lent," his love purred before leaning back against him. He cupped her chin and kissed her fiercely on the lips before she could pull away.
"I love you…" he said and immediately hated himself for what he was about to do. "Anne, who was the masked man you met with this noon at the Church of St Mark?"
"Why, my dear comte, you're jealous!" Pulling away from him, she lifted the satin mask in her hand to her face. Her eyes peered coquettishly through the eyeholes. His breath caught. How could he ever doubt her?
"Anne…" She turned away from him to gaze out over the lagoon where the first stars were winking. "Porthos saw you…"
"He is mistaken. I was never at the church this noon…" He sensed the slight hesitation in her voice. He waited in silence. Finally she sighed and spoke.
"He was an acquaintance… from my past…" Anne never talked of her past. She was a vibrant light who caught his eye at a ball a year ago. They had swiftly progressed from friends to lovers. An adventuress, she never failed to impress him with her wit and daring. Anne could hold her own against most men he knew. Despite his fellow musketeers' misgivings, she offered to guide them through Venice on this mission, citing two years spent in the city. He trusted her unquestioningly.
"Olivier…" she lowered the mask as she turned to face him. In the soft light, she seemed so vulnerable. Carelessly, she allowed her mask to fall silently on the wooden floor. How could he ever doubt her? Porthos was a fool. Athos embraced her. The hour was still young. They had to wait until the guards at the Doge's Palace were befuddled by the festivities and wine. Till then, the time was theirs to savour. He kissed her deeply on the lips and marvelled at how her lips tasted lightly of pomegranates and wine.
The revellers were out in full swing even though the last rays of sun were yet to quit the skies. Aramis weaved his way through the constant flow of gondolas, keeping a keen eye on the Venetian buildings. Occasionally, he would give in to the atmosphere and sing a few snatches of song in Italian. He managed to obtain a small punt and was scouting out the canals. That row of houses boasted a promising rooftop all interlinked… He bit back a curse when his punt was almost tipped on its side by another punt. The occupants were too occupied with each other's' company to watch the canal traffic.
Aramis was amused to recognize the sole male occupant as a bishop he knew by sight from his days in the seminary. The man's mask was hanging off his face due to the vigorous activity he had been indulging in. The ladies, all three of them, were in varying states of undress. Despite their half-masks, they were all as lovely as the nymphs of mythology and Aramis smiled appreciatively at the sight. Having steadied his punt, he continued on his way, blowing a kiss at the lovely ladies. He was rewarded with cheery waves and giggles from the women. One daring vixen lifted her bosom clean out of her low bodice so that the musketeer was treated to the sight of a pair of creamy white breasts tipped with pert nipples.
The bishop perceived Aramis' action as an affront and leapt to his feet, shouting curses at the Frenchman. Having imbued more wine that was advisable, the man lost his balance and fell over the side. Aramis chuckled at the sight of the bishop splashing about in the water. The water was shallow enough to stand here and there was no serious danger of drowning, especially with the ladies hauling the dripping man back into their punt like a large landed fish.
It was Carnival time in Venice. Wine and the carnival atmosphere had taken their double toll on the respectable citizens. Behind their masks, they indulged in pleasures and vices which would have them hastening to the local confessional come the cold light of day. Not for them, Aramis mused. By dawn the plans would be in their hands and they would be leaving for France and safety. With resigned sigh, Aramis shrugged. He would have to sacrifice wine and female company this night of all nights, when the fine ladies of Venice seem so eager to make a stranger in their city feel welcome. He only prayed that his friend Porthos would have enough sense to remember their mission and not to lose himself in the revelry.
Porthos was hurrying along the porches of a row of houses with a half-empty bottle in his hand and rich Venetian wine coursing through his blood. The moon was out now and he was running late. This quiet neighbourhood was occupied by the grand houses of foreign merchants and devoid of the festivities which infected the other parts of the city. A cloud passed over the moon, momentarily plunging him into darkness. The large man swore as he almost stepped off someone's front porch and into the canal. The moon slid out. There was a small yelp of surprise which caused him to look up. To his amazement, a youth dressed as a pageboy was clinging to the balcony above the canal while his friends yelled encouragement and struggled to manoeuvre their bulky gondola close enough for a rescue.
The lad was going to lose his grip before his friends could reach him. Porthos reacted the only way he could. Taking a running leap, he barely cleared the breadth of the canal and landed on the small porch below the balcony, just in position to catch the falling boy.
"What the heck did you think you… oh, pardon me, signora…" Porthos realised that he was carrying not a young man but a young girl. The front of her shirt had come unlaced in the fall and her cap had fallen off to reveal a wealth of raven tresses. With one hand demurely placed over her exposed bosom, the maiden kissed Porthos on the cheek in gratitude for her rescue. She then leapt like a deer into the gondola her fellow revellers had finally managed to row over, and straight into the arms of a handsome young man dressed as a knight. The pair embraced passionately before kissing. Laughing merrily, the revellers rowed off into the night as the fireworks lit up the Venetian sky.
"Jessica! Where're you? Where's that girl?" a man's voice hollered from within the house. Porthos grinned, realizing that he had witnessed an elopement. Draining the last of his wine, he strolled away along the porches. He did not get far before a night-capped head poked out from the window above.
"Help! Guards! My daughter has been stolen!" Jessica's father shrieked. Porthos grumbled and hastened away. A Frenchman had no business hanging below the windows of eloping girls.
Drat! There were a few guards coming his way, no doubt drawn by the old man's yells. They had been lounging by the bridge indulging in their wine and were now raring for a fight. Porthos tossed his empty bottle away and cracked his knuckles. There has been a slight change of plans… It was cutting it a bit fine but he would be in time to meet with the others, hopefully.
Author's Notes:
The elopement scene is partly inspired by Shakespeare's the Merchant of Venice. Poor Athos is set for a huge blow. The best laid plans oft go awry. I used the name Anne for Milady (from the novels).