A/N: Here's my entry to the April/May Fête des Mousquetaires in honour of my friend Mountain Cat and a bad joke made after I misread something! Enjoy!
The Pursuit of Princely Pork
Musketeers are men of honour. But there was no honour, not in this, Athos thought as he, D'Artagnan, Aramis and Porthos rested near a stream just off the road to Paris. The day was hot and he was in a foul mood, exacerbated by the smell of the precious cargo that the Musketeers were escorting to the capital. His own snort of disgust was met with an echo from the tenants of the cart and he stepped away lest one of his brothers overhear the exchange. The sparkle in Porthos' eye and the grin pulling at his lips indicated that he might comment on it, but the seething glare he received from Athos kept his lips pressed firmly together – though it was unable to diminish the laughter in his eyes.
"We should get these beasts watered quickly so we can continue on our way," Athos said.
"Right," said Porthos, "C'mon whelp, let's see you put your farm skills to use."
D'Artagnan scowled in response. "Why me?"
Porthos grinned back and chancing a quick glance at Athos he said, "Cuz Aramis is preparin' us a meal, and I wouldn't dream of indignifying our Monsieur le Comte with this."
D'Artagnan let out a laugh that quickly turned into a cough at anther glare delivered by Athos. Grinning, D'Artagnan and Porthos secured the ramp to the back of the cart.
The gate was unlatched and out in all their majesty stomped three massive Iberian pigs.
A boar and two prized sows trumbled down the gangplank, grumbling in a self-satisfied way. Each wore a magnificent gold collar around their thick necks, their dark hides gleaming and crowned by sparse tufts of hair. Two sharp tusks tipped in gold protruded from the mouth of the male. The pigs, a gift for King Louis from the Duke of Braganza in Portugal, were a truly rich gift and were fattened on a diet of truffles and acorns almost exclusively. To the pompous and discerning elite, these pigs far outweighed their weight in gold, which was saying something, as the beasts were massive. It was for this reason that the musketeers had been tasked with escorting the pigs to Paris. It was Richelieu who named this foursome in particular to escort the pigs, and every moment spent on this vexatious task grated on Athos' temperament and wore his patience thin.
He tugged at his gloves in an aggravated way and was met by the smiling face of the marksman handing him a glass of wine. Athos took it gratefully; Aramis smirked in response as he sipped from his own cup.
"If you were any angrier at our guests, we'd be able to smell their bacon cooking," said Aramis with a grin.
Athos scowled. "This is not the type of task that should require a musketeer escort."
"Come now Athos, the Duke of Burgundy was comparable in size and stench and you complained only a third as much. At least the hogs are less whiny," Aramis replied.
"Yes well, in that case the Cardinal was not insistent that we be the ones to escort the bore." Athos sipped from his glass as Aramis chuckled at the pun. "He intended for this task to cause insult."
Aramis sighed and patted his brother on the shoulder. "Look at it this way – We've had a lovely ride through the country, the sun is bright and shining, and we're reprieved of the inanity of court for another day. There's a village nearby where we can make camp for the night with an excellent inn, and we can be rid of these royal hams by midday tomorrow."
Athos couldn't help but smile slightly at the marksman's good nature, and he shook his head ruefully.
"What's the worst that could happen?" Aramis asked with a broad grin.
The words had no sooner passed his lips when shouts and grunts could be heard coming from the stream.
Aramis' face fell as Athos threw him an exasperated glance as the two rushed to where Porthos and D'Artagnan had led the swine.
When they arrived it was to see Porthos flat on his backside as D'Artagnan desperately tried to calm two very panicked sows.
"What happened?!" shouted Athos over the squeals of the pigs. Aramis quickly pulled the blue sash from his waist and threw the material over the eyes of one of the struggling sows as D'Artagnan quickly covered the eyes of the other to calm them. The animals stilled instantly, calming in their imposed ignorance.
"The boar bolted. Must have gotten spooked or the whiff of another pig or somethin'. Bowled me right over!" said Porthos as he gingerly stood and dusted himself off.
Athos clenched an aggravated fist. "Are they settled?" he asked a little waspishly.
"Yes," said Aramis as he rubbed the sow behind her ears in a soothing manner.
"How did you know how to do that?" D'Artagnan asked incredulously.
"Pigs can make an awful racket. It's best to know how to calm them if you're trying to make a quiet escape," he said knowingly, his eyebrow cocked in a mischievous way.
"What do we do now?" Porthos grumbled. His humour was as sore as his backside having been thoroughly upended by the large male.
"We need to find it. And soon. The pigs are meant to be bred to improve the King's own stock. We need the stud in order for this to happen," said Athos in a way that stifled any notions of a jest.
"Right," said Aramis, tossing the rope around his sow's collar to D'Artagnan. "The light is fading. We should probably split up. We can make camp here – you won't be able to march the boar all the way to Paris once you find him."
"You'll be coming with me," Athos said, "You seem to share an understanding with these creatures, and we'll need your eyes if we're searching for him in the bush."
"You're too kind," said Aramis blithely.
"Will you two be able to stow the others and make camp? We could be gone for several hours," Athos said.
"We can handle it," grumbled Porthos, his mood as dark as the pigs.
oOO
Aramis and Athos pushed through the undergrowth of the woods in the direction that the pig had scarpered.
Risking his life, Aramis asked a piqued Athos, "Any idea as to how you plan to capture the pig?"
Athos scowled. "We're not unaccustomed to hunting."
"True, we've hunted…but a dead boar and an angry boar are two very different things…perhaps we should have brought the cart with us…"
"It never would have made it through this brush," said Athos bitterly. "I'm more concerned about our odds of finding the pig alive. The people from the village nearby use this woods to hunt in. They're hungry. A boar would be a godsend to some of these people."
"Not only that, but the gold and jewels in the collar alone might sustain a family or even a small village for some while…"
"Then for our sake, I suggest we find the hog quickly," said Athos as he scanned the forest floor for the clear signs of their chase.
The two continued through the woods following the obvious path of destruction left by the hog – trampled grasses, flattened brush, and torn bark where the beasts tusks and grazed the tree trunks as it blundered past.
Aramis knelt suddenly at the base of one particularly battered bramble. Brushing a few leaves aside, he rose and presented his hand to Athos. On it lay a ruby, red as blood and the size of an acorn.
"The richness of nature," said Aramis with a smirk.
"It must have fallen from the collar," said Athos, stowing the stone in the pocket sewn into his cloak.
Suddenly a squeal and scream rent the relative calm of the woods. Exchanging a quick glance, the two musketeers plunged deeper into the woods in pursuit of the cries.
oOo