Goodness, thank you so much for the response to the beginning of this story in your great comments. Yes, this is the start of another big adventure and I hope it contains lots of twists and turns to keep you guessing. Here, Treville needs to finish his investigation at the site of the massacre and there is nothing to alleviate his concerns about his men.

CHAPTER 2

Tréville shook his head to clear it and to focus but thoughts of the position of lieutenant still loomed large and he surreptitiously glanced at the old warrior by his side. A year or so on a lieutenant's pay would help the man's pension and he certainly deserved it but even as the thought crossed his mind, Tréville knew what Claude's answer would be. He would still decline, preferring to be 'one of the men'. It wouldn't hurt to try it though, would it?

After Ré, he had appointed Hervé Tasse as his second and the relationship had worked well enough. He had been wary regarding his choice for he had developed doubts about his ability to judge a man after the mistake he had made with Savatier, but the caution had been short-lived for Tasse was organised, dedicated and the men regarded him favourably. He may have lacked Claude's outgoing and outspoken personality and Athos' flair but he made up for it in his untiring commitment and willingness to lead by example. Sadly, he had been seriously injured during an altercation with lawbreakers on the route southwest of Paris some seven weeks earlier. He had recovered to some extent, but he would never be the same again and it necessitated his being invalided out of the regiment.

The position of lieutenant had therefore fallen vacant once more and Tréville did not know how much longer he could hold off from making a decision. Whilst it remained his prerogative to choose his second in command, he still had to observe the courtesy of making his recommendation to the King who was, after all, the ultimate authority over his own élite regiment.

"You're off in your own little world," Claude chastised him gently. They had served together for a long time before the inception of the musketeers and the older man enjoyed a few liberties not allowed the other men. It was an additional mark of Béranger's discretion that he never abused this privilege of familiarity.

"It was inappropriate, but I was distracted by the need to appoint my new second," Tréville admitted. "Someone who is observant, thinks things through; you know the sort of person I mean."

Claude harrumphed noisily and directed his attention to the coach. "Well you needn't think o' lookin' at me! We've had this conversation more times'n I care to remember."

"A man can't be faulted for trying, can he?"

"Of course he's at fault when he keeps tryin' where it'll come to no good. I've given you my answer more than once an' it won't change. I'm gettin' too old for that kind of bother an' I like doin' what I do. Besides, you know full well who you should be appointin' an you don't need me to remind you."

Tréville sighed. Claude had been supporting Athos since events on Ré. Whatever haunted the young man then still affected him now but the change in him for the better was markedly clear. He had developed even more as a soldier and, dare it be said, settled to some extent under the supervision and care of his two brothers-in-arms. Tréville had no qualms about his ability to fulfil the role and despite his aloof manner, time had shown that most of his colleagues both liked and respected him. There were only the continuing rumblings between him and another musketeer, Delacroix, that worried Tréville but it was far more the problem of the other man and was not a reason of any import as to why Athos should be held back. Athos had, for the main part, conducted himself well and not risen to the taunts and goading of his nemesis and it was obvious that if Delacroix allowed his animosity to fester any further, then it was his commission, paid for by his father, that was in danger of being revoked.

"The boy's more than proved his worth," Claude persisted. "I know he and the other two get themselves into all kinds of scrapes, but trouble tends to find' em rather than them goin' lookin' for it so why are you still holdin' back?"

Playing for time, Tréville removed his hat, squinted up at the sun, ran a hand through his thinning hair and put the hat on again as he wondered what kind of trouble might have found them now to delay their return. "I don't know, Claude, and that's the truth. You're right, many's the time he has demonstrated instinctive leadership and strategic decision making, but then I think back to that tormented young man who turned up at my door."

"Four years ago," Claude interrupted. "A lot's happened in that time."

"I know, and I have found out more about him since then but there is still so much that he keeps shut away from his friends, from me. Does he want or need the burden of that responsibility on top of everything else? With the demands I would be making of him, what kind of pressures would that put on his relationship with the other two? They ground him."

"An' they'll continue to do so. Give 'em all some credit. They all seem like boys to me, given my age, but when all's said an' done, they're men, fightin' men with experience and hard knocks that've shaped 'em an' will go on shapin' 'em, not least young Athos. Think on it, makin' him your lieutenant might do 'im even more good."

"I'll bear that in mind," Tréville said sombrely. "When did you get so wise, Claude?"

Claude frowned as if thinking. "Not sure as I am." He nodded towards a body that lay a little apart from the dead Spanish guards. "Take 'im, for instance. There's somethin' wrong with that'un but I can't place it."

They walked over to the corpse and Tréville squatted beside the man who had fallen on his face, limbs spread-eagled. The neat bullet hole in the back was obviously the cause of death but the Captain still rolled him over. The man's features were swarthy and more reminiscent of those in southern France. He even resembled the Spanish dead who lay around him. The clothing was French in style and ill-fitting. When Tréville grabbed the heel of a worn boot, it slid off the foot easily; it was far too big for the man who wore it.

After a battle, he had known men purloin boots from the dead when they needed them. They were spoils of war and the new owners were often heedless of the fit and would stuff them with rags or paper to stop them from slipping. There were even those who had nearly crippled themselves with footwear that was too small, but that discomfort was a small price to pay for dry feet when the soles of their own boots were holed beyond repair or parting company from the leather uppers.

"These aren't his clothes. Nothing fits," Tréville said. "It's all too big."

"Makes a person wonder why a man isn't wearin' 'is own clothes," Claude commented, an eyebrow raised questioningly.

"It does indeed," the Captain replied. "Of course, there may be a perfectly good explanation. He could have got very wet in the recent rain and 'borrowed' some dry clothes from a taller friend. Or he fell in a river."

Claude snorted. "You don't believe that for a minute."

"Naturally. So what do you think I might be believing then, Claude?"

"That with all them French coins lyin' on the ground and him in those badly fittin' French clothes, the French attackers were very careless," the older man reasoned.

Tréville looked at the westerly direction in which the supposed Frenchman lay and then wandered amongst the Spanish bodies lying to the east of him.

"Or very clever. Those Spanish guards did not have the time to offer any defence and yet one 'Frenchman' is left dead, shot in the back? I don't think he was so negligent as to turn his back on the men he was apparently fighting. Besides, these men still have their weapons on their belts. The shot that killed him did not come from them."

"So the attackers shoot one of their own and leave him behind to make it look even more like the French did it?" Claude speculated.

"That's what I'm thinking," Tréville agreed.

"Who do you reckon did it then? An' why do they want it to look as if we French are the ones responsible?"

"There are all sorts of people who don't want his important papers to reach Paris, Claude," Tréville patiently explained, yet wary as to how much he revealed. "The Ambassador was aware of the risk involved, that there were some of his countrymen who were not in favour of his intentions. They would be prepared to kill and would not hesitate to incriminate the French. Then there are some of the French counsel who are not supporting it either; one of them could have initiated this attack and created a double bluff."

"What's that mean?"

"They're French pretending to be Spaniards dressed up as Frenchmen," Tréville went on.

"That's too confusin'," Claude declared.

"You don't want to hear my other suggestion then," the Captain said.

"No point in 'oldin' back. You might as well tell me what's goin' on in that 'ead o' yours," complained Claude.

"There's another group, the English perhaps, who have intervened and want the Spanish to think that we are the ones responsible in order to break down Franco-Spanish relations even further."

Claude groaned. "Wish I'd never asked now."

Tréville glanced in the direction of the coach. "I'd better take a look at the Ambassador."

"I can't think of anything important enough to justify what they did to the poor man inside that coach. So he had some important papers on 'im! It would've been enough to finish 'im with one shot at close range or run 'im through with a sword. Not what they did to 'im though. I'm warnin' you now; it's not a pretty sight."

As the two men walked purposefully towards the open coach, Tréville felt the tension in the pit of his stomach metamorphosing into a physical pain. If Claude said it was bad, then it defied description and he steeled himself for what he was about to see.

He stopped abruptly. There was a man, his torso and head hanging out of the coach whilst his legs were pinned by a second body within the carriage. His wide, staring eyes signalled his dying terror. He was well-dressed, the cut of his clothing expensive and appropriate for the Spanish court; the cut over his heart and stained with blood cried out as to the cause of death.

"This man must be the Ambassador's personal secretary. Help me with him," the Captain instructed.

Together, they released the lower part of the man's body from beneath his master and lifted him down gently to lay him in the dirt. Tréville paused long enough to close the unseeing eyes before he turned back to the carriage.

Hardened as he was to the aftermath of bitter battles, the bile still rose in his throat and he had to swallow hard as he stared in disbelief at the horror awaiting him. He clung to the doorframe to remain standing as he studied the corpse of the Spanish Ambassador curled up on his front on the carriage floor. An odd posture for a man of his years but perhaps he had adopted a near-foetal position to protect himself. However, the blood spray that decorated the lavish interior of the coach and the many slash wounds across his back told a completely different story - that of a frenzied attack.

Tréville could not determine which one had been the fatal blow; that is if any of them had owned that responsibility. Reluctantly, the Captain climbed into the coach and squatted carefully, not wanting to smear his uniform with any body fluids if it could be helped. Tentatively, he reached out to touch the corpse, turning him more onto his side and leaning in so that he could examine the man's front. More wounds, delivered by a blade, were evident across the chest as blood pooled in a dark, congealing puddle beneath the Ambassador.

"He is still easy to move; the body has not stiffened yet," Tréville announced.

"He's not been dead too long then," Claude reasoned as he stood on the ground outside the coach. "What do you reckon? Three? Four hours?"

"Probably the lesser, which means he was on the road early this morning and probably spent the night at the next town or village along this route. We must assume his initial delay was due to the heavy rain and impassable roads."

"We couldn't have long missed those who did it then."

"Long enough," Tréville was already weighing up the usefulness in sending some of his men in pursuit and decided against it. The perpetrators would have ridden hard to escape the scene of their dreadful crime. If he sent a small group after them, they could ride for days and never catch up or, outnumbered by the attackers, they could be overwhelmed and counted as the next victims. Besides, he had the dead to take care of here and the Ambassador's corpse needed to be taken to Paris.

"There might be another reason for the delay," Claude began, his attention fixed upon something outside the coach. "The hub and several spokes of the front wheel this side have been replaced. That would've taken some time to repair."

"A journey beset by problems from the very start," the Captain muttered to himself, starting to go through the clothing of the dead man. "Now to see if you have any documents on you still."

Claude had bent down to look at something else beneath the carriage. "Might 'e 'ave been carrying whatever it was in a carved wooden box?" he called.

Tréville's brow furrowed at the unexpected question. "It's a possibility. Why?"

"There's a box busted open and in pieces in the dirt under the coach, that's why?"

Sighing, the Captain continued his rudimentary search of the body, but was not too disappointed when he found nothing. "Is the rest of the luggage intact?" he asked as Claude appeared in the open doorway and leaned against the frame.

"All still strapped on the back. Doesn't look as if it's been touched," came the answer.

"Then the papers have gone," Tréville said simply and he began to think of the ramifications of the missing Treaty. He looked down again at the body and saw the bloodstained fingers of the left hand resting on marks on the carriage floor, marks he had at first thought were the results of the wounds.

Gently, he moved the hand aside and studied the badly smeared lines. "Claude, what do you make of this?"

He felt the carriage move downwards with the additional weight as Claude climbed in beside him and peered at the lines as directed.

"Looks like letterin'," Claude said abruptly.

"Just what I was thinking."

"Writin' a message in 'is own blood? Some clue as to his killer?"

"Possibly," the Captain replied. "Except he died before he could finish it and, lucky for us, slumped across it before his killer saw it and wiped it clear. What can you make out?"

Tréville had had no problem deciphering the letters, crude as they were from the hand of a dying man. He just wanted confirmation that he was not seeing what he wanted to see and desperately wanted the older man to prove him wrong.

"R - I – C; that's what it looks like to me," Claude said eventually.

"To me too," the Captain said grimly.

"You reckon it's a name?"

"It's a possibility," Tréville agreed.

Claude was thoughtful. "Well, if he's an Ambassador," and he stopped to nod towards the dead man as he reflected aloud on what he knew so far, "then he's goin' to know some important people and seein' as how he's on French soil an' headin' to Paris, he must be 'ere to see those important people and happen somebody doesn't like what 'e's carryin' an' puts a stop to it. I doubt he'd be wastin' his dyin' breath writin' a message to the man he's goin' to see so we're agreed 'e must be leavin' a clue. There's only one important man in Paris that I know of whose name starts with those same letters." Claude studied his commanding officer carefully. "I'm willin' to stand corrected."

"And I'd love to correct you," the Captain began, "but I'm afraid I can't."

For he had had the very same thought. Those letters began the surname of France's most powerful man for he was the adviser to the King himself: Armand Jean du Plessis, better known as Cardinal Richelieu and the country's first minister.

Why would the man integral to the drawing up of the Treaty seek its destruction? It did not make sense.

No, there had to be another, better explanation. Despite his unease, it just remained for Tréville to find out what that explanation was and he knew that it would be no easy task!