A New Day Dawning
Chapter Two
The tavern was quiet and the mood subdued. With so many men away fighting there were plenty of jobs to be had but the price of food had risen incrementally with the length of the war leaving people with little spare money. That much Aramis had discovered even during his short time in the city. The townsfolk, desperate and afraid, had been surprisingly willing to share their views about the dire situation. It showed, to Aramis' mind, how bad conditions actually were. In the past people were reticent about confiding in the Musketeers, seeing them as an extension of the King. He glanced down at his pauldron. This symbol of authority was a welcome weight on his shoulder. He hadn't realised how much he had missed it until he put it on again.
They chose a table with a clear view of the door and waited for the serving girl to make her way over to them. She smiled in welcome, no doubt relieved to see some patrons.
"What can I get for you fine gentlemen?" she asked.
Aramis pulled out a couple of coins and laid them on the table. "Wine, if you please."
"And make it the good stuff," Porthos added. "I've had my fill of drinking piss and vinegar."
"You've fought in the war?" The money disappeared into the pocket of her apron.
"I have. Aramis here was in a monastery."
She raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You don't look like a monk."
He had caught the edge to Porthos' words but still managed a grin for the girl. "I wasn't a very good one."
"You're a soldier now?" She sounded bewildered.
"I am and happier for it."
"I'll fetch your wine."
Aramis leaned forward and fixed his gaze on Porthos. "I won't apologise for my decision. I made a vow to God and had to uphold it."
"No-one's askin' you to," Porthos said, although he couldn't sustain the eye contact.
They sat in awkward silence until the girl returned. She placed two glasses in front of them and poured the wine. Porthos picked his up, sniffed at it, then took a large mouthful. As he swallowed his face became suffused with a look of pure bliss.
"Oh, that's good."
Aramis was slower to drink. "We didn't have wine at the monastery, well except for the wine drunk by the priest during Mass. We did make our own beer, though, and it was palatable enough.
"It doesn't look like you were wastin' away through lack of food either."
He felt the heat in his cheeks at the accusatory tone. "We grew our own vegetables which we shared with the people of the town. A small herd of cows provided milk and a few chickens were kept for their eggs. We weren't a wealthy Order and our mandate was to care for the poor and dispossessed."
"That how you came to be surrounded by a gaggle of children?"
A fond smile chased away the defensiveness. "They were all orphans, brought to us for shelter. The Abbot saw that I had a gentle spirit despite my years as a soldier and tasked me with their welfare."
"They must have been quite a handful."
"Luc was a challenge. He was obsessed with the war which is why he enjoyed my stories so much."
"You told him about us."
Aramis looked down at the wood of the table, tracing the grain with his finger. "It was a way of keeping the memory alive." He didn't have to ask Porthos what it had been like to go to war. He had fought in enough conflicts to know of the days or weeks of waiting followed by the brutality of the battle. Food would become scarce and, what they did have, would spoil easily in the unsanitary conditions of the camp. Men would sleep lightly, fear their constant companion. Illness and injury would stretch the field medics to their limit and the stench of death would never abate.
"I really believed you would come to war with us. When we came to get you…it never occurred to me that you'd refuse."
"I'll admit I was torn. It wasn't easy to send you away."
"But you did it anyway." The belligerence was back in Porthos' voice.
Aramis swallowed hard and looked up, it taking all his courage to face his friend. "You know why. I was saved from the wheel by divine intervention. I owed God my life."
"You were saved by our capturing Vargas and getting him to talk. And, don't forget, Milady de Winter. She's the one who got you out of that cell."
"I know you don't understand."
"No, I don't. We were brothers. We stuck together and watched each other's backs."
Aramis almost recoiled at Porthos' words. He was referring to their brotherhood in the past tense. "If you want me to leave I will."
They both knew that he wasn't talking about leaving the tavern. Aramis felt his palms grow slick while his breathing became shallow and there was an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"It's not up to me, is it?"
"Porthos…"
Porthos stood up and looked down at him. "I think I've had enough. I'm goin' back to the garrison. You comin'?"
Aramis shook his head, feeling miserable. "I'll be along shortly." He sat, staring into his wine, until the girl came to tell him they were closing for the night. When he reached the street his steps automatically took him in the direction of the garrison; a place that no longer felt like home.
TMTMTM
When Athos left his room the following morning, and walked down the stairs to the yard, he saw an unnatural stillness and quiet enveloping his three friends. He stopped to watch them. Porthos was eating with his usual enthusiasm. D'Artagnan was surreptitiously glancing from him to Aramis and their newly returned brother was picking lethargically at his food. Clearly something had happened but he had neither the time nor the patience to discover what it was. They were grown men and would have to sort it out for themselves.
He sat down, briefly catching d'Artagnan's perplexed gaze. "We have a new assignment."
That succeeded in gathering everyone's attention. He helped himself to a slice of bread and some cheese, nodding his thanks when d'Artagnan filled a cup with ale for him.
"What is it?" Aramis asked, although he seemed almost disinterested in the answer.
Athos looked around to ensure that they couldn't be overheard. "Treville believes there is a traitor in the Council."
"Feron?" Porthos asked.
"Possibly, although I can't see him siding with Spain against his own brother."
"What is the foundation for his belief?" A little more life had seeped into Aramis' face and voice.
"Three convoys of ammunition have been ambushed in the past few weeks, including the one at Douai. Somehow the Spanish always seem to know of their movements."
"Who does he suspect?" d'Artagnan asked.
"The Baron de Montfaucon or the Marquis de Schonen."
"The Baron's in charge of the Treasury isn't he?" Aramis asked. "I don't recognise the other name though."
"The Marquis takes care of the munitions."
"How are we supposed to find out who it is?" Porthos popped the last morsel of bread into his mouth and chased it down with some ale.
"We have to get close to them. I've decided the best way to do that is to assign a Musketeer guard to each of them."
"Won't they find that odd?" Aramis said.
"We can tell them we have a credible threat of imminent harm. The situation in Paris, as we've seen, is volatile. Many blame the Treasurer for the fact that the King hasn't provided money to ease their plight."
"How do you know this?" D'Artagnan picked up the jug and refilled their cups.
When Athos didn't immediately answer Aramis' face brightened.
"Sylvie?"
"Perhaps." Athos was struggling with his attraction to a woman who openly spread sedition. She had, however, been a goldmine of information.
"What of the Marquis?" Porthos grinned at his obvious discomfort.
"If the people were to rise up they would need weapons. What better way to get them than to abduct the man who holds the keys to the armory? Porthos, I want you watching the Marquis. Aramis, you are to guard the Baron. Report only to me. I don't want you seen with Treville in case they grow suspicious."
"What about me?" d'Artagnan asked.
"You have cadets to train. Constance did her best bringing in old soldiers to help but they need someone closer to their own age to push them to excel." He looked from Porthos to Aramis. "Report to the palace. You are on twenty-four hours a day guard duty. See if you can search their desks while they are in Council meetings. Listen to their conversations. If you see one of their servants acting suspiciously follow them discreetly. And, watch out for Feron. He's unhappy that we're back and I think he would like an opportunity to discredit us. Don't give him one."
"Yes, Captain." Aramis rose to his feet, frowning when Porthos stayed in his seat.
"We're soldiers, not spies," Porthos objected.
"We are whatever Treville needs us to be. Have you forgotten how much we owe him?"
"I'd say we've paid our dues after four years of fightin'"
"None the less, these are our orders. Do you propose to disobey them?"
Porthos stood and shook his head. "Just don't like all this sneakin' around."
"I sympathise but another convoy is due to leave in two weeks and I would rather not lose another troop of soldiers and all the supplies."
"You saw what they did to the guards at Douai," Aramis said. "They executed them."
"How do you know?" Porthos asked.
"I came upon them while taking the children back to the monastery. They had been watching the fighting from the hill top. Fortunately, they didn't witness the actual killing, but they did see the aftermath which was enough to traumatize them."
"I'm sorry about that," Porthos said with genuine remorse.
"If you gentlemen are quite ready?" Athos said drily. "You know what you have to do. Send word if you discover anything."
Tbc