The smell of horse and hay had long been comforting to Treville. Riding had been one of the pleasures of his youth and the memories of hunting and camping with his father and brothers were some that he most savored. When he decided on a path of military service, it was no surprise he picked the cavalry. That the Musketeers were an elite mounted unit were as much a reflection of Treville's own passions as Louis's pride in having the best of the best in all things.
His horse nickered in greeting has he paused by her stall to check in on the work of the stable boy. He had her stripped down and was vigorously working at her left flank with a curry brush. Treville reached out a hand to scratch the beast's nose and she wuffled softly into his palm.
"How's she looking?" Treville asked as the horse pushed at his chest, hoping to wheedle from him some sugar or an apple.
"She's a fine beast, sir," the boy said, not pausing in his work, "Needs a good scrub though." The boy was right. Campaigning did not offer the best of care for either mounts or men. It would be welcome for all of them to be back in Paris.
"See to it well then," Treville said, fishing two sous from his pocket,"She deserves your best." The boy's eyes widened in appreciation as he reached over the horse's back to take the coins.
"I will, sir," the boy promised.
"Where's the farrier?" Treville asked.
"Out back," the boy said with a nod toward the far end of the stable. "He's puttin' a new shoe on. She's a fine horse too. Four black Friesians in the stables, that's rare in a day to see one. Are you nobles?"
Treville snickered. To the boy, it might seem that. "No, we are the King's Musketeers," Treville said proudly, "I'll send the farrier back to check her shoes."
Treville gave his horse a final pat and left the boy to do his work. He heard the ring of metal striking metal as he approached the other end of the stable. It opened out to a small flagstone yard overlooking the sea. It was a bit of drop to the water, so no docks or warehouses had been built here. Instead, this ridge along the ocean had given home to a series of inns, houses and shops. That the inn was also upwind of the fisheries and butchers helped to make the Captain's Rest a pleasant stay, although extra coin was required.
Aramis was in his shirt sleeves, hat and coat laid aside on a bench while he propped up his mount's back leg on his knee. The shoe was off and the farrier banged out a bend while Aramis filed down a ridge from the animal's hoof. He watched from the dim of the doorway, unnoticed by the typically hyper-observant marksman. There was an unguarded ease in Aramis's movements as he managed the filing. The man seemed as comfortable beneath his horse as he was on it. While Treville did not know all of Aramis's background, he knew that his father had also trained him to ride and hunt, although the memories did not seem as pleasant to Aramis as Treville's own were to him.
Aramis had been one of his first recruits to the regiment and after the loss at Savoy was now among the most senior. He had come to him battle-seasoned and with a reputation for his marksmanship. It was rumored he never missed - not with his musket and not with the ladies of the court. Treville had liked him immediately, as most people did when they met him. He had promised Aramis he would serve on the side of justice and honor as a Musketeer but as he often did now since the events at Savoy he would find himself looking at the young man and feel the weight of that vow pressing down. Twice now he had failed to protect this man. A soldier put his life in the hands of his commander and Treville did not take the responsibility lightly.
The farrier finished with the shoe and Aramis straightened up to swap places with him, slapping at his trousers to remove the dust and hair from the horse. Treville stepped into the courtyard to meet Aramis by the bench.
"All's well?" Treville asked as the marksman pulled his braces back over his shoulders.
"She picked up a stone on her way here," Aramis explained, "Just needed the farrier to set her to rights."
"If only it was that easy with everything," Treville said with a gruff smile, "Just bang out the dents and all is well again." Aramis gave him a wry smile and nodded in agreement. "I like this view," Treville said with a look to the sea. Aramis followed his gaze and shifted to stand by the sea wall, arms resting over the top as he gazed at the ocean.
"I've never much cared for the sea," Aramis said over his shoulder. Treville stepped beside him, the ring of the farrier' s hammer muffled by the ocean breezes.
"No promise of adventure and exploration across those waters?" Treville asked.
"The sea is always restless," Aramis said looking out over the unruly swirls and peaks of the waves, "Always demanding. Always unpredictable. I take no ease from it." Treville smiled to himself and wondered if Aramis knew how often Treville used those words when looking over his balcony at their table in the garrison courtyard.
"It is rare for a soldier on campaign to find respite," Treville said, "We have been long months away from Paris. I will be glad to go home."
"Home," Aramis sighed, "You know other men speak of home and they mean wives and families, not cots at the Garrison and Serge's bad cooking."
"Nothing is stopping you from taking a wife," Treville replied.
"Nothing except Madame d'Angleterre," Aramis said with a smile, "And Madame de Maintenon, and Madame Roland . . ."
"Enough!" Treville huffed, "These are not things I wish to know." Treville knew Aramis had a reputation as a libertine, but he did not want the details of the courtesans and noblewomen of his Musketeer's liaisons. He had to spend far too much time at court himself and had no desire to encourage the consequences that having that knowledge might engender. "Still," Treville added with a twinkle in his eye, "Those are three excellent reasons to return to Paris."
"Are they reason enough though?" Aramis said, his gaze toward the sun setting over the ocean.
"I would think the Musketeers are reason enough," Treville said.
"I love being a soldier," Aramis said wistfully, "I love even more becoming a Musketeer. But I wonder sometimes if that is all there is for me."
"You think there is a better life for you than the Musketeers?" Treville asked. "I don't really see you taking up farming and being content with it."
"No, not farming," Aramis said with a small chuckle, "Too muddy. My father always wanted me to enter the seminary."
"You are considering the Jesuits," Treville said knowingly, "I have wondered sometimes if the warrior-priests of Rome would someday hold appeal for you."
"I hold the Musketeers in the highest regard, Captain," Aramis answered, "And I hold myself honored to be sworn to the service of King and France. But perhaps I am meant to be sworn to God too?" Aramis ran a hand through his unruly hair and sighed, then turned his gaze to Treville, his bright brown eyes troubled and full of questions.
"I do not see one as exclusive to the other," Treville shrugged, "Our duty is to God, King and France."
"And each other," Aramis added. Treville heard no accusation in Aramis's voice but that did not mean Treville didn't feel it.
"Always to each other," Treville said. A brief silence stretched between them before Treville continued, "Should you wish to pursue a release of your commission to join the Jesuit order, I would not stop you," Treville's heart felt heavy as he said the words, but he knew them to be the truth. "But I do not think you will find what you are looking for there. While the Jesuits may serve God, they are still but men and subject to the same political forces in Rome as we are in France. They are no more right in their causes or their actions as we are."
Aramis hung his head at the Captain's assessment, and Treville knew he had finally touched on the heart of the matter. It wasn't merely Aramis's personal guilt over the actions he had taken, he was questioning the roots of the orders themselves. Unlike Treville, he saw it as the work of France, not the singular political agendas of Richelieu and Rochefort.
"No matter where you place your allegiance, be it to King or Pope," Treville continued, "A soldier's duty is to follow orders, wherever they may lead. It is an act of faith, regardless. "
"I'm not sure what I have left to have faith in other than in God," Aramis's voice sounded distant as his eyes again roamed over the sea. Treville longed to say 'have faith in me' but the words stuck in his throat.
"The regiment. The garrison. Your sword-brothers," That Treville could say with deep conviction, "Would you find better men to pledge your protection to than Athos and Porthos?" Aramis gave a small shake of his head.
"No, that I would not," his lips turned up in a smile and he let his gaze meet Treville's again, "I would not have survived this without them. Not these past two weeks or the past eight months. Maybe I would not have survived Savoy." Aramis's gaze narrowed, the old pain returning to ghost in his eyes. Treville feared that specter might never settle.
"They are worried for you," Treville said, unable to include himself for his role in creating the situation to begin with.
"They need not be," Aramis replied and Treville knew the words were not for Athos and Porthos, "I have made my confession, I have asked God's forgiveness and I have prayed for the souls of the lives I have taken. Absolution will come through penance and redemption is always available to those who seek it."
"You think that penance is joining the Jesuits?" Treville felt a smaller flutter in his chest, like his heart missing a beat.
"I hope my sins are not yet so great that God would ask me to leave my brothers behind," Aramis said gruffly. He cleared his throat and continued lightly, "Or leave behind Madame d'Angleterre or Madame de Maintenon . . ."
"Or Madame Roland," Treville interrupted, "I know. That would be asking too much of any man," he shared a genuine smile with Aramis, happy to see it returned. "I'm hungry. Let's find the others."
He clapped Aramis on the back and they walked back toward the inn. Aramis paused to gather his belongings from the bench. He perched his hat on his head, but folded his leather coat over his arm, the pauldron still in his hand. As Treville followed Aramis back toward the stable he did not miss the statement that Aramis was making by failing to resume his uniform but Treville's heart felt more at ease. Aramis would not leave Athos and Porthos behind. He would have his Musketeer back as soon as it was time to ride out together again.