Thank you for your kind comments and reviews. I must say I am enjoying this very much. Especially the King and the Cardinal writing for them makes me giggle. I have an idea where this is going now. Poor Athos is in for a rough ride, but I am sure he can cope. I hope you enjoy, I apologise for any typos or poor grammatical errors, but I have to rely on myself to edit and check. Not the best strategy as the brain sees what it wants to see, and the computer isn't a lot of help. So here goes.
Chapter 3
Athos took advantage of the young Musketeer's distraction and slunk back into the shadows. He watched as Aramis looked around with surprise, his thanks dying upon his lips before they could ever be spoken. His adrenalin rush was now wearing off and the poor-quality wine definitely taking effect. He considered his position and debated where to spend the night. Winter was very evident and even at this early hour the floor was coated with a glistening blanket of frost. By the early morning the temperatures would be below freezing and if he was out in the streets asleep, he knew he would never awake again. For a moment the temptation to simply close his eyes and succumb to a gentle death insinuated itself into his mind. If not for the whiney of a horse from the Musketeer stable, he may well have simply slid to the ground and let fate take her hand. As it was the cry from the unknown animal bought to mind Roger, perhaps his faithful friend would not mind sharing his stall for one night.
Aramis spent the silent hours by his friend's side. Once he was sure Porthos would suffer no lasting damage he lay down upon the bed next to his friend in the infirmary and drifted off to sleep.
The next day dawned bright and cold. As Athos had suspected. Paris sparkled as though it had been delivered of a light sprinkling of snow. The heavy frost made the city seem clean and fresh, no mean feat for streets laden with detritus and too many people for too small a space. Those that cared to look a little deeper might have found the darker side to the winter beauty. How many poor creatures had simply succumbed to the soothing bite of winter sleep? More paupers' graves would be dug when the earth finally warmed enough to embrace further unfortunate souls.
Athos had awoken early. The sun was yet to rise, and the sky was still dark. Roger had been pleased to see his master and had gratefully shared his lodging for the night. At least Athos knew for as long as Roger was stabled with Monsieur Rene, he too would have somewhere warm to sleep. He moved into the smithy, the fire in the forge still alight giving off some much-needed warmth. Athos had a strong thirst a gift from last nights foul tasting wine. He dipped the ladle into the Farriers drinking supply and gasped as the frigid water hit his parched throat. The fire had prevented the water from freezing, but only just. When he had had his fill, he cupped his hands and splashed the water onto his face. Whilst he was still gasping from the icy chill, he ran wet hands through his thick hair in an effort to … he wasn't really sure what - or even why. It was the first time he had given it any thought for so long. For a few minutes he carried out a series of stretches and manoeuvres to loosen his cramped limbs. Then with a last glance at his horse's stall he walked off into the winter dawn. As he gazed out across the rooftops of Paris the sky was glowing with the first signs of a new day. The pale grey was streaked with golds and reds as though the city was on fire. He sighed heavily and headed to break his fast. Preferably with a wine of considerably better quality than last night.
Captain Treville looked out over the balcony at morning muster. All his men were present, and he handed out the chores and assignments for the day. His eyes lingered on his best men and a frown creased his brow. 'Porthos, Aramis, my office.' Porthos groaned.
'He couldn't av eard yet surely?' Aramis managed an elegant shrug before replying.
'You know the Captain.' Porthos simply rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his head.
'How are you feeling this morning, Môn Ami, 'Aramis asked his face full of concern.
'I'm thirsty,' grumbled Porthos.
'That is probably the result of whatever they put in your drink last night.'
'Sneaky bastards,' growled Porthos. 'Ya wait until I get my ands on em. I'll show em.'
'I have no doubt my friend but right now we need to survive Treville.'
The two men entered the Captain's office and stood stiffly in front of his desk. Treville said nothing but looked his men up and down. Aramis had dark rings under his eyes as if he hadn't slept and what looked like the beginning of a bruise on his jaw. Porthos simply looked like death.
'And what pray happened to you too last night?' Aramis and Porthos feigned as much innocence as the could manage. Porthos knew his limitations and lying was not a strength. His emotions always gave him away. He would let his friend try and talk their way out of this one. He just hoped he would not add too many ridiculous embellishments.
'Porthos fell over,' were the only words Aramis uttered. Now there were embellishments and there were facts necessary to convince. Porthos heard neither.
'Fell over,' echoed the Captain. 'And did you fall on top of him?' Aramis had the sense to remain silent in the hope the lord might take pity on him and provide inspiration. 'The thing you fell over wouldn't have been wearing red would it?' The two men looked at each other and frowned as they shook their heads and appeared to be considering the Captains words.
'Red, no Captain,' Porthos managed.
'No, I don't think so.' Aramis muttered.
Treville looked at the two men hovering before him like naughty children. Sometimes he wondered how two such brave and responsible soldiers could end up standing in front of him with all the sense of two five-year olds.
'If I weren't busy with this wretched party, I'd put the both of you on stable duty for the rest of the day. As it is, I need you to accompany me to the palace. Perhaps listening to the King planning his party will be a more suitable punishment instead. I know it is for me. Be ready to leave in thirty minutes. And smarten yourselves up.'
As the two men exited the office with as much speed and dignity as they could Porthos looked at Aramis.
'Fell over?' Was that really the best ye could manage?' Aramis had the decency to look contrite.
'Well it worked out alright in the end, don't you think.'
'Oh yeah he really fell for that one, as stories go that was definitely one of ya worst.' Aramis sighed
'I'm sorry Mon Ami I was tired.' Porthos placed his hand on his friend's shoulder.
'I know. I daresay you spent half of the night hovering over me like a mother hen. What the hell happened anyway. And who was the stranger who came to our aid?
'I'm not entirely sure my friend but it appears as though it had all been set up in advance. I think even the card game was set up to entice us to the tavern. It would seem your recent winning streak has angered one too many Red Guards.'
'They get what they deserve,' Porthos growled. 'But last night I wasn't even bloody cheatin' Aramis shrugged expressing some amount of sympathy for the unfairness of it all.
'When we reached the corner there was a length of twine stretched across the road and you fell heavily, hitting your head on the floor. You were out cold.' Porthos rubbed the back of his head as if remembering made it hurt all over again.
'I remember my legs were heavy, I felt tired and my eyes were blurred, nothin' looked right.'
'You were drugged my friend. Or so our new acquaintance informed me. It was he who spotted the twine across the street. Before he helped lug your heavy load back to the garrison.'
'Who was he?' Porthos asked horrified at the lengths the Red Guard had gone to.
'I don't know by the time I thought to ask he had simply vanished into thin air. I know one thing, he used a sword as though it was an extension of his own arm. If I hadn't had you to deal with, I would have delighted in watching him bring them down. And I don't believe he was even trying. Oh, and that was after three bottles of wine.' He grinned at Porthos who eyed his friend as though he were exaggerating.
'It's a pity you didn't tell a story like that for Treville, we might have avoided several hours of boredom at the palace.' With that they mounted their horses and waited for the Captain.
Athos was restless. After one bottle of wine his mind was unsettled and somehow the noise of the tavern, though it was still incredibly early, was aggravating his already frayed temper. He picked up his hat and through enough coins on to the table to pay his bill. He walked out into the bright sunlight and almost grunted with pain. He shielded his eyes and looked around to gain his bearings. Coming toward him was a group of Red Guard shoving people out of their way and helping themselves to fruit from the market stall holders as they passed. For no other reason than curiosity Athos followed.
'How much longer do we have to sit here and listen to how many pastries need to be consumed by the guests. It's makin me hungry.' grumbled Porthos. Treville caught his eye and glared at the Musketeer before once more turning to the King.
'You know Cardinal, it is times like this that one considers family.' remarked the King
'Family Sire?' queried the First Minister warily.
'Yes, I wonder if an occasion such as this would be a good time to offer an olive branch to my brother.' The King examined his finger nails as if he had just uttered the most inane comment possible. Treville and the Cardinal exchanged a horrified glance before Richelieu calmly replied,
'Your brother Sire?' The Cardinal reiterated
'Yes, yes Cardinal, you heard what I said.'
'The brother who tried to overthrow you and have you killed Sire?' The King sighed and rolled his eyes.
'Oh, Cardinal why do you always have to be so dramatic.? That was then. I'm sure he is extremely sorry for what happened. I'm convinced if one was to invite him to the Queen's party, he would have the opportunity to express his sorrow for what he did. After all he was very young.'
'And very greedy,' muttered the Cardinal under his breath. He glanced at Treville as though the Musketeer Captain was somehow responsible for this madness.
'Your majesty. May I say that in this matter I believe the Cardinal is right. We have no reason to suppose the Duke has had a change of heart and to invite him into the palace for such a…relaxed occasion may result in the direst of consequences.' The King stamped his foot and clenched his fists.
'Not you too Treville. I thought you were a man of compassion and sense. I will not be overruled on this I have made up my mind. My brother the Duc d'Orleans will be invited.' Louis lifted his head in the air as if defying either man to express their opposition. Treville ran his hand through his hair and made one last attempt.
'Sire if I may, if you truly have your heart set upon this course, could I simply ask you to consider taking precautions.' The King looked at Treville with wary curiosity. Whilst Richelieu looked simply incredulous.
'Might I ask you to refrain from sending the invitation until the very last minute. The party is not for another four weeks and the Duke would not need more than three-or four-days' notice to make the journey to Paris.' The King looked thoughtful, but he did not dismiss the idea out of hand.
'And what might such delay achieve Captain?' Asked the King.
'Well Sire if indeed the Duke is still harbouring desires upon your crown it will not give him enough time to act. Three days would not be enough time to put any sort of plot into action. If I might also suggest that my Musketeers travel to deliver the invitation and escort him to Paris, he will be watched at all times. If the Duke is innocent of all suspicion, then no harm will be done.' The King looked slightly petulant but even he had to see the sense in the Musketeer Captain's proposal.
'Very well Treville, I will follow your recommendations, though I think you judge my poor brother far too harshly. You will have to apologise I fear before this is all over. Now I have a headache all this negative emotion is very trying. I must rest. Good day Cardinal, Treville.'
Those remaining in the room bowed and as the Kings courtiers followed the Monarch and closed the doors the two musketeers, their Captain and Richelieu could not help but exchange amazed expressions. What had just happened? Had the King seriously just decided to invite his murderous and traitorous brother to the Queen's birthday party. Richelieu glared at Treville.
'If you have your heart set upon it? Are you gone mad Treville?' hissed the Cardinal.
'You know as well as I do that once the King has made up his mind there is no changing it. Arguing any further would simply have caused him to become more convinced in the right of his idea. At least this way we have some control over the Dukes response. With my men delivering the invitation and escorting him to Paris there is no opportunity for him to gather support for any outragous plans for usurping the throne.' The Cardinal paced up and down the throne room and wrung his hands together.
'Well it seems the whole thing has been settled. I hope you are right Treville or the blame will clearly lie with you and your Musketeers.' He practically spat out the last words as he strode out of the room in anger.
Aramis and Porthos looked toward Treville who in turn was staring intently upon the ceiling. Aramis could not tell if he was looking for divine inspiration or counting the cherubs to prevent himself from hitting something. He suspected the latter. Eventually he turned to Aramis and Porthos.
'Well you heard all of that. It seems you will be journeying to the Chateau d'Ambois to escort the Duke to the party. And for Gods sake make sure he gets up to no good.' With that he turned on his heel and left his men to follow in his wake.
Athos had followed the Red Guard to a tavern not far from the garrison. They seemed to be intent upon spending the rest of the day eating and drinking. There didn't seem much coin exchanging hands, in fact they appeared to enjoy taking liberties from the merchants and traders of the city. They certainly didn't seem to spend much time guarding anything that Athos could see. He had tempered his wine intake and had only finished his second of the day. He could not explain why he had taken such interest in the activities of the Cardinals guard dogs, but it gave his mind something else to dwell upon - if only for a short while. He would still need to seek refuge in liquid oblivion if he was to sleep at all tonight. For now, he was content to simply watch. As day turned to evening the guards eventually rose to leave. Some not particularly steady on their legs. Athos watched them go then decided it was time for him too, to find somewhere less noticeable drink away the night.
As he made to pull his hood over his head, he sensed something or someone behind him. It was only his quick reactions that prevented the heavy object that now impacted his left shoulder from knocking him senseless. He sprang sideways with the wall behind him and pulled out his sword and main gauche. He shook his head, for despite the blow missing its intended target it had still left his ears ringing.
'I told you it was that bastard from last night. The one that stuck Boucher and Caron.'
'Forgive me gentleman for not recognising you, I'm afraid all of you Red Guards look alike.' drawled Athos. All the time looking from one man to the other. Six on one, not the worst odds he had ever encountered but then that had not particularly ended well for him, despite seeing off the opposition. Still if this was how he would go, then so be it. He had been courting death for a long time and his luck had to run out eventually
'If you gentleman intend to fight, might I suggest we get on with it. It is cold, and the exercise would be most welcome.'
'He's a cocky bugger aint he? Well let's be avin ya then.' The guard lunged, and Athos danced lightly out of the way, he saw the sword come at him from his right and parried it neatly. His main gauche left his left hand and embedded itself nicely in the one he presumed had hit him from behind. Richly deserved. One down five to go. Steel clashed upon steel as one by one Athos thrust and parried the adversaries drawing a little blood each time, he got the chance. He was beginning to tire. Despite the consummate amount of wine, he had drunk no real food had passed his lips for days. He had lost weight and the exercise was beginning to tell. Still he was not going to go down without a fight. He felt one of the soldier's swords slice through the leather of his doublet into his left shoulder but as the blood ran down the inside of his shirt, he ignored the fire and lunged at the aggressor - his blade running the man through. As he fell twitching to the ground his demise seemed to give the others and new lease of life. Athos gave a glance to heaven, not that he was praying, just considering once again which deities had decided to take what was once his life and tear it apart until there was nothing left but tatters in the wind. Just as his left arm was beginning to grow numb there was a cry from behind him. He groaned as he knew he could not possibly take on more guards. Of the six who had attacked him only three were left. One was dead and the other two lay moaning upon the floor. The odds were definitely getting better.
'Well good evening my nameless friend,' grinned Aramis 'It seems we meet again. And what is this? It seems you started the party without us. Shame on you. Well let me see. Three down and three left. One each - excellent. What say you Porthos?'
Aramis and Porthos entered the fight with panache and a little too much zeal. Well especially Porthos, Red Guards were just target practice for the man. Bored with the elongated sword play he grabbed the soldier's sword and pulled him in to a tight embrace, before lifting him high above his head and throwing him onto the ground, where he had the sense to stay. Aramis had winged his opponent when a loud shout went up from the street ahead.
'Put down your weapons, in the name of the Cardinal.' Aramis, Porthos and Athos looked at one another.
'Go,' said Athos, 'This is my fight not yours.'
'We do not abandon a brother under any circumstances.' Aramis smiled as he elbowed his opponent in the face without turning to look.
'Go,' hissed Athos. 'You have too much to lose, and I … I have nothing. Go! What use will you be to France in the Châtelet?' For a moment Porthos and Aramis stopped and looked at one another.
'He's right Mis. If they don't kill us the Captain will. And after today I figure e needs us.' They glanced at Athos who was still defending himself though now he was simply sliding his sword off his opponents, mostly to hold himself upright.
'Very well Mon Ami, but we will see this right.' With that Porthos and Aramis fled. They were not happy but as Athos had said, what use would they be in the Châtelet.
Athos felt rough hands grab his wrists and yank him to his feet. Only for someone to punch him in the stomach and kick his legs out from under him. As he doubled over retching onto the cobbles, he considered the ploy and hoped it was not one they intended to repeat.
'Murdering bastard, you'll hang for this.' Athos actually smiled. Perhaps there was a God after all, it seemed the decision was now out of his hands. As he rose on to his knees, he saw a boot coming towards his face and the night went black.
