The Cruel Sea
Chapter Four
By the time Aramis returned from his latest meeting with Monsieur Benoit, Porthos was as ready as he was ever going to be. Aramis unclasped his cloak and threw it onto the bed before looking round at the three expectant faces.
"Our friendly innkeeper has found a ship for our fictitious cargo," he said. "So far he has said and done nothing to justify our suspicions."
"He would hardly give himself away to you," Athos responded.
"Then what is the purpose of this deception?"
"Few people are aware of this supposed shipment. If Porthos succeeds in making contact with the privateers, and they know about it, that will indicate Benoit is not as innocent as he appears."
Aramis looked at him skeptically. "Why are you so sure he's involved?"
"Instinct."
"He has a good business," d'Artagnan said. "Why would he jeopardize it?"
"If I am right, his business is built on the back of piracy."
They all knew it was hopeless trying to convince Athos that he might be wrong. Once he made up his mind about something he would stubbornly cling to his belief unless hard facts proved he was mistaken.
With a resigned sigh Aramis sat beside his discarded cloak. "How is Porthos' education coming along?"
"I know a damn sight more about boats than I did before. More than I ever wanted to know if truth were told." Porthos was busy fastening his bandana around his head. He'd removed his pauldron and was bristling with weapons.
"He has proved to be an able student," Athos remarked.
"At least he knows the front of a ship from the back now," d'Artagnan added cheekily. He ducked out of the way when Porthos tried to swat him.
Although Aramis gave a brief smile he was still overburdened by anxiety. "I remain opposed to this."
"Your objection has been noted, but there is too much at stake for us to be cautious. The entire relationship between France and England is at risk if we fail in our mission."
"I know," Aramis said grudgingly. "I just wish there was another way."
"As do we all." Athos squeezed Aramis' shoulder reassuringly. "I have decided that d'Artagnan and I will sail with the next shipment. If nothing else, we might be able to avert any senseless violence."
"I'm coming too," Aramis said. "I won't be left here to worry about you all." He could see Athos weighing his words and reaching the correct conclusion that he would not be swayed.
"As you wish."
Aramis stood up and walked over to Porthos, offering his hand. "God go with you, my friend."
"You just keep prayin' for me and I'll be fine." Porthos clasped his hand and pulled him in for a brief hug.
As Porthos left the room, Aramis hoped that it wasn't the last time he would see his brother alive.
TMTMTM
Porthos stood in the doorway leading to the inn, scowling ferociously. The talk at the tables nearest the door faltered as their occupants watched him furtively. His scowl gradually changed to a smile which he suspected was more disturbing. He swept his hat off and gave a mocking bow to the men sitting closest to him. Not one of them would meet his eye. Satisfied that he had made an impression, he sauntered up to the bar where he quickly identified Benoit.
"Brandy," he called, slapping some coins down on the wood.
The bar tender hurried over, snagged a bottle from the shelf and poured a generous measure. "We don't hold with trouble here."
Porthos grinned before downing his drink. "Another. Worried that I'm not your usual class of clientele?" he asked.
Much to his surprise the bar tender didn't back away. "Just issuing a friendly warning."
"I'm not lookin' for trouble. I am lookin' for a berth and word is you're the man to talk to."
"There are plenty of ships in port. You'd do better talking to their captains."
Porthos leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Not the kind of ships I had in mind."
A flush appeared on the bar tender's neck. "Then you've come to the wrong place." He started to move away before Porthos reached out and caught his sleeve.
"I had my own ship once. A beauty she was. She was sunk by excise men off the coast of Ireland and I ended up in Waterford jail. That's a hell hole you never want to visit."
Benoit licked his lips nervously. "How did you get out?"
"Bribed the jailor. The little runt was eager to supplement his pathetic pay. He was no challenge at all," Porthos said scornfully. "Got out of Ireland as quickly as I could and came here to seek new ventures."
"If the watch hears you talking like this you'll find yourself back in jail."
"It was a grand life," Porthos continued wistfully, ignoring Benoit's warning.
"What is it you want?"
"Adventure. Excitement. Money. I hear there's a privateer that's been stealin' royal cargos. Now I ask myself why they would be doin' that if the ships are carryin' nothin' but grain? Seems to me there must be somethin' else and I want a piece of it."
"You're talking treason and it'll get you hanged sooner than make your fortune."
"I don't see you rushin' off to alert the authorities."
"A man's business is his own, but I would watch who you say such things to. Not everyone is as open-minded. Here." Benoit pushed the brandy towards Porthos. "Keep the bottle."
Porthos poured another glass and raised it in salute. "You're a true gentleman." Satisfied that he had dangled the bait he settled in for an evening of heavy drinking.
TMTMTM
D'Artagnan pressed his shoulder more firmly against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, resigned to a boring evening. He had chosen a spot from which he could see the front door of the inn and the door leading from what he assumed was the kitchen. It was growing dark, making it harder to see although the lamps along the main street had now been lit. By his reckoning Porthos had been inside for a couple of hours and, during that time, he'd noticed nothing untoward. He stamped his feet to restore their circulation. Although it blessedly wasn't raining, the night air had become chilly.
A blossoming light heralded the opening of the kitchen door. A man stepped outside. More from his stature than his face, which was in shadow, d'Artagnan was able to identify him as Benoit. The inn keeper looked around and then beckoned to a pair of urchins who were hanging around outside looking for alms. He bent down to speak to them. The light from the kitchen was sufficient to show that he handed something over but d'Artagnan couldn't tell what it was. The boys took off at a run in the opposite direction from where he stood hidden. He hesitated, torn between wanting to go after them and staying to watch out for Porthos. In the end he knew he couldn't abandon his brother.
The hours passed slowly. Even with his cloak pulled tightly around him the cold had numbed his hands and feet and was insidiously worming its way inside his clothes. The streets had quietened down although they were never deserted. He silently urged Porthos to leave his warm surroundings so that he could go back to the inn and thaw out. As if in answer to that thought Porthos stepped out into the street. He was walking unsteadily, one hand on the wall of the inn to keep him moving in approximately a straight line. D'Artagnan, who knew to his cost what Porthos' capacity was, couldn't tell if his friend truly was drunk or just putting on a show.
Incongruously for the time of night a delivery wagon began to make its slow way down the street. It passed d'Artagnan's hiding place and his gaze fell on two dark cloaked men sitting on the bench and another two men squatting in the rear of the wagon. His hand instinctively went to his sword before falling away in frustration. He couldn't interfere unless it looked like Porthos was in danger of his life. He edged out into the street, keeping well away from the lamps. The wagon had passed Porthos before stopping. All four men disembarked and he could see now that they were carrying clubs. He drew his sword, keeping it parallel to his leg and moved closer.
The men had reached Porthos now and there was a brief exchange of words. He saw Porthos lashing out with his right arm before stumbling and falling to one knee. There was the sound of laughter from his assailants. A club rose and fell, catching Porthos on the back of the head. D'Artagnan bit his lip to keep from crying out and watched in anguish as the four men heaved Porthos' inert body into the cart. He waited until it was moving again before hastening after it. The least he could do was find out where they were taking his brother.
Tbc