Under Suspicion Chapter 6
By: MusketeerAdventure
Summary: This story takes place during the season finale, Trial and Punishment. King Louis learns the truth.
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The sky was bright and cloudless. The weather was cool; crisp and served them well. They would not stop. It was decided that they would ride on to Paris with no break, no rest, and no food. This way the journey to Paris would be swift. It was now only a matter of hours.
Athos sat upon Devoue, and let his strength and sure footedness take the lead. He did not have to push him hard. The horse felt his urgency and surged forward with little encouragement.
Behind him, with his hands tied tightly together, Vargas did what he could to hold onto the pommel of his saddle. He also felt the power of Devoue. Athos held him and by extension his horse tethered, following in his wake. If he did not hold on, he would fall. Death by dragging did not appeal to him. Death by firing squad, or hanging, or a life time of torture, and imprisonment did not appeal to him; but these were his choices.
His gaze wondered to the Musketeer who had single handedly brought him low. If there was any chance at all – he would find a way to kill this man. He alone, had disgraced and humiliated him; killed his men one by one; and now forced him to make this treacherous ride to put a stain on his country. This could even lead to all-out war.
He turned away for some moments as he had to concentrate on holding onto his balance. Athos' pace was quick and rapid, with no thought of slowing down. His own horse struggled to keep up. Vargas was afraid he may not survive the trek; but after a while was able to regain his equilibrium.
He turned to look at this musketeer again, hatred and shame building up inside his chest. He had been bested by this man and his own arrogance.
But then he turned his thoughts inward, and there the face of his wife suddenly appeared to him. The last time he saw her, she had softly kissed the lids of his eyes – their code between them, which meant, they were to meet again soon.
He did so love her. She had born him three beautiful girls – all of them he now could see in his mind's eye.
He loved his country; and would do anything for her. He had been a loyal servant to King Philip.
He worshipped his family; and he would never see them again.
This insanity had not been the intention of Spain. To watch, discredit, cause dissension among the ranks; and gain intelligence – yes. Needless to say, it was not their intention to assassinate the Queen of France; the sister of King Philip or to have a lunatic at the seat of power.
Rochefort had extended himself; and reached heights he could not have foreseen.
If he confessed to his part, he would be betraying Rochefort, and in turn betraying his country; and thus bringing about his own demise. He had no choice.
He only hoped his family would not suffer much from his disgrace.
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Treville's mount pounded side by side with Devoue, keeping pace with some effort. He kneed him, patted his neck, and pressed him on.
He looked over to Athos and wondered what he was thinking. His face looked determined, and his body language, leaning forward over his horse's mane; spoke of urgency – but he could sense nothing else.
Treville knew that Athos would do whatever it took to bring this campaign to a satisfactory conclusion – the only conclusion, which was the King learning the truth of Rochefort's treason.
As he rode side by side with this man, he was saddened that he was no longer his Captain; but felt privileged to be a fellow Musketeer fighting by his side. He knew that Athos would make a fine Captain one day, and would carry the rank with distinction. He was a born leader, who commanded respect without having to ask for it; and his fellow Musketeers admired him. He lived honor and duty; and loved his brothers. These attributes outweighed his flaws.
If he should survive this, and if his opinion meant anything, he would recommend this man for the Captaincy. Athos would not like it, but he was the man for the job. If this all went the way he expected, France would soon be at war. And men like Athos were needed to lead.
He shook the thought from his mind; and the image of Porthos laughing hard, deep from his belly, flashed before his eyes.
War brought untold death, and he could not think on that now. Now, they must convince the King of Rochefort's duplicity.
He leaned forward, urging his horse to keep pace.
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Porthos rode alongside Aramis, their mounts pounding the miles beneath them in unison. They were finally at this point, and his anticipation grew as they drew closer to Paris.
He looked toward Vargas and caught the man staring at him with murderous intent. He could only laugh inside at the man's arrogance. He had his chance back at the border. It was in Vargas' best interest to confess his role in this conspiracy against France before the King. No one would be able to stop him from breaking his arm this time, in order to get him to talk.
His mind then fell on Aramis. There had been something underneath his words back in Giverny. There was something Aramis had wanted to say, he knew it. He knew the man well enough to know when he was hiding something.
Aramis had been through a lot. Waiting to die had been a sort of torture in and of itself. But no, he could feel an undertone there. His talk of worthiness; and God had bothered him then; and bothered him still. They were all just reunited; together again. He would like to keep it that way.
What had his friend promised God in prayer he wondered?
But for now, he had to put his personal concerns aside. The well-being of France was at stake.
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As his horse chewed up the miles, and pounded alongside his companions, Aramis could feel Porthos' gaze searching him.
What could he say to him; how could he explain?
He had prayed to God and made a solemn vow. When this was over, and if he survived it, he would give up his worldly ambitions, his duty to France, and tend to God's work. While imprisoned, and chained to that wall; he had time to reflect on all of the choices he had made recently.
He had hurt many; ruined the lives of people he loved, endangered his brothers, caused the untimely death of two innocent women, and brought his sins down upon his son.
A son that would never know of him; and as long as he lived, he would see to that secret.
He had prayed so hard for rescue, and God had answered him with her presence. Milady had killed to get to him. And God with his own sense of humor had used His words through her mouth. How fitting.
He would not let God down. But for now, he would keep his part of the bargain. He would survive and stand side by side with his brothers, protect his Queen and shelter his son.
If they survived this, he could give himself over to God with an open heart.
Porthos would understand. They all would understand.
He leaned over his horse, and pressed her to keep pace.
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Constance felt the strain of her horse's gait beneath her and urged him to keep going. They were close now; she could see the city just beyond the vast waste of land in front of her.
d'Artagnan stayed close and she was grateful, but knew he wanted to be up ahead riding alongside Athos.
When they left Giverny, she had felt his rising anger, and manic need to get Vargas to Paris, and to ultimately kill Rochefort. Her love was a formidable soldier, and it was that tenacity that had saved her from execution, and it would save France.
Once this was over, she would ask him to marry her. To be his wife; his partner; to love him; and to be by his side until death, was what she desperately wanted. She could share him with these Musketeers – she knew that with certainty.
This life she was choosing would be hard, but she could bare it. These past few days she saw how d'Artagnan could bring her so much joy between what hardness life could bring. In order to be whole; and to survive, she needed him; and he needed her. She could make him happy.
For now however, she had a duty to her Queen; to protect her and the Dauphin, with all that she had. d'Artagnan had taught her to fight with sword and musket. With these skills she would defend her Queen with her life.
She dug in her heels and pushed her horse onward.
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d'Artagnan rode steadily beside Constance; unwilling to leave her side; but also wanting to ride with Athos at the front. His mind had been consumed with revenge as soon as they had mounted in Giverny and headed for Paris.
His thoughts had already fast forwarded ahead. He could imagine it; see it – his was the thrust that would end Rochefort's life, and his threat against Constance. Add to that, his threat against his King and Queen would be over. But Constance was his life, and Rochefort had tried to take her away from him.
Athos had tried to teach him to control his emotions, and he really wanted to; but today he would use his fury to commence justice.
Now looking across to her, his mind began to settle; his heart beat slower; and the noise of range drifted away.
Just being near her, calmed his soul, to where now, he could think more clearly.
When this was over, he would ask her to marry him. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her; finding ways to make her happy. He hadn't much to offer. He had no money to speak of; no home to give her. The life of a Musketeer was hard – for the family it was harder. But whatever it took, he vowed to care for her, respect her, and give his heart only to her.
But right now, in this moment; at this hour, he must turn his thoughts to what awaited them in Paris. He let out a yell to spur his horse on.
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Out in front with Devoue, Athos' mind was clear. He thought only of getting to Paris, and presenting Vargas to the King.
Before setting off, he had purposely closed his mind to Anne. If he entertained her proposal to meet her at the crossroads now, it would drive him mad.
If his thoughts strayed to the possibility that one or all of them could die today, and that this may be the last time he saw them, he would be brought to his knees by the weight of it.
So before mounting, he shook the hands of his brothers; and hoped in his grip he had conveyed his love; pride; and respect.
Of course, d'Artagnan had chosen the moment to announce to them all that everything would go as planned, victory was certain and he saw no need to be maudlin. Everyone then had laughed, and rubbed is head for good luck.
Athos had then kissed Constance softly on her cheek. When he pulled back from her, she pierced him with a steady gaze; her message clear. He nodded then to her, indicating he had not forgotten his promise, and would keep it.
When he swung into his saddle, all concerns for his family fell away and duty became the priority.
When they finally reached the outskirts of Paris, there ahead of them was the palace. Athos called for a halt, and for everyone to dismount.
They would walk in from the bowels of the palace, just as Milady had shown them.
Entering had been easy; much too easy. Red Guards were nowhere to be seen; but caution was still in order. The palace was eerily quiet, with no courtiers walking the halls; and no servants running errands.
Their footsteps echoed loudly on the marble floors.
When they reached the top of the palace stairs, they split up. Aramis and Constance went in one direction, racing to protect the Queen, while the others moved in another direction to reach King Louis, with Vargas.
As they got closer to King Louis' rooms, the Red Guard appeared in force. Working stealthily and in unison, the Musketeers fought their way to the King, with Vargas protected between them.
Athos watched d'Artagnan's use of sword and musket and he swelled with pride. He fought smoothly today, with grace and poise – well beyond his experience. He, himself, felt as if he fought out of his body. He saw every move before it happened, every guard before he stepped forward; and knew what way d'Artagnan wanted to attack before he said it.
He could feel Porthos and Treville moving with them, and saw Vargas unconcerned for his own safety, confident the Musketeers would let no harm come to him.
They all worked as one, like a machine; communicating wordlessly. It felt euphoric.
d'Artagnan had been right. Everything was going as planned. All of the Red Guards were defeated. Not a blow had struck them down. Suddenly, silence fell over them, with only their heavy breathing heard in the cavernous hallway.
Athos looked to his brothers, and gestured with a nod, his acknowledgement of success; and a battle well fought. They moved together toward King Louis' rooms, their footsteps sounding as one.
When they finally reached his rooms, Porthos, burst through the doors holding his weapon out to the King in a show of deference.
King Louis looked to him with fear in his eyes; his body trembling; and his knees weak, "In the end, I'd rather be shot then stabbed", he whispered.
Porthos placed his weapon at his King's feet, "It's the end your Majesty; but not for you."
Treville spoke up hastily, "We have brought Vargas here to confess all to you; his treachery and Rochefort's deception."
King Louis pulled himself up to his full height; and strengthened his voice, "Confess what?"
Porthos reached for Vargas, pulled him forward; and pushed him down on his knees before the King, "If you wish to see Madrid again, speak!" He held on tight to Vargas' arm, thinking he might have to use force.
Vargas glared up at Porthos, and began to speak of torturing and then recruiting Rochefort to spy for Spain. He spoke of the intelligence he had passed on; he spoke of murder; deception….
The King began to feel dizzy, and Vargas' voice drifted off in to the air around him. It became hard to understand the words he was speaking. His legs became unsteady under him, and he sat heavily upon a plush sitting chair.
Suddenly he was deaf, his vision gone white; and his skin flushed hot turning his cheeks red.
Then his deafness turned to a loud buzzing in his ears. He had signed his wife's death warrant. He had given a decree to have his wife murdered by a traitor; a lunatic. He had been manipulated and used.
From far away he heard himself screaming over top of Vargas' confession, "The Queen, you must get to her – he has gone to kill her!"
The Three Musketeers rushed to leave and made haste to the Queen's residence. Once there, they were met by Rochefort moving toward them, pulling an embedded saber from his back. It seemed Aramis had made good in his defense of the Queen.
The Musketeers encircled him; and Athos commanded him to stand down. Vargas and Treville entered and took in the scene before them.
Rochefort moved toward them with the strength of insanity and would not surrender. He would fight these Musketeers to the bitter end. They had ruined him before, and had left him to rot in a Spanish prison. Now, they ruin him again, destroying him before the only person he ever loved. He had done this for her; betrayed France for her; reached for power, for her. But now he was alone.
He fought them all. Each one striking a blow against him; and then d'Artagnan stood before him.
And just as he had envisioned it, d'Artagnan gave the final thrust that ended Rochefort's life; and his hold on Constance, and the Royal Family. He let out a slow breath, and let contentment bring him ease.
As Rochefort lay dead, the King entered the room; his sweater loose on his shoulders; and his hair unkempt. But his back was straight, and his chin tilted up in haughtiness.
Everyone turned to watch him enter. The Musketeers bowed at the waist; Constance curtsied deeply and the Queen fell to her knees before him.
King Louis looked down at her and held out his hand to assist her to her feet, "My Queen." His voice was uncertain; his eyes spoke to her, asking for forgiveness. She had always been his friend; and his confidant. How could he have ever doubted? This was the mother of his child; the next King of France.
Queen Anne looked up into his eyes, reached for his hand, and stood before her King. She exuded strength, grace and fortitude. She closed her eyes briefly and swallowed down the terror of almost losing her life; her rosary beads still wrapped around her wrist. She had survived this.
When she opened her eyes again, the King had lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.
Together they walked hand in hand to where Rochefort lay dead. She was glad she had asked Aramis to refuse him his last rites. He was evil. She hoped God would forgive her.
The King then looked down on Rochefort with contempt furrowing his brow, and spit in his face – rage evident in the stiffness of his shoulders, the rigidity of his walk; and the clenching of his jaw. If he could, he would sentence him to death, and kill him all over again.
"Let us leave here", the Queen soothed; guiding him to the door. Together the royal couple walked away, leaving the Musketeers to finish the campaign.
Constance followed at a respectful distance, ready to give assistance to her Queen.
As she passed by d'Artagnan, she nodded to him and smiled. He touched her arm. Tomorrow, he would ask her to marry him.
Aramis lowered his head and watched his love move away. It would begin here. He could now fulfill his vow to God. When he lifted his face, a mask now covered his emotions. His Queen and his son were now safe, and he would begin life anew without them; and without his brothers.
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Thank you for reading. Please review! And thank you to all of you who have read this story and reviewed already. I have been overwhelmed by your comments. It means a lot to hear what readers think. Thank you to LisaRosa for your idea. Filling in the gaps for these last two episodes has been an enjoyable challenge.