Chapter 7
Porthos grunted as his foot slipped for the third time, forcing most of his weight onto his arms and wounded knee. Fumbling for purchase, he finally found an indent in the wall and hauled himself up a bit more, reaching for a new handhold without delay. He was almost to the top of the pit, striving to remain quiet so as not to draw attention to his escape.
When the shadows had begun to overtake the small pit, he knew he had no more time to wait. Aramis was out there alone – wounded and exhausted – and despite the pain in his knee, Porthos could no longer force himself to delay. The joint still ached, sharp pains running up and down his leg whenever he put too much pressure on it, but it was holding and that was all he needed for now.
As his hand found the edge of the hole, he breathed a sigh of relief, swallowing hard and leaning his forehead against the cool dirt of the wall. He stilled, listening, just able to make out the muffled sounds of laughter coming from the distance. Apparently the men left to guard him didn't see him as a threat, their laughter relaxed and raucous as if they had not a care in the world.
Finding another accommodating foothold, he was able to raise his head above the pit and take in his surroundings for the first time. The clearing was small, trees crowding on every side. A small shack sat on the far side, directly ahead, the voices of the guards emanating from within. With a grunting effort, he pulled himself over the edge, leaning on his hands, giving himself a moment of respite from his efforts.
Wiping the sweat from his face, he glanced around, noting there was nobody stationed outside the shack. Whether it be by design or carelessness was not his concern, he simply thanked the heavens his captors had thought him secure and not deemed it necessary to watch him with due diligence. With graceful silence belaying a man of his size, Porthos crossed the clearing and plastered himself against the wall of the shack just to the side of the door. He ignored the tremors in his leg, willing it to hold, knowing he could not allow weakness to hamper his attack. He had no weapon other than the element of surprise, and hoped it would be enough to overcome at least one of the guards before the others could find their wits and move to defend themselves.
"Someone should check on the curr," a voice he recognized as Marchand slurred from beyond the closed door.
From the responses, he determined there were only two other men inside, the sloppiness of their words and the scent of ale making him smile. The Baron should be more careful choosing those he held in his employ – especially if he meant to deal with Musketeers.
"I'll go," another voice grunted. "I need to take a piss anyway. I'm sure our guest would appreciate the drink."
The burst of laughter was followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps and Porthos pressed himself back against the wood, tensing in readiness as the door began to open.
"What the –"
The guard didn't get a chance to finish the sentence as Porthos grabbed his arm and swung him around face first into the side of the shack. The rickety structure shook at the impact but held, surprising the Musketeer with its fortitude. As the guard's cry of shock was suddenly cut off by the collision, Porthos heard chairs crash to the ground as the other two rushed to investigate what had befallen their comrade.
The next man out the door was Marchand, and Porthos took great pleasure in meeting him with a swift fist to the face. The man dropped, his nose gushing blood, his sword falling to the dirt as he raised both hands to his face. Without hesitating, Porthos stepped back and kicked out, catching Marchand in the chest, knocking him back onto the ground. He reached down and grabbed hold of Marchand's sword before turning to confront the third guard who had frozen in the frame of the doorway.
"Don't just stand there, you idiot!" Marchand screamed, his voice muffled due to the hand pressed against his broken nose. "Kill him!"
The guard fumbled for his own sword, but Porthos, angry, in pain and completely fed up with the situation, rushed forward, raising his sword and bringing the basket down on the man's head with a forceful growl. The guard's eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped to the ground in a heap.
He didn't know if it was instinct or exhaustion that made him move, but Porthos shifted to lean against the shack, narrowly avoiding the dagger that flew past his head, embedding itself into the open door. He looked up as Marchand let out a howl and lunged from his knees, only to meet the point of his own sword as it embedded itself into his chest.
Marchand let out a gurgle as he fell, his eyes wide, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth to join the dark liquid still flowing from his nose. Porthos released the weapon, watching with satisfaction as Marchand toppled to the ground, his final breath hissing from his lungs.
Breathing heavily, the Musketeer took a moment to let the rush of the battle drain from his limbs. Turning, he stepped over the unconscious guard in the doorway and let his eyes scan the small room. He was pleased to find their weapons stacked in the far corner and moved toward them, stopping when he noticed Aramis' doublet, boots and pauldron tossed carelessly nearby. His lip curled in anger at the thought of his friend out in the woods with little protection from the elements and rocky terrain, renewing his need to find the marksman before the Baron could do more harm.
He buckled his own belt in place, securing some of Aramis' weapons underneath. He laid the doublet on the ground and placed the rest of his friend's possessions inside, using the flaps and sleeves to tie it securely into a tight bundle. Wedging Aramis' sheathed sword through the gaps, he hefted the pack over his shoulder and stepped outside, noticing Aramis' ornate pistol still hanging from Marchand's belt. With little concern for the man's dignity, he kicked him over and retrieved the pistol, placing it in his own belt with a grunt of satisfaction. He swiftly bound the two remaining guards with the rope they had used to haul Aramis up and left them leaning against the outside of the shack. He knew there was a chance a bear or wolf could happen upon them before they were found or able to free themselves, but after all they'd been through, he couldn't find it in himself to care. With the leather bound pack over his shoulder, he set out into the woods, eager to find his friend and put an end to the Baron's sick game.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmm
The stew and biscuits were good, but the two Musketeers took no pleasure in the meal, hastily forcing it down, eager to resume their search for their friends. Thanking the tavern keep and asking no more questions, they headed back out to the town square, turning toward the stable where they had left their mounts. As they approached the horses, d'Artagnan slowed, noticing a young boy standing near the head of Athos' horse, stroking his nose and speaking to him softly.
Roger, for his part, seemed at ease, and d'Artagnan exchanged a curious look with Athos as they made their way across the square.
Roger tossed his head at the approach of his master and the boy turned toward them, the excitement on his face dimming instantly when his eyes met theirs as if expecting someone else. He dropped his head, stepping away from the horse and made for the door of the stable.
"A moment!" d'Artagnan called, hurrying the last few paces to the hitching post. The boy turned back, but didn't respond, his wide eyes tracking from the pauldron on the young Musketeer's shoulder back to his face. D'Artagnan kneeled down, bringing him eye level with the lad. "You have an interest in horses?"
The boy nodded, his eyes moving back toward the fine black gelding. "I meant no harm, Monsieur. I was only hoping…" His voice trailed off as he shrugged, returning his gaze back to the ground, disheartened. "It doesn't matter."
"Of course it does," d'Artagnan smiled, thankful that Athos had chosen to remain at a distance, leaving him to deal with the boy. While the former comte was not outright rude, his severe demeanor tended to intimidate those unaccustomed to dealing with men born of higher station. "My name is d'Artagnan." He motioned to his silent comrade. "And this is Athos." He dipped his head at the boy in an attempt to catch his eyes. "What is your name?"
"David de la Pailleterie.," he said with a stiff bow.
D'Artagnan raised a brow at the formal introduction. "Well, David, if I am not mistaken, you looked as if you were expecting someone other than Athos and myself." He raised his voice at the end, forming a question, tilting his head toward the horse. "You've seen horses like these before?"
David nodded in response, watching them, obviously uncertain of what to expect.
"Did you see two other men like us?" Athos stepped forward. "One with dark skin, the other a flamboyant hat with a feather?"
David nodded again. "Porthos and Aramis. I took them to the Baron's estate."
"Would you be willing to take us?"
The boy hesitated, considering their request, finally taking a deep breath and nodding his assent.
"But I will tell you what I told them." He reached out as d'Artagnan stood, grabbing on to the young man's arm. "The Baron… he is not a kind man. I'm afraid your friends… I hoped they had returned safe, but…"
"It's all right," d'Artagnan placed both hands on the boys shoulder to calm his trepidation, leaning down and giving him an encouraging smile. "We know what to expect from the Baron –"
"No!" David interrupted, shaking his head adamantly and taking a step back. "You don't understand! The Baron, he is –"
"He is ruthless and manipulative," Athos broke in, his voice even despite the harsh words. "I assure you, the Baron's true nature is of no mystery to us."
David was suddenly wary. "Then you know of his game?"
Athos frowned. "His game?" He looked to d'Artagnan who could only shrug in confusion. "What game?"
David swallowed, taking a deep breath before explaining. "He takes people, hunts them. I've seen it." At the expressions of disgust and outrage on the Musketeers faces he rushed to continue. "Many men who have challenged or displeased the Baron have been taken from the village. He says they are imprisoned, or set to hard labor, but it's a lie. He forces them to run and hunts them down like animals."
"And you've seen this?" d'Artagnan asked slowly, wanting the boy to be honest.
David nodded earnestly. "I tried to warn your friends. I tried to make them turn back, but they didn't understand. Please, when they did not return, I knew they had been taken. I'm afraid the Baron will kill them!"
"Calm down, David," d'Artagnan soothed. "Aramis and Porthos are more than capable of taking care of themselves."
"But the Baron has many men, bad men, who enjoy hurting people."
D'Artagnan could see the boy was truly upset, worried for their friends. Pulling the lad to him, he turned to Athos, knowing the older man would know exactly what they should do next.
"We will inquire at the Baron's estate," the swordsman decided. "If we do not find Aramis and Porthos there, we must assume the worst and confront du Merle."
He raised his brows in silent question, and d'Artagnan nodded in return, knowing Athos would take it as his accord to do whatever necessary to find their friends and bring them back alive.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
"Why would the Baron lie about Colbert?" d'Artagnan wondered out loud as they made their way toward the Baron's estate.
David, who was perched on the front of the young man's horse much as he had been on Porthos' days before, turned to respond. "He didn't lie. The man your friends were looking for is there, at the Baron's chateau."
"Then perhaps Aramis and Porthos have already left for Paris?"
Athos shook his head. "I doubt it. Colbert knew we would come for him. Word of his crime has spread and he would not be able to rest until he could find safe passage from the country."
"That wouldn't be easy with everyone still searching for him," d'Artagnan nodded in understanding.
"So he would need a place he could hide until the search leveled off," Athos continued. "If I'm not mistaken, Colbert knew du Merle's father. Perhaps he sought sanctuary here, assuming he would be able to use that relationship to convince du Merle to help him."
"Or he offered him some of the gold."
Athos snorted in agreement. "Knowing du Merle, that is a more likely scenario."
D'Artagnan connected the pieces of the puzzle. "So the Baron sent word to Paris before Colbert made his offer?"
Athos shrugged. "Perhaps, but his motives are not of consequence. If what our young friend has said is true, Aramis and Porthos were walking into a situation they were unprepared for. They would not have been expecting a threat from a man they had told would assist them. If they have been captured and du Merle intends to use them for his game, it is most likely he has agreed to protect Colbert and aid him in his escape from France. Neither crime can go unpunished."
"Am I to be punished, too?"
d'Artagnan leaned sideways, trying to catch a glimpse of David's face.
"Why would you think that?" he asked, perplexed. "You've done nothing wrong."
David dropped his head, refusing to meet d'Artagnan's eyes. "I knew what the Baron would do, but I led them there anyway. I should have made them understand, but I was afraid." It obviously cost the boy a great deal to admit his guilt, his voice trembling as he made his confession.
"Aramis and Porthos would have done their duty no matter how hard you tried to dissuade them," the younger Musketeer assured the boy. "They are both cunning and experienced soldiers. If the Baron has taken them for his game, I promise you, he will regret it."
David twisted, eyes filled with hope as he looked from one Musketeer to the other. Athos nodded, answering the boy's unasked question, even as d'Artagnan gave him a firm nod, silently praying his words proved true.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
The forest ground was soft yet strewn with small rocks and debris, and Porthos grasped tighter to the bundle over his shoulder, imagining what those sharp pebbles would do to his friend's unprotected feet. The trail left by the Baron's party was not difficult to follow, the horses and hounds leaving clear prints, even as they moved deeper into the trees. He didn't bother searching for sign of Aramis, knowing the marksman was too experienced to leave tracks, too clever to make it so easy for his pursuers. Even if he had, due to haste or to purposely lead the Baron deeper into the trees, the hunting party would have most likely obscured it. So following the Baron's trail was the only recourse left him and Porthos was grateful for the Baron's ignorance.
Though mostly obscured by the thick foliage above, the sunlight filtered down through the leaves, casting enough illumination to see, but giving off little warmth. The burden of the pack he carried over his shoulder grew heavier as he thought of Aramis without his doublet as well as his boots and weapons. Though his swift movement would generate plenty of heat to keep him warm, Porthos knew it was imperative to find his friend before darkness fell, lest he succumb to the elements or was crippled by pain, exhaustion or predators that prowled the night.
A rustle to his left stopped him in his tracks and he turned his head, listening intently. The sound came again and he moved slowly forward, coming upon a ledge overlooking a steep incline. At the bottom of the rise lay a horse, still saddled but unmoving, the dried blood on its forehead illustrating its fate.
The rustling sound came again and Porthos' gaze shifted to a spot a few paces to the left of the animal, about halfway down the incline. A man – not one he recognized, but surely one of the Baron's guards – lay twisted amongst the rocks, his leg obviously broken, his face a mask of pain as he shifted laboriously. Porthos' lip rose in disgust, realizing the Baron has left this man for dead in order to continue his hunt.
He lowered Aramis' possessions from his shoulder and started down the path toward the wounded man. He swiftly grabbed onto a small but sturdy sapling when his foot caught on something, tripping him and nearly sending him tumbling down on top of the guard. Looking down, he grinned, a low laugh rising from his belly. Wrapped around the tree, across the path and secured to another seedling were Aramis' braces – one of the few things the Baron hadn't thought to strip from him when he'd been forced to run.
Carefully, he stepped over the trap, making his way down the slope, coming to a crouch beside the wounded guard. The man was still alive – though just barely – the bone of his leg protruding, a wide pool of blood already saturating the rocky ground. Though the Musketeer hated to see anyone suffer, there was little he could do for him save show him the same mercy that had been shown the horse. He could not forget that this man's intention had been to hunt down and murder his brother, and though he had been abandoned by those he called comrades; left to die alone, Porthos could not find it in himself to mourn this loss of life. The man had made his choices and death would be a fitting punishment for his transgressions.
Porthos' smile was still in place when the man opened his eyes, though it had taken on a slightly more cheerless tone.
"Looks as if you found a bit of trouble," he commented casually, nodding toward the guard's shattered leg. "I could've warned you my friend wasn't one to be trifled with, but somehow I don't think you would've listened."
"Your friend is most likely already dead," the guard hissed, unrepentant even in the face of his own demise. "And you should join him."
The guard shifted, pulling a dagger out from under his back, lunging up at the Musketeer with his failing strength. Porthos easily dodged the blade, grabbing hold of the man's arm and roughly yanking the weapon from his grasp. The guard cried out in pain as his body shifted, his eyes going wide as he slumped to the ground, blood pulsing from his wound. He gasped once before his muscles relaxed and his head turned, eyes focused on whatever lay beyond this world.
Porthos sighed, running a hand over his face. Death was an inevitable part of the life of a soldier, but he could never be glad of it – even when it was deserved.
Sliding the dagger into his belt, he pushed himself up and retrieved the bundle containing Aramis' things. It was easy to see the hunting party had continued upstream, leaving the banks of the small stream that trickled along the bottom of the ravine ravaged. Settling the pack against his shoulder, he took a deep breath and moved on.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
David and the Musketeers were met with reserved courtesy at the chateau, the man admitting them seeming nervous and twitchy the moment he noted the pauldrons on their shoulders. He introduced himself as Villiers, the Baron's valet and informed them the Baron was not in residence and he did not know when to expect him. Undeterred, the Musketeers informed him they would await the Baron's return – much to the valet's disappointment. Villiers reluctantly led them to a parlor, offering refreshments to quench their thirst. The Musketeers agreed, thanking him, then settled into the uncomfortable looking chairs to wait.
It was only moments before a plump woman of middle age appeared carrying a tray, followed closely by the valet. She set the tray down before turning and paused, noticing David standing behind the chair d'Artagnan had perched upon.
"David!" she exclaimed, a maternal smile appearing on her face. "What on earth are you doing here? How is your mum? Is she well?" She moved closer, arms outstretched in invitation.
David ran to her, throwing his arms around her in a warm hug.
"Mama is well, Tante," the boy replied, his voice muffled in her apron. "She looks forward to your next visit."
The two Musketeers stood, intrigued at the display of affection to their young charge. The woman looked to them as David released her, stepping to her side and smiling hesitantly toward the soldiers.
"This is Athos and d'Artagnan of the King's Musketeers," David announced, the awe with which he regarded them apparent in his voice. "They are here searching for the two Musketeers who called upon the Baron two days ago." He looked up at his aunt, his eyes wide with hope. "Were they here?"
The woman nodded, sadly. "Aye, Neveu. They were." She shifted her gaze to the two men, her lips set in a grim line. "Your friends spoke with the Baron about his guest, Monsieur Colbert –"
"Mariette!" Villiers interrupted sharply. He moved forward quickly, tugging David from his aunt and pushing her toward the door. "You will respect the Baron's privacy."
"Is the Baron's privacy of greater value than the King's orders?"
At Athos inquiry, both servants froze in their tracks, slowly turning back to the reserved Musketeer.
"Our comrades were here at His Majesty's bidding," the swordsman continued, his voice low, calm despite the seriousness of his threat. "To interfere with an agent of the crown would be considered treason." He stepped forward, hat in hand, his expression composed save for the fire in his eyes. "If you have information concerning our friends, it is your duty to reveal it."
Villiers returned his stare for a moment before dropping his eyes, unable to deny the tacit accusation.
Mariette moved first, placing a hand on the valet's arm, watching him with soft compassion. "Please, Anton. This has gone on far too long."
Villiers nodded, patting her hand and returned her pleading look with one of resolution. "You are right." He agreed with a sad smile. He raised his head and confronted the two Musketeers. "I'm afraid your friends are in great danger. The Baron… the man is not someone who should be taken lightly."
"He's cruel," Mariette continued. "I have worked for the family all my life, my mother before me. The Baron's grandfather – the original Baron whom King Henry bestowed the title upon – he was a good man, as was his son. But the grandson…" she shuddered. "I have seen such terrible things." She returned her gaze to Athos. "Your friends were here. They questioned the Baron about Monsieur Colbert but he denied harboring the man. I heard him send Marchand and the guards out after them." She paused, looking to Villiers who nodded for her to go on. "The Baron takes people. He calls it a game, but it is nothing more than a guise for killing."
She lifted a hand to her mouth, tears filling her eyes as she shifted her gaze to David. "My sister's husband… he refused to yield to the Baron's demands…" She broke off, too upset to continue, but the Musketeers understood what had likely happened to David's father. One look at the grief on the boy's face confirmed their suspicions.
Villiers sighed. "He hunts them through the forest. He has killed many men in such a fashion. He returned earlier this morning for his hunting attire. I am quite sure one or both of your friends were his intended victims."
Athos exchanged a knowing look with d'Artagnan, dismayed to have David's story confirmed.
"The estate is surrounded by forest," d'Artagnan observed. "How will we know where to search?"
"There is a small shack in a clearing about half a lieu from the main gate," Villiers offered hopefully. "It used to house the Baron's hounds since the old Baron could not tolerate the animals' howling throughout the night. I know it is used to store weapons and supplies now. I believe it is as good a place as any to begin."
"I know of it," David piped up. "I can take you there."
D'Artagnan raised his brows, looking to Athos for a decision. If Aramis and Porthos had been taken to this shack, there would be armed men about. It would be dangerous for the boy, too easy for him to be caught up in a fight and hurt.
"Please," David beseeched them. "I want to help. Your friends were kind to me. I can't let anything happen to them."
"You will do exactly as we say," Athos warned, nodding his assent. "Aramis and Porthos would never forgive us if anything were to happen to you."
David nodded enthusiastically even as Athos shook his head, wondering if they were perhaps already too late.
TBC
