Time to start moving this story towards a conclusion and to close the gap between the two story lines.

I can only reiterate my appreciation for everyone who's taking the time to review, follow and read this story.


A Simple Mission

Chapter 8

Treville regarded the small piece of cloth questioningly.

"There's no doubt that Aramis wrote this?" He briefly considered this may be a setup of some kind.

"None!" Porthos was adamant. "I'd recognise the smell of that stuff anywhere...glad he finally found a better use for it than painting us with it," he winked at Athos, who winced at the memory of the substance being applied to an injury: As he recalled, he'd take his chances with an infection rather than have that particular treatment again.

Taking the cloth, Treville exited the barn, followed closely by Athos and Porthos. The latter looked like he was ready to rip every stone and blade of grass between here and Auchonne apart if it meant finding his friend; the former, more reserved and outwardly impassive, contemplated what may have happened in the intervening period since the note was originally written

"D'Assierre?" The Captain was all business. "Auchonne is close to two days ride from here, I believe?" The man nodded in confirmation. "Is this the only road or are there other ways out?

"It is the only road and the bridge is the only way across the river. The only safe way."

Bastien looked like there was something he wanted to say, hovering at the periphery of the conversation, but his grandfather silenced him with a stern look.

"Why do you ask?" The old man asked the Captain.

Treville was silent. He had been fairly sure that would be the answer. He was aware that, to the east and south, the estate was bordered by a major river. It was possible someone could leave via the hills on the north-western side but that would add several days to their journey if heading south-east; he doubted anyone who'd committed murder would want to delay that much knowing their crime could be discovered at any time.

Realising D'Assierre was awaiting a response, he spoke:

"We have reason to think that the men who did this are heading to Auchonne. Have there been any other strangers passing through any part of the estate in the last day that you're aware of?"

"No one has reported seeing anything or anyone out of the ordinary since your men passed through two days ago." The old man looked thoughtful as he tried to think of something useful; Bellacoure, even with the distance between some of the farm dwellings, was a tightly knit community and anything unusual was usually common knowledge within a remarkably short time.

"Grandfather..." Bastien hissed. The frustration clear on his face.

"Please Bastien, we're talking..." it was clear D'Assierre's patience was wearing thin but the boy was not to be put off.

"Captain Treville. I know something you need to hear." He pushed in between the two men.

Slightly annoyed by the youngster's impertinence but inclined to be tolerant in view of his previous conduct, the Captain nodded to him.

"All right. As quickly as you can please, Bastien."

"It's not the only way across the river. I know, I've ridden it and that's the way they've got in without being seen."

"What do you mean?" His grandfather's tone was dismissive and he was sure the Captain and his men were not in the mood for any childish fantasies; he was surprised Bastien had been indulged as much as he had. Whilst he had no doubt these musketeers were not a threat to peaceful civilians normally, he recognised the tension coursing through the two accompanying the Captain and saw no reason to try their patience.

"With your permission, Captain?" Athos' request held that aristocratic tone that strongly suggested he'd do it anyway regardless of any assent and was just maintaining appearances by asking.

Treville nodded, realising it was pointless to do otherwise.

"Your information's been good before. You've earned the right to be heard. Tell us what you know." Athos' expression suggested he would not be amused if this was some wild story or old wives' tale.

Looking straight back at him with a confident expression that spoke volumes as to the youngster's absolute conviction that he was right, Bastien replied:

"About a year ago, I figured that there must have been a way on to the estate before the bridge was built...after all, the chateau's lots older..."

"The bridge was built almost 50 years ago," D'Assierre interjected. "The old Duke had it built after the ford south of here kept flooding. Any paths to it will have grown over or been buried by landslides over the years, the woods are full of underground streams and tributaries..."

"Not completely. You can still get to it and there are the remains of a track in the woods." The urgency in Bastien's tone suggested he would not be silenced. "It's difficult in parts but it is still passable." He turned to Athos, pleading to be believed. "I know you can get through, I've ridden it and I've crossed the river at the ford," he concluded triumphantly, relieved to finally express what he wanted to say.

"You can take us to the other side of the river where the ford is? How long would it take to get there?" Porthos asked.

"It would take too long to reach it backtracking from the road. I can do much better than that. No-one knows these woods and all the ways through like I do. I think..."

Bastien's words were starting to tumble out excitedly and it was clear he fully intended to do more than just offer directions. He was cut off by Treville.

"One moment please." Turning to D'Assierre, remembering the boy was still a minor. "Monsieur, do you give your permission for your grandson to act as guide? I would like to assure you that his safety will be of primary importance and he will be expected to obey any orders given to him in order to ensure his well-being." The last part was as much for Bastien's benefit as his grandfather's and reinforced by a uncompromising glare in his direction, to which the boy nodded, chastened.

D'Assierre gave a sigh that indicated he no longer had the energy to keep up with his impetuous young charge. With some, understandable, reluctance but a more significant amount of resignation, he responded:

"If I don't let him go he'll probably only run off on his own anyway but, for what it's worth, you have my permission, Captain. Thank you for asking."

Treville nodded his appreciation.

"Bastien, please give us all the information you have and any possible ways in which we might intercept someone following this route. We..." he stressed the syllable, "...will decide the appropriate course of action to take."

Bastien indicated he understood precisely what was being asked and, using a stick to draw lines in the dust on the ground before him, began to explain the layout of the land and all the routes and pitfalls within it.

Within a short time, the options had been examined and a plan agreed.

"Monsieur D'Assierre," Treville turned to face the man. "Your grandson will guide my men with a view to locating and apprehending the criminals who did this. A cart should be here shortly to collect the cadet's body, I will be returning to Paris with them."

Addressing his men who were already preparing their horses to depart:

"I intend to tell His Majesty that we are in the process of recovering the Duke's letter and, if possible, identifying who is responsible. That is your primary objective..."

Athos and Porthos managed passable impressions that it was theirs as well.

"...of course, the safe return of our missing musketeer would also be appreciated."

"Yes, Captain," they concurred with considerably more enthusiasm.

Treville inwardly shrugged as he watched them continue their preparations, packing some bread Bastien had secured from one of the village women into their saddle bags: He was well aware that their priority was entirely the reverse of what he'd just said but, at least, he'd done his duty by stating it.

The Captain had already seen his men and their young guide depart and begin their cross-country ride toward the dense forest when the cart sent from the garrison appeared in the distance.

TM~~TM~~TM~~TM~~TM~~TM~~TM~~TM

23 hours earlier.

Aramis had followed the trail of broken foliage into the woods. His wounds were uncomfortable but not overly bothersome and, with his path reasonably clear for the moment, he travelled as a fast as was practicable, trying to close the gap on Climence and her men.

He'd been moving through the woods for a little under an hour when he smelt smoke and dismounted to investigate the source. He didn't have to look far as the raiders, clearly of the conviction that they were entirely alone in the depths of the forest, weren't troubling themselves to be particularly discreet.

Observing from just behind a small ridge, the musketeer could see they'd built a fire and were cooking a couple of rabbits they'd trapped.

Two of the subordinates were finishing burying something at the far end of the clearing, presumably the dead bodies they'd collected from the site of the original ambush, while the other two seemed to have been ordered to replenish the water skins for everyone and ensure the food was cooked.

Climence and Bouchier were content to give their instructions and supervise what everyone else was doing, a behaviour that was drawing noticeably sullen looks from the others. One, in particular, was drinking heavily from a water skin but, from his increasingly over-exaggerated movements, Aramis felt it safe to assume it wasn't water he was imbibing.

Sure enough, by the time the simple repast had been consumed, the man's voice had risen enough for some of what he said to be heard even up on the ridge; from the slight slur and aggressive tone of his voice it seemed that he was more than a little inebriated and less than happy about their losses and treatment in general.

His conduct was rewarded by a pistol being drawn on him by Bouchier whilst, from Climence's gestures, it was safe to infer the choice he was being offered was the kind where he'd not live long if he did anything other than what he was told. The man's urgently glanced requests for support from his fellows were met with uncomfortable foot-shuffling and obvious attempts to look anywhere but at him: It seemed their desire to get paid, for the moment, outweighed any other loyalties they may have.

Left with little choice but to back down, the slightly swaying man eventually did so. The others mounted their horses and it appeared that the punishment for his noncompliance was to douse the fire and clear the camp single-handed: The opportunity offered by one of the men being isolated in this way did not escape the musketeer who slithered down carefully from his vantage point.

The others had already been gone for ten minutes and the sound of their horses had faded in the distance by the time the recalcitrant man had finished the task he'd been given. Swinging himself up into his saddle rather inelegantly, he pulled unnecessarily hard on the animal's reins, obviously frustrated at his situation and taking it out on the unfortunate beast who fidgeted unhappily under his control.

With his expression an attempt at defiance that only served to make him look even more drunk, he kicked his heels into the horse's side to force it to move forward and catch up with the others. The path from the clearing was narrow and rough and, despite his urgings, his mount demonstrated considerably more sense than he did in navigating the awkward passage: The man remained caught up in his own irritation and was preoccupied enough with cursing pretty much everything in existence that he failed to notice a figure slip from behind a tree behind him only to deliver a swift upward motion under his right foot, successfully upending him over the left side of the horse.

His inattention and alcohol-slowed reactions meant he failed to make any effort to break his own fall and Aramis noted a satisfying crack as the man's head connected with the ground.

The already agitated horse, skittered away without its rider and galloped off down the recently flattened path; one quick glance at the man and, specifically, the unnatural angle of his head to his body, was enough to convince the musketeer that no further action was required.

He briefly entertained the idea of taking the pistol still tucked into the man's belt, he badly needed another weapon, but decided against doing anything that might make this look anything other than an accident: Whilst the odds against him were starting to look a little better, he wasn't ready for them to suspect they were anything other than alone in the woods as yet.

Dropping back into the undergrowth and retrieving his horse a short distance away, Aramis filled the time while he waited for the others to realise they were a man short, by refilling his water skins from the stream they themselves had used earlier.

Sure enough, it wasn't too long before, from his sheltered point a little further down the ridge where he'd spied on the group earlier, he heard the sound of horses, raised voices and recriminations.

Happy to have further eroded their morale and created a small extra delay to their journey while they disposed of another fallen man, he waited patiently for them to deal with the problem he'd given them before resuming his pursuit once they, finally, set off again.

"...and then there were five.."

TBC