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Chapter Nine
"I asked you a question!"
Marcel shrank back against the railing as he tried to think what to tell the angry man towering in front of him. The pretty lady had made it crystal clear that if he got caught she would know and the money would end. He felt a wave of undefined fear wash over him and he shuddered. Something else had been implied, but he was not yet worldly enough to be able to understand it. He just knew that something about her frightened him.
Porthos waved the letter in front of him and tried to restrain the anger rolling up from his gut. He could not explain it, but his long ingrained instincts were on high alert.
"Tell me the truth! Don't lie to me boy 'cause I will know!"
Marcel found himself quaking in fright and could not make himself speak. His eyes began to water again as he stared at the ground.
"My friend just risked his life to save yours. Now, somethin' funny is goin' on here and you are goin' to tell me! For the last time …. why do you have a letter for Athos?"
"She told me to put it under his door, this afternoon." The words were barely a whisper.
"Who?"
"Uh … I don't know … I don't know her name. She … she's the one who got me this place."
Porthos frowned at the boy in confusion. "Treville said the smithy recommended you. Said you were 'is nephew."
"I don't have any family. She said she wanted me to come and work here and she'd look after me if I did as she asked."
Porthos felt the light going on as he began to piece several things together.
"Somebody wanted you working here and made that happen somehow. But if that's true then how …"
The question died on his lips as the obvious conclusion to that thought was that Jacques' accident had not been an accident after all. Somebody had almost killed the lad in order to plant Marcel in his place.
"This lady … what does she look like?"
"Dark hair, pretty …. scary green eyes!"
Porthos felt the solid ground under his heels shift a little as the boy's words sunk in.
It couldn't be!
And yet, he knew in his heart that it most definitely was.
He lifted the letter closer to his face and stared at it. He would never have decided to read it if it had not been for Athos' strange, distracted behaviour in the tavern a few nights earlier. He had repeatedly pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, just the same as the one in his hand. He flipped the paper open and suddenly found himself wanting to roar in fury.
You must agree by now that you truly deserve each other. Just as I once held Thomas' life, I hold his life in my hands. You will never see me coming until it is too late. If you wish to spare him, then surrender yourself in his place. Remember, if you speak just one word of this, the offer is revoked and he will surely die in agony. His death will be on your head. Sleep well my love.
Porthos looked over the top of the paper and glared at Marcel. "Do you know what's in this?"
The terrified boy shook his head vigorously. He had already accepted the money trail was now gone, but he was beginning to wonder just how ugly it was going to get. The angry musketeer was enough to make him weak at the knees.
"I don't know my letters."
There was no doubt in his mind that Athos' estranged wife was behind the letter and he felt his gut twisting in anger. Clearly this was not the first such letter she had sent him and he wondered what else she had already said. Equally clearly, she had set her sights on one of them in order to taunt Athos. Given recent events, there was only one logical conclusion as to who that was. The part that truly horrified him was that Athos had not so much as said a word about it and the reason why was sickening. All of them had been shocked at the depth of Milady's depravity when Athos had finally revealed how she had left him to burn to death in his ancestral home. The fact it was d'Artagnan who had pulled him clear would not have earned him any favour in her eyes.
Porthos leaned forward as he rubbed a hand through his hair in frustration. If he allowed the boy to leave, then Milady would know her scheme had been discovered. If he went to Athos prematurely and told him what he knew, there was no knowing what he could unleash. But he could not sit back and simply wait.
"She was paying you, wasn't she?"
Marcel nodded miserably. Porthos looked at the scrawny boy in front of him and knew that had it been him at that age, he would have jumped at the prospect of a wealthy benefactor. He couldn't blame the boy for trying to survive in a harsh world and there was no place harsher than the dirty streets of Paris if you were an orphaned child. He knew that he would probably regret it, but he decided to try to appeal to the boy's honour.
"My friend risked his own life to save you today. I think you owe him." Before Marcel could respond, Porthos leaned in and grasped his shirt front. "I know who the lady is and you are going to do exactly what I tell you. Understand?"
Marcel felt relief flood him to the core. He had expected a thrashing as he would have received if he had failed this badly in the court. The truth was, he liked the young musketeer who had befriended him. The fact he had stepped in and pulled him clear of the horse tugged at the edge of his conscience. He truly had no idea what was in the letters he had been delivering, but it was obviously not good.
"You will deliver this letter, just the way you were supposed to."
Marcel looked at Porthos with a clear look of confusion on his face. "But … it will only make him angry again."
"Let me deal with Athos. You just need to be seen doing as you're told."
Marcel nodded slowly and began to stand up.
"When you see 'er again, you say nothing about what we've talked about! You can tell 'er about the horse and how d'Artagnan saved you. You say nothing to anybody but me. Got it?"
The look on his face had softened a little, but Marcel was under no illusions that he had been forgiven. He had merely been given a stay of execution to see if he could make amends.
Porthos slumped back against the wall as he watched the wretched child hurry out the door. He felt his gut churning at the thought he had just sanctioned adding to Athos' burden by having the letter delivered. He couldn't think of any other way to keep Milady getting suspicious and he needed time to think. He also knew that allowing Marcel to tell her about the incident with the horse would test how deep her sources went. If she had anybody inside the garrison, she would know about it by the time Marcel told her. Her reaction would help him decide what to do next.
He shoved away from the wall and growled in anger. Aramis had been right when he said somebody was out to make things difficult for d'Artagnan. Neither of them could have possibly guessed the half of it though.
Athos watched as d'Artagnan struggled to keep his eyes open. Aramis was still packing away his things and had his back turned, but Athos knew exactly what he was going to say anyway. A head injury needed to be monitored and the patient should not be allowed to sleep for at least a few hours.
The adrenaline had long since worn off and d'Artagnan was beginning to feel the ill-effects of his injuries. His head throbbed as if the horse had kicked him there instead and his shoulder made it difficult to get comfortable. The one positive he could draw from his current situation was that Athos seemed to have firmly planted himself by his bed and that meant his safety was ensured for a while longer. It felt strange that he could actually keep his friend safe because of his own injuries.
Finally Aramis tied up the last bundle of supplies and gathered them up together. While he would never have wished an injury on anybody, he was relieved to see that Athos was so concerned and attentive. He could not fathom what had been going on in his friend's head for the last few weeks, but whatever it was, it seemed to be gone. He would normally have stayed and kept an eye on his patient, but for some reason, he felt it would help to give them some time alone.
"Make sure he doesn't fall asleep for at least another couple of hours. I'll be back soon to check on him." Aramis turned back to where d'Artagnan was spread across the bed.
"And you, don't give him any grief!" The instruction came out in a serious tone, but d'Artagnan could see the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
"Never!"
Aramis laughed outright and nodded towards Athos as he headed for the door. The world was being set right again. Before he could open the door, it was yanked open from the outside and Porthos strode into the room.
"I found out what spooked the horse. There's a dead viper in the bottom of the stall. Must 'ave got in under the back wall."
Athos stared at the floor as his friend's comments sunk in. Had it really been as simple as that? He had been so tightly wound up focusing on his wife's treachery that he had assumed she had been responsible. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not as she was still making threats and now d'Artagnan was even less physically able to defend himself. At least if he was confined to his room with a guard to keep watch, he was a little more secure.
Aramis had been true to his word that he would return to check on his patient and after the second time in two hours he was satisfied that it would be safe to allow him to sleep. He was a little surprised that d'Artagnan had made no objection to Athos staying when the others were clearly leaving. Normally he would have been very vocal to say that he didn't need a nursemaid or something to that effect. Aramis wasn't sure what to make of it, but eventually decided it was one less problem to deal with.
Athos leaned forward and finally felt some of the day's tension easing away. He would have normally felt self conscious to be sitting and watching as somebody else slept, but today was different. Today, he would not be anywhere else.
D'Artagnan had finally slipped into an uneasy sleep as he struggled to find a comfortable place on the bed. The smell of Aramis' salve tainted the air with its hint of herbs. Athos frowned at the deep bruising spreading down the side of his friend's face. He watched as something else flickered under the bruising. Clearly the lad was dreaming and it didn't take much to understand it wasn't good. Athos felt his mind wandering as his own sleep over recent nights had been filled with violent, blood-drenched images.
He was startled out of his reverie as he heard his name being called. D'Artagnan's face was creased in fear as he continued to call out. Athos reached out and grasped his forearm firmly.
"Wake up! D'Artagnan! Wake up." The urgency increased until he managed to get a response.
D'Artagnan bolted upright on the bed. Pain rolled through him, but his mind was screaming.
Athos was dead!
He felt something tugging at his arm and he tried to shrug it off. Something else pulled at his face and he twisted against it. Suddenly a face registered in his line of vision and his heart skipped a beat.
"Athos?" The fear-filled whisper escaped before he could stop it.
"Yes. It's all right. You were just dreaming."
Athos watched closely as the stupor of the dream began to dissipate. D'Artagnan stared at him, as if he would disappear. He could barely breathe as he tried to determine if he had just inadvertently let something out of the bag. He would never forgive himself if he had, because he knew Athos' honour would force him to hunt down his wife.
Finally he sagged back against the pillow and let the pain wash over him. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. Athos still had a firm grip on his arm and he wondered what could have roused such fear in his usually fearless young friend.
For his part, D'Artagnan pulled away and covered his eyes with his hand. Athos was left staring at his back as d'Artagnan seemed to shut down right in front of him.
