Afternoon, all. Continued thanks to those who have reviewed. I love it that some are guessing about things. I thought Serge ought to make an appearance in this chapter with some acerbic wit! Events take a turn for the worse!
In Dumas' novel, Treville has a town house and I have opted to incorporate this into my story as it is an integral part of my plot so please forgive me for this.
CHAPTER 9
Treville was two days overdue, the Austrian dignitary was arriving the next afternoon and the overriding mood within the garrison was far from buoyant. Athos had spent much of the time pouring over paperwork and plans for the visit, drawing up security details, creating team leaders, meeting with them to go over the finer details of the arrangements and watching briefly as Porthos led the soldiers in drill practice. Aramis was tasked with uniform and weapon checks prior to Athos' final inspection of the men on the day of operations; woe betide any musketeer who did not look his best or arrived on parade with a neglected weapon.
As the day of Treville's expected arrival had come and gone and there was still no sign of him, Athos tried to tell himself that there could be any number of reasons as to why the officer had been detained, all of them innocent. It still meant that he had very little rest that night, exacerbating a period of sleep deprivation that had commenced with the announcement of the impending visit.
At the next meeting at the palace, it was clear that the King was not amused by the continued absence of his Captain of the Guard and seemed to take it as a deliberate, personal affront rather than a growing cause for concern. He only began to be appeased when Athos confidently outlined the security plans for the dignitary's visit, although Richelieu tried his best to test the musketeer's patience with a relentless series of probing questions designed to highlight glaring omissions and loopholes in Athos' thinking. He was disappointed though, for Athos successfully responded to each one, demonstrating his thorough preparation. The arrangements could not be faulted by either man but that did not prevent Athos from spending that afternoon reviewing all the arrangements once more and insisting that his team leaders meet with him again to explore an even more imaginative range of 'what if' scenarios.
"He won't stop to eat with us; says he's got too much to do," d'Artagnan announced as he rejoined Porthos and Aramis at their usual table in the warmth of the early evening before the dignitary's arrival. The Gascon had just knocked tentatively at the office door and asked their leader if he would accompany them for something to eat, the request being a direct result of Serge's complaint that earlier in the day he had retrieved yet another untouched tray of food from the office.
Serge appeared and slammed a jug of ale down in front of the trio. "You asked me to make sure he was eatin'. Well I'm trying but I can't be there standin' over 'im whilst 'e clears 'is plate, can I?"
"You've done your best," Aramis acknowledged. "It's this visit that's pre-occupying every waking moment for him. I'm sure he'll be better once that's over and Treville gets back."
"If 'e gets back, you mean," Serge sniffed.
"Why do you say that? Of course the Captain'll be back," d'Artagnan objected at the cook's tone.
"I'm only repeatin' what some o' the men are startin' to say. They reckon as something's 'appened and Treville won't be comin' back."
"An' who's sayin' such things?" Porthos asked, his voice deceptively quiet as he poured a tankard of ale, inspected the surface of the dark liquid and used his finger to retrieve a dead insect that he flicked away in one easy movement.
Serge eyed him warily, wondering if he had spoken out of turn but the big musketeer was too busy downing his drink. The old man spoke, "Well I hear it's mainly coming from Bertram, Faron an' Maline."
"And who are they saying it to?" d'Artagnan said nonchalantly, reaching for his own tankard.
"Anyone who'll listen."
"Then you just stop 'em from saying such things until we know for definite," Porthos insisted, endeavouring to inject his words with some encouragement when he was fully aware such fears had already crossed the minds of those gathered round the table.
Serge snorted dismissively and then changed the subject. "You stayin' 'ere to eat then?" he wanted to know.
"Not tonight," Aramis answered. "We'll finish our drinks and head to The Wren to see what the innkeeper's offering."
"My stew not good enough for you?" the old man bristled.
"Easy," Aramis stood and laid a hand on his arm to cam him. "It's a busy day tomorrow; we've eaten here for the past few nights and we would welcome a change of scenery, that's all."
Serge visibly relaxed. "As long as that's all." He looked at the three in turn and they all nodded vigorously, not wanting to hurt his feelings. "You want me to try again with 'im?" he asked, gesturing towards the office.
"Please. He must be getting hungry by now but even if he's not, he's got the sense to know he'll need to eat tonight because he won't know when he's going to get the chance tomorrow," Aramis reasoned.
Serge merely snorted and disappeared back into his kitchen.
"It didn't take long for the speculation to start, did it?" d'Artagnan observed softly once the three were alone.
"Especially when that speculation starts with Bertram, Faron and Maline," Porthos growled, " seein' as how they're such good friends with Delacroix."
"Is this just a ploy to knock musketeer morale or do they know something we don't?" Aramis wondered.
Porthos shrugged. "Whichever it is, it means trouble and it has to be linked with Delacroix."
An hour after the three friends left the confines of the garrison to spend the evening at The Wren, work was still ongoing in the office. True to his word, Serge had delivered another meal to the acting Captain, scowling furiously at him as he slammed a bowl of hot stew down in the middle of the papers strewn across the desk.
Meeting the old man's glare, Athos gave a hint of a smile. "Are you trying to tell me something, Serge?"
The old man harrumphed and crossed his arms in an attempt to look a little intimidating. "I'm not getting' into trouble with your friends anymore because you can't be bothered to eat. I also told 'em I wasn't goin' to stand over you to make sure you did. Now is that what you're wantin' me to do? If that's so, I'm tellin' you now I have better things to do with my time and that's includin' feedin' a mess room full of hungry musketeers."
Athos looked suitably chastised, his tentative smile growing, "I know the others gave you instructions and I have not been very co-operative. For that I humbly apologise, especially if they are making things difficult for you. I will eat the stew; just not yet. I want to finish something first." He looked at Serge who obviously was not convinced. "I promise," he added, moving the bowl to one side and resuming his scrutiny of the paperwork.
"Just make sure you do," was Serge's parting comment.
Alone again, Athos sighed as the light had grown too dim so he lit several candles, positioning them strategically on or in the vicinity of the desk. Having spent the preceding hour re-reading his arrangements for the following day, he felt that he needed a change and began to study the list of food supplies needed by the garrison in the near future, as reported to him by Serge. Carefully he compared the requirements with the parchment bearing the order for the previous month and once more since assuming command, he was grateful for Treville's meticulous record keeping.
Not for the first time, he wondered if Treville ever had anything resembling a personal life. He seemed to live and breathe the regiment and the Inseparables had often joked that the man appeared to live in his office. As befitting his status, he had procured and maintained a small house not too far from the garrison but he seldom spent time there, tending to leave it in the capable hands of Pièrre, an old retainer. Instead, he preferred to use the low cot in the corner of the office. At whatever early hour the quartet of friends settled for breakfast, Treville was either on the balcony scrutinising the arrival of men before they mustered or already at his desk where he remained, save for inspections and visits to the palace, until well after the last duty change and even then flickering candle light could be seen through the shutters, indicating that he was set to work late into the night.
Athos began to appreciate the lonely position in which the officer found himself. Despite being expected to participate in palace affairs and events, Treville, first and foremost a skilled and dedicated soldier, endured rather than relished the superficial and sycophantic court relationships and machinations. It was an isolated existence and whilst Athos and his brothers enjoyed more freedom and camaraderie with the man than their colleagues, there was still that unspoken boundary between the Captain and the Inseparables that was rarely crossed publicly for fear of fuelling an accusation of favouritism. Even so, there remained a handful of musketeers who resented the rapport between Treville and the four young men. Unbidden, the names of the disgruntled few came to mind and, of course, first on the list was Delacroix whilst the others were all musketeers who seemed to have gravitated towards his assertive personality. As a result, these men did not have the strength of bond that united Athos and his brothers but they were a formidable group in their own right and it had taken Treville's calm but indisputable authority to keep them in check. Athos sighed to himself, hoping that Delacroix and his followers would not take advantage of Treville's absence, making his life difficult and thereby undermining his temporary command. Things had been quiet of late and the last thing that he wanted was for the enthusiasm of Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan in protecting him to create tension or worse amongst the main body of soldiers so that Treville returned to a rift within the garrison.
He spooned some stew into his mouth and chewed reflectively. Try as he might, he could not bring himself to trust Delacroix. As swiftly as he had the thought, he dismissed it as unfair; he may not always have seen eye to eye with Delacroix but it was not conducive to a good working atmosphere if he were automatically suspicious of the man and every move he made.
Shaking his head to dispel the uncharitable thoughts he was having, he drew parchment, quill and ink well towards him as he set about writing up the day's report, breaking off periodically for another mouthful of food as he made a decision. The day had been uneventful; even his meeting with the King had passed without problem as Louis' mood had been convivial and light, Treville's continued absence seemingly forgotten. The King's boyish nature revelled in a joke that he had made at the Cardinal's expense. Even Athos had allowed himself a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth at Richelieu's evident discomfort, silently congratulating the monarch for his witty turn of phrase instead of the usual petulant outburst.
The report was nearing completion and Athos suddenly resolved to join his friends at the tavern. He was missing their company and good humour and he was determined that he was not going to be isolated from them any longer than was absolutely necessary. He reached for another spoonful of food but it had gone cold, the remainder congealing in the bottom of the bowl. It was a waste and his hunger was not satisfied but that could easily be remedied at the tavern along with good wine and companionship.
He turned his attention back to the report, finishing it within a few minutes with a flourish. Rising to his feet, he had just reached for his hat when the sound of rapid feet on the staircase distracted him and the door burst open to reveal Serge, out of breath and eyes wide with alarm.
"Tell me you ain't eaten the stew," he pleaded. "Tell me you've been your usual awkward self and not touched it."
"What? Why?" Athos looked towards the bowl and Serge took a step towards it, groaning loudly as he realised that over half the original contents had been eaten. "What's wrong with it?"
"It's poisoned, that's what," Serge announced, wringing his hands in despair. "There was nothing wrong with them mushrooms when I brought 'em in. I picked 'em myself; I know what can happen if you get the wrong 'uns."
Athos froze, wondering if he had heard correctly. "What exactly has happened? Tell me quickly, man."
"I was puttin' fresh mushrooms in the stew an' went out and collected 'em this morning, I did. I know the difference between a good mushroom an' a bad 'un; have done for years. They were all good, I swear." The old soldier was shaking, his voice cracking with emotion as he recounted his story.
Athos retrieved a chair from against the wall and pushed the man down onto it before he fell.
"Go on. What happened next?" He wanted Serge to explain but the chill that gripped him told him that he already knew what was about to be divulged.
"I'd got the boy to prepare 'em and there they were, in a big bowl on the side, large as life and ready for using. I starts the cookin' and tells the boy to add the mushrooms to the pot so he does. I serve it up as the men come in from duty but now some of 'em, those that come in first, they're gettin' sick. They're rollin' around in pain and some of 'em have started throwin' up. Those that have eaten since then are turnin' nasty as they've all worked out the only thing they have in common is the stew and they've started having a go at me, saying as how it's my fault.
"At first I tell 'em there's nothin' wrong with my cookin'. How many years now have I been doin' the cookin' and supplyin' the meals? You ever known me to serve up a bad meal or poison the men?" He appealed to Athos for support and the younger man shook his head in an attempt to reassure the cook. "So I goes back into the kitchen and looks around and that's when I see it. The boy's left the bowl an' it's still got a few bits o' mushroom in the bottom so I looks at 'em closely. They weren't the ones I'd gathered, I swear it. Now the men are getting sick an' a whole heap of others are going to start feeling it soon." He paused for breath.
Athos raked a hand through his hair, his mind racing as he inhaled deeply. "If there's room, get those already sick into the infirmary. Send to The Wren to get Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan back here. Thank goodness they decided to go out to eat tonight; I'm going to need their help, especially Aramis. Someone else can go and seek out the physician. I need to know how many men are affected and how badly. Do you have mustard seeds?"
Serge's eyes widened at the question. "Of course, I use them for seasoning."
"Good. Pound them into a powder and add to warm water and dose everyone who ate the stew but has not shown any symptoms yet. I've heard Aramis speak of it; it'll act as an emetic. Get them to expel what they've eaten before they're fully affected. Quickly now."
Happier now that he had something to do, the old man made to leave the room but was stopped as Athos spoke again.
"Serge, when you have prepared it, you had better start with me first."
