Chapter X
Constance winced once more as she felt the needle thread inside and out of the tender skin on her cheek. She had been offered some strong alcohol to numb the pain as much as possible, yet she knew that her Majesty would appreciate a full account of what had happened at the Palace. Knowing how tired she was, drinking would have only accelerated her passing out. Her duty was more important to her, and whatever d'Artagnan had said would not persuade her otherwise.
She was grasping his hand so tight that her fingernails were digging into his skin. Aramis was trying to be as gentle as he could, because he did not wish for his friend to end up with a nasty scar. She had saved the Dauphin from the grip of a ferocious man. There was so much he was thankful for and it was her doing. Hers and Marguerite's. The other woman was still unconscious. If she had not fainted earlier, exhaustion would have probably overtaken her anyway.
The small infirmary was relatively quiet now that the Dauphin had been whisked away with his mother and a nun who had brought milk to feed him. The three of them had gone to another room to have more privacy. It was easier for Aramis to concentrate. He knew the Queen desperately wanted to know all the details that had brought the heir, his governess and Constance to the convent. One of the first things they could do to delay the pain everything would bring was to allow her a few quiet moments with her child.
"I'm done, Constance," Aramis eventually said, checking his work and wiping the perspiration on his brow. Her shoulders relaxed. She breathed out heavily. Her face was becoming as purple as Marguerite's was, and both her wrists were bruised as well. Aramis turned around to wash his hands, letting d'Artagnan comfort the woman he loved.
"I changed my mind," Porthos stated, stepping closer as Aramis was rinsing his hands of any blood which had stained them while he was tending to Constance's injuries. "You are good with children and you are the best surgeon of us all. I do not wish to tie you to a horse and let you leave the country."
His friend laughed dryly, clasping his shoulder before sitting on the bench next to Athos. He desired nothing more than to rest for a couple of hours. One glance at the man by his side indicated that Athos must have been entertaining the same idea. His eyes would shoot open every other second, his head jerking back slightly. Fighting off sleep was a difficult task.
"Did I miss something? Who said anything about leaving the country?" he mumbled.
"No one. The Queen...she asked me to run away while it was still possible to do so." Aramis was more and more ashamed every time he had to explain this. The statement was enough to make Athos open his eyes fully and look at him. D'Artagnan also raised his head to listen more closely.
"I hope you are not considering it."
"Perhaps I am. I have never had the intention to abandon my duty. However, if it is the only way to keep them both safe, to keep all of you safe..."
"You are talking nonsense, Aramis!" d'Artagnan hissed. He had always been the most sensitive of them all. He was young, and although they had not known each other for a very long time, bonds had already been created between the four Musketeers. He would hate to have to say goodbye to his friend.
"Am I, really? I dread what Rochefort's next move might be, now. You must have made him even more furious. I am not saying you shouldn't have...," he added, when he saw d'Artagnan open his mouth, doubtless to argue in Constance's favour. "...But I could not live with myself if I endangered them further."
Nobody knew how to answer this confession, and heavy silence surrounded Aramis. The joy of having held his son was subsiding. It was surrendering to his turmoil, and to the new troubles of the day. Someone put their hand on his shoulder, pressing to convey sympathy. His eyes were closed, but he could tell it was Porthos.
"I remember a time when Musketeers were not so moody," Milady clamoured, sounding bored. She had made no noise creeping in the room. "Well, except you of course." Athos did not grant her the slightest hint that he understood she was talking about him. "Here, catch." One second too late and the apple would have hit him in the face. He grunted to thank her. They would have to talk about what had transpired between them in Rochefort's office. Athos wished to delay this conversation as much as he could. Her help was still greatly needed, and it would not do to antagonize her.
"I had to fend for myself as it seems that everybody has deserted the premises to go to mass. Food for the heroin." She set a plate at the foot of Constance's bed. D'Artagnan had to thank her, although this time, he actually meant it. It sickened him to have to trust this woman who may betray them at any moment. She had helped Constance come to him, though, and he was at least grateful for this.
"I am hardly a heroin. I would not be here if not for Marguerite."
"Will someone finally have the decency to explain why my ladies are considered heroins? And subsequently, what they are doing here?" The royal command brought all the Musketeers to their feet. The Queen watched as they bowed out of deference, d'Artagnan relinquishing his hold on Constance. Milady turned around, bowing as well, albeit less thoroughly. There was a small grin on her face which did not faint when Athos glared at her. There was a moment of hesitation when her Majesty realized that once again, the King's former mistress was tangled in their plans. What her connection to the Musketeers was, she had no idea. It puzzled her.
The Dauphin was being taken care of by the nun. He was eating as would be expected of any famished baby. Time spent apart from him was a torture so she hoped she would be able to join him rather soon. First, she had to make sense of the situation. Constance was avoiding her gaze, Athos was pointedly looking at Milady, d'Artagnan at the floor, Porthos out of the window, and Aramis was busy putting on his leather jacket. All of it was unnerving.
"Her Majesty should sit down," Tréville suggested, motioning her to the bench. She did so, then waited, hands flat on her lap to prevent her knees from bouncing underneath her dress.
"There appears to have been an assassination attempt against the King." The revelation shook her. The Queen braced herself on the bench. It did not matter that her station required her to handle any problem with calm and dignity. It did not matter that the King had preferred to trust Rochefort rather than her the day before. Someone had tried to end her husband's life.
"Tell me," Queen Anne managed to request after a while.
"I was not present at the Palace," Athos continued, "but Constance tells us that he was poisoned."
"Marguerite told me. She is the one who alerted the Guard."
"We must go back to Paris at once."
Aramis had to use all his will-power to not shout at her. He understood her distress at the news. It had been a shock for them as well, and it was the man she was married to who had been attacked, their ruler. The reasonable thing for his Queen was to be by his side. It would have been the reasonable thing if there had not been a vile First Minister standing in the way. Going back to Paris certainly meant making matters easier for Rochefort. They had not ridden to the countryside to run back into the arms of this monster.
The Musketeer gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. Not a sound came out of his mouth. Athos and Tréville would handle the problem better. They were not as emotionally involved as he was.
"I believe it would be a terrible mistake, your Majesty. According to Marguerite, it is Rochefort who poisoned the King."
She brought a hand to her mouth because she felt she was going to be sick. Her stomach heaved with horror. Her heart was pounding in her chest. When she opened her eyes again, the room was spinning around her. A cold drop of sweat rolled down her forehead. She was living in an actual nightmare. It seemed that her entire world was crumbling down.
"What...why...He would not...What would he achieve with such a plot?"
"His plans are still obscure, unfortunately. I can assure you that we will do everything to discover what he is fomenting so you may be safe again." Athos' promise did little to ease her. Aramis hated seeing her like this. None of his friends enjoyed watching their monarch in such a position, trembling and desperate. None of them knew what to do. Aramis knew perfectly well what he wanted to do: he wanted to hold her in his arms, rock her as he had rocked her son earlier. He wanted to whisper that everything would be fine. He wanted to make her feel better, to make her forget.
"Did he attempt something against the Dauphin? Is it why you have brought him here?"
"Oh, no. I apologize, your Majesty. I truly do. Marguerite informed me that he intended to blame me for the assassination attempt, but he found us before I could escape. I would be in prison if Marguerite had not hit him."
They all glanced at the unconscious governess. The Queen studied her friend's face, only now realizing how wounded she was. Blinded by her fright, she had failed to see the cuts and the bruises. It gave her the strength to stand up from the bench to go sit on the bed.
"We could not leave your son with him afterwards. We had to flee, and I had promised you I would look after him."
"You made the right choice, Constance," the Queen approved, reaching forward to hug the other woman. They shared the embrace for some time, each of them drawing courage from the other.
Her own choice was obvious. Even though it deeply scared her, the King was in great danger if no one was there to warn him that his most trusted counselor was a traitor. There was a chance he would not believe what she would say, yet she had to try. It was her duty. Being Queen meant that her feelings had to be put to the side sometimes. There were tears threatening to spill at the thought. She pressed her fingers to her eyes. Her weakness would not show.
"I have to insist: I must return to Paris. The King needs me."
"You will not!" The shout startled her.
"Excuse me?" There was anger in her eyes as she turned around to face Aramis. He had no right to tell her what to do or not do. Her reputation as a Queen might have been compromised, she was still a person he had to respect and treat with the deference required. Especially when they were in public. And especially when he was defying her so openly. "You are talking to your Queen, Aramis! I will do what I deem wise."
As she stood up, she appeared to have regained some of her royal countenance and grandeur. She seemed taller. Aramis was aware he was not behaving appropriately. Athos' hand on his chest was proof enough. It was asking him to calm down and remember who he was addressing. The Musketeer knew perfectly well who he was addressing. He had not meant to shout so loud, but one could only restraint themselves for so long before repressed anxiety overpowered them. There might be consequences later; for the time being he was only concerned with the safety of the Queen.
"Going back would not be wise. Rochefort must have found out that you are not in the Palace anymore. God only knows what story he will invent to explain your disappearance."
"The King might die."
"He might not. Rochefort knows. What do you think will happen if he catches you?"
"He would not dare."
"Are you certain? Would you have imagined he could force himself on you? Or poison his Majesty? Or attack innocent women?"
Queen pondered this. Rochefort's actions troubled her. It was unthinkable for her that Spain – that her brother- would have sent someone to ruin the French rulers. To what purpose? Didn't they belong to the same family in the end?
She was torn. Torn between her duty and preserving her life. People would say she was a traitor to her country if -no, when- they realized she had fled while the King was in such a predicament. Perhaps the Musketeer was correct; Rochefort may use it to his advantage. Her ears were ringing with the fury she felt toward Aramis. The beginning of a headache was weaving its way in her skull.
She stared straight at Aramis, forcing her mind to ignore the audience they had. If she listened to her conscience, she had to see that there were good reasons for him to argue. The setting and their close vicinity, without the rigid protocol of royal Palaces, made their relationship more difficult. Self-imposed barriers were slowly breaking down. Feelings which had remained unvoiced and hidden for months were creeping up to the surface. A liberty they had not enjoyed often was plainly settling in. The Queen did not know what to make of this fact. On the one hand, her heart was delighted that Aramis cared so much about her. She could almost entertain the fantasy that he was not talking to his Queen; only to a woman he cherished. Yet, these feelings and this attitude were the cause of their perilous drama.
"I am no coward," she whispered, willing her voice to be steady. Using Spanish was yet another barrier crushed. They could be less careful in Spanish. Aramis did not miss a beat.
"Nobody would dare say you are. This is not cowardice; it is self-preservation. I beg you. Please. You are safe here."
"I must know how fares the King. I cannot abandon him forever."
"I will not give Rochefort the slightest chance to hurt you. Please, stay here. I will go," Aramis decided. Queen Anne would not be deterred. Besides, he had to atone for having yelled at her. The Spanish meant he was mostly forgiven for his escapade. It was the language she retreated to when she needed comfort of the greatest sort. His hands shook at the words.
"I forbid it!" Not her Musketeer. His life was in serious danger already. Rochefort would have him handcuffed and killed the minute he would know Aramis was back in Paris. He took a step closer, hands on his hips. Athos loosened the grip he had on his brother's uniform. Whatever conversation he was having with her Majesty, they could understand it was not amicable.
"Not alone. I will not let you throw yourself into danger's arms." Their moment was gone. He was doing this to protect her, as duty commanded, but it was not duty driving him now. This was personal, and she would never forgive herself if something happened to him.
"Well, someone has to go, and since we have sworn to protect you, we will not endanger your life by escorting you back. It will be safer for you here with the Dauphin."
"I am ever so thankful for your dedication to our persons. Nonetheless, you have just explained quite thoroughly why it was perilous for me to return. It is even more so for you."
"Pardon me, your Majesty. But are you saying that you want to go back there?" Porthos interrupted the conversation, yanking on Aramis' arm so he would face him.
Even though the Spanish had been unintelligible, what he understood and their tones of voice were sufficient. They would all make Aramis sorry for standing up to the Queen later, Porthos more than the others. His friend was not trying hard enough to conceal his feelings, and it was going to doom him. A fate which would arrive quicker if he indeed wanted to travel back.
His friend's eyes bore into him, dark, angry, resolute. He was annoyed at the Queen, a feeling too much out of place, yet one that he could not control. It was unlike him to snap at people he cared about.
"Indeed."
"Are you out of your mind?"
"Everybody needs to calm down!" Tréville ordered, raising his voice. He was ashamed of the Musketeers' behaviour. He had not taught them to act so foolishly, not in the presence of the Queen. Porthos looked ready to hit Aramis, and such an action would not improve their problems. He could not believe he had to deal with such children. It may have been opportune to resign completely from the regiment when he had been discharged of his Captain duties. "I am mortified, your Majesty. Please forgive these men for their untactful attitude."
"My apologies, your Majesty," Porthos conceded, through clenched teeth. "Aramis apologizes as well."
"Of course. I am forgetting myself. I am deeply sorry." It was a lie, she could not fooled.
"I will go," Porthos stated, daring anyone to object. "I know my way around the streets of Paris better than any of you. And I can make myself quite invisible if I so wish."
"I'll come with you," d'Artagnan claimed. It had been a torment for him to escort the Queen while Athos stayed behind to collect evidence. He would not shy from action this time.
"You have to take care of Constance. I will handle myself just fine."
"You should not go..."
"My Lord! It's a wonder you Musketeers even manage to make a decision once in a while! How boring to spend your time pondering and arguing. And you wonder why I despise working with partners?" Milady complained, rolling her eyes at the entire scene. "The lovebirds may stay together. I'll go."
"What game are you playing?" d'Artagnan narrowed his eyes. Milady cast a bored glance at him. She made eye contact with Athos at the same time. He looked as intrigued as his young friend, although he was doing better at hiding it. But she knew him too well.
"My motives are none of your concern. You should be thanking me instead of doubting me so."
"You have given me good cause to doubt your every action."
"Now you are just hurting me. Perhaps I should have left her wandering the streets."
"If you so much as attempt to take a step in the wrong direction, Porthos will not hesitate to kill you," Athos warned her. Portho's low growl confirmed the threat.
"How nice of you to let your friends handle your own unfinished business." She took a step toward him, never once looking down. Athos did not want to entrust her with such a mission. However, she had shown that she could be resourceful the previous day, and even if he hated himself for the kiss they had shared, his heart was willing to give her a second chance. A chance she may not deserve, and a chance which could kill them all. They were running out of options, though.
Her hands were on him, and before he could break the spell, he was relieved of one of his pistols.
"We might encounter Red Guards. How unfortunate if I could not defend myself properly. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I have no intention of mounting a horse before I rest for a few hours."
Everybody stared at her in disbelief as she exited the infirmary, striding as if she owned the place.