"You win battles by knowing the enemy's timing, and using a timing which the enemy does not expect."
Miyamoto Musashi
CHAPTER X
A lone figure fell from the heights of the cliff, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. In the interim, Aramis had pulled Sir Robert off the path and behind the tree where he had taken cover earlier. The Englishman was unconscious, and his color was an ashen grey. Prince Gedymin lost no time in unbuttoning the man's doublet, his fingers probing his abdomen.
He looked up at Aramis and shook his head. "He has already lost too much blood. Feel how tense the abdomen is."
Within seconds, the musketeer knew that the Prince was correct. As he held his fingers over the center of Sir Robert's belly, he felt the pulsation from the abdominal aorta weaken, then cease entirely. Sitting back on his heels, he took off his hat and rubbed his face, suddenly feeling incredibly fatigued. How in the world are we going to explain this to the King? And what has happened to Porthos and Viscount Van der Hede? The two men were obviously now alone on the other path.
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Porthos and the Viscount reached the junction where the two paths joined back together, and reined in their horses.
"Where are they?" asked the baffled falconer. "You said that the other path was slightly shorter, so I thought they would be waiting for us.…all six of them, since Sir Robert tore off after the others, with d'Artagnan in hot pursuit."
"So did I." A sense of uneasiness descended upon Porthos as a light rain began to fall. "I don't like this at all."
"Then I suggest we go investigate." The Dutchman raised an eyebrow at his escort. "Are you game?"
Porthos grinned, sensing a kindred spirit. "You have to ask?" As they cantered down the path, he called out, "By any chance, do you play cards?"
The Viscount laughed, his eyes sparkling. "My friend, you have no idea. How much money do you want to lose?"
After a hard ride of five minutes, they came around a bend to find Aramis and d'Artagnan filling in a freshly dug grave. Porthos felt an icy fist of fear close around his heart. He reined his horse in, then dismounted instantly. "Where is Athos?" he asked urgently, his heart in his throat.
Aramis gestured towards a large oak tree. "Over there, tending to Don Enriquez—he took a nasty shot in the shoulder."
"So—Sir Robert is—" the Dutch nobleman was unable to finish the sentence.
"Dead." D'Artagnan's voice was tired and resigned. "I would wish that fate on no man, no matter how annoying. God rest his soul."
"How did this happen?" Porthos was still trying to understand exactly what had occurred. "An ambush?"
Aramis nodded. "Someone obviously knew we were coming this way. Prince Radziwiłł killed the sniper—or at least one of them. He appears to be quite a shot." As the Polish nobleman approached them, Aramis offered his hand. "I owe you my life, my friend."
"It was nothing," the man responded modestly. "I have no doubt you would have done the same for me. You showed great bravery in risking your own life to try to save Sir Robert."
"I only wish I could have done more."
"His fate was already sealed when he took that shot in the abdomen," came the sober answer. "As we say in Poland, 'If the goat hadn't jumped, she wouldn't have broken her leg.' He took a foolish chance by heading off on his own. But that was Sir Robert…he was loath to take direction from anyone." Shaking his head, he glanced towards the body at the foot of the cliff. "Perhaps we should go search the dead man?"
"As we say in France, 'Great minds think alike,' " responded Aramis. "Let's go."
Within several minutes, the two men had reached the corpse. The skull was crushed, and the man appeared to have been killed on impact. He was clearly not a peasant or a common bandit, as his clothes were of good quality. He had a finely crafted leather weapons belt, which still held two pistols and a main gauche, as well as another sheathed dagger.
Prince Gedymin inspected the pistols closely, then looked up at Aramis. "These are of good quality. This was no poor bandit."
Aramis drew out the main gauche, which was also a well-crafted piece. Laying it to the side, he then pulled out the dagger in the other sheath. The knife was about eight inches long, and had an intricate design traced on the blade, which Aramis recognized immediately. It was a black rose, with a pair of angel wings affixed to it.
"That is an unusual design," commented the Polish falconer. "Perhaps a sign of some group? Or a secret society?"
"I have no idea," mused Aramis. "But we saw a similar dagger yesterday. It had been used to execute a man from one of the nearby villages. His body was left hanging in the forest."
"A gruesome public display," observed the prince. "Obviously meant to send a message to the local populace."
"The question is, what was this man's motivation to attack us?" Aramis stood up, scanning the landscape. "Not banditry…he could not possibly hope to kill us all—and if he had accomplices, they melted away rather quickly when we returned fire. A personal grudge? It seems unlikely that Sir Robert had had a chance yet to alienate someone other than us—and in any case, murder would be a rather drastic response to an annoying personality. Plus, Don Enriquez was shot first, so more than one falconer was injured. That makes the third possibility more likely—that this was done to disrupt the competition and embarrass the Musketeers—and the King by extension. So this group may have a broader agenda than we first thought."
The Prince glanced at the sky, which had begun to threaten rain. "Perhaps we should be on our way back to Fontainebleau. I think all of us have seen enough of the forest for today."
While Aramis and his partner were examining the body of the sniper, Athos had eased Don Enriquez's doublet off. The man had gritted his teeth in pain, but remained silent. His shirt had been torn apart by the impact of the bullet, which had easily penetrated his woollen jacket. Athos gently grasped the edges of the shirt and tore a larger hole, using the material to stanch the flow of blood.
"Can you see the ball?" asked the Spaniard, his voice hoarse.
"I think so," responded Athos, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"Take it out—now..please."
"I am not sure that would be wise. The bleeding could worsen once it is removed, and this is a less than controlled situation. We do not have adequate supplies. Aramis' medical kit is back at Fontainebleau, as he saw no reason to bring it along for a short ride into the woods."
"You are probably right," Andres conceded, but his eyes were desperate. "But promise me that as soon as we get back someone will tend to me… I cannot risk having anything take me out of this competition. The position of Grand Falconer would give my wife and daughter security….and my son who is yet to be born would have a bright future. Please, give me your word that you will help me."
"I give you my word." Athos' soft response seemed to soothe the falconer, and the man relaxed, then winced as pain flared up in his shoulder again. "Let me get you some brandy," Athos murmured. Retracing his steps to his horse, he rummaged through his saddlebags, then returned with a small flask. Supporting Andres, he lifted his shoulders slightly off the ground, and brought the flask to his lips. The man drank deeply, then closed his eyes as Athos lowered him back to the ground. "Thank you. I feel very lucky to have gotten you as a guide, Athos. You are clearly a good man."
Athos squeezed his hand in acknowledgment. "And you are an important one, for you have a wife and daughter who love you and are anxiously waiting for you. It is my pleasure to be of service. Now rest, and conserve your strength."
As he got up and placed the flask back in his saddlebag, Athos wondered at the odd forces of destiny had had led him to be reunited with Annette in such a way. I must talk to her, for there are so many questions I have…especially about our daughter...and if Andres is out of the competition, I may never see them again. This may be my only chance.
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By the time they rode back in to Fontainebleau, Athos' arms ached from supporting Andres in front of him in the saddle. The man was solid muscle, and had lapsed into unconsciousness, making it impossible for him to aid Athos in any way. Treville was waiting for them outside the chateau, and even as they were still a distance away, Athos could see the frown on his commander's face. The Captain had immediately noted they were down a man, and that another falconer was injured.
As they halted in front of him, Treville caught the reins of Athos' horse. "What happened?" he hissed. "Is Don Enriquez injured? And where is Sir Robert?"
Athos swung down from the horse, keeping one hand firmly on the injured falconer's arm.
"We were ambushed. Don Enriquez has been shot in the shoulder, and has lost quite a bit of blood. Sir Robert is dead. We buried him in the forest."
"God in heaven." Treville took his hat off and rubbed his face wearily. 'How the hell am I going to explain this to the King? The Musketeers were directly tasked with security, and we have failed—to the effect of one citizen of a foreign nation being dead, and another one being gravely wounded. This has all the makings of an international incident, Athos!"
"You think I don't know that?" Athos' body was tense with anger. "I have thought of nothing else the whole way back! This man was my responsibility, and now I must go and inform his pregnant wife that he has been shot—on my watch!"
As they were talking, Porthos brushed past him. "Let me carry him. Where do I take him? Aramis has already gone to get his medical kit."
Treville thought for a moment. "There is a small surgery in the east wing that is kept for the King's physician when he is in residence. Take him there. Athos, come with me. We need to make a full report to the King. D'Artagnan can inform Dona Luisa what has happened."
"No!" Athos' voice was resolute. "That is my responsibility, and mine alone!"
"Are you refusing a direct order?" The Captain's eyes were steely, and he was starting to lose patience. "I believe d'Artagnan is more than capable of sensitively informing Dona Luisa of her husband's injury. Although it may be hard for you to believe, your protégé can vanish from your sight for more than five minutes and be perfectly fine."
"Captain, I am begging you…" The look of pleading in Athos' face took Treville by surprise. He really is taking this personally.
"I will meet you at the King's chambers in 5 minutes. Any longer than that, and we risk him hearing the news from someone else-and I will not allow the story to first be heard from anyone other than us."
"Understood." Athos was off in a flash, seizing d'Artagnan by the arm. "Come with me!"
A minute later, they were at the Spanish falconer's suite of rooms. Athos knocked gently on the door, then opened it when Annette bid him enter. "Give me a moment alone with her to break the news," he murmured. "Then I will need you to guide her to the surgery while I go with Treville to meet the King."
D'Artagnan nodded, and Athos entered the suite, closing the door behind him.
Annette was sitting in a chair by the fire, which had already been lit due to the inclement weather. "Olivier!" She stood up, dropping the needlework that had been in her lap. "Now is not-we need to talk, but-" Seeing the stricken look in his eyes, she suddenly stopped.
"Where is Andres?" she whispered.
"Annette." He closed the distance between them and took her hands. "We were ambushed, and he was shot." Her eyes filled with tears, and he hastily added. "But he is alive. I personally cared for him. Andres is brave and strong. We will not let him die, Annette, I promise you. I failed you—" his voice broke, and a look of indescribable pain came into his eyes, "-once before, and I failed our daughter. You were left alone and vulnerable, and I will not allow that to happen again."
"There were forces beyond our control, Olivier," she choked. "You have no idea of all that went on at the time. I honestly thought I would die of a broken heart during the last months of my pregnancy. I just thank God that the marriage I was forced into ended up being the best thing that could have happened to me. I only hope that you and your wife have found such happiness."
"About that-" Athos shifted uncomfortably. "The woman you may remember as my wife is here-but we are no longer married. It is a long story, but suffice to say that the marriage was invalid. She is now living as the mistress to the King. I pray she does not recognize you. Luckily, the one time Anne saw you, it was dark, and she was mainly focused on me."
"But surely-" Annette hesitated. "—she must know about my eyes...someone must have told her!"
"There is more than one woman in the world with two different color eyes," Athos said soothingly. "If we both play our parts well, she will have no reason to suspect anything."
"But—what about Catalina? She is staying in the village with Andres' sister. What if your ex-wife were to see her? Olivier, she looks more and more like you every day! What are you doing here anyway, serving as a musketeer? Why are you not at la Fére?"
"This is not the time or the place," Athos said gently. "There is too much to explain. Your husband needs you, and I have been called to make a report to the King. Much happened after you left, Annette, and I needed a new identity. Life as a Musketeer suites me, and gives me a purpose. I also married again a month ago, and finally have a measure of peace."
"So it appears that fate has not been entirely cruel to us," murmured Annette.
"Not at all." Athos' voice was husky with emotion. "Please tell me I can see our daughter at some point, Annette….just for a moment. I need to see her."
"Oh, Olivier…." Her fingers touched his cheek hesitantly at first, but once the initial contact had been made, she put both hands to his face, caressing him with all the tenderness of a long-lost lover. "How could I refuse you? If it had not been for our love for each other, I would never have had the beautiful little girl that I adore with all my heart. Of course you shall see her-and if you do not fall in love at first sight, I will be very, very surprised."
"Thank you," he whispered. "That is all I needed to hear." Taking one of her hands in his, he said, "Now come. Let d'Artagnan take you to Andres, and I will go to meet the King. We will have a chance to talk later."
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Athos made it just on time to the King's chambers, and found Treville pacing outside the door.
"The King is receiving another visitor," muttered Treville.
"Who?"
"No idea." Treville shook his head. "If someone else has gotten the news to him first…."
The door suddenly swung open, and a footman beckoned to Treville. "Captain, the King has requested that you and Monsieur Athos enter."
"But—what about his visitor?" asked Athos, bewildered. "Doesn't he want to dismiss him?"
"No, the King was quite clear that he wanted His Grace to stay."
Athos glanced at Treville, who shrugged. "As His Majesty wishes."
They advanced into the room, and saw the King sitting in a high backed chair in front of the fire, engaged in animated conversation with his guest. The chair of the visitor had its back to the Musketeers, and as they approached, Athos thought there was something vaguely familiar in the voice he heard give a quick reply to the King.
The footman's voice rang out as the musketeers were announced. "Captain Treville and Monsieur Athos, here to be presented to His Majesty King Louis XIII of France."
Louis' expression was carefully neutral. One manicured hand dangled a snifter of brandy, while the other toyed with a document in his lap.
"I have just received some disturbing news, Captain. Some news that I not only find shocking, but very disappointing. Please allow my guest to enlighten you. Comte?"
A lean blond man, impeccably dressed in a flowing blue velvet cape and embroidered doublet, stood up and faced the musketeers.
Athos felt his stomach lurch as he looked into the pale blue eyes in front of him. I had hoped to never look upon this face again. As if his thoughts were being read, the man sneered. "It has been a long time, Athos. What a pleasure to see you again."
"Comte de Rochefort," murmured Athos. "I can honestly say you are the last person I expected to see here."
"Really?" Rochefort feigned astonishment. "Are you quite sure? It seems to me that this chateau is full of surprises."
The plot thickens...thank you for all the lovely reviews! They are much, much appreciated!