Chapter 10

The night had settled in whilst the three men had stood in Treville's office. Now the moon scudded across the sky, sailing between large, menacing clouds. Bad weather would be a terrible way to begin their journey, though there was always the chance it would put the King off and delay the venture a little longer.

Porthos headed toward the refectory. Despite what Treville had said, he was starving, and he could smell stew.

'Are you comin'?' he bellowed, pausing to ensure both Athos and Aramis were following. Aramis had faltered, his appetite somewhat tainted by thoughts of the men who had been infected through food consumed inside the garrison.

'You 'eard what the Captain said, the food is all fresh. Serge will be upset; we need to show we trust 'im,' Porthos growled. This hit home, and Aramis' handsome face split into a wide grin.

Slapping Athos on the shoulder, he grinned. 'He is right, mon ami, let us show we are not afraid to eat food inside our own walls.' Without waiting for Athos' reply, he began striding after Porthos.

Athos stood in a pool of moonlight, and removing the pocket watch from his jacket he checked the time; only six thirty – it felt much later. However, the darkness came much earlier in March, there was too much time to wait. He sighed, the note still weighing heavy upon his chest like the stone lid of a tomb. Even breathing in and out brought continued reminders, as the parchment flexed and rustled along with the rapid beating of his heart.

Aramis had looked over his shoulder and noted Athos gazing at the timepiece as if it were an object of doom. He had not forgotten the missive Athos had received from the small boy, and the fact Athos was watching the time was telling. Athos never looked at the time, he had some form of inherent awareness that allowed him to know of the hour without consulting any other source of confirmation. That he did so now spoke of his agitation and anxiety, it signified the importance of the hour, suggesting a meeting – though with whom, he had no idea. Aramis continued toward the refectory, relieved that Athos was now walking behind him.

They entered the warm confines of the only communal space within the garrison. Normally, at this time of night, the room was full of Musketeers, eating and drinking, sharing news of their day, or just socialising in general.

Tonight, there were only two tables occupied, and those men sat around them were talking quietly, most with only cups of ale or wine before them. Porthos was already at the hatch, where Serge was ladling thick stew into a bowl, and from the look on his face and the way he was mumbling, it was obvious the cook was deeply unhappy.

'Good evening Serge, a bowl of your delicious stew if you please,' Aramis requested, grinning at the old man as though rumours of infected food did not abound within the garrison walls.

Serge simply looked at him as though he were insane. The smile faltered for a second before Aramis became all seriousness.

'I apologise Serge, but I am in earnest, I do wish to enjoy a bowl of stew. I have no hesitation eating your food.' The two men locked eyes, then the old man looked away, ladling stew into a bowl.

'As if I would serve infected food after all these years,' he muttered, the mantra having been all he had said for most of the day.

'Do not berate yourself, Serge, you could not have known Tricoux was infected. It is not your fault.' Aramis patted the old man's arm, as he procured a chunk of bread and a cup of wine. Serge nodded, still muttering, though his wrinkled face showed he appreciated the man's words.

Athos found himself standing before the old Musketeer, Serge frowning, ladle suspended in mid-air.

'Do you want stew?' Serge barked, as if defying the swordsman to say no. Athos, who doubted he could eat anything whilst his insides currently churned in anticipation, merely nodded, aware that his answer was important to the garrison cook.

'Humph,' the old man grunted. 'Well it must be alright then, if you want some.' He offered Athos the ghost of a smile as he ladled in a little extra. 'Seen more meat on a skeleton than on you boy.' Serge mumbled, adding a chunk of bread and cheese to Athos' tray. 'Now make sure you eat it up.' Athos managed a weak grin before he took hold of the tray and carried it to the table in front of the fire, where Porthos was already digging into his supper.

He placed the tray before him and regarded the contents for a moment, then lifted his gaze and saw Aramis nod toward the group of men sitting around the table on the other side of the room. His eyes followed where the Musketeer had indicated, and he noted the men had ceased their chatter and were watching Athos and his brothers intently as they prepared to eat their meal.

'I think we are being watched, mon ami. We need to eat, for Serge's sake.' With that, Aramis scooped up a spoonful of stew, and nodded his head in recognition of its quality. Athos broke off a portion of bread and dipped it into the rich gravy. Biting off a mouthful, he almost choked; as he had anticipated, the food tasted like ashes, sticking in his throat as he tried to swallow. Still it was enough. One by one the other men rose from their tables and went to collect bowls of stew from the old man. Word soon spread, and before Porthos had finished his bowl, the refectory was full of hungry Musketeers. Aramis raised his glass to the cook and the old man gave a grateful smile and a nod in response.

Porthos eyed Aramis across the table, and silently indicated Athos' untouched bowl of stew. The swordsman had managed to consume the bread, though how he had managed to swallow it he did not know. Now he nibbled at the chunk of cheese as though it were poison.

'I take it yer don't want that?' Porthos asked, poking his spoon at Athos' stew. Athos looked up as though he was surprised to find he had company. He pushed the bowl toward Porthos but said nothing. Between mouthfuls, Porthos managed to speak. 'You shouldn't take what Treville said to 'eart, 'e didn't mean it, and 'e wasn't singling you out, although I know you thought 'e was.' Athos stared at Porthos, as though he did not understand what the Musketeer was talking about. Porthos took this as permission to continue. 'You were right, and I should have listened, we should have reported to Treville first. The Captain knows it was my idea.'

Athos was suddenly relieved. If the men put his mood down to Treville's dressing down, then that was all to the good as they would not be inclined to ask questions. He glanced at Aramis to gauge the man's reaction. The marksman was watching Athos closely, a thoughtful look on his face. Athos knew he had seen the note that now lay blistering his chest as though the missive had been written with acid. Aramis smiled and began making idle chatter, but Athos was not fooled, he knew the Musketeer did not believe his brooding was the result of Treville's chastisement.

Porthos' eyes grew heavy. They had talked of this and that, or rather he and Aramis had talked, Athos had hardly spoken a word, just the odd acknowledgment of a question, or the occasional grunt at a joke made at his expense.

'Well I'm turnin' in, all that food and Athos' constant chatter has worn me out.' He winked at Aramis, generating a picture of innocence, as Athos gave him one of his most withering stares. Porthos simply guffawed loudly, standing and stretching his large frame as he yawned. Athos was not intending to sleep, but he was aware of Aramis' intent gaze and knew that, if he did not retire now, the marksman would eventually try and wrest the information he required from him – a conversation Athos had no intention of having. So, he also stood, indicating he, too, would retire. Porthos smiled at Aramis. 'What about you?'

Aramis shrugged. 'Well, as you two are not offering to keep me company, and Treville has seen to it that I cannot console the lonely ladies of this fair city tonight, then yes, I will also retire.' Athos was not taken in by the marksman's admission of defeat, and he guessed Aramis would be watching him like a hawk; he would have to think very carefully before he made his escape.

oOo

Milady paced up and down the floor of her apartment, the shadows thrown by the lit candles acting like silent watchers, dark and judgemental, as she repeatedly moved around the room. She held the glass in her hand as though she was unaware of its presence, only occasionally lifting it to her lips to sip the blood-red wine. Stopping to glance at the time piece upon the mantle yet again, she had to wonder if time could possibly be standing still; it was the only solution as to why, every time she consulted the clock, the hour did not appear to have advanced. She supped her wine distractedly, and resumed her pacing once more, when all at once the clock chimed the half hour. It would seem that not only could time stand still, but it could accelerate at a ridiculous rate also. Her pacing stilled, and she placed her goblet beside the time piece, just as the last chime echoed in the otherwise silent room.

Milady raised her eyes to the mirror above the mantle. A beautiful woman stared back at her, and she gazed at the reflection as though she were meeting the features before her for the very first time. The dark, feathered brows, arched over slanting, green eyes, and high cheek bones defined her pale face. Hers were full lips – lips that could be passionate or cruel – now parted slightly to allow rapid breaths to leave her body, as her heart raced ridiculously quickly. She ceased her investigation of the image before her – she would not find answers there; she had tried too many times before. But the woman who looked back simply mocked and laughed at her vulnerability, urging her to harden her heart to the world, and telling her to seek nothing but self-gratification, wherever it was offered.

With a last moan of disgust, she collected her cloak, checking her purse and knife were securely in place. Closing the door carefully behind her, she stepped out into the empty street. Raising her eyes, she noted the large, glowing moon, which slipped in and out of the clouds, just like the way she used the shadows and doorways to camouflage her progress through the silent city.

oOo

As the hours dragged on and on, Athos paced the small room and stared at the bottle beside the bed. How he longed to drink deep and forget all the drama and tragedy, her very existence elicited. He was still finding it almost impossible to assimilate the fact that she was alive, and from nowhere the memory would slam into him like a punch to the gut. He would reel from the shock, as though he had physically felt the full force of the impact. Even now, her existence within the city sent his system into a heightened sense of awareness, and he was constantly struggling to replace his old emotions with a whole set of new ones. No longer torturing himself over the execution of his own wife, he was now guilt ridden with the failure to give his brother the justice he deserved. But more important, was the recent, unexpected revelation – the sensation her proximity still aroused in him; another reason he would not touch the tempting bottle, for he needed every ounce of self-control he could muster. He told himself he would not repeat what had happened before – that had simply been the result of shock, nothing more. If Athos recognised the lie beneath his reasoning, he chose to ignore it. No good could come of their reunion, though he sensed a great deal of harm and pain awaiting him out there in the darkness.

As midnight drew closer, Athos considered how he could depart the garrison unseen. Treville had banned them from leaving, though technically he had only mentioned Musketeers. It was enough of a detail to assuage Athos' guilt at disobeying the Captain, though he felt no such dismay in evading his overprotective friend.

oOo

Aramis had been struggling to stay awake since they had left the refectory. He had deliberately left the fire in his room unlit, despite the chill of the night air, as he did not want a warm room to lure him into slumber, when Athos could slip out at any moment. It was now nearing midnight, and he felt cold and stiff, not to mention rather annoyed. Perhaps he had read the situation completely wrong, perhaps the note had informed Athos of some event, something that would happen elsewhere at a given time. He groaned at the thought of the hours he had lost when he could have been in his warm bed, whilst Athos was very probably fast asleep.

He was still chastising his own overactive imagination, when he heard a noise in the courtyard below. The marksman had kept his small window ajar, and his seat close by – neither conducive to his comfort. He threw off the blanket he had draped around his shoulders, and quietly stepped into the corridor outside his room, which was open to the courtyard below. He stood silently against the wall, keeping to the shadows; two or three torches shone in the darkest corners, for the benefit of those who were assigned night duty.

As he adjusted to the movement of the torchlight and the shadows they cast, he heard the sound again, the hint of a click, or rattle. It was faint, but he thought it came from the stables, a feeling that was confirmed by the sudden whinnying from the horses inside. Aramis dashed to the stairs, pulling his weapon in readiness. He suspected it was Athos, though why his friend would be in the stables was a mystery, for Roger was still enjoying the hospitality of Monsieur René.

As the marksman slipped amidst the gloom toward the stables, he heard the horses whinny again. Athos almost grinned with pleasure as he watched Aramis creeping toward the opening. His only dilemma was the discomfort he was causing the horses, but he knew their distress would be short-lived. He wrapped his hand where he had cut his palm and pulled on his gloves; needs must, and he knew Aramis was too good for him to have escaped any other way. When he reached the gateway, he could just hear Aramis' calm voice, soothing the upset animals.

The two Musketeers guarding the gateway stood off to one side, obviously discussing something of import on which, judging by the tone of their voices, they held differing opinions. To be fair, they were keeping a close eye on the street ahead, but then they were looking for someone sneaking in, not sneaking out.

Athos kept close against the wall of the garrison until he reached the corner of the empty market stalls, from where he moved stealthily from one wooden structure to the other, his black garb aiding his escape. Crouching low until he was sure nobody would notice him, he then straightened, striding purposefully toward his rendezvous.

oOo

Aramis was frustrated; something had spooked the horses, something that had caused them to stamp and complain. They had calmed almost immediately upon his arrival, but the small mare, which they used mainly for baggage, still rolled her eyes and backed away from the door to her stall whenever Aramis removed his reassuring touch.

'What is it girl, what has upset you?' He raised a torch, and lit two more, placing his back upon the wall; the stables were now bathed in a warm glow and the horses appeared to relax. Just as he was about to give up, Aramis trod on something hard and unforgiving, he bent down, flexing his ankle and muttered, as his hand wrapped around a bunch of cloth, something small and hard within. He raised the object to the light and stared, his expression part bemused, part horrified. Gingerly he lifted the damp cloth to his nose, instantly smelling the sharp metallic tang of blood. Aramis pulled the string away, afraid at what he might find within.

As the bottle stopper fell into his hand, his mouth fell open in surprise, and the small mare again showed her displeasure. Placing the strange object on one side, he took a torch and held it aloft, lighting the skittish horse's stall. Sure enough, another bloodied missile. Aramis opened the gate and carefully retrieved it from the hay, all the time talking calmly to the wild-eyed horse. He checked what was now clearly a bloodied square of linen, the A in the corner an unmistakeable sign that its owner had merely gone for distraction rather than secrecy.

Aramis rolled his eyes and thumped the wooden post. He examined the bloodied cloth that had obviously disconcerted the poor hoses, after sailing through the air and arresting their peace and quiet. Horses did not like the scent of blood.

'Not well done of you Athos, and God knows where you got the blood.' Aramis shuddered at the prospect. It was pointless looking for him now – if he wanted to go alone, so be it. Aramis scoffed at his own stupid notion that Athos would have failed to get his own way, and he had to admit it was a clever trick. All he could do now was wait until the morning and be prepared to pick up the pieces, if that was what was needed – and he had a premonition it would.

oOo

Milady and her pale companion flitted along their differing pathways, each seeming to hurry across the open spaces before seeking solace for a heartbeat, hidden in the shadows and the ensuing darkness. Eventually, the bridge loomed before her, the gentle rippling of the small river that fed the larger Seine flowing beneath the watching stars, ever moving, unaware and uncaring of the dramas acted out upon its banks as it passed.

She stood in the shelter of the parapet and listened. Nothing other than the lap of the water as it rolled over the occasional rock or stone; even the creatures that lived within had sunk to the darkened depth to pass away the hours of the night. She strained her ears for any sign she was not alone – there was always the possibility that he would not come. No, he would not deny her. After their last meeting, curiosity alone would ensure he came, and she told herself she did not care whether any other emotion played a part in his decision. For just a moment, she wondered whether, if time had allowed, and she had found the slightest inclination, she could actually have pin-pointed the precise moment when she had allowed herself to justify her actions with so many lies.

Was it when she told herself Athos meant nothing, just a title, and a comfortable life? When she told herself she did not love him, need him, worship him – he was just a means to an end? Or was it when she convinced herself her downfall was all his fault, that he would surely pay for doing his duty? No, she did not have time to ask such questions, she did not care; more lies, more obfuscation.

The sound of a pebble scooting across the rocky river path made her snap to attention. She held her breath and listened more intently, as the moon chose that moment to emerge from behind the clouds in all her glory, casting light in all but the darkest depths of the bridge. She saw him then, a figure clad in black, the leather of his clothing catching the light, whilst the sword at his belt appeared to glow. For a moment she held her breath; her husband was an impressive figure under any circumstances, though she rarely allowed herself to acknowledge it – more lies. Yet somehow, here in the moonlight, with the silvery glow lighting up the surface of the water and casting him in an almost mythical aura, she could only stare.

His face wore that conceited mask that gave nothing away, yet she alone knew that bland and arrogant stare could disguise an almost feral passion. When he looked at her like that, almost cold and indifferent, her legs tuned to water and her blood to fire, desire overriding any sane thought she might have had. As the moon slid behind the clouds once more, she sighed with relief and sucked in a breath of cold air. The darkness that now enveloped her gave her time to come to her senses, the spell created by the moonlight broken, allowing her to curb her needs and calm the tumult raging within.

Curling her fingers into fists, she narrowed her eyes, slammed shut her heart, abandoned her desires, and took a step toward him.

Athos stood beneath the oppressive structure of the bridge, his heart pumping, clenching and unclenching his gloved hands as though preparing to do battle. As the moon swept into view, the area was bathed in a pale light and he saw the woman walking toward him. Her cloak was the colour of moss, dark hair falling from beneath her hood over one shoulder, her skin was pale and smooth, almost luminescent beneath the celestial glow. He could not make out her eyes, but he did not need to, he knew them too well – they visited him each night, every time he closed his own.

She came to a stop just a few feet away and, though she was tall for a woman, she still had to tilt her head slightly to look Athos in the eye. Neither face gave anything away, testament to their will power, as in truth there was enough emotion present beneath their vacant façades to create a storm.

'You sent for me,' Athos almost whispered, the low arrogant tone sending shivers throughout her body, as his voice always had. Reigning in the urge to reach out and touch what she could not have, she fell back on her well-practised nonchalance. Tilting her head, she smiled, giving her best impression of amusement.

'I did, though I was not sure you would come.' She stood completely still, giving Athos the opportunity to reply. When he continued to say nothing, she merely shrugged her slim shoulders and exuded indifference.

'We have a situation. I am assuming – from what I have observed – that your true identity is unknown to your friends, and definitely not known to the King.' She noted the flicker of anger flare in Athos' eyes. For a moment, she found she could not tear her gaze away from those green depths, appearing now almost black in the dark. When he still did not respond, she continued: 'As I suspected. Do not concern yourself, I consider it in my own best interests for you to continue with your anonymity. However, you have come to the attention of the Cardinal and, like a dog with a bone, he wants to know more about you. For once, your being an enigma is working against you, Athos.' This time, he finally spoke.

'Why would this be a problem for you, and how do you know?' He watched closely as she shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the question, she knew was inevitable. Athos' heart squeezed as realisation flooded through him. With a look of horror and shock, he threw his next words at her like ice-cold water hitting her face.

'You are the Cardinal's mistress?' Disgust was evident in his voice, sending her pent-up emotion out of control.

'No!' she cried; anger obvious in her tone. 'Perhaps, for a brief time. What was I supposed to do? Of course, you would have had more respect for me if I had begged in the gutter or waited at tables in some cheap and sleazy tavern. Well I had spread my legs for one wealthy noble, and rather liked it, so I did not see why I should not do it again.' Instantly she wished she could have sucked the words back in, but she had wanted to hurt him, as his judgement had hurt her. Now the look of pain and desolation on his handsome face almost undid her. She watched him struggle to maintain control. His breathing was harsh, and she watched him curl his hands into fists at his sides, all the time holding her gaze, his stare never wavering.

He had so many questions he wanted to demand answers for, but he could not, would not – almost ashamed that after all he had done, all that he had lost, his overriding need was to scream did you ever love me?

She was the first to lower her gaze, not out of shame but because she feared if she stared at the depth of his sorrow any longer, she would take him in her arms and make that sadness go away. She preferred his cold, judgement and disgust to the look of grief and disappointment she had inspired with her hurtful lies. She found herself offering pathetic excuses, and her shame deepened.

'It was brief, and not at all pleasant. The man is a snake.' Athos interrupted her, almost spitting out his words.

'I have no desire to hear the details of your whoring, madame.' His eyes had grown hooded, and anger now bubbled where betrayal had so recently bled from his visage. She took a deep breath. She knew that look so well – the intense brooding gaze, the same stare that spoke of both anger and desire, the one that, under either circumstance, always left her panting with want. Her words almost caught in her throat, but she struggled to sound as aloof as she was able.

'I am not apologising, husband. I no longer share his bed, I provide other services, ones for which I am sure you believe I am better suited.' She raised one elegant brow and gave him a cat-like smile.

'You are his spy, living in the shadows, watching and waiting, using your… talents to achieve your ends, dripping tales and lies into his cauldron of information. Yes, I am sure you are invaluable.' His voice oozed contempt. 'I still do not see why you felt the need to meet in such a manner, simply to crow of your new lofty position.' She narrowed her eyes but refused to be dragged into defending her position yet again.

'The Cardinal wishes me to accompany him on the King's tour, he has "arranged" for me to be a part of the Queen's retinue. He… he senses something between us, and he will be watching. I thought you should be warned. It is in neither of our interests for our past to be bought into the light.' She held her head high and awaited his inevitable response.

'How does he know of our connection, has the spy master been trailing his own creature?' He almost showed a slight twist of his lips, lips she suddenly found so alluring. She could simply find no words to explain the Cardinal's curiosity without revealing her own. Athos took a step closer. Now they stood almost toe to toe, she could hear his breathing, feel it on her cheek in the chill of the spring night. Athos leaned closer, if that were possible.

'Did you show too much interest in my fall from grace? Did you ask too many questions, revel in my broken body?' He spat the questions at her, the accusations so close to the truth, as forceful as any bullet from a weapon.

'No, no! I never wanted to see your hurt.' The words went so against everything she had dreamt of for the past few years, she shocked even herself, but they issued forth before she could stop them. The image sprang into her mind of Athos lying bleeding on the floor beneath the palace window, the night he had jumped clutching a bomb. The admission had affected her far more than it had him, realisation spearing through her and unravelling her composure. Two years she had lay in the darkness planning his demise, imagining his face as she plunged a dagger deep into his heart. Now she was admitting she might never have carried such a task through to completion. No matter how angry, how much she hated, still, if he was to be harmed, it would be by her own hand, and no other.

Unable to contain herself any longer, she reached out and stroked his cheek. Athos stiffened and closed his eyes, hissing as he inhaled the soft smell of jasmine. He felt the soft fingers as they caressed his cheek and jaw, the urge to grab her hand and pull her close almost overwhelming. Suddenly he felt warm lips upon his, a brief but urgent kiss. His eyes flew open, but she was gone. The air appeared to shimmer before him, as though the natural order of things had been disturbed by her presence.

He moaned out loud and wiped a hand over his eyes. He could not be near the woman without his entire existence being thrown into turmoil, how the hell would he cope with her presence for the next few months?

She heard the moan of despair and felt the tears slowly fall from her tired eyes. He might be pained by his loss, but he now loathed and despised her. His treacherous body, like her own, still betrayed them both in the desire they could not deny. But she hated the creature he had forced her to become, hated the moral high ground that would rather have seen her starve than use her assets to survive. Anger began to rise up in her chest once more, and she felt relief. She would rather hate and allow aggression to consume her emotions, than suffer the pain of what she had lost, of what she could never have again.

'God, will this never end!' Athos cried into the silence. He pondered on all that she had revealed – that she had gone from his bed to the Cardinal's sickened him. She had been right, though, he would have felt differently had she pursued a humbler path, but it was not her way, she liked the finer things in life, the things a Comte could provide. Her words still stung, like a lance through his heart. I had already spread my legs for one wealthy noble and found I liked it. That burning question again, had it all been a lie? When they stood close, he could believe it had not, but perhaps lust was stronger than love, perhaps that was all it had ever been – at least for her.

Slowly he made his way back to the garrison. Once inside the quiet of his room he sat on the edge of his bed and sank his head in his hands. Had he decided her fate, given her no choice? No, there was always a choice, she had decided her own path, and there was no going back. Now there was the new problem of the Cardinal's interest, but hopefully the King would occupy the First Minister enough for him to forget about a lowly swordmaster. Whatever it took, he would keep the man at arm's length – at all costs.

Athos removed his boots, weapons belt and jacket, and lay back upon the bed; there were precious few hours before morning, but he dreaded them already. His eyes were too heavy to fight, and his body was weak from too little food and too much emotion. With a sense of dread, he was dragged into a fitful sleep, his dead brother accused him of betraying his memory, whilst his body gave into the desire he had felt in that woman's presence; forcing him to completion, beneath the judgemental ghost of his kin. Desire slaked and his soul resigned to burn in hell.