Chapter Eleven
The Paris streets resumed its daily routine, as if, the execution that morning had not disrupted its normality. The market shops were crammed with its faithful attendees. The cobbled streets were aligned with stage coaches embarking off to the distant cities with the moneyed folks in its compartments. The weather, though still a bit cold, kept not even the misers in their households. Compared to the frigid weather a few days ago, the morning had declared that spring was nearing its season.
No one brooded on the death of the man known as Marvian when the sun shed light on a bloody wooden pedestal in a secluded court outside of the Louvre. Thoughts were focused rather on the optimistic things that Paris brought to the residents of its city, rather than the gory details of political affairs.
One could not stand to dwell on the depravity that was always in existence and in the heart of every man. Sometimes it was better for the people to forget that they lived in a hardened world full of unexplainable evils and venture off to the market without knowing that a beheading was in occurrence.
Past a few days since the musketeer Elloy was found dangling from the garrison roof, it had all but been forgotten by the countless numbers of individuals that walked passed the garrison on a daily basis. For the musketeer garrison, the stains of deception had yet remained, but the brutality of the moment had passed on like a distant memory. Hardships were part of the job title, but were not to be dwelt on. Another hardship was always just around the corner.
It took Captain Treville the entirety of Marvian's trial to come to the realization that he was in fact was guilty. It didn't rest on the fact that Treville refused to believe all that was told to him by his inseparable four musketeers, but that Marvian, like all the musketeers in the garrison, counted to him as a friend and ally for many years in the past.
The man was a loyal servant to the crown and never had shown the character to perform in the manner of which he did. What Treville did not see was the build up of bitterness that the man had stored up inside and how it consumed him over the years. The man had turned himself into a rabid dog and had finally released himself.
Treville almost refused to watch the execution take place, but stood his ground as the blade swung across the accused man's head and the blood flowed freely unto the wooden planks below. Marvian's echoed words before the sword came in contact with his neck, still wandered around the court eerily like a ghost haunting all the men that had watched him die.
"FOR MY BROTHER...For My Brother..for my brother," His voice bounced off the palace walls until it faded away and the noise of a normal Paris day revolved around all those in attendance.
It was an perceivable fact that the ones who were in attendance, included them who had secretly found out the betrayer in the first place. Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan, more rested up then they ever been the entirety of that week, stood at attention, while covered in worn leather and elegant blue capes draped across their shoulders.
Of course -on their opposite shoulder- was adorned the seal of their dedication to the crown. The simple fleur de lis stamped on a piece of leather, didn't feel as good as it did at the moment when Athos and d'Artagnan had their shoulder pads returned to them the day they entered in Paris with the traitor Marvian. The familiar weight of it gave them a certain balance.
Treville left the disgraceful scene and walked with a saddened step out of the court and into the palace. He waited until all four of his most trusted musketeers were in step behind him, knowing that they would follow him to the end. Taking his strides on the marble floors at a leisurely pace, he finally turned around to his men after a moment of thought.
"There's a taint on our reputation now at court," Treville began.
Athos rolled his eyes nonchalantly while taking a deep breath.
"When is that ever not the case?" He scoffed in annoyance at all the slack their regiment has taken over the years.
"One rotten apple and people believe for the whole bushel to be bad," Porthos remarked. He seemed to be containing his anger at the moment. He held no smile on his face that morning.
Treville silently agreed with the expression he wore on his face, but he still looked to be lost in thought. The weight of the whole affair rested on his shoulders. To the king, everything was on his head. The days past held many times in audience with the king that included a reprimand of some sort. Treville was always to blame. The musketeers were always at fault.
This time a musketeer was held accountable for the occurrences that had taken place, but it was few and far between. The musketeers being a loyal bunch, never lived up to the bad reputation that was gossiped about. The rumors always were proven wrong, the lies always covered by the truth.
"Marvian was always a faithful soldier," Treville spoke honestly. "Why he did what he did I'll never understand, but I pray that the king will forget this embarrassment by tomorrow. I can't endure through another scolding."
"It will pass soon enough, " Aramis said optimistically although without a smile this time. The morning's affairs left everyone resembling the look Athos wore on a daily basis. "We need to move on."
Treville bit his lip and pushed a hand through his hair. His free hand held out to his feathered hat at his side.
"Aramis is right. And we shouldn't sulk in melancholia about this," He said in his commanding tone that brought his men to their senses, "Once again I thank you for bringing this messy business to a close. It may have dampened at our spirits, but our duty remains the same and we need not to let it interfere with our responsibilities. I only wish that we would of known of Marvian's deception sooner, but it was meant not to be known until now."
"Gifford and Elloy did. And they died because of it," d'Artagnan said in commemoration of his lost friends.
"They died in 'onor," Porthos said while removing his hat in respect of them. Athos and Aramis imitated his small gesture of reverence and then returned their hats back to their rightful place on their heads after a moment of silence. Athos' always at a crooked position to hide half his features, or maybe his sorrows. D'Artagnan, without a hat of his own, only stood at attention as his friends gave their respects.
"Respectively, the matter is not entirely closed," Athos finally spoke.
The palace seemed to have grown quieter since the group of men began their talk among the corridors of the palace, but since the sentence had left Athos' mouth not one footstep echoed in the marble floored halls at present. The peacocks in their song was all that sounded during their moment of confusion. Captain Treville's bemused expression, wordlessly gave Athos the permission to continue.
"The business regarding the Whitman's Inn that is left to no proprietor," Athos continued with all attention directed at him.
"I am aware of that," Treville said in confusion, "Marvian's mistress will be detained in the conciergerie for quite some time."
"And what of the Inn?"
"There's no one to run the establishment, so I imagine its business days are over. Why?"
Not even Athos' friends knew where he was heading with the conversation until that very moment. As one mind they all turned to each other and realized just what their friend was implying.
"I know who can run it," Athos said with a determination that caused the room's atmosphere to change from disheartenment to that of hope.
"It's a perfect choice," Aramis spoke out already knowing the man's proposition without Athos ever spelling it out.
"What-is?" Treville said the words slowly. He seemed annoyed that he didn't understand what the men were going on about. His creased forehead said it all.
"We're goin' to need that deed," Porthos added.
"For-WHO?" Treville's voice tried to raise a step higher in volume, but it was still ignored.
"And permission to have the remainder of the day for personal business," d'Artagnan hinted towards the captain, who was on the verge of losing his temper.
They all stopped when they noticed the captain wasn't exactly pleased with their behavior at the moment. He stared at each one of them, as if, he wished to see them all beheaded on the platform still drying of Marvian's blood, or even hanging from one the garrison's rooftops so that everyone would see their humiliation. It didn't matter which, as long as it was painful for all four of them.
"I will give you no deed and no time off to do anything, unless you tell me exactly what you are planning on doing. Word for word," Treville angrily ordered them in a hushed tone that only partly echoed down the hall, "Or I will make sure that all of you will all get time off permanently from this regiment."
Treville's face was the closest to Athos' at the moment of his speech.
"EXPLAIN NOW!"
Athos didn't flinch, nor was stirred by the raised voice of his captain. He stood at attention -not once showing a lack of respect for the superiority of his commanding officer- and waited until the echo of the last words faded away into nothing so that he could explain himself.
Aramis, Porthos, d'Artagnan didn't once interject themselves while he did so.
Even a small tap on the cellar door by Athos' hand, gave a thundering boom on the wooden entrance that echoed across the vacant farmland. The owners of the small piece of property with the agreeably sized shack, were most likely unaware that their cellar supported a number of Spanish families over the winter months. Where their Spanish friends would reside once the spring season would materialize, they had no way of knowing, but the life of a squatter had no easy explanation.
A baby's cry was the first thing that reached the ears of the four musketeers who waited patiently for the door to reveal the homeless group of Spanish. Despite their downfalls in the past, not one of the foursome had a lack of sympathy for the family that the cellar door opened up to.
Upon seeing his musketeer friends at his doorstep, Armed -the eldest of the brothers- greeted them with a welcoming smile that contained some suspicion. Unaware of why they were intervening in their daily affairs, Armed still let the group of musketeers enter into their stolen cellar home.
It was much like the last time Athos and d'Artagnan had visited the crowded space, but now with four in their own group, the small room became more compacted. Aramis and Porthos looked over the unknown room with a sense of compassion. Every detail was taken in in the short matter of seconds as they started walking down the stairs.
Porthos, understanding a bit more of this family's predicament then his friends, was reminded of the horrors he had endured as a young man growing up among the homeless and diseased in the Court of Miracles. Silently the memories returned to him like a wave of nausea and he suddenly felt alone in the quiet pain. Then as usual, a temper flared under his skin and he wore his expressions like an open book.
Aramis noticing his friends dispirited look, gave him a pat on the shoulder; wordlessly reminding him that he was nearby. The simple act of support, brought Porthos back to his senses, but still left him in his sympathetic mood.
"It was rumored that Marvian was sentenced to die," Costas spoke while coming through the doorway from behind them. The musketeers turned to the familiar voice of their friend. No visual was on the man outside upon their arrival, but they immediatly realized that he was on lookout duty. His fatigued eyes and sluggish movements confirmed that he spent his last couple hours watching out for intruders such as themselves.
"It was just carried out this morning," d'Artagnan assured him while watching the man's worried expression turn to one of relief. The happiness that plagued the room at that moment was evident as the brothers all shared an embrace with each other and their lovers. The moments of celebration were short lived for people of their kind, but were treasured.
Aramis laid a hand on Costas' shoulder to show his congratulation.
"I can't promise that no one will ever try to hurt you or your family again," He tried to explain, "But the probability has dramatically decreased."
Costas exchanged a nod and a handshake with his musketeer friend.
"We thank you for bringing this news directly to our ears and we thank you for doing us a service we can never repay. Our family is safe because of your kindness."
Athos stepped forward, but didn't shake the hand that was extended to him as he did so.
"That's not why we are here," His dark tone quieted the entirety of the room and caused all smiles to vanish away for the moment. Costas returned his hand to his side already guessing at what the musketeer's true intentions were.
"Trespassing on private property is illegal," Athos said bluntly, "Residing here is no longer an option for you."
The news came like a punch to the gut. Costas and his brothers remained on their positions on the floor without moving.
"Then tell us what option do we have?" Costas said in spite. His lips pressed together in rage.
"The option to pack your bags and leave this filth pot," Porthos professed. All manner of his earlier sympathetic spirit had dissolved.
"There is no hope in changing men of your kind," Armed spat coldly. "Have you no kindness left from what you have shown us before? Or was that kindness at all?"
"Don't question our motives here," d'Artagnan argued. "We are only obeying our orders."
The younger brother pointed to his children nearby, "Where do you expect us to go then? To live like animals in the woods? Is that your orders? To have us all die a slow and agonizing death in the bitter cold?"
"I don't think you understa-" Aramis tried to interject himself in the pool of questions that flowed in the room.
"NO! It's you who does not understand," The young man pointed his dirty finger in Aramis' face. The raised volume of the man, made the room's atmosphere quieted and discerning.
"We understand fairly well," Athos emphasized while trying to break up any manner of a fight that was in formation. He began to reach in his leather pouch at his side, but was stopped by Costas' hand that restrained his arm from moving it any further.
"At least give us till spring, " Costas pleaded, "Spring isn't that far off."
"It's far enough now."
"You cannot expect us to travel in this weather and try to find shelter. Our wives and children will freeze."
"You are just as likely to freeze in 'ere." Porthos added.
Athos shook off the man's grip and fully reached into his pocket to locate a form of some sort, as if, he was unmoved by the statement the man had just made and continued on to evict them.
"And you cannot expect Whitman's Inn to make business without a proprietor do you?" Athos asked while sliding the deed into Costas' bruised hand.
"What?"
Costas unfolded the piece of parchment that was given him and his eyes fell on the french words that he somewhat struggled to translate. The obvious nature of the deed was evident, so his eyes didn't need to translate every word to be able to understand. He looked up at his musketeer friends and immediately passed off the paper to his brothers and begin to speak in his Spanish tongue, something that no one but Aramis could understand. Aramis smiled when he heard their talk.
"What he say?" d'Artagnan whispered to his friend.
Aramis leaned in closer to the young musketeer and keeping his voice low said, "That we are very good liars."
"I was wrong," Costas said guiltily to Athos. "It is us Spanish that always seem to jump to conclusions." The deed fell back into his hands as he looked over it once again."We know nothing of running an inn," He also added.
"If you can run a family, you can undoubtedly run an inn," Athos implied.
"Is it legal?"
"More legal than what you're doing now," d'Artagnan pointed out.
The brothers laughed out of relief and the instant change on their faces was perceivable. A certain burden lifted off their shoulders on that day, more so than when the news of Marvian's death had reached their ears.
"How can we repay you?" Armed finally said after letting the news sink in. He had, at least, read the deed a dozen times already.
"Take care of your family and the business, and it counts as such," Aramis answered him.
Armed nodded and kept his mouth sealed as the tears ran down his cheeks. Costas spoke up instead.
"If your duty ever takes you to Whitman's Inn, drinks will always be on the house for our friends. It is the very least we can do," He said while also wiping his eyes.
Athos extended his hand with a smile on his face and felt as Costas gripped it with the same hand that he almost sent into Athos' face a couple nights prior.
"I'll take that as a yes," Athos said while turning to the door above him and pushing it upward. "Now leave."
"Now?" Costas said in surprisal. "We need-"
"A cart?" Porthos interrupted. "I didn't drive one over just for myself."
"Don't make us ask you a second time." d'Artagnan said in mockery with a smile.
Costas smiled right back. Without a second thought, he ran over to his family and packed away what little he owned, along with his brothers who followed suit. Not one more singular question was asked while they did so, for at that moment they placed all doubts aside and accomplished what they were asked to do without disobedience.
Only once had a musketeer let them down, but the memory of it soon faded away.