Yesterday's Man

Chapter Eleven

There was no time for finesse, nor to worry about the risks to his still healing shoulder. Aramis barged into Saint-Pol, driving both of them to the ground. He landed on his left side and a vicious spike of pain radiated from his shoulder and down his arm. His vision blurred as his hold on consciousness became tenuous. He could hear yelling, but could distinguish no words as he fought the darkness. Then someone was by his side, coaxing him to sit up. He obeyed more out of habit than from a desire to move. He began to raise his arm to massage the wound but his hand was gently captured and pressed down.

"Take it easy," Porthos said. "It'll be alright in a minute."

The aggrieved shouting hadn't abated and Aramis realised that it was the King's voice he was hearing.

"What on earth possessed you?" Louis said.

Aramis opened his eyes to find the King standing over him, his hands on his hips and his face red with anger.

"I'm sorry," Aramis stammered. "When you were disarmed, I feared for your safety."

"Andre would never hurt me. This is just another example of Musketeer incompetence."

"I fear that was retaliation, Sire." Saint-Pol managed to sound smug and sorrowful all in one.

"Yes. I'm disappointed in you, Aramis."

With Porthos' aid Aramis was able to get to his feet. He kept his gaze lowered, lest he provoke the King any further.

"What happened?" Treville's arrival seemed to forestall a renewed outburst from the King.

"Another of your men attacked the Comte. Can't you control them?"

"I'm sure he had his reasons."

"Not sufficiently good ones," Louis said in a peevish tone. "He's just fortunate that no lasting harm was done. I was having fun and he spoilt it. Now I need to lie down."

"Let me escort you, Majesty," Saint-Pol said. "You have had a shock and should rest."

With a final venomous look at the Musketeers, Saint-Pol led the King away.

"Aramis. You're hurt." Treville was at his side immediately.

"Just winded, Captain. Give me a moment and I'll be fine."

Porthos led him over to a stone bench and he sat gratefully. His shoulder throbbed mercilessly and his only wish was to return to the garrison to take something for the pain. Until he regained his equilibrium though he knew he wouldn't be able to ride.

"Will someone tell me what in god's name has been going on?" Treville asked.

"The King and Saint-Pol were sparring. It was obvious to all of us that the Comte was looking for trouble," D'Artagnan said. "Aramis was the closest and, when the King was disarmed, he reacted first. We had no way of knowing what was going to happen so he tackled Saint-Pol and drove him to the ground. Unfortunately, he fell too onto his injured shoulder."

"I reckon Saint-Pol was goin' to skewer the King and claim it was another accident," Porthos said angrily.

"I doubt he would commit regicide, no matter how angry he is," Treville said. "He'd likely have been strung up without the courtesy of a trial. Whatever else he is, he doesn't strike me as suicidal."

"You're probably right, Captain. I didn't stop to think," Aramis said.

"No-one can blame you for that. Your job is to protect the King and that is what you did."

"That's not how the King sees it." D'Artagnan stooped to pick up Aramis' hat and handed it to him.

"He'll come around." Treville sounded more doubtful than certain which rather diminished the force of his reassurance. "We should get you back to the garrison."

Aramis pushed himself to his feet and took a couple of tentative steps. He still felt unsteady and was grateful when Porthos caught his arm. They made their slow way back to the stables by which time Aramis was feeling more secure in his footing. He was able to mount his horse with Porthos' help and weathered his discomfort long enough to return home.

There was no sign of Athos which provoked a momentary panic before Aramis remembered that his friend had given his word that he wouldn't leave. After reassuring his companions that he wasn't in too much pain he walked to the infirmary, brewed some pain medication and retired to his room for the rest of the day.

TMTMTM

Athos, having spent a reflective few hours on his own, was in the mood for some company. He hadn't realised how late it was until he walked into the refectory to find it empty. His stomach, displeased by the lack of food, growled loudly. With a wry smile he made his way to the kitchen. It was also deserted so he lit a candle and carried it to the larder. He gathered up a loaf of bread, cheese and some cold ham and carried his make-shift meal to the table. After some rummaging around he found a half-full bottle of wine which was a very welcome addition to his repast.

Even now the loss of his pauldron felt unreal. He had gone over and over the events of the last week, trying to find the point at which he could have done something differently. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find it in him to regret striking Saint-Pol. It had been instinctive, born out of a fear that he had lost one of his brothers. In fact, if Aramis had died, he doubted that he could have controlled his anger any further. In that event, he would likely have lost his life, not just his commission.

He looked up when the door opened, glad of a respite to his gloomy thoughts. "Captain. What are you doing here?"

"I missed dinner, as did you I see. Is there enough for two?"

Athos stood up and fetched another plate and glass. He poured wine for them both. "How did it go with the Cardinal?"

"He isn't happy but he'll help. It's purely out of self-interest you understand. Saint-Pol has his eye on the Cardinal's job." He cut a slice of ham and tore a chunk of bread from the loaf. "Richelieu's been around far too long to allow the Comte to steal his position from him although his influence is much reduced."

Athos drank some wine and considered that. "Saint-Pol's influence over the King is worrying. I just wish we knew what his end game is."

"Richelieu's spies will keep an eye on him. If he makes a wrong move, we'll know about it." Treville took a bite of his dinner and sighed in satisfaction. "Have you spoken to any of the others?"

"Not since this morning. Why?" Athos was immediately on edge.

"There was an incident at the Palace. The end result was Aramis knocking Saint-Pol to the ground and the King going off in a temper."

"Is Aramis alright? His shoulder!"

"He aggravated his wound but I believe he will recover quickly."

"Was it deliberate provocation?"

"I didn't see it myself. Porthos and d'Artagnan seem to believe it was."

"I should check on him."

"I looked in on him before coming down here. He is asleep and does not appear to be in any discomfort. I will assess his fitness for duty in the morning."

Athos relaxed fractionally on hearing that. "And, what of me? I still think you are taking a risk by allowing me to stay."

"You have skills that it would be foolish to lose. I'm hiring you as an instructor in swordsmanship."

Athos looked down at the table. "You would have me face my former colleagues so all can be witness to my disgrace?"

"That is not my intent. The men know you to be honourable. Word will quickly spread of the injustice done to you. We will find a way to get back your commission."

"I know you will try your best. Forgive me if I don't get my hopes up."

"Trust us, Athos."

He did, of course, trust them implicitly. However, he had no confidence that anyone could now deflect Saint-Pol from his path; a path that could very well see him become First Minister of France. Should that happen it would be a disaster for all of them which could result in the disbanding of the regiment.

Tbc