The current adventure is over; got home this evening after three days in London so this is another 'little' chapter to tide you over. Will respond to everyone tomorrow regarding the last two chapters. Thank you so much for the great feedback; thanks also to the guests who have reviewed, I do appreciate hearing from you all. Apologies for any errors that have crept through here; I did do a quick proof-read and grammar check. More VERY soon.
Are things a little calmer in this chapter - or not?
CHAPTER 12
II
At the same time as Benoit was busy asking Brujon lots of questions, Desmarais was realising that he had the harder of the two missions, that of approaching the formidable General Porthos unannounced and with no intermediary to introduce him.
Biding his time by making a slow approach, he saw his opportunity when the Musketeer Captain appeared to speak to the big man and, smiling as genuinely as he could under the circumstances, he marched over and extended a hand in d'Artagnan's direction.
"Captain! Oh, I am so sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but I did so want to speak with you, Captain. I have not long left the First Minister and he informs me that your men will provide a valuable escort back to my estate. I am most grateful and hope that it will not inconvenience you or your men."
D'Artagnan sighed inwardly as he already detested the man and wanted as little to do with him as possible.
"Baron, allow me to introduce you. Porthos, this is the Baron Auguste Desmarais." He said it with a smile but his soldier companion knew from old the significance of the slightly exaggerated intonation and deliberate gesture. This was the man who was behind events that probably led to the deaths of Sylvie and little Raoul. Porthos all but growled, the display of white teeth in his subsequent grin bordered on the feral. "And, Baron, allow me to present General Porthos du Vallon."
The introduction was formal and both men concerned dipped their heads in forced acknowledgement.
"General, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I have heard so much about you and your exploits against the Spanish in the north." It was a falsehood but Desmarais hoped this encounter would drastically alter that. "Everyone is speaking of you."
Porthos doubted that but he appeared to graciously accept the flattery.
"I have invited the First Minister to dinner before I return to my estate and I was hoping that you would join us, Captain."
But d'Artagnan was looking past him and when Desmarais turned his head to see what was so fascinating, he spied Benoit engaged in conversation with a young musketeer on the far side of the room.
When d'Artagnan made to move, Desmarais stopped him with a hand on the arm. "I would like you to attend, Captain, as a means by which I can say 'thank you' for your diligence and removing the prisoners from being my responsibility."
D'Artagnan was definitely not paying full attention as he extracted himself from Desmarais' grip. "Er, excuse me, gentlemen, but I am on duty and I see one of my men is distracted from fulfilling his."
He was gone; Desmarais had no excuse for detaining him further and he was relieved to see Benoit move away from the young musketeer. It was time to concentrate upon the next part of his designs.
"General, I have also heard that you are a close friend of the Captain and the First Minister …"
"You hear a lot, Baron," Porthos interrupted.
Desmarais managed a light, affected laugh. "Forgive me. I have so little opportunity to come to Paris that I am anxious to know what is going on elsewhere in France and at the royal court. However, going back to my point, my dinner invitation naturally extends to your good self. I am sure you can keep those at the table entertained by tales of the front line. Do you return soon? Are you about to deploy more soldiers along the northern front?"
As Porthos' features darkened into an irritated scowl, Desmarais mentally berated himself for his unsubtle push for more information and he hastily back-tracked.
"You understand, I hope, that I ask as a concerned land owner who has lived under the threat of incursion from the Spanish Netherlands all this time. We have been spared thus far but apprehensions continue for the immediate future. We hear such rumours of the Spanish girding their loins and preparing for a renewed assault …"
"Do you indeed?" If anything, Porthos sounded more annoyed. "Then you hear more than I do."
"Oh yes, of course. Well I did say that it was probably all rumour," Desmarais tried to placate the unpredictable officer who was, even now, glaring over his head in the direction of the Captain and the hapless musketeer.
The Baron could see that d'Artagnan was bothered and he felt a wave of anger at Benoit. Had he gone too far? Could any benefits be garnered from these encounters?
"So, I hope you will accept my invitation, General. It will only be a little affair. The rooms I have taken are comfortable but not grand and will only accommodate a small party but I would be so honoured if you could find the time to attend," Desmarais blustered. He hated fawning like this but it was a means to an end; he had to gather information.
"Propose a date and we will see what we can do," Porthos answered brusquely, for he had already made up his mind that he was going to accept the invitation; he wanted to find out exactly what game Desmarais was playing because he seemed overly keen to be more than a passing acquaintance with three of the four Inseparables.
"Excuse me," he added gruffly before he, too, walked off in the direction of the two musketeers.
II
In the end, the three friends returned to the garrison together, all the while discussing Desmarais and the man who had questioned Brujon. It had not taken many discreet inquiries on the part of d'Artagnan to establish a name –Benoit – and that he was the Baron's man. The interest in the Inseparables was becoming a worry, especially as this Benoit had begun to ask some very pertinent questions appertaining to Athos.
"Do you think he knows Athos is here in Paris? Did Athos go by his own name on his smallholding? Does Benoit know it was him who killed the Baron's men?" A stream of questions erupted from d'Artagnan as they entered through the archway into the garrison.
"How am I supposed to know?" Porthos grumbled.
"There are too many questions," Aramis said, "and the only person able to furnish us with some of the answers at least is Athos himself. Let's hope he is in a better frame of mind and will be more forthcoming."
They entered d'Artagnan's quarters to find Constance bustling around the kitchen, engaged in the final preparation of dinner and singing softly to herself.
As d'Artagnan kissed her cheek in greeting, she indicted a bowl of warm water and cloths set on the dresser. "Wash your hands and sit. Dinner is ready," she ordered lightly.
Aramis hesitated by the door. "I thought I'd check on Athos first. How has he been?"
"Leave him!" she said quickly and then, at his puzzled expression, she went on. "He has been fine. He slept for a long time and when he woke, he ate a little and awe chatted."
The three men were alarmed.
"Don't worry so," she assured them. "I kept my promise. I asked no awkward questions that might upset him. In fact," her features softened, "he shared some lovely memories." She would not be draw further. "Hurry up," she cajoled, picking up a bowl of food and transferring it to the table.
"Oh, I nearly forgot something. Sit and start serving yourselves," and she was gone.
Shrugging at her behaviour, d'Artagnan indicated that his friends should take their places. They all surveyed the table.
"There are five settings," Porthos noted.
"And five plates," Aramis added, counting the warm stack in the centre of the table.
"Do you mind if I join you, gentlemen?" a voice asked from the open doorway.
The three brothers leaped to their feet, their delight tangible.
In the doorway, his left hand against the frame to steady himself and his right lightly resting on Constance's shoulder, stood Athos. He tried hard not to lean on her too much but she had one arm tightly round his waist and the other hand on his chest, as if she expected to be able to catch him if he suddenly pitched forward.
He shuffled a few paces into the room and it was clear that even d'Artagnan's clothing hung loose on his frame, but the biggest transformation was facially. With clean hair cut much shorter and a close-trimmed beard, he appeared years younger, if the onlookers could successfully ignore his dark-ringed eyes.
"Ain't you a sight!" Porthos began.
"At last! Now we can greet you properly," and Aramis, his voice choked with emotion, was the first to approach, arms opened to engulf him in a welcoming embrace, even as he kissed Athos' temple. "I am so pleased to see you up and about, brother."
He reluctantly relinquished his hold as Porthos pushed him aside and gave Athos a hearty slap on the back that made him stumble.
"Sorry," Porthos mumbled, steadying before squeezing him in a bear hug.
"I see you still don't know your own strength," Athos gasped. The apologies were repeated and then it was d'Artagnan's turn.
There was such an uncharacteristic frailty about Athos that d'Artagnan took him in his arms and hugged him carefully, his mouth close to the older man's ear as he whispered, "I have missed you so much, brother."
And then it was all bustle and noise as they vied with each other to be the one to help Athos to the table and into his chair. At one point, Porthos reached over to ruffle the newly shorn hair.
"I like that look," he boomed. "Haven't seen you with hair that short since I don't know when."
"Since I first arrived at the garrison," d'Artagnan affirmed.
"Constance did get a little carried away with her task," Athos said self-consciously by way of explanation.
"I should think so too," she scolded as she took her seat and reached for a bowl. "This lot told me it was you but I had to make sure. It could have been anybody under all that hair!"
She smiled at the rowdy response to her words, the boisterous comments, Porthos' great guffaw, the general laughter and Athos' familiar reserved smile as he was, once more, on the receiving end of their affectionate banter.
It was just like old times - almost.
III
The light mood was generally maintained throughout the meal although there was an awkward moment when Athos asked after Elodie.
"She's fine but she's at home looking after…" Porthos stopped suddenly, embarrassed at the blunder he perceived he was about to make by mentioning his step-daughter, not knowing how Athos would react to the reference to the child.
Athos leaned towards him and rested a hand on his shoulder as he spoke with a gentle smile. "Of course she is; how remiss of me not to realise. You must tell me all about how your little one fares. Perhaps tomorrow?" he suggested and tactfully ignored the fact that Porthos' eyes had misted over at his self-perceived tactlessness.
"Elodie asks after you daily though, and she wants to see you," Porthos continued.
"As does the Queen," Aramis said.
Athos' head jerked up, a momentary alarm clouding his features.
"I had to share with her what was keeping me from the palace over the past few days. She was pressing me for an explanation," Aramis went on.
"'An you couldn't lie to her," Porthos observed.
"No," Aramis admitted. "She deserved to know the truth and would do nothing to endanger Athos, I am sure of it."
Athos said nothing and stared at his empty plate as if surprised at discovering that it was devoid of food, for he had taken little enough to begin with and had picked at it throughout.
"The Queen would like to see you as soon as you are able," Aramis continued.
"I will wait upon Her Majesty in the morning," Athos said slowly. He had his own reasons for wanting to see the Queen too.
"There is no hurry. The day after will suffice. She is insistent that you must be well enough first," Aramis added.
"Then I shall see her tomorrow afternoon," Athos compromised.
Aramis sighed; it was pointless to argue for he could sense Athos' resolve. "You are to rest until that time then. D'Artagnan can bring you to me via a back way and I shall accompany you to the Queen."