CHAPTER 13

Most Musketeers in the courtyard halted whatever they were doing as soon as two Red Guards rode through the archway, the distrust and dislike those two regiments nursed towards each other as strong as ever. Only a few of the newer recruits were still oblivious to the abhorrence and could make no sense of the behavior of their fellow soldiers. When the figure of Cardinal Mazarin came into view, flanked by two more of his soldiers, Etienne hasted up the stairs to the captain's office.

Athos was discussing plans with Tréville when someone rapped on the door and, without waiting for permission to enter, threw open the door, speaking before he was even inside the office.

"Captain, Minister, Cardinal Mazarin just rode into the garrison."

Both captain and minister looked questioningly to Etienne, waiting for further explanations.

"What does he want?" Athos asked.

"I don't know, captain, I just thought to report it immediately."

Athos rose from his seat and looked over to Tréville. It was more likely that the cardinal had come to meet Tréville, and not the commanding officer of the regiment, but both men were clueless what the cardinal would want here.

Tréville thought of the very few matters that would educe such an urgency that the First Minister of France would come seek him here instead of sending for him. The minister dared not ponder these reasons, all having to do with the political governance of France, or rather the lack of it due to the death of one of its members. He followed Athos outside, almost dreading what news awaited him there.

From the balcony they could see the cardinal dismounting, his Red Guards showing no intention of following suit.

"Bonjour, Eminence," Tréville called down to the cardinal.

Mazarin, already on his way to the stairways, looked up. "Tréville, there you are! Caderousse is looking for you, something about the state coffers, or rather the emptiness of it." He waved his hand. "I don't know exactly, he can talk for hours and one still has no clue what he means to say," the cardinal muttered, continuing up the stairs.

Tréville and Athos moved down to the landing, still concerned and none the wiser why the First Minister of France had come to seek one of them here at the garrison.

"Eminence," Athos greeted Mazarin with due deference, once the man was atop the stairs. "What brings you here?"

"Ah, captain." Mazarin smiled at Athos. "I am here to see the Musketeer Aramis, I was told he is recuperating at the garrison."

Stunned was not the right word to describe how Athos felt. What in the Lords name did Mazarin want from Aramis? Did he even know Aramis? A quick glance to the minister confirmed that Tréville shared the same thought.

"Yes, your information is right, Aramis is here. However, I don't see how he could be of any help to you?" Athos was wary of the purpose of the cardinal's visit, and it showed in his almost rude reply.

"It's more about what I can do for him. Would you show me to his quarters?" The new cardinal had the same talent Richelieu had to clothe his orders in benign questions.

Athos glanced to Tréville again and turned. "Follow me, please." He led the cardinal to the room they had taken Aramis to, knocking once before opening the door.

Porthos looked up from where he sat beside Aramis' bed. Seeing Athos step into the room with Cardinal Mazarin on his heels, the big man hurried to rise, almost tripping over his own feet in the process.

Aramis, upper body propped up with pillows, tried to untangle his feet from the sheets so he could also rise, but was halted by Porthos' hand on his shoulder and a glare from the bigger man. The marksman sighed silently, letting himself fall back again.

"Good afternoon, messieurs. Forgive my intrusion, but I would like to speak with the Musketeer Aramis." With an outstretched hand towards Aramis, Mazarin added, "Please, remain abed."

Porthos glanced to Athos, the latter shrugging his shoulders, having no idea either what this was all about.

"If you would leave us alone for a moment," the cardinal interrupted the silent eyeing of the Musketeers.

Porthos was about to open his mouth and tell the cardinal that this was not going to happen but caught the minute shake of Aramis' head. Porthos moved to the door, standing there with Athos for a moment longer, both men glaring alternately to the man in the bed and the one standing before it.

"We'll wait outside. If you need us, just holler," Porthos said, receiving a tiny nod from the injured man in reponse to the encrypted message, one only his brothers were able to decipher.

The cardinal addressed Aramis once the door had closed. "How are you feeling, son?"

"It still hurts here and there, but nothing I have not experienced before." That was a lie, but the cardinal needn't know. "I'm well, thank you." Aramis eyed the First Minister warily, trying to figure out what the man really wanted from him. "And I'm not a Musketeer anymore, Eminence, despite staying here in the garrison for recovery. I resigned my commission."

"So I was told. That is the reason why I am here. The king is loath to let go of such loyal soldiers the likes of you, especially in difficult times like these. He needs loyal men, now more than ever."

Aramis didn't know what to think of this. He knew Tréville had told the king what had happened, and very probably the cardinal had been there as well. But he couldn't believe that someone like their king would go to such lengths as to send his First Minister after one of his soldiers. Be it to thank him for his service to the crown – unlikely for Louis – or to offer a re-commissioning – also unlikely for Louis. Especially given the terms the king and he had been on when Rochefort had made his accusations. Aramis wondered if Mazarin knew about that, too.

"I vowed to spend the rest of my life in the service of our Lord, Eminence. It's a vow I cannot break." Aramis studied his hands lying in his lap. "In times of great need He has answered my prayers. In turn I promised to henceforth devote my life to Him." He looked up to the cardinal, waiting for the man's reaction.

"I see. But don't you think you could serve our Lord as a soldier as well, maybe even better than as a reclusive in a monastery? A man with your skills?" The cardinal had stepped to the window while talking, looking out now, hands clasped behind his back. "It must not always be a monk's life full of prayers to please the Lord. Not all of us in the service of God can live such a quiet life. God needs soldiers to fight for Him, fight against the heathens of this world, at the side of a Catholic king."

The way Mazarin stood there, gazing into the distance, reminded Aramis very much of Richelieu, immediately awakening the same distrust he had had towards the former cardinal. Aramis thought for a moment about the words, but couldn't see how a war declaration by His Most Christian Majesty against another king claiming the same title for himself, would please the Lord, or his own role in this. Certainly, for men like Richelieu or Mazarin, it meant nothing to twist the facts until it suited their intent and it was second nature to them to blind others with their skillful words. Such men had honed their skills to make others believe that every word they said was true, and mostly all for the highest glory of God.

"Eminence, I understand what you're suggesting and I would gladly march to war side by side with my brothers for king and country. That's what I'm good at, that's what I have done half my life. But I have sworn to renounce this worldly life. How can I be untrue to my word when God gave me what I had asked of Him? "

"My son, one cannot bargain with God. What He grants, He gives freely, and it is given because we are His children and He loves every single one. God expects nothing in return." Mazarin paused, turning to see if Aramis understood the gift he was offering.

Aramis, however, stared at the cardinal. What the man had said scratched the surface of heresy. Was the cardinal trying to set him up? Trying to see how Aramis would respond to this? Why? Never before had he heard a man of the church, and one in as high a position as the cardinal's at that, speak of such things. Usually, the clergy tried to convince their sheep otherwise. When he became aware that he was still staring, Aramis dropped his gaze.

"If you offer your life to God, then it is not up to you to decide which path to take. It's God's decision. And His alone." Mazarin obviously had not seen anything amiss in what he had said and now waited for a reaction.

"But how will I know what He wants from me, what path in life He wants me to take? How do I know?"

"Can't you see it? Do you not think He has already shown you?"

Aramis was confused. "No. If I were to stay here, how would that be different from my prior life? What penance would that be?"

Mazarin stepped back to the bedside, looking down sympathetically at the man in front of him, replying softly. "One would be inclined to believe that you have already atoned for your sins, whatever or however grave they were." Mazarin made a vague gesture towards Aramis, including his whole battered appearance with it.

"This is nothing, cardinal. The duty of a soldier." As soon as the words were spoken, Aramis bit his lip. There! He'd said it. How could it be his duty, if he was not?

Mazarin smiled. "Why do you want to throw away what is given to you, given to you by God, when you already know where your place is? Why do you think you are here, wounded and injured at the garrison, and not in the Abbey of Douai?"

Aramis looked up to the cardinal, squinting his eyes. It couldn't be that simple, could it? And yet, wasn't it what he had thought, lying there, beaten and in pain? Had this been what his God asked of him? Was it His will that he remained at the king's side? At his son's side? Who would protect the dauphin if his father was not there? Aramis realized the cardinal was speaking again and he had missed most of it.

"I beg your pardon, Eminence, what did you say?"

"I will tell the king that you are recovering well and are grateful for his majesty's offer of a re-commissioning. And that you will let him know of your decision as soon as you are able to foresee whether you will be fit again to fulfill your duty."

"How will I know what God wants from me?" Aramis repeated.

"Ask Him, my son, He will answer. Pray and talk to Him." Mazarin walked to the door, but before he opened it, he addressed Aramis once more. "Whatever your decision is, Aramis, the king will accept it. "

"Cardinal," Aramis interrupted hurriedly before the man could leave, "Did my brothers send you to speak with me?" He could not resist asking, for he could see no reason why Mazarin or the king himself might have any interest in him.

Mazarin looked genuinely surprised. "Your brothers? No. No, I came on behalf of his majesty. Both the king and the queen speak of you in high regard. It was the express request of their majesties that I carry their thanks and offer the commission." Mazarin smiled and added, "It would be a sheer waste to see a soldier like you in a monk's habit. If I recall correctly, those were the exact words of the king. God bless you." He opened the door and stepped out into the bright sunlight.

Mere seconds later Porthos entered the room, followed by Athos.

If he hadn't known better, Aramis would have sworn they had been standing right behind the door frame, ears glued to the door.

"What did he want?" Porthos asked, not yet fully over the threshold.

"Nothing important. To see how I am. Apparently the king sent him to check on me." Or, maybe it had been Anne, Aramis thought to himself, recollecting the sparse and cryptic words Athos had delivered after his meeting at the Louvre. "If you don't mind, I feel pretty worn out and would like to sleep. We can talk later." He really was tired and hoped that his friends would believe his lie, he certainly looked like a man in need of a good rest. What he needed now, however, was time to think.

Both men eyed him suspiciously, but finally seemed content with what they saw. Athos withdrew to the door. "I'll see you later. I have paperwork to do anyway."

Porthos retrieved a cup from the small table, holding it out to Aramis. "You need to drink your concoction, then you can rest. But later I want to know every word of the conversation the cardinal had with you." Porthos placed the cup back on the table after Aramis had sipped from it. "I'll bring something to eat when you are awake again. Serge is eager to get something into you." After looking Aramis up and down once more, Porthos left the room, too.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

After three days in bed, mollycoddled by his brothers, Aramis felt strong enough to leave his sickbed and get some fresh air. Naturally, he knew his friends would see this differently and so he waited for his chance. Just now Athos had checked in on him for a moment before the captain was expected to meet with the king and Tréville at the palace.

"Porthos," Athos said in lieu of a greeting, seeing the bigger man step through the open door, and rose from his seat beside the bed. He had stolen a couple of minutes from his tight schedule to talk to Aramis and see how the marksman was doing, though technically he couldn't spare even a single minute for anything other than the war preparations. But being the commanding officer definitely also had its advantages. "I'll see you later," Athos said to the bedridden man, adding for Porthos, "Make sure he takes his concoction and pain reliever, he's getting a little bit sloppy with it lately."

Aramis rolled his eyes so everyone could see what he thought of that. He would even go so far as to call the behavior of his friends mother-henning, not so much caring for an injured man, but nobody had asked his opinion, and so he endured without complaining.

"Aye," Porthos replied, switching places with the captain and settling himself down for what looked like a long chat, given the way Porthos made himself comfortable.

Aramis wondered for a moment if this inefficiency only had occurred after Athos had been appointed captain of the regiment, or if it had always been so and he had just never realized it. He could not recall having ever seen such a laissez faire attitude while Tréville was responsible for the regiment. Their former captain would have given any man he had caught hanging around in the garrison without a proper task a dressing-down, and then something to do. Most likely for the rest of the week. Well, it was something he would get to the bottom to later. Right now, he had a more complex problem to solve. And Porthos was just delivering the right words, Aramis realized as he tuned in to the other man's monologue again.

"...and I have to admit, the puppy is doing it surprisingly good. The new recruits seem to like the training with him, at least more than they enjoy being thrown around the yard by me. Well, and you know how Athos is, and it's only gotten worse since his appointment, he..."

"Porthos," Aramis interrupted, "would you mind asking Serge for a broth for me? I really feel hungry and there is nothing better than one of Serge's wonderful broths to strengthen a weak man's body." Looking like a suffering man was a task Aramis managed very well, he didn't even have to strain himself; after all, he was still suffering.

Looking a little surprised, Porthos immediately rose from his seat. "Of course." Before he could take a step towards the door, however, Aramis spoke again.

"Please ask Serge to add some special herbs to the broth. It will help a convalescent like me to recover much faster, you'll see."

Nodding, Porthos turned to the door, but Aramis was not done yet.

"Galangal, hyssop, lovage, tarragon. Oh, and if he could add fair-maid-of-France as well, that would be perfect. You got that all?" Aramis asked innocently, knowing it would take a while until Serge had all the things together. "But it has to be exactly those herbs, it's the combination that heals."

Porthos stared at the marksman like he had grown a second head, but finally nodded again, muttering something like 'as long as it get's you back on your feet' on his way out. The door closed with a soft thud.

The moment Porthos was out of the door, Aramis threw back the sheets, sat up on the bedside and heaved himself up with the help of the nightstand. He felt a little dizzy once he was standing upright, but soon that was gone so he tested his right leg. Feeling a slight pull, which was not too painful, he shuffled over to the chair where his spare breeches and doublet hung over the back. Dropping on the chair, he managed to put on his breeches without too much effort. His broken hand wasn't much of a help, but didn't hinder him either. It had healed properly so far and he was sure in another week or so he would be able to start using it again. Donning his doublet was harder to manage with his shoulders still stiff, but eventually he was dressed and wearing his boots. He was ready.

Hobbling more than walking, he reached the door, halting for a moment, straightening himself with a deep breath. Then he opened the door. Luckily, no one was outside as he saw with relief. Supporting himself with one hand against the wall, he shuffled until he had reached the balcony. Looking down into the courtyard, filled with Musketeers and new recruits, he felt his heart cramp.

This. This was home. Until now, he had not known how much he missed it. He took in the sight, listening to the clattering of swords, the calls and conversations down in the yard, and the noise of a garrison filled with soldiers. He didn't want to give this up, he realized. Despite what he had thought would be right, what he had vowed to do, despite what he had told the cardinal and had tried to convince himself, he knew he belonged here and would never be happy anywhere else. He knew he could, of course, live a monk's life till the end of his days and maybe be content with it, but a part of him would always be here, regretting that he had had to leave.

Recalling what Cardinal Mazarin had talked with him about, he knew it was time to seek for an answer. He had decided to go to Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois and pray for some sign for what direction his life should take, though he had the feeling he already knew. As he was up, there was no time like the present.

Distracted from his thoughts, he missed hearing that the noise in the yard died down, the clattering of swords stopped. When he became aware of the shift in his surroundings he lifted his head, looking directly into the eyes of d'Artagnan, the young man staring up to him with an indefinable look on his face. Or, one could even call it an angry look, Aramis thought. Putting on his most charming smile he waved down to the young man.

"What do you think you are doing?" the Gascon hollered.

"Oh, you know," Aramis called down, "I'm admiring the view and getting some fresh air. Such a wonderful day today." He pointed to the recruits down in the yard with d'Artagnan. "Don't you have work to do?"

Instead of an answer, Aramis saw d'Artagnan's gaze shift to somewhere beneath the balcony, and a split second later the marksman paled, realizing who it was the Gascon had turned his eyes to. Porthos.

The big man stepped out from under the balcony, following d'Artagnan's pointed stare.

Aramis waved.

The thunderous look on his friend's face only lasted for a few seconds before it changed, replaced by a blinding smile. Porthos shook his head, laughing and then made his way upstairs to his brother. "Glad to see you walking," was all Porthos said, hugging Aramis briefly. "But you know you'll pay for this."

"I know," Aramis sighed. "I need to go to church, Porthos. Now. Can you come with me? Hate to admit it, but I'm not sure if I can quite manage it on my own."

"Can you mount a horse?"

Aramis thought about that question, asked of him a second time within a short timespan, and nodded. "Yes, I guess I can."

"Then let's go." Porthos was already headed to the stairway starting down.

Aramis followed, not as fast and not as fluidly, but he managed it, feeling proud of the accomplishment when he made it down to the courtyard.

D'Artagnan came over, smirking, and grabbed one of Aramis' shoulders. "I certainly won't be the one to tell Athos. You know that you are dead, right?" He grinned, giving the marksman a pat on the shoulder before returning to the recruits to show them how to conduct an attack.

Porthos brought the horses and with some effort and the help of the bigger man, Aramis finally mounted and they left the garrison in a slow walk to head for Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Aramis entered the church, a quick glance confirming that no one was inside, and walked up to the front row. With some effort he bent his knee in front of the cross, then slid into the bench and knelt down. It hurt his leg and pulled at his wounds, but that didn't matter. What mattered now was his dialogue with God. He closed his eyes, whispering words only his Lord could hear.

Three quarters of an hour later, Aramis emerged from the church, stiff and in pain, but with an ease of mind and a moral certainty he had lacked for a long time. He could hardly walk anymore and his vision was blurry. Bracing himself against the wall he made his way towards Porthos.

Porthos rose from the shady spot where he'd been dozing, the church doors always in his line of sight. Looking Aramis up and down with a frown on his face, he untied the horses. "You alright?" he asked.

Aramis smiled lightly. "Yes. Yes I am."

Porthos eyed him warily, not sure if he liked that display of contentment on his brother's face, despite the obvious pain the man was in. "Let's mount then. I want to be back at the garrison in time to see Athos' face when he learns of your little excursion."

Aramis rolled his eyes and let Porthos help him up on the horse, a task that seemed much more difficult now than it had been before. Together they made their way back to the garrison at the same slow walk they had done before.

Riding through the archway, they could see Athos standing in the middle of the yard, in a heated discussion with d'Artagnan. Porthos almost pitied their young brother, seeing him bearing the brunt of their captain's anger, but it was a fleeing thought. What counted was that he was back in time to see the full show, and he would enjoy every minute of it. Porthos looked to Aramis with a sardonic grin and a knowing nod.

Athos turned around the moment the horses came to a standstill, taking in the sight before him. His icy stare, pointed at Aramis, spoke volumes, but they all knew the captain would not let it go at that. The comte could also speak daggers, if need be. And now seemed to be exactly the time Athos was willing to prove it.

However, before Athos could open his mouth to say anything, Aramis stole his thunder and spoke up. "Do I have to ask Tréville to retrieve my pauldron or is it kept in your office, captain?"

The marksman's words left everyone speechless for a moment. Whatever they had expected to happen now, this had not been on their agenda.

Aramis shifted in the saddle and looked from Athos to d'Artagnan, then turning his head towards Porthos before his eyes drifted back to Athos. "The Cardinal told me the king has already signed my re-commissioning, so that will not be a problem." When there was still no reaction from his friends, he added, "Do you want me back or not? I'm not going to beg."

D'Artagnan came forward with a blinding smile on his face and grabbed the marksman's forearm. "Welcome back, brother."

Porthos erupted into a booming laughter, and not just because of the look on their captain's face when Aramis had announced his re-joining of the Musketeer Regiment. He felt all the tension and angst of the last weeks seeping out of him, now that they had Aramis back for good.

Athos walked up to the mounted men, declaring in a flat voice, "You can fetch your pauldron from me once you are able to mount your horse without having to have Porthos heave you up. The same applies to dismounting, of course." His mien changed and he allowed himself one of his rare, genuine smiles, the ones that came from deep inside, smoothing the sharp edges, brightening the eyes and revealing a brief glimpse of the man he had once been.

"Now that this is settled," Aramis announced, "would one of you be so kind and help me from that beast before I faint? I'm inclined to admit that a little rest now and a good pain reliever wouldn't go amiss."