Chapter 14: The Bond We Share
"Friendship throws out deep roots in honest hearts, D'Artagnan. Believe me, it is only the evil-minded who deny friendship; they cannot understand it." - Alexandre Dumas
They arrived at the palace's gates in the very early morning and every musketeer was already dismounting and waiting for the Captain to give the orders.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" d'Artagnan was asking his friends. "I never meant to force you to do anything."
Athos didn't twitch a muscle and Porthos just arched an eyebrow. Aramis chuckled weakly.
"We are surrounded by the beauty of intrigue and danger. What more could a man want?" he said with a mischievous smile and received confirming nods from both sides.
D'Artagnan sighed.
"Very well. But you know that we don't know what exactly we are dealing with, right?"
Porthos rolled his eyes. "That's what makes it so exciting."
D'Artagnan was not so amused.
"There is a chance that we do not get out of this alive." It was a statement that tolerated no denial.
Athos made a step forward, gripping the hilt of his sword.
"We have been soldiers for a long time. We know what comes with it."
Aramis nodded. "I joined the musketeers when I was still barely more than a boy. I learnt what I fight for a long time ago, Captain." He took a ridiculously respectful bow after that, making d'Artagnan sigh in exasperation.
"It's not death itself I'm scared of," Porthos added. "It's to die without honor."
"This is not for you, d'Artagnan," Aramis said, and the wisdom of his age glistered in his eyes. He shook his head." And it's not for me either"
Athos grimaced. "This is for everything we once were." He lowered his head, and eagerly finished off cleaning his rapier. "…and might be again," he added, the corners of his mouth curling up to form a crooked grin.
D'Artagnan nodded, a sad look in his eyes. "We're soldiers. We follow our orders, no matter where they lead."
Aramis furrowed his brow. "That one seems oddly familiar."
D'Artagnan grinned. "Yes, 'cause it's you who said it."
"Ah, well, now I know why I never became a poet."
Athos grunted dryly and smacked his friend's back lightly. "Don't know what you're talking about. You created the most beautiful and annoying verses I've ever heard."
Aramis just glared at him, before he clasped his hand over his heart. "Thanks, Athos. I'm flattered."
"And I'm gonna freeze on the spot if we don't move soon," Porthos chipped in from the side and impatiently cradled his pistol in his arms. "And all this talking here won't help us save the King."
"We're men of action after all," d'Artagnan stated and gave Gaulier and Rissé the signal to lead their groups to the different places. The two musketeers nodded and turned towards the other men, hissing their orders.
"We should be careful," Porthos murmured, his brown eyes worriedly on the palace's gates.
"We still have about an hour until the meeting," Brujon said skeptically, but he too felt unease creep up his back.
"Why is nobody out here, guarding the gates?" Aramis wanted to know, his voice full of worry and he approached d'Artagnan, who just stared at him, a little irritated. "Where are the palace guards?"
"They must've received order to do so." He made a short pause. "Alright, we'll go inside. We need to find out where the King is. Are you sure you want to do that, Traive?"
The young man, who really looked like the King's brother at least, nodded eagerly. "I'm ready. Just…try not to get me killed, will you?"
D'Artagnan snorted. "You see who is protecting you, right?"
"I can guarantee nothing," Porthos stated bluntly. "But I'll try my best."
"That's enough for me," Traive concluded and sighed. He looked worried, but they all were. There was a lot of tension in the air, and Brujon witnessed d'Artagnan exchanging some deep, meaningful looks with his old friends before he turned on the heel and headed inside the palace, the others followed him, all carefully surveying the area.
Once they were inside, Brujon spotted two palace guards, casually leaning against the decorated inner walls of the palace, chatting lively with each other. When d'Artagnan and the others made their impressive entrance, they got startled, and suddenly hurried to get back into their straight and unmoving positions near the wall, but it was too late.
D'Artagnan angrily walked up to them, and grabbed one of them by the collar. "The King. Where?" He left no time for nice words.
"Sir, I don't think you can…," the man weakly protested, but then he saw Porthos, towering up behind the Captain, looking as grim and intimidating as possible.
"Oh, I can," d'Artagnan said and strengthened his grip. "Don't make me ask twice."
Athos walked up and put a calming hand on d'Artagnan, which led to the Captain letting go of the man and giving the guard some space.
"His chambers, Sir," the guard finally stuttered and vaguely pointed into the direction where the King's private chambers were located.
"Why is no one guarding the gates outside?" Aramis had approached, his brow furrowed with worry and anger, as he too had to be reminded by Athos' hand not to threaten the guard physically.
"Is nobody out there?" the man asked, confusion written all over his face.
Athos, standing between Aramis and the guard now, raised an eyebrow, his expression as cold and calculating as usual. "Was my friend hard to understand?" he sneered.
The guard shook his head, clearly intimidated. "No, no…I mean, if there's nobody out there, they must've received order to do so."
D'Artagnan sighed. "Yeah, that's what I said. But who ordered them to do so?"
"I..uh..," the guard stuttered, not sure what to answer. "Minister Fournier, probably."
D'Artagnan rolled his eyes, and Athos suddenly had a very hard time to restrain a growling Aramis. Fournier served as a minister under Louis XIV, mostly responsible for affairs of war. It was Porthos who walked up and gently patted the guards shoulder.
"It's okay. Listen, you need to be extra careful now. I want you be vigil, and make sure nobody but the musketeers comes through these gates. You'll receive orders from the musketeer named Rissé. Understood?"
"No offense, but who are you to give me orders?" the guard responded skeptically. He was elbowed hard by his neighbor.
"Are you crazy? That's General du Vallon, you idiot."
The guard's eyes widened when realization hit him. His eyes wandered over d'Artagnan, Aramis and Athos and he finally seemed to put the pieces together. He knew d'Artagnan, but it seemed as if he hadn't recognized the other three. He was probably too young to remember any of them.
He now quickly bowed his head. "My apologies. We'll be careful and watch out. Thanks for the warning, Sir."
He carefully gazed up at Porthos, scared of his reaction, but the big musketeer just chuckled amused before he turned to Athos and Aramis and started dragging
"If I get my hands on this treacherous snake…" Aramis was rambling and Brujon couldn't resist.
"What is it with you and Fournier?" he asked curiously, and received a warning glare from his Captain. Aramis, on the other hand, acted as if he hadn't heard him.
"I should've known," he continued as they headed towards the King's private chambers in a fast pace. Porthos walked up at his brother's side and yanked him back by the shoulder.
"Aramis!" His tone was insistent. "Brujon is right. Maybe Minister Fournier gave some questionable orders, but that's not our priority now. Whatever your personal vendetta against this man is, you need to focus on saving your…" He threw a side-glance at Brujon and Traive and quickly cleared his throat. "On saving the King."
Aramis looked dangerously calm now, and when Brujon looked in his face, he only saw worry and fear.
"Fournier is corrupt," the marksman simply said, his gaze locked on Porthos. "And he is most likely involved in this whole affair. But yes, what happened between the Minister and me is a story for another time."
"So, if we happen to run into him, shoot first, ask questions later?" Athos subsumed wryly.
Aramis bit his lip. "Just…don't trust anyone but the King himself."
"I know that, my friend," d'Artagnan admitted and sighed. "Come on, now." D'Artagnan led the way through the magnificent and ornated hallways. Brujon had spent the last twenty years of his life in the musketeer regiment. But he has never been to the King's private rooms.
They came to a stop in front of a giant doorway, and the Captain hastily knocked three times. There was no guard nearby, and all of them grew even more nervous.
"Yes?" The unmistakable voice of Louis XIV. could be heard from the other side of the door, and the Inseperables did not waste any more time. Captain d'Artagnan opened the door and they entered the dining room, followed by Brujon and d'Artagnan.
The King was seated at a table. He was still a very young man about Athos' height, his shiny, dark-blonde hair gathered behind his ears. His facial features were raw and striking, but he looked up to them with his brown, kind eyes. The King was already clothed for the welcoming of the diplomat in less than an hour.
He first spotted d'Artagnan, and a gleeful spark lit up in his eyes.
"Captain!" he used a cloth to dab his face before he rose from his seat.
"Your majesty." Captain d'Artagnan, Brujon and Traive took a bow, the three older musketeers hesitated, but eventually lowered their heads too. The King furrowed his brow and he slowly walked past d'Artagnan towards the three older men.
"Aramis." He sounded surprised, but delighted at the same time. Aramis slowly lifted his head to look at the young man. Brujon knew that he had basically raised the King, and had been his mentor for a huge part of his life. That's why the King, despite royal mannerisms and all, did not hesitate to pull the former minister into a short hug.
"You've been deeply missed here," Louis spoke, before his eyes landed on Porthos.
"Welcome home to Paris, Porthos," he greeted, and tilted his head in a greeting manner. Everybody in the regiment knew how much respect the young King had for one of his finest generals. Porthos bowed his head again, before the King turned towards Athos.
The swordsman raised his voice first, but he looked at the ground. "Your majesty."
Louis had a broad smile on his face. He hadn't met Athos often, but the stories Aramis had told him spoke for themselves. He tried to catch the older one's gaze.
"Athos. What a pleasure that you found your way back to Paris again. How's your son?" He made a short pause, and sent the musketeer an apologetic look. "What was his name again?"
"Raoul," Athos replied and hinted a smile. "He's fine. Thank you, Sire."
The King mirrored the smile. "I've got to admit, after everything that happened; I'm a bit surprised to see you in Paris again. Not that you're not welcome here, of course. You know that the palace's gates are always open for you."
Athos made a declining gesture with his hand. "The situation called for it," he admitted and exchanged a brief look with d'Artagnan. "And I wished that the circumstances of our meeting weren't as dire as they are."
Louis narrowed his eyes, and after having greeted Brujon and Traive, he turned back towards the Captain of his musketeers.
"Care to explain the situation, Captain?" he asked sharply.
D'Artagnan sighed and took off his hat. "Sire, we do have information that there is a plot to murder you when you will welcome the diplomat in your halls. It's my duty to protect you, and to take on this unknown organization, and I called my old friends and the best musketeers I've ever known back to support me."
"Why would somebody try to murder me?" The King looked genuinely scared and irritated.
Aramis made a step forward. "We don't understand everybody's motives. But we fear that the danger comes from inside these walls."
Louis raised an eyebrow. "Like, who?"
D'Artagnan just nervously shifted on his feet, Aramis bit his lip in uncertainty. Porthos stared at the King, not sure what to say.
"Like Minister Fournier, for example," he explained bluntly. Before the King had a chance to respond, Aramis jumped in too.
"He removed the guards from the gates. Anyone could've come in here within the past few hours, with no guards to prevent him from doing so."
"Listen, Aramis," Louis started, his voice firm and determined. "I know Fournier and you did not get along very well, but accusing him of trying to murder me? This is not the same as it was during Rochefort's time."
"Says who?" Porthos, luckily, had a reputation, and Louis, luckily, had a calm nature, otherwise this rude comment would've had consequences.
The King glared at the General, but decided not to say anything.
"But fine," he continued, and addressed d'Artagnan again. "I believe you when you say I am in danger. May I ask what your plan is?"
And then, d'Artagnan started to explain everything. He told his majesty about the way he had met this organization for the first time, and he confessed how he got the information about the planned assassination. He told him about how he had asked for the help of his friends, as he felt like he needed their input and their brotherly support in order to take on this unknown foe. And, finally, he explained the plan, how they wanted to replace the King through a decoy, which would be the musketeer Traive.
Once he was finished, Louis had started pacing, his hands locked behind his back, apparently deep in thought.
"That's a good idea," he said slowly. "So I'm supposed to wear the armour of a musketeer?"
Aramis nodded. "That's the plan. Try to be as inconspicuous as possible."
The King sent his mentor a sly grin. "Oh, I can do that."
"We will keep you safe, your majesty," Brujon added.
"And my mother?" Louis asked, slightly reproachful and with a temperamental spark in his dark eyes.
"My wife is with her, together with two of my best musketeers," d'Artagnan appeased him.
The king nodded gratefully, before he began circling the young Traive. Brujon had to admit, they looked very similar. The hair was mostly the same, the height as well. Even their faces resembled each other, though Traive had a different eye color and a slightly longer face.
"And you," Louis addressed Traive, his face full of skepticism. "I need to ask you, as my manners demand it. Are you willing to do this, and potentially risk your life for my defence?"
"It's my pleasure, your majesty," Traive answered immediately and received a scolding look from his Captain.
"And, of course, my duty."
"I've got a bad feeling about this," Brujon whispered. They were waiting in a small room next to the throne room. Traive had changed his clothes and was now wearing a doublet in royal blue, as well as everything else that would indicate him to be the King. The five musketeers plus the king in the musketeer armor surrounded him. Brujon could see how Porthos and Aramis kept the King between them, so that he would be mostly protected just in case.
"Me too," d'Artagnan admitted next to him and under his captain hat, Brujon saw his eyes glistering with worry. "But it's our only shot."
They heard the signal from inside the throne room, which initiated the entrance of the King. The doors swung open, and together, the little group entered the large throne room. The diplomat hadn't arrived yet, but every other member of the court was assembled for the formal ceremony. Palace guards were all over the place, mostly guarding the small passage where the diplomat would walk.
Out of the corners of his eye, Brujon spotted Gaulier, whose face was tense but once he saw Traive dressed up as the king, he couldn't hide an amused grin. The closer Brujon looked, the more musketeers he was able to make out between all the different court members.
D'Artagnan was walking next to Brujon, and the younger musketeer could feel that there was something off with the Captain.
"I see the palace guards every freakin' day," d'Artagnan murmured, so only his friends could hear him. "But I've never seen these men before." He tilted his head towards the guards that stood near the passage.
"Then why are we walking the target in the middle of the room again?" Aramis hissed through clenched teeth, but Athos shot him a look that shut him up pretty quickly.
They accompanied Traive to his throne. Queen Anne was nowhere to be seen, so Constance had arrived in time, Brujon thought.
It looked a bit awkward, but eventually, Traive 'the King' came to a halt in front of the throne and raised his hand, so the others in the room could stop bowing their heads. The true king, however, was playing his role gloriously. He put on a grim face, but tried to plunge his own face into shadows by pulling down his hat, and he took his place between Porthos and Aramis.
Brujon carefully let his eyes wander over all the people in the room. Many faces he had seen before, but there were also some he couldn't remember, and he watched each of these people attentively. They might be those unknown attackers.
A man walked up to the throne, where Traive was still standing. He had drawn a lot of attention. Brujon could see that many guards could see that this was not the true King, others did not seem to care.
"May I introduce?" the man in front of them started. "His Excellency, Comte Eduard van Loon."
The doors swung open, and revealed that it was still rather dark outside. A man, about Athos' age, walked through the doors, his head up high, and his chin raised proudly. About ten men in armour followed him thoughtfully, their hands on their pistols attached to their belts.
"Athos!" he heard d'Artagnan hiss behind him. The swordsman flicked his wrist as a sign that he had heard the Captain.
"I know the diplomat. Eduard van Loon has visited the palace back in '41. It's been fifteen years, but that's not the man I met all these years ago."
Their guest had heard their silent conversation, and he just grinned and took a bow in front of Traive, who looked down with as much authority and arrogance as he could muster.
"Your majesty," the diplomat, apparently not Eduard van Loon, greeted him, and his eyes briefly locked on d'Artagnan. "I'm eternally grateful for this warm welcome. Please, accept this gift as an expression of my deepest gratitude."
He snapped his fingers and two of his soldiers approached. Traive made a step forward, accompanied by Athos and Brujon, who also had a hand on their pistols.
"That's...very generous of you," Traive said with a firm voice. "I'll open it as soon as this is done."
The man in front of him just grinned. "I fear I have to insist. We put in a lot of efforts to find something special for your royal highness."
Brujon saw Traive gulping, but eventually, he took the box with a trembling hand and opened it. He reached inside with his right hand, without a glove. A queasy feeling settled in Brujon's stomach. Something was not right. Not right at all.
Traive pulled out a ring, a simple golden one, but really nothing special for a King. Why would that be such a special gift for a King? That's what the former musketeer captain at Brujon's side seemed to think too.
"Wait!" Athos hissed, and Traive immediately dropped the ring and turned around to go to his Captain, but it was too late. Brujon saw a small wound on his hand, which looked like it was made by a needle. A drop of blood gathered on the musketeers hand, and he looked more surprised than scared. But suddenly, Traive started swaying dangerously, and he stumbled. He would've crashed to the ground if it wasn't for d'Artagnan catching him last second. It took the Captain only a second to understand. Poison. Who knew what would have happened if Traive hadn't let go of the ring immediately.
"Guards!" he yelled.
A palace guard ran up, and somehow managed to push himself past Athos and Brujon to the King.
"That's not the King!" he exclaimed shocked, as Traive, white as a sheet and with a pained expression, clutched onto d'Artagnan's sleeve. Brujon looked down in the face of the false diplomat and discovered him grinning with satisfaction, not at all surprised that
And then, all hell broke loose. One pistol after the other was shot, and out of reflexes, Brujon ducked his head and sprinted towards the true King. D'Artagnan was still at Traive's side, but then, Gaulier and Rissé appeared out of nowhere.
"Get out of here!" Gaulier yelled and fired his pistol. "We'll hold them off as long as possible." He stood protectively over Traive, quickly checking him over. "He should be fine, I'll take care of him. Now go!"
Athos granted him a grateful nod, before he and the others started running, Brujon at their heels. They managed to escape the throne room and arrived at a smaller door, the one the kitchen staff sometimes used, and which led outside.
Aramis and Porthos still had the King between them, while d'Artagnan was busy reloading his pistol. Athos kicked the door open but pressed himself against the inner wall, and signaled the others to stay back.
"Just making sure you don't get riddled with bullets as soon as we leave this room," Athos declared, as he carefully peeked around the corner.
"How touching," Aramis responded sarcastically, but with an excited grin on his face. No matter what was at stake, all four of them equally found their heart in the middle of adventure, and an action they hadn't experienced together for years.
On Athos' signal, they started running, the true King between them. Aramis was dragging him forward by the arm. They swiftly made their way over the small square of grass and entered the next building, which wasn't part of the main palace, but still an impressive, two floor building at least. Usually, this was where the Minister of financial affairs had his office, as well as other rooms where the council would meet. Now, it was their shelter. They could hear the yelling as they closed the giant doors and headed into the next room, with a high ceiling and multiple, impressive paintings on the wall.
What startled them, however, were the many voices they heard yelling now, and the sounds of pistol shots growing louder, coming from all directions.
Porthos growled. "They wanted us here." He ran a hand over his face. "We walked straight into a trap."
D'Artagnan lowered his eyes. "Which means..."
Brujon heard a subtle, hissing noise. But before he had the chance to warn his comrades, or even find out where it came from, he suddenly lost his footing as a loud bang blasted through a room above them. He had nowhere to run, and he could do nothing but watch as parts of the ceiling collapsed right on top of him.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. There was a ringing in Brujon's ears that drowned out every other noise, and the world that surrounded him seemed to move slower, as splinters and dust swirled through the air.
Then, the dust settled, and it gently rained down on them. Brujon was barely able to see. He knew he was buried somewhere underneath a pile of rubble, ancient paintings, and parts of the ceiling, and his hip was pounding painfully.
In the room, he was able to make out the four friends, more or less on their feet, all drawing their weapons to prepare for what was to come. Brujon did not see the attackers, he could only hear the feet rumbling over the ground. And Brujon watched how Aramis, Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan stood back to back, more or less steady on their feet, the King secured protectively between them.
Then, the door fell shut behind an advancing group of attackers, as another trembling ran through the palace.
It was too late to run now. They were trapped.
Get ready for the finale next week. Thanks for reading!