They are getting close - definitely all on the same page of the map now!

Chapter 21: Voices

"Where is the Queen? Why did you abandon her?" Aramis' face loomed out of the darkness over d'Artagnan, who gasped. Where had he come from?

"Aramis, my friend –"

"You are no friend of mine. You lost the Queen! Where is she?"

"She's... she was right here!" Frantically, d'Artagnan looked around. He was back in the barn but there was no sign of the Queen.

"Why didn't you wait?" Porthos stepped up to him, stood nose to nose, and D'Artagnan flinched from the vitriol in his expression. "You just disappeared with them... Did you think you would keep the glory for rescuing them all by yourself?"

"What? No!"

"You stupid idiot! You always think you know best, don't you!" Athos shoved Aramis aside. His cool blue eyes drilled into d'Artagnan. Utter disgust curled his lip. "You've done it now! Tréville will kick you out when he hears of this!"

"I tried to keep her safe, you must believe me!"

"The King won't believe you. You disappointed him before. Imagine what he will do when he realises you lost the Queen."

"I didn't lose her, she was right here!" His breath came in gasps, his face twisted with anxiety as he tried to explain himself, but now he could hear Spanish voices coming and he knew they would torture him again. Someone was tugging at his foot and he started to curl up into himself, ignoring the insistent voice which softly called his name. "No... The Queen - she must be safe..."

"d'Artagnan, open your eyes." Even in a whisper, the note of command was obvious and d'Artagnan complied, even as his mind scrambled to work out why his eyes would be shut, when he had just been looking around the barn... the barn that had burned down? Blinking, he focussed with an effort on the face looming over him and found the Queen looking anxiously down at him. Seeing he was now awake, she looked relieved. "You were dreaming. I was worried," she told him quietly.

He huffed a breath out through his nose and grimaced as all the aches flooded back into his awareness. "Sorry... Constance?" He started to push himself upright, then realised Constance was curled tightly into his side, fast asleep. Slowly his brain caught up with him as he realised they were still in the ditch. He glanced around, seeing the fog had thickened, and shivered. There was very little light left in the sky and the air was damp and chill. "Was I asleep long? And Constance – she was keeping watch, what happened?" He was suddenly horrified, realising that he had slept deeply and anything could have gone wrong. Why was Anne the only one awake?

"Relax, d'Artagnan, all is fine. You slept only for an hour or two. I dozed for a while, but then I saw Constance was struggling so I offered to take over. You both needed to rest."

"But that's... Your Majesty, I can only apologise. You should not have been left..." He stopped, seeing the mirth in her eyes.

"Are we back to 'Your Majesty' already? I was quite enjoying being Anne for a while." She spoke lightly but he caught a wistful expression flit across her face, and he started to apologise again, but she cut him off. "It's of no consequence, d'Artagnan, and I am teasing you. Call me whatever feels comfortable, and as for leaving me on watch, it was only for a few minutes, and I am glad to do it. You have both worked so hard to keep me safe; I'm glad to do my part."

He realised this was important to her, and he could not reject what she offered, so he smiled and thanked her. "The fog is thicker... we could move on soon."

"Possibly, although I thought I heard more voices just before I woke you. That's why I was worried, in case you were heard."

Alarm flooded through him and he sat up abruptly. Constance mumbled and protested as his warmth left her side, but quieted again almost immediately. "Was I talking aloud? Could someone have heard?" He remembered snatches of his dream and shivered again, not wanting to think about the accusations his brothers had hurled at him.

"Yes, but quietly. I could barely understand you, I'm sure it's okay." She picked up a skewer made from peeled willow and handed it to him, along with the water skin. He took both, grateful for the water but more dubious about the skewer which held a lump of blackened rabbit meat. "It's a bit overdone by now," she explained, superfluously. His eyes flickered and he tried to keep a straight face as he reluctantly picked a piece of leathery meat off and put it into his mouth. It tasted every bit as awful as the fish she'd cooked after the assassination attempt a year ago. "We made sure to save you some. It was delicious, d'Artagnan – quite the best rabbit I've ever tasted. I thought the wild garlic you stuffed it with was inspired..."

He swallowed with an effort and washed it down with a swig of water, wondering how he could lose the rest of it whilst she was watching him so closely. He looked up to thank her and found her blue eyes dancing merrily, then he blinked as she giggled softly. "Oh, d'Artagnan, your face! That piece fell in the fire. I'm sorry, I couldn't resist." She reached behind her and handed him another skewer with a perfectly cooked piece of rabbit. "Constance wouldn't let me near the cooking, for some reason. I think she must have heard about my ... lack of experience in this field."

He smiled then, a genuine smile, glad to see her looking almost light-hearted. "You look – better. Rested."

She nodded, settling to lean against the bank and regarded him thoughtfully. "I am. It's extraordinary how quickly you can get used to such a different life. Four days ago I had only ever slept in a bed, with sheets and pillows. I'd eaten outdoors but only from the best china. I don't think I've walked further than a few hundred yards around a manicured garden in years. And I've never had dirt under my fingernails – now look at me!" She peered at the filthy fingertips protruding from the bandages Constance had wrapped around her burned palms, then shrugged. "Ah well, no matter. It's what's underneath that counts. Away from the palace, all that's important is to have people around you that you trust." She paused, fastened her bright eyes on his weary face. "And you and Constance – you have risked so much for me. I can't thank you enough..."

"It's my duty, Your Majesty." In the context of this conversation, d'Artagnan made no apology for using her title. "Besides, we're not home and dry yet. We ..."

She interrupted him. "It's more than duty. You showed me courage and loyalty way beyond what anyone could expect. I'm so sorry for your suffering, d'Artagnan – but I am more grateful than I can express."

He lowered his eyes, uncomfortable with her words and the reminder of the experience they had shared in the barn. In tune with his discomfort she touched his arm lightly. "d'Artagnan, things happened in the barn – things I never want to see again."

"I know – Your Majesty I can only apologise – "

"What on earth for?" She looked honestly confused.

"For telling Sanchez that you were a ... call girl. For what you had to do to get the dagger from that guard. For what you saw..."

She interrupted him firmly. "You have nothing to apologise for. Nothing. You were – we were – in an impossible situation and you did what was necessary to keep me safe." She smiled suddenly."Your story was quite ingenious. Although I would be exceedingly grateful if the King never heard the details of the barn," she added with feeling.

He nodded, only to happy to agree with her. Some things really wouldn't be easy to explain.

She looked away and bit her lip. "I can't help thinking about the man I hit with the lantern. He... Oh, d'Artagnan, I didn't mean to kill him! I wish..." She faltered, her eyes gleaming with tears held back by will and upbringing alone.

D'Artagnan tried to think how to reassure her, wishing – not for the first time – that one of the others was here to help him. He chose his words carefully. "You didn't kill him." She started to object and he hurried on. "No, listen. You did hit him, but only to knock him out. You couldn't have known what would happen."

"But if I hadn't hit him he would still be alive!"

"And we would be dead. Or I would be, at least – and you would be on your way back to Spain by now, in Hernán's hands. And France would be on the path to war." He hesitated, then ploughed on, seeing she was listening intently. "Everything has an effect on everything else. We're... we're like..." He floundered, trying to explain something he'd not had to voice before.

Out of the blue a memory of a dusty room came into his head: the warm hand of his mother in his; gentle conversation of women over the sound of treadles and the carding of wool; and golden light falling on vivid threads, moving faster than his fascinated eyes could fathom. He pushed down the sudden ache the memory had stirred, but grasped the image with gratitude. "Like the shuttles in a weaving loom. We push the threads around, like the shuttles – but we can't see the whole tapestry. Only the weaver knows the pattern."

She considered this, her eyes distant. "But... what if we make a mistake? Break a thread, mess up the tapestry?"

He ached to take the anguish from her, but nothing could undo what had happened. He sighed. "We do things all the time that could ... mess up the design. We make decisions, we take lives. We ... All we can do is try to be sure that our motives are pure. And try never to take a life unless there's no alternative. And to feel compassion – like you do now. The day I kill someone without thought would be the day I give up my commission. Athos once said that he remembers the men he kills, and it's true – you have to, or you lose your humanity. But it's the path we've chosen and we believe in what we do. You shouldn't doubt yourself either. You did what you had to do."

She swallowed, and brushed a hand quickly over her eyes. "I don't know how you live with it," she said, quietly.

"It gets easier. And we have brothers around us who understand, if we're struggling."

She nodded, and a sudden smile lit her face. "You are all very close." He nodded. "You are lucky." A wistful expression chased across her face, then was gone. She straightened her shoulders and he knew the conversation was over even before she spoke again. "Now, we must plan our return. You wanted to move at dusk?"

He nodded, looking around and seeing the light had almost leached from the foggy air. "I'm hoping we can get through the forest tonight, and find an inn tomorrow where we can borrow horses." He didn't allow himself to think about what would happen if they couldn't find a friendly inn, if the Spanish mercenaries had spread beyond this small area of France. Or if they couldn't persuade anyone to lend them horses. They had nothing to barter or leave as surety.

Oblivious to his worries about how to get them back to Paris, the Queen was thinking ahead to her meeting with the King. "It's important we get back as soon as possible," she said, unintentionally piling on the pressure. "If the King gets wind of my true intention for this trip, it could be disastrous. He will never understand why I invited Hernán to meet me, even if he hadn't brought half an army with him."

"He tried to kidnap you; we can testify to that."

"But I invited him! The King will not hear anything else once he knows that; he..."

She stopped as his hand shot out in warning. They had both heard something. He cocked his head to one side and listened intently. There! A voice drifted through the fog, but it was too distant to make out the words or even the language. He strained his eyes to pick up any movement, but the fog revealed nothing but shadows.

His heart thundering, he moved quietly to push a turf over the opening of their fire which, he saw now, had virtually burnt out already. At the same time he pointed to Constance's slim dagger which was lying on the bank out of his reach. Anne passed it to him, her eyes wide, and he could see the pulse of her heart thrumming in a vein in her neck.

Who was out there?