Hello, everyone. MANY thanks for the wonderful comments since last week. Today's chapter (and tomorrow's) seems to have come from nowhere with a just a little bit being in the original plan. Then, suddenly, Porthos found his voice! I hope you enjoy it.
CHAPTER 29
Both Porthos and Aramis had finished their morning training sessions and were taking advantage of an early lunch to reflect on what had been happening over the preceding days since their return to Paris.
"I can't believe Delacroix would sink so low as to behave the way he has towards Athos," Aramis mused.
"He's making the most of being captain; 'e must think he's untouchable especially if 'e thinks 'e has the backing of Richelieu," Porthos said, angrily pushing his food around the plate with a piece of bread.
"He's been waiting years for just such an opportunity. He's not likely to let it go to waste. The trouble is, we have to find some way of stopping him. Delacroix' revenge is getting more serious with each passing day and I'm not sure just how much more Athos can take, either physically or mentally. Every man has his breaking point, even Athos."
"We haven't done our job very well, have we?"Porthos noted miserably. "We were supposed to be looking out for 'im and yet all this has 'appened to 'im. We've got to find a way to stop Delacroix."
"Easier said than done when he has a large group of favourites surrounding him and ready to jump to his every command. We're outnumbered. There are only three of us to protect Athos and Delacroix is obviously intent upon keeping us separated if today has been anything to go by. He's going to keep Athos isolated as much as possible."
"Then maybe it's about time we evened the odds," Porthos said savagely.
"What do you mean?" It was as if a cold hand touched Aramis as he saw his friend's expression and heard the tone of poorly suppressed resentment.
"I'm meaning we get numbers on our side. There's plenty here that would be more than ready to help. They're not happy with Delacroix' treatment of them or Athos. They're just looking for a chance to have their voices heard."
"Looking for a fight, more like." Aramis leaned in, his next words little more than a harshly whispered warning. "Whatever is going through your head, Porthos, ends right here, right now. When you mention 'sides', you're talking of revolt and that could end in court martial at best with execution at worst. How many men could be injured or lost? Athos would never sanction an action like that."
Porthos likewise lowered his voice. "You reckon Athos is in a fit state to sanction anything right now? We're assuming things are well with 'im only because he hasn't been brought back here in the bed of a cart. Are you saying that we just stand by and wait for Delacroix to kill 'im?"
"Of course I'm not saying that but we don't know Delacroix has that intention. He has had opportunity before now to make a move with fatal consequences."
"And maybe,"Porthos said slowly and deliberately, "it's only by luck that he hasn't been successful. You said yourself his actions are gettin' more serious; who's to say that his next decision wouldn't end up with Athos dead by 'accident'? I'm sorry but I'm not goin' to stand by an' wait for that possibility to become a probability."
"I don't want to do that either but I just don't think that what you're proposing is the best way to go about it," Aramis hissed back.
"Then what are you proposing?"
Aramis sighed, "That's just it, I don't know."
"That's a big help then," Porthos said sarcastically.
"Well at least I'm not suggesting all out rebellion!" came the rejoinder. "I just wish we could have the chance to speak properly with Athos, he's the tactician who has all the great ideas."
"Yeah, and the only great idea he's come up with so far is about 'playing the game.' It doesn't look like much of a game to me. Seems the only person losin' that game round here is him."
"Don't blame Athos," Aramis argued defensively. "It's not his fault."
"Did I say it was?"
The two men glared at each other and it was Aramis who was the first to back down. "Listen to us arguing with each other; we're doing Delacroix' work for him. We'll only get through this by working together."
"Sorry," Porthos muttered, suitably chastised.
Aramis squeezed the big man's shoulder affectionately, "Me too."
"I hope Athos is working on some other idea."
"So do I but we won't know what that is unless we get to speak at length with him. We don't really know what's occasioned all of this; his loss of command and the apparent punishments. We only know what Serge knows and what Delacroix has seen fit to tell us and I presume that's very biased. So far, Athos has either been drunk, locked up or unconscious. That doesn't make for productive conversation," Aramis observed.
"Taking care of him since we got back means we 'aven't 'ad much time for productive conversation ourselves. Did he say much to you when you sat in the cell with him?"
Aramis shook his head. "Mostly I was waiting for him to sober up. Then he had a bad hangover to contend with and was worrying about his punishment to say too much. You must admit he's not known for his conversation at the best of times." Both men smiled warmly at the thought of their friend's typical characteristics. "Apart from eventually having enough recall to confirm what I had surmised about why he got drunk in the first place, he stopped talking entirely when he heard how our search for Treville ended."
"You told him just before he was getting' punished?" Porthos was surprised.
"I didn't want to but he asked. I tried to stall him and change the subject but he wasn't having any of it. He just kept pushing so I had no choice except to tell him."
They lapsed into silence and it was Porthos who spoke next. "I'm sorry that it was left to you alone. I'd got it in my head that we'd tell 'im together, the three of us."
"I know but it just wasn't possible."
"How did he take it?" Porthos asked next.
"Not well. Like I said, he stopped talking completely; he never said another word but how much of it was down to my news or the prospect of what was to happen to him is hard to say. I kept up a very one-sided conversation after that but he wouldn't be drawn."
The pair fell silent again as they contemplated the problem they faced. They had finished eating and Serge was in the process of collecting their dirty plates when horses clattered into the yard bringing back the guard detail from the palace. Rising to their feet, their eyes raked the group, searching for their wounded brother so that they might tend him but he was not there. They sought for him again amongst the men who dismounted, handed reins over to the stable boys and headed towards the mess room for food. Athos was definitely not there.
It was Porthos who moved first, having chosen to intercept Faron who was trailing after the main group.
"Where's Athos?" he asked directly, ignoring any pleasantries.
"I don't know; he didn't leave the palace with the rest of us. As far as I know, he's still there," and Faron sidestepped in order to walk round Porthos but the big man moved again to block his progress.
"How did he seem?"
Faron rolled his eyes in exasperation, the call of food being of far greater interest. "I don't know and I don't care. I wasn't paying him any attention. The man was a mess; I don't know what possessed the Captain to put him on palace duty. He's a disgrace to the regiment."
Porthos growled and stepped forward, grabbing Faron by the shirt front, swinging him round and pushing him up against the door jam. "That 'man'," he enunciated slowly and furiously, "is your fellow musketeer an' if he's any sort of mess, it's on account of you and your colleagues. 'E was flogged for somethin' he didn't do – but then I reckon you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"
At least Faron had the civility to look nervous, "I don't know what you mean."
Porthos moved even closer, his snarling face inches away. "Oh but I think you do; I think you understand me very well. Well I have a message for you and you'd better make sure you listen." Whether by chance or design, Porthos had honed in on Faron and was going to use the opportunity to make his feelings known. If Faron were a weak link in the Delacroix chain, time would tell.
"Porthos," Aramis warned him, moving in to rest a hand loosely on his arm, a gesture that could become a restraint if needed. He was not entirely sure whether Porthos was acting in an intimidating fashion or if Faron was in any potential danger.
Porthos shrugged him off, his attention focused on Faron. "You stay away from Athos. Nothing else is to happen to him, you hear me? If it does, I'll be looking for someone to blame and I'm deciding that someone is you, whether you've been directly involved or not 'n' you really don't want to know what I might do then."
"Is there a problem here?" Bertram stood in the open doorway, Lalley and Garris immediately behind him.
Porthos released Faron, brushed imaginary specks from the shoulders of the other man and stepped back. "No, no problem," he said with a feigned lightness and a smile that did not reach his eyes. "We were just having a little talk, that's all."
"Fine," Bertram said. "I was worried that I might have overheard one musketeer threatening another."
"You must have misheard," Porthos said very deliberately. "Easy enough mistake, what with all the other threats and strange goin's on in the garrison at present."
Bertram made to move forward, "If you're saying something, soldier, you say it plainly."
"Or what? Is there another threat in that?" Porthos challenged him.
"Enough!" Aramis snapped, managing to ease an arm between the two musketeers as they faced up to each other. "Back off, both of you." He turned in appeal to Faron, Lalley and Garris to help him diffuse the situation, "Why don't you and Bertram go on inside and have something to eat. It's good; we've already had ours. Serge has gone to a lot of trouble."
They stood, as in a tableau, no one prepared to be the first to step away as Guillaume ran into the yard towards them. "I'm looking for the musketeers Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan. Her Majesty has demanded that they attend upon her at the palace immediately."
Exchanging alarmed glances, Aramis and Porthos dashed to the stables, startling the boys there as they grabbed saddles and shouted orders for horses to be brought. It was only minutes but seemed an interminable period before two mounts were ready and the two musketeers were swinging up onto horse back. Porthos leaned down, extending a hand to Guillaume.
"Come," he ordered.
The youth swallowed nervously and then took the proffered hand, yelping as he was hauled up onto the animal behind the big musketeer. Porthos allowed himself a wry smile as two slender arms slid round his waist and the boy hung on tightly when the horse began to move.
Aramis said nothing as they rode out of the garrison towards the palace, his mind racing and his feelings in turmoil. It had been a while since he had been in the Queen's presence at the palace; he had avoided duty there and believed, thankfully, that Athos was responsible for taking steps to manipulate his duties and reduce his exposure to the woman he loved. It was too painful, a constant reminder of the night they had shared together, of the unborn child he would never be able to claim as his own. Now, though, she called for him and he supposed that it had to be related to Athos. Something had happened after the duty had ended that had prevented him from returning to the garrison.
However, there was a gnawing sense of frustration and anger directed at none other than Porthos. What had he been thinking to be so confrontational to Delacroix' men? He had initially thought his brother was joking, testing the other men but then he had seen that unmistakable fire in his eyes and knew that he was dangerously close to acting alone.
"You were spoiling for a fight," he said accusingly as the two of them later strode through the palace in the wake of Guillaume.
"And supposing I was?"Porthos countered.
Aramis halted, grabbed Porthos by the arm to swing him round to face him. "Did you not give thought to anything we had spoken of only minutes beforehand?"
"Of course I did," Porthos answered tersely, "but that was before they came back without Athos and showed they cared nothing for what had happened to him. What was I supposed to do?"
"But you have provoked them, made enemies of them," Aramis insisted.
"And you really think they weren't enemies before?" Porthos argued. "They became our enemies the very first time they aligned themselves with Delacroix against Athos years ago. Because of our links with him, they automatically become against us."
"Again you speak of sides!"
"And what word would you use that would appease your conscience?" demanded the big musketeers.
"I fear for the regiment and its future. This talk of sides is a further indication that we are being torn assunder. What will be left of us when Treville returns?" Aramis challenged.
"When? Don't you mean 'if'?" Porthos said testily. "You have been listening too much to Athos," and he moved off towards Guillaume who waited for them further down the corridor.
Aramis hastened to catch up with him. "What is the matter with you?"
"What's the ….?" Porthos struggled for the right words to convey his mood, his expression pained. "It is a month since Treville left here and there has been no sighting or word for half that time. We've been musketeers long enough to know the usual outcome for a patrol overdue by two weeks or more. We are fooling ourselves and we are humouring Athos; that isn't fair to anyone and certainly not him."
"You've given up on Treville?" Aramis was incredulous.
"I thought that was the conclusion we reached when we left the monastery. I don't want to believe it any more than you but at some point we may well 'ave to wake up to a reality we don't much like. Right now, I have never felt so helpless in my whole life. We stand and watch what Delacroix and his minions do, probably with the blessing of Richelieu, and we do nothing. They've brought Athos about as low as I've ever seen 'im an' I couldn't protect 'im. He is my brother and my leader an' I'd follow 'im to the ends of the earth but I failed 'im."
"You never …"Aramis tried to interrupt but Porthos raised a hand and continued to speak over him.
"It's not just that. I'm guilty, guilty of being so angry with 'im because he won't fight back, not yet an' I don't understand why."
Aramis stared at him at a loss for words.
"The Queen awaits you," Guillaume reminded them and led them to the door at the end of the corridor. He opened it and gestured with his head that they should enter.
The Queen looked up as the two musketeers appeared and she could not conceal her delight when she saw that Aramis was one of the two who bowed low before her.
"Majesty," they both chorused.
It was Aramis who recovered first. "You sent for us, Your Majesty."
"Aramis, Porthos," Anne breathed, "I am so relieved that you are here at last." She tried to stand quickly but her swollen stomach restricted her movement. "Oh!" she huffed in annoyance. Her ladies in waiting moved to assist but a strong male hand was extended towards her first. Her eyes trailed from the open hand, up the arm to the handsome smile that greeted her.
"May I make so bold as to help Your Majesty?" Aramis asked.
Nodding, she took his hand and he raised her easily to her feet. "Your friend, Athos, is not well. I do not know how he still stands but he is in need of your aid."
"Where is he?" Porthos asked abruptly.
"Through there in the throne room," Anne answered, indicating the open door.
Both men were swift to move and she followed at a more sedate pace but not too late to see what transpired.
Athos stood in the middle of the room and, if it were at all possible, he had deteriorated further from when the Queen had last spoken with him. Sweat ran down his face and he rocked where he stood.
As he saw Porthos enter through the door first, he tried to say his name but could not even croak a syllable. A sob of relief threatened to overwhelm him but there was not even time enough for that for the struggle was over and his body surrendered. His eyes rolled back in his head, his legs buckled and he started to go down.
Porthos moved with amazing speed to catch his brother in his descent and, forgetting all that he had said about his anger in the corridor, he sank slowly and gently with him to the marble floor.
