Chapter XXXVII
Waking up in the middle of the night then falling asleep for a couple of hours before dawn broke had left Aramis in an uncomfortable position by the dying fire. His neck was sore when he eventually woke up totally, sunshine on his face. He was sitting, his back against a cold stone wall, Anne curled up on his side, her hand on his thigh. She was clever and he admired her dedication.
His injury was still painful albeit not as much as during the first days. There was beginning to be an itch in addition to a slight throb. Aramis sometimes rubbed at it absentmindedly, blaming himself every time it would draw blood or trigger a burning pain. It was doing so now, but if he gave in to the urge, it would disturb her. When he would have completely recovered, he would thank her endlessly for her care.
The baby whimpered in his arms, the source of his awakening. After a few seconds, he remembered where he was: safe with the friends they had met the previous night. Scanning the large room, Aramis saw none of them. Louis was upset, though, as he often was these days. It sickened him to watch him be in pain and not be able to tend to him. He had no idea what the problem was. Long days of rest near warm flames or in the sun, no more horse-ridding, it may hopefully settle the child.
A small hand was clutching his shirt, quiet sobs but no tears which lessened once Aramis started to hum softly, fingers grazing the baby's head and cheeks. Constance had been drawn inside by the cries, always willing to assist in caring for the child she loved very much. It warmed her heart to realize her assistance was not required: Aramis was more than capable of tending to his son.
She smiled at the thought which had occurred more easily than what she would have believed. The soldier smiled back at her from across the room.
"Shall I bring you anything?"
"I don't think so, Constance, thank you. Although...I suppose we should rekindle the fire. He's been out in the wild for too long. Yes, you have. But do not worry, everybody will take great care of you." The boy was fussing, lips moving to utter short moans. Hearing his parents' voices or even Porthos' sometimes calmed him down.
"What's the matter,eh? You're safe here. Look." Aramis moved the crucifix in front of Louis' eyes, finally setting his attention on one object, distracting him.
"He may be hungry. He hardly ate anything the last time he was awake," Constance offered. Aramis agreed. The baby used to eat a lot more before. Anne looked so peaceful in her sleep that it was a torture to wake her up. She looked disoriented as she rose, one hand on her face to shield her eyes from the blinding sun.
"Ana? Louis is upset again." It upset her as well. Sitting up straight, she held him close in her arms while Aramis braced himself against the wall to stand up and give her some privacy. His lips had left a warm trace on her temple, even though all her focus was on her son.
"Where are the others?" Aramis asked Constance while they were walking outside. His leg was numb from his sitting position, each step a wobble.
"Porthos and d'Artagnan have gone into the village to buy some more food. You had more money left than us. It will be a nice change from our usual meals. The Captain is outside, as always."
"He still resents me, am I correct?" Her constrained smile was enough of an answer.
"Go talk to him."
"It's my intention. What about you? What do you do around here?"
"Well, I was looking forward to taking care of the Dauphin... I mean, Louis, but it seems that you both have that under control so I will go back to cleaning, I suppose." It was refreshing to talk to her, funny to watch her frown at the prospective activity.
"Or you could rest, Constance. Even if you've been here for a week, your life has changed as much as anybody else's."
"Rest? I will be bored to no end if I do so! No, perhaps I'll go to...her in a little while."
"She would like that. She's missed you." They both looked behind their shoulder towards the room they had just left and its occupants. Constance used to think she had grown quite close to the Queen at the Palace. She had been chosen to be her confidant after all. They used to be closer than any other lady-in-waiting had ever been. There was this delightful hope in her heart that they might grow to be actual friends in the future.
"If only we could all remain here together," she wished out loud. Aramis put his hand on her arm, a comforting touch and a support as he limped.
"You can rest assured that we will not go anywhere until I am healed. Besides, they need to recover their strength."
"Absolutely. Go find the Captain and I will bring you some food."
"Constance, you are a mother to us all," he professed, one hand on his heart.
"Then why are you such ill-behaved children?" she called out as she retreated into another room, her laughter following him as he stepped outside.
Tréville was on the far side of the courtyard, near the dirt path leading to the farm. He was standing tall and focused, eyes strained on the open fields, his head moving to roam his surroundings. Actions Aramis was more than familiar with, even though it had been days since he had kept watch himself. Another thing he would have to thank Porthos for.
Aramis was sweating when he reached the older man. One small normal step, his left leg holding his weight for a couple of seconds before he had to hop and limp to avoid collapsing. His heavy breathing and awkward walk had announced his arrival.
"Aramis." A curt nod and a side glance to assess the damage the soldier was in. He would recover.
"Captain."
"I was released from this position months ago."
"I know but...calling you otherwise is just...wrong."
"No more than not calling the Queen 'your Majesty' anymore."
Aramis flinched, not from pain this time. The words were cold, so was Tréville's stare. A slow torture to which the soldier had no answer.
"I apologize, Cap...I apologize. It's my fault if you had to leave Paris."
"Damn right, it is! The King might have lost all faith in us since Rochefort stepped in, we could have corrected matters if you had not been so foolish in the first place."
"Rochefort's dead."
"I'm aware. The whole kingdom knows about it. It's a wonder we are all still alive. It could have cost you more than this bullet. From what Porthos said, they could be dead!"
"Yet, they're not."
"They should not have been on the road anyway. Had I realized your attraction to women may lead to such a catastrophe, I would have strapped you to your bed a long time ago! Well, I would have asked Porthos and Athos to do it. Lock the door and toss the key. Dammit!"
Aramis had rarely heard his superior curse so much. He had seen him angrier than he was today, when they would be too reckless on missions or start tavern brawls the night before parades and regal events. It had always been related to their duty as Musketeers, as loyal soldiers. This precise matter was personal, only directed at Aramis. There was nothing more he might say to right his wrongs.
"You do realize all the others are still in Paris, don't you? You brought this on all of them. What you do with your own life concerns only you, Aramis. Did you think about your brothers-in-arms? What of them?"
"I did. Athos and I kept the problem quiet for this very reason, among others."
"Did you? I would call it a failure then."
"If Rochefort had not suspected something was amiss and attack Anne, we would..."
"Rochefort or someone else. Anybody could have discovered the truth and condemned you. And the Queen. And the child. Aramis..."
"She's very dear to me, Captain. They both are."
"And you to her, yes. Any simpleton may see it. Love and such emotions seldom lead to happy resolutions when you belong to royalty."
"Which she does not."
"And for how long? For how long do you suppose you can pretend?"
"What? To love her?" Tréville's rolled his eyes at the answer.
"To pass for commoners?"
"It's worked so far. We have spent a couple of nights in farms. Porthos has been teaching her to speak less formal French. She is not reluctant to take part in the basest tasks of life. She's even managed to cook some meals without burning most of it."
Aramis bore Tréville's gauging stare, letting his explanation sink in. He meant every word he had said. He was sorry, but he loved Anne and their son, and he was not sorry to have run away to protect their lives. Neither was Tréville. After all, their mission had always been to defend the monarch. However, he would never have believed it would one day mean they had to whisk her away from the King in order to do so.
He could plainly see that the other was sincere. It had been obvious the previous night. They had moved around each other effortlessly.
"The Queen of France, Aramis..."
"I know."
"Renounced by the King and an outlaw."
"Because of me."
"Not solely. Rochefort had a part in it, Marguerite had a part in it. In the end, I reckon all of us had a part in it. I'm warning you," he said suddenly, a finger pointed at Aramis. He resembled a terrifying father. "She must stay alive. When I come back, and if some catastrophe has befallen her, I promise you I will be ruthless."
"Why? Where are you going?" Aramis barely acknowledged the threat. Tréville took off his hat, using it to fan his face. It was almost midday and the weather was so warm. There was no shade in the courtyard.
" I may no longer be their Captain, I ought to go back and find out what happened to the others."
"You cannot be serious!" Aramis exclaimed, bewildered. "This is madness! With Rochefort gone, I imagine the King will not keep them locked up at the Garrison forever. He cannot do anything to them. They're all innocent. He may question them, they were unaware of my liaison with Anne. They will be released."
"We need to be certain. I could never forgive myself."
"Do you think I could? Do you realize we would be in jeopardy anywhere in the country? But in Paris? It's suicide, Captain. Why would you have ridden all the way here if only to travel back?"
"Constance had to be led away from danger. It was my duty to make sure she arrived here safely."
"d'Artagnan would have been perfectly capable of protecting her by himself. Besides, Constance is a valiant woman. Captain, please, forsake the idea."
Tréville glanced at the hand Aramis had put on his arm. There was genuine concern on the soldier's face, deeply troubled by the news his superior had announced.
"Information travels fast. If something extraordinary such as an entire regiment of Musketeers being sentenced to prison or death were to happen, we would know soon enough."
"And yet, we would not be able to do anything about it. Not so far."
"Because you imagine that if you travel alone to Paris, you will have the ability to counteract a royal edit? While you're yourself a traitor to the Crown? I cannot envision you defeating the whole of the Red Guards. Surely, you must understand it."
Tréville sighed, annoyed that Aramis was making perfect sense, as was often the case. The older man had considered this idea ever since they had left the convent. It had been a shame to turn his back on all the others soldiers, all the other men who trusted him and put their faith in his command. None of the Musketeers with him wanted to ride back to the capital city, though. Going by himself would indeed sound like riding to meet his demise. Aramis was correct. It broke his heart, but he could only hope the King would be magnanimous and let the former Musketeers go.
"I hate myself for bringing such hardship on them, believe me," Aramis added, trying with all his might to convince the other to stay with them. "I can assure you I will spend the rest of life atoning for it."
"And you ought to pray that no ill news reach us because I may not be so lenient with you if it should happen."
The mutter reassured Aramis because it meant that the decision to leave the farm was somewhat forgotten, at least for a while. He did not know if Tréville would stay or go his separate way, and it did not matter to him, as long as the destination was not Paris. There was not a day when his mind did not drift back to all his brothers-in-arms, people he had cared for and fought alongside with; one big extended family.
The King may be furious at him for having slept with the Queen, furious at Tréville, and the three other Musketeers because they were closer than the others and had to have had knowledge of this treason. This rage was justified. Closing the Garrison was the worst he hoped would happen. He would never forgive himself if the decision to execute former Musketeers was taken.
Days on the road with only Constance and Tréville, sleeping outside whenever it was possible, avoiding villages and cities, staying closeted on his family's estate, it had been d'Artagnan's routine for the past weeks. Joining the crowd gathered for the small market in a nearby village was a dreaded yet enjoyable prospect. His face was known in the vicinity of the farm, even though he had been gone for a couple of years. So he kept his hood up the entire time Porthos and him were purchasing goods, in spite of the sun already high in the sky and burning him from above the cover of his cape.
Porthos was on edge as well, but it was no different than the previous weeks. People sometimes glared at him as if he were a rogue, weapons strapped to his belt, dark eyes letting strangers know they should not look for trouble with him. They had coins to pay so in the end, his countenance was disregarded most of the time.
"Let's have a drink before we go back," he decided, pointing an elbow at the only tavern around the square. D'Artagnan frowned, eager to accept yet reluctant to do so.
"I'm not sure Constance would approve."
"And since when do you need her approval? Come on."
d'Artagnan hurried after his friend striding toward the establishment. The place was not quiet on such a busy day so nobody paid them any attention when they sat at a small table in a dark corner. The beer was cool, definitely refreshing.
"So how was it?" he eventually asked after a few sips, his voice barely a whisper. "To travel with the Queen?"
"First advice: don't refer to her as such. She can be quite ferocious about it."
"How do you do it, though? I mean, I've heard you call her by her name but it sounds just...wrong."
"It was. It still is sometimes, but you become used to it. Especially when she doesn't act like a Queen. You'll see. It grows on you. I've seen her do things I would never have imagined her capable of."
"The way she rebuked Aramis last night? Priceless." d'Artagnan grinned brightly, a gesture mirrored by the other soldier until they were laughing and downing their tankards.
Porthos counted his money, deeming it sufficient to buy two more drinks. It was agreeable to have another company than Aramis' brooding one. Even though it was becoming easier to accept Anne's company and chat with her, he always refrained from behaving normally with her. With d'Artagnan, it was effortless.
The young man was chuckling with each story his friend was telling him, Aramis being so dedicated and enamoured by the woman he often had not realized how his attitude was changing. Porthos had, sometimes feeling like an intruder on private moments. Aramis who used to be the one choosing his women and discarding them when he had grown weary of them. It was different with Anne, so unlike his usual character. Oddly easier and more natural.
"Don't tease him about it yet, though. He will throw a fit. He's in a rather despicable mood."
"Well, I would, too, if I had to ride a horse for days with such a wound."
"It's been two weeks. As long as we stop him from moving too much, it will soon pass."
"And how do you suggest we do such a thing? You know Aramis."
"He'll keep an eye on the baby. They've been a great napping pair lately. It should be enough to convince him."
"I'm surprised he is in quite good health after a journey like ours," d'Artagnan admitted. The ride had put a strain on all of them, and they were adults. For a baby as young as the Dauphin, it was a miracle he had survived, although he would never voice this thought out loud.
"I suppose he has taken after his parents' endurance and stubbornness."
"His parents, eh?" Porthos shrugged. The thought came easily to him these days. He had heard Anne call Aramis "Papa" several times, albeit always in Spanish. It was the same in French, though; that much he understood. They behaved like a family, drawn together by hardship. Whether it would survive now that they were settling in one place, he had no doubt about it.
"There's no point in denying the truth."
"So you're not angry anymore?"
"It saddens me that we had to desert and abandon all the others. I wish Aramis had had more common sense, but what's done is done, wouldn't you agree? Resenting him forever will bring no good."
"I reckon you're right. I hope the others are fine."
"They are, d'Artagnan. Life in Paris must be a little hectic, I would say. No Queen, no heir, Rochefort dead? The King must be in an immense turmoil. But killing an entire regiment? The people would never accept it. Too many men at once. The royal counsel would persuade him otherwise."
He said it more to convince himself that it was true. It had to be true. D'Artagnan nodded, still bemused.
"Another one?" he asked, annoyed that his beer had gone faster than he would have liked.
"I thought Constance would not approve." Porthos raised an eyebrow, a silly smirk on his lips. D'Artagnan sat back on his chair, shaking his head.
"As long as she doesn't know. Besides, I think this girl would like it very much if you went to talk to her again." He cocked his head toward the bar. The young woman serving drinks there was casting glances in their direction in a fashion she believed discreet. It was not. Porthos resembled none of the other patrons, and he was used to having this effect these days.
"So now that we're not Musketeers anymore you've changed trades and decided to become a matchmaker?" The place was dark and badly lit, in spite of the many windows, most of them too covered in dust and dirt to let the sun brighten the large room.
"Apart from you, I fail to see who else I could match. Tréville would kill me," he added as Porthos raised an eyebrow, laughing. "You ought to find a woman by yourself."
"And why should I need one?" His beer was no more either. There were few coins left. Perhaps he could charm his way into having more at a cheaper price.
"The countryside is lonely without a woman, I should know."
"Oh yeah? Any interesting information I might blackmail you with?"
"Over my dead body! I'll need more than two beers to share those with you!"
"By all means, then. Let me buy you another one to open that pretty mouth of yours."
d'Artagnan slapped his back as Porthos walked past him towards the bar, and towards the lovely blush which greeted him there.