Dear all, belated Easter greetings to you all. A slightly shorter chapter this time as events escalate and we begin to approach the dénouement of the story. Thank you, as always, for all the feedback on the last chapter.

CHAPTER 38

I

From her place of concealment, Milady could hear Desmarais comment on the fact that he thought two men were stationed by the front door and she felt a familiar flash of anger as the one remaining man explained that his colleague had disappeared upstairs to assist the Duchess with a problem she had. There was the pause as the Baron reflected on what he had been told and then he curtly gave the order to the man to get the errant guard back promptly into his position. Desmarais and his party moved on and she risked peering around the wall in time to see them disappear in the direction of the library.

Fortunately, the man at the bottom of the stairs was slow to act as she descended swiftly towards him.

"Where's Albert?" he demanded when she blocked his path by standing two steps above him.

"Oh, he is just disposing of the corpse. He was so brave and made its capture look so easy. He will rejoin you as soon as he has done," she said lightly, anything to prevent him from discovering the small arsenal waiting at the top of the stairs.

"The Baron says I'd best get him now," he said and moved towards her, forcing her to step to one side as he made to brush past.

She let him and wheeled round, her dagger finding a new home lodged in his back. This time, she made no effort to catch him as he fell down the bottom stairs to land in a heap. She hesitated briefly, eyes darting first towards the library and then to the door of the reception room but there was no indication that his fall had been heard or that anyone was coming to investigate.

Pushing him from his side to his front, she placed a foot against his torso to brace herself and pulled out the knife, which had been further embedded in him by the fall. Frowning with disgust, she wiped the blade on his tunic and slid it under his belt for easy retrieval as she took up his booted feet and strained to drag him across the floor in the direction of the reception room. There was no time now for any subtle planning; spontaneity would have to suffice – that and the element of surprise.

II

"Athos? Athos?" Aramis was still trying to get some sort of response from his stricken friend but there was nothing.

"Can you see how badly he's hurt?" d'Artagnan asked worriedly.

"Not from where I'm sitting," came the answer. "He's got a black eye, a bloody nose and a split lip as far as I can see from here but, other than that, I have no way of knowing. He could have head or internal injuries or more but I would not be able to tell without examining him properly."

"You think the Spanish agents did it?" Porthos said.

"I doubt it; not their style, as Desmarais was keen to mention. More likely it was that Benoit or the men with him. We don't know when they took him." Aramis returned his gaze to the unconscious Athos, who had not moved, head forward so that his chin rested on his chest.

"Stop your talkin'!" snapped one of the men who was standing near the door. "The Baron ain't given you leave to sit there talkin'."

Aramis flashed him a smile. "Duly noted, my good man, but neither has he said that we have to sit in complete silence. In fact, he gave no instruction on the matter at all. It is simply boring sitting here, unable to do anything constructive. The least we might be permitted to do is pass the time in genial conversation. If we unnerve you by conversing amongst ourselves, we would not want you to feel excluded; we could talk with you too."

The man frowned. "What?"

"He says we could all talk together," Porthos translated for him. The man was obviously not blessed with an excess of intelligence. "You could start by tellin' us all about 'ow you came to throw in your lot with the Baron and what you know about 'is plans for the four of us."

"I'm not tellin' you that!" the man objected.

Aramis, meanwhile, was watching Athos carefully for he was sure there was a subtle change to the injured man's breathing. If he didn't know better ….

The door to the reception room suddenly burst open to reveal the perplexing sight of the Duchess bent over, making her entrance backside first and groaning at the effort. Moments later it became clear that she was dragging a man by his feet. Porthos and d'Artagnan exchanged bewildered looks and the musketeer Captain renewed his attempts to free his wrists.

"Isn't there anyone who can help me?" came Milady's request. "This poor man collapsed at the base of the stairs." She dropped the feet and leaned further towards the body she had been dragging.

The man who had not wanted the prisoners to talk was the first to move – at which point all hell broke loose!

As he saw the blood spreading across the fallen man's back and reached for his own weapon, Milady straightened, turned and sank her knife into his stomach. He croaked, doubled over and crumpled to the floor. Simultaneously, d'Artagnan slipped one hand from the rope that had bound him, drew a dagger from his boot and, without a second thought, hurled it at the man nearest him. It caught him in the chest and, with his hands scrabbling uselessly at the hilt, his legs buckled and down he went.

Galvanised into action, the man on the far side of the room pulled out an ugly looking knife and, with a snarl, leaped forward just as Athos' well-placed boot shot in front of him, tripping him and sending him sprawling before Aramis and Porthos. The General then pinned him down with a foot on his neck as d'Artagnan jumped up and set about untying his brothers and Milady gathered the weapons from the overwhelmed guards.

"Nicely timed," Aramis said to Athos with a wry grin. "How long had you been conscious?"

"Long enough," Athos said, pulling the ropes from around him once d'Artagnan had sliced through the knot. "Thank you," he continued, his eyes on the dark haired beauty who stood, eyes gleaming with satisfaction that all were free.

She merely nodded in acknowledgement.

"They're dead," Porthos announced as he made a quick inspection of Desmarais' men. "Third one fell on his own blade," he explained as the one who had fallen at his feet had not moved at all.

"That was careless of him," d'Artagnan quipped.

"How did you know that d'Artagnan was going to get free at that moment and Athos regain consciousness to play his valued part?" Aramis wanted to know.

Milady raised her eyebrows as if wondering how he dared to ask such a question and then opted for an honest response. "I didn't! It was luck."

"So you just thought you'd drag a dead guard into a room and face down three more?" Porthos asked.

"Something like that."

"And you didn't have a plan B?" d'Artagnan added.

Milady thought for a moment and then shook her head. "No, I thought I'd just take it one step at a time."

Porthos laughed. "You know, after all this time, I'm beginnin' to like 'er. She's got - "

"Porthos!" Aramis interrupted, concerned about what he might have gone on to say.

Milady gave the big man a withering look. "If that's the best you can do in the way of a compliment, I suppose I shall have to accept it."

"I hate to break up this appreciation society," Athos said drily, "but our task is far from over yet. We need some more weapons." He had taken up one of the dead men's pistols and was loading it from the powder horn and pouch he had pulled from the man's belt.

"Just at the top of the stairs," Milady announced. "I retrieved all of yours that I could find and laid them out ready."

With a dip of the head from Athos, d'Artagnan and Porthos headed for the door, opening it a little way and checking that no-one was around as they slipped silently out through the gap. They had not even realised that they had slid back into their original way of working where a look, a gesture signalled an instruction which they accepted without question; Athos was, and always would be, their undisputed leader when the four of them were together, no matter what their current role was within France.

"How are you feeling?" Aramis queried, concerned eyes swiftly gauging Athos for further injury and seeing him wince as he moved.

"I have a severe headache and a number of bruises, but nothing seems to be broken. In short, I will live." He anchored the pistol at his waist through his belt.

"Glad to hear it," Aramis grinned and turned his attention to Milady. "Four of the men here went to the kitchens in search of food. What do you know of any others?"

"Desmarais and his group are currently in the library. I do not know the whereabouts of any more. I killed the two in the entrance," she explained.

"Four men came to escort us from the hunting lodge so there are still two unaccounted for," Athos added.

"Add that to the rest," Aramis said. "The villagers thought Desmarais had about twenty men; I've roughly calculated about seventeen, including Benoit, but we could only guess at the number of fighting capability within the household. Five are dead so that leaves at least a dozen around here somewhere."

"Just over two each then," Milady said with a smile as Porthos and d'Artagnan reappeared and started distributing the weapons they had brought.

"They looked good, all lined up at the top of the stairs," Porthos commented, handing over a sword and belt to the First Minister.

"What happened to yours?" d'Artagnan asked, realising that Athos was bereft of his weapon.

"It was taken from me when I was captured," he answered before adding coldly, "I believe Benoit is currently wearing it but that will soon be rectified."

"It is a fine piece," the musketeer Captain observed. "I do not recall seeing you with it in the past." The remark was an opening to explain the origins of the weapon, but Athos was not to be drawn or distracted from the task in hand.

"We need to get to the library quickly and take Desmarais and the Spaniards; the element of surprise will be to our advantage," he insisted. "From when Aramis and I were reviewing the accounts, there was only the one door in the room. Do we know how well armed the four of them are?"

"Desmarais was not armed at breakfast and did not pick up a weapon whilst he was in here so unless he has something within easy reach in the library, we will not have to be too concerned about him. We did not see any other weapons in there," Aramis answered.

"Benoit and the Spaniards have swords; I don't remember them carryin' any firearms but that's not to say they didn't 'ave 'em," Porthos reasoned.

"Then we move swiftly and with caution," Aramis warned as he headed towards the door.

Athos caught his arm. "I will go in first. There will be no arguments," he added as Aramis made to protest. The First Minister hesitated and then took a step backwards, nodding in affirmation as he allowed Athos to precede him.