CHAPTER 54
Athos woke slowly, and for a few seconds thought he was still dreaming, for he swore he was lying on some sort of bed; not the ground, not the wooden deck of the ship, nor the stone floor of the prison. Forcing his eyelids open, and it felt like they were glued shut, he let his gaze wander about the semi-darkness in which he was shrouded.
Haltingly, the events of last night drifted across his consciousness in incoherent scenes that he was having a hard time stitching together. He knew they had been in prison, escaped, and went to...his eyes peered around again...the church, he finally recalled. The exact events of how they escaped, and how they got here were still fuzzy in his concussed mind.
With a guttural grunt, he pushed his body upright and swung his feet off the edge of the cot to rest on the cool, stone floor. There was enough light from the window for him to see his surroundings and he noted a small table with a pottery wash bowl. Next to it was a chair with what appeared to be clothes on it and footwear on the floor. Realizing he was still attired, he figured the garments must be courtesy of their benefactor... Father Biene... the name popped into his muddled head.
Gingerly, he rose to his feet, lurching a little as he worked on finding his equilibrium. A fragment of memory of being clobbered by the prison guard, flashed across his mind as he waited for the room around him to stabilize. Fervently, he hoped he got a chance to repay the favor someday. If he and Porthos somehow managed to survive this ordeal and make it back to Paris, Athos planned to bring the men who were involved in selling French citizens into slavery to justice. While slavery might be legal, if disgusting, shanghaiing innocent people and selling them to the Spanish was definitely illegal as well as incredibly dishonorable.
Shuffling over to the pile of clothes, he found a clean pair of pants, braies, and shirt. They were roughhewn, but in far better condition than the tatters he wore. Biting his lower lip to stifle a moan, he carefully stripped off his clothes, occasionally needing to grab the chair for support when he moved too fast and his head spun. Availing himself of the water, he washed off as best as he could, paying most attention to those areas visible to the public. At least he could try to look presentable. There wasn't much he could do about his greasy, matted hair, which had been too long before this trip and had only gotten worse. He did spot a piece of leather striping, and he used that to tie it back from his face.
When he was finished with his ablutions, he sat in the chair and pulled on the footwear that had been left for him. All things considered, it wasn't a bad fit, though after having been barefoot for so long it felt strange.
Somewhat clean and reasonably dressed, he walked over to the door of the room, cautiously opened it, and peered around the deserted corridor. Taking a few steps into it, he cocked his head and listened, thinking he heard voices up and to the left. Staying close to the wall, for support as well as stealth, he padded down the semi-dark hallway towards the sounds. Along the way, he passed by other chambers, similar to the one in which he awoke, and figured this must be the brothers' sleeping quarters.
Light spilled into the hallway from an opening on the left and the sound of voices grew louder. Athos paused for a moment to assess the situation. There were a few distinct voices speaking, but one made him sigh in relief, Porthos. The booming voice was jovial and Athos relaxed because the man didn't seem stressed which, hopefully, was a good sign.
Edging around the corner, he peered into the room and discovered it was a dining area with a long wooden table. The smell of food assaulted his senses and his empty stomach and his concussed mind had a disagreement on whether it was a good thing. A quick head count showed twenty brothers and Porthos partaking of a morning meal. When his presence was noticed, silence suddenly descended over the chamber as Porthos and Father Biene rose to their feet.
"Athos!" Porthos' booming voice rang out causing the swordsman to wince from the loud noise reverberating inside his tender skull.
Father Biene eased over to Athos' side and with a gentle touch on the elbow, guided him to an empty spot at the table across from Porthos. As soon as he sat, a plate appeared in front of him containing a roll, butter, cheese, grapes and some sort of fish. The somewhat dazed man looked at the plate wondering if he was expected to consume all of it. His mind and stomach were still warring over the idea of food, one craving it and one threatening to expel anything placed in it.
"Eat, Athos. Best food we've had in months," Porthos informed him.
Considering how they had spent the last three months, it wasn't much of a challenge to be the best food. Athos politely picked up the roll, took a tentative bite, and methodically chewed as he stared down at the overflowing plate.
Father Biene, who had settled on Athos' right, touched the swordsman's arm again. "Porthos is correct in that the food is good. Our parishioners are quite generous at times. However, eat whatever amount suits you. I imagine not every musketeer has such a voracious appetite as your friend, or the garrison would go broke."
Father Biene noted two interesting facts about his new dining companion. The first was he felt the need to correct the father by softly muttering he was not a musketeer. The second item of interest was each time the father had lightly touched him, Athos had recoiled slightly. It also didn't go unnoticed by the priest that the swordsman had surreptitiously slid away from him on the bench. He wondered if it spoke to the cruel manner in which these men had been treated during their captivity.
"Porthos. Would you like to continue telling us of your trials since we last met?" the father encouraged. As the musketeer picked up where he left off, the brothers' focus shifted from the newcomer in the room back to Porthos and Father Biene felt the man beside him relax a notch. When he looked across the table at the musketeer, he saw Porthos acknowledge what he had just done for Athos. Porthos had learned that Athos was never comfortable being the center of attention, even if he would reluctantly step into the role when required.
As Porthos told their tale, in a heavily edited manner, Athos attempted to do some level of justice to the meal in front of him. What he was more interested in was quenching his thirst and he eagerly drained the cup of water in front of him and nodded gratefully when the brother to his left replenished it. The swordsman had a sneaking feeling his fever had returned, which might explain why his calf, which he had sliced open in the ocean, was bothering him once more. Perhaps they hadn't quite knocked out the infection with the yarrow leaves. More likely, the treatment they had been subjected to since they left the grove and the unsanitary conditions in the jail had caused a new infection to take hold.
Father Biene was disturbed by what Porthos was relaying, especially about the corruption in Dieppe, though he had long suspected that the captain of the Guards and some of their town officials were less than scrupulous.
"Will you take these accusations back to Paris, to be presented to the King in hopes of righting the wrongs being perpetrated?" Father Biene questioned the musketeer.
Porthos squirmed and appeared uncomfortable trying to reply to the question. "You can be sure I'll tell Captain Treville everything that is happenin' here. But whether it gets to the King's ear and gets acted upon," he shrugged, "I can't say."
"Isn't your captain trustworthy? One would think he would be of impeccable character as the leader of the King's elite guards."
The undertone of indignation that anyone dare question his captain could be heard in Porthos' answer. "Captain Treville is the bravest, most loyal, and honest man I have ever known. Second to none."
Athos, who had been silent, toying with the food on his plate, though not really consuming it, raised his head and spoke. "From the little time I have known the good captain, I can attest he is exactly as Porthos says. I have no doubts he will give this matter his full attention." Athos paused a moment, thinking about what he knew of their King from being a Comte. "However, whether or not the King will think this is suitable for his attention cannot be said with any certainty."
Father Biene had heard their young King could be fickle, so Athos' answer didn't surprise him. What he did find interesting was this man, who professed not to be a musketeer, seemed very knowledgeable, not to mention well spoken. His speech patterns and word choices spoke of an educated man.
Having offered his insight, Athos dropped his eyes to his plate once more, selected a grape, popped it into his mouth and slowly chewed it, signaling his contribution to the conversation was over.
"You both are welcome to stay with us as long as required to rest and regain your strength. I imagine your plan is to head back to Paris," the priest surmised correctly.
"Got that right. Though we have to figure out how to get horses. God knows what happened to ours. That rat of an innkeeper probably sold them," Porthos groused because he had liked his gelding, Flip. They were well-suited for each other.
A serene smile appeared on the father's face. "I'm sure God does know what happened to your unfortunate animals. But alas, I do not and I'm afraid St Rémy has no livestock at its disposal nor are our coffers that deep." After a brief pause, he added, "And I probably don't want to know how you plan to acquire your transportation."
Grinning slyly, Porthos said, "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away."
"I will say a little prayer of forgiveness for you."
"Thank you, father," Porthos replied humbly, though Athos didn't seem to be thrilled with the idea.
"We will come back to Dieppe, and when we do, we shall compensate anyone whose property we might...borrow," Athos declared.
Looking over at Athos, the priest questioned, "I thought you said the King might not act upon this situation."
"One way or another, justice will be done," Athos declared in a tone that brooked no argument.
"That sounds like vigilante-justice or revenge and God..." But before Father Biene could finish his thought, a vigorous pounding on wood rang through the church's corridors. Rising, the father said, "it appears we have company this morning."
"I take it this isn't a normal occurrence?"
"No, Porthos. It is not. Some people do come to worship early, but they do so in a much quieter fashion."
The brother, who had scurried off to investigate the banging, returned to the dining area. "It is the captain of the guards, demanding to be let in... immediately," he tagged on in case that fact was not obvious.
"Well, it is a good thing the guards know how to knock, isn't it? Had they simply broken through the door, as others have, I fear we would be worse off."
The father's joshing didn't go unobserved; a few smiles could be seen and tension eased a notch.
"I fear they have come looking for you," he addressed Porthos and Athos.
"Yeah, I'm sure you're right. He knows we have a connection. Do you have any weapons, father?' Porthos questioned anxiously as he rose from the dining table.
"This is a church, not an armory I am afraid. While we are referred to as soldiers of our Lord, our weapons are simply words and prayer."
"Is there another way out of this place? One less noticeable?" Athos glanced around the room. "We must leave, quickly. Our presence here endangers you all."
"We could hide you?" one of the other brothers suggested.
"If you are found... sheltering us, I fear you will suffer untold consequences. It is best we depart," Athos declared firmly.
As much as Father Biene hated to admit it, for he felt these men were being unfairly persecuted, he had to be concerned for the welfare of the church and the brothers.
"Athos is unfortunately correct. I fear there is no place we can hide them within these walls that they might not be found by a determined search."
The father suddenly became a man of action, issuing orders and showing exactly why he was the man in charge.
"I will go greet our visitors and attempt to stall them as long as possible. Brother Timothy, please go about shutting every door. It will take longer if they need to open each one to search. Brother Paul, I believe the hallway could use a thorough scrubbing, with lots of buckets of soapy water, and the rest of you spread out in a most inconvenient manner which one might find hampering if one was trying to conduct a search."
Turning back to face the fugitives, who were on their feet poised to flee, he said, "Brother Jacque will lead you to a door that opens on the side of the church. However, I can't guarantee the captain hasn't stationed guards to watch over it."
"Don't worry father. We can handle a few guards, even without weapons," Porthos stated confidently. "Guards are only a little more challenging than busting down a door."
"I have no doubt of that. Go with God. We shall add your safe wellbeing to our prayers."
Porthos thanked the father then hurried after Athos, who was already following Brother Jacque, who was leading them to the doorway. A few twists and turns later, and they came to a stout wooden door. The brother undid the lock, but when he made to lift the latch, Porthos stayed his hand.
"We'll take it from here. Don't want you getting in the line of fire by mistake. Perhaps it would be best if you went back and joined the bucket brigade."
The brother nodded, appearing rather relieved he wouldn't be called upon to fight. Scurrying away, he was quickly gone from view, leaving the two men alone.
"You ready for this?" Porthos asked Athos, who gave quick nod. "Then let's do it."
Porthos silently lifted the lock, tensed his muscles, then barreled through the door like a charging bull, catching the two guards that had been stationed outside totally by surprise. Running straight for the nearest guard, he dove at the man's legs, below the gun being leveled at him.
Even as he dove, it suddenly dawned on him that if Athos was directly behind him, he was in the direct path of the bullet's trajectory. The gun went off over his head and Porthos prayed he had not just brought about Athos' death.
