L'amante de Porthos

Chapter 36 : Reunions II

Marianne didn't know just how much longer she could go on like this; it was exhausting. She could barely feel her legs anymore and the weight of the giant riding behind her was straining her back. Morbleu, he had fallen asleep, too! Yet despite the discomfort and the general annoyance she harbored towards him, she felt her heart strings tugging at her. He was badly injured and she knew that the pain of broken bones was excruciating. Perhaps it is just as well he had fallen asleep.

The meeting with the Iron Mask had stirred some unpleasant memories. She shuddered to think of them, to think of him – Maxim de Rameau, her old beau. A nauseating feeling at the back of her throat reminded her just how disgusting it all was.

There was never any love nor respect between them. It was rather a game of dominance and lust that turned into abuse. She had needed to feel something, to experience something, to break away from her colorless life. He was her outlet, a way to prove to herself that she had some degree of control and power that she could exercise through the application of seduction and emotional manipulation – the only tools she had naturally found at her disposal.

She had given herself and her body to him freely – albeit with certain limits around her virginity - but she didn't give it for him. She did it for her, although she was beginning to realize that as a woman, there was no "hers" to give. She couldn't belong to herself; she could only belong to those who actually did have the power and the control. Those like Maxim, her uncle, the Cardinal, Rochefort, and now apparently the Iron Mask. Even Gerard. Where would she be without Gerard? If he hadn't shown up that morning when she had gone off to break off with Maxim, he would have raped her and disposed of her.

…..

She was startled out of her reverie by the sound of a snort. It was loud enough to even surpass the noise of the galloping horses. She smiled to herself. She held the reins with one hand and with the other, she interlaced her fingers with the oversized hand that was clasped around her waist for support.

With Porthos, it was different. With him, she had felt loved. Truly loved. That no matter what happened between them, there was some kind of bond that cannot be broken. Still, her heart sank with the recollection of recent memories. It was following a similar pattern: he had been nice and charming at first, then he came to exhibit some possessive streaks that ultimately culminated in an act of violence. Just like Maxim. And yet… He had a reason for feeling betrayed; he wasn't of a paranoid mentality. He had seen her with Rochefort. However, the most important fact remained: he hadn't listened to her. He hadn't bothered. Not the first time, not the second time. Her word wasn't good enough. He made it clear that she wasn't good enough.

Her eyes were closing when the tall man riding in front of them slowed his pace for them to catch up.

"We're at the gates of Paris," he declared.

….

Capitaine de Treville's residence was empty when they arrived, even though it was late in the afternoon.

Rochefort and Marianne stayed in the courtyard while they waited for the musketeer to return with instructions from his superior. He was barely inside until he re-emerged, shrugging his shoulders. He headed towards the stables where he spied the only living person in this unusually deserted place. His hand throbbed violently; he needed a doctor as soon as possible. He needed a drink as soon as possible!

Rochefort grumbled and straightened up, not deigning to dismount and set foot in the musketeers' courtyard. How disgraceful! The Captain of the Red Guard journeys all the way from the middle of nowhere in provincial France just so he can run back to the Captain of the Musketeers. The sound thing to do was to go straight to the Cardinal or to his residence. But the girl was adamant to see Treville and he was not in the mood for a tantrum. Besides, his pride wouldn't allow him to go back to the Cardinal's until he has found some more substantial and incriminating evidence against Rameau and the Iron Mask. This time, he won't fail.

On her side, Marianne kept stretching like a feline until she finally plopped face forward on the horse, her arms dangling to one side. Rochefort glanced sideways at her with disapproval. She had no grace nor glamour about her whatsoever. He had frequented women in brothels with more grace and charm than this provincial aristocrat. But there was something undeniably adorable about her innocence. This insipid charming innocence that somehow managed to move him.

His thoughts were interrupted when he overheard some voices from the stables.

"Strange thing, Monsieur. He left with Monsieur Athos and another cadet-in-training in the morning and he said he might be gone for long. He quickly dispatched the recruits and told them not to come back tonight," Monsieur Chabot, the stable master, informed Porthos.

"Did he say where he was going?" Porthos pursued.

"Non, monsieur. But he looked rather grave. Do you know, the way he gets when he is set on a mission?" Chabot whispered, as if it was the most insulting thing in the world to say.

…

"To my residence it is, then," Rochefort declared.

"No, wait. There is one place we should check first."

"Listen here, musketeer: I haven't slept for days now. We are all exhausted – " he gestured to Marianne " – and we need some rest before we can do anything. So, either you come willingly or I take the girl and go, because I am not leaving her alone with you."

Porthos was enraged but he knew he was right. If anything happened, he wasn't in the right condition to protect her. He had already failed her once. He glanced at Marianne who was now drooling onto Thunder's mane. Thankfully, the horse was too busy drinking from the fountain that he hadn't noticed. Porthos longed for a place he felt safe, a place he trusted. He needed his friends.

Instead of arguing with Rochefort, he gently said, "Please. It won't take long. Don't make me ask you again."

Rochefort regarded the colossus with a hint of respect. It must be important so as to prompt the musketeer to practically beg him for it.

"Fine, but not more than ten minutes."

…

He should have known. He had been here several times over the past couple years. And in those times, he had tried to break down the doors, to attack the musketeer to retrieve Buckingham and in the end, he succeeded in arresting the blond and haughty musketeer, while plotting to kill him in prison. Rochefort smiled at the memory. What a triumph that was, even if it was short-lived!

To Porthos' surprise, the door opened. For a long moment, he completely forgot the pain in his arm, the one in his heart and any and all pain he had been stewing in over the last few weeks. Seeing her there in front of him, her azure eyes glimmering in the daylight, the golden hair framing her face and her delicate eyebrows lifted up in surprise. There, that was being home.

They stood in silence, as if scanning each other in silent communication. She lowered her eyebrows as she accustomed to the sight of him. She could read him so well. His eyes had so much in them and he didn't need to say anything to her. A tear tugged at the corner of her eyes and she jumped to his height and took him in his arms, pulling him inside and away from any bystanders. He teared up and embraced her back.

"AAAHHH!" he cried out. Their perfect reunion was unfortunately ruined by the excruciating reminder that resided in his arm. Before he could say anything, he poked his head out and motioned to his companions to come in, telling Aramis he will explain shortly, after she had made a face of utter surprise when she spied his two unlikely companions: the lost Comtesse and a disgruntled Rochefort.

Marianne rolled her eyes at this spectacle with Aramis. She was too tired and exhausted to succumb to any feelings of jealousy and resentment. That will have to wait.

"Are you coming?" she turned back to Rochefort.

"I would rather stay here and keep watch, just in case." Since Belle-Isle, his agenda for hunting down the musketeers had greatly diminished. Even he had to admit to himself: he had gotten soft with them. But still, he did not want to be seen consorting with them.

"Well, I'm famished," she declared, picking up her skirts and climbing up the stairs.

"He's a musketeer, they live on scraps. I doubt you'll find anything other than cheap wine," he sneered.

"Suit yourself."

…..

Aramis stood by the door to welcome the newcomer. As she walked in, the two women came face-to-face for a brief moment, in which Marianne scrutinized the musketeer from head to toe, her eyes finally resting on the gashes on her face - now having fainted thanks to Gerard's tincture.

"What happened to you?" she sneered at the blond musketeer and made her way inside without waiting for a response.

Taken aback by this rude greeting, Aramis simply closed the door and sighed, "Nice to see you too, Marianne," she murmured to herself. I could ask you the same thing with that bandage on your head but I have a feeling you won't take to it kindly.

Those familiar and endearing words that have come to define Porthos, that Aramis had been expecting after such a long journey, came just on time. But she was surprised when they were spoken with a feminine voice instead:

"Have you anything to eat? I'm starving!"

With that, the young woman headed into the kitchen, uninvited. Porthos blushed and scratched his neck with embarrassment at Marianne's comportment. As he followed his mistress into the kitchen, he turned back to Aramis, "Also, have you got any alcohol? I'm parched!"

The musketeer stood in her place, with her hands on her hips and an expression of disbelief, amusement and annoyance on her face. Oh God… there were two of them now.

…..

Luckily, a cadet had brought her a basket of food filled with cheese, bread, fruit, pastries, cold meats and wine, enough to last her for a couple of days. So, there was plenty to share.

She sat one leg crossed over the other, her hands across her chest and silently watched as they greedily and without explicit permission dug into the contents of the basket. She was amused.

With his mouth full, Porthos said, "I'm sorry to have intruded like this, Aramis."

"Intruded how?" replied Marianne with a mouthful as well. She took a gulp from her wine glass to wash the food down, "The stable master told you she was suspended under house arrest. It's not like she's got anywhere to be or anything to do," Marianne said matter-of-factly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Porthos stopped midway through his chewing and glared at the young redhead. He was both angry and embarrassed.

"You're intolerable!" he reproached his mistress.

"Well, she does have a point. It's not like I can be on active duty after you smashed a wine bottle to my head, anyway," Aramis smirked.

Marianne's eyes widened and she turned to Porthos, "You did WHAT?!"

Ahh, revenge is sweet! Thought Aramis to herself with a wry smile. After observing Gerard with his friend, she now knew just the right things to say to set her off. Coupled with her current mood, Porthos was due to receive some serious scolding. A couple of days at home and Aramis was out of her mind with boredom. These two provided the perfect entertainment. She waged with herself whether Marianne would slap him or punch him instead.

"Could you give us some privacy, for a few minutes?" he sternly said to Marianne. He was in no mood for an argument and he desperately needed to talk to Aramis. There was so much to be said and many apologies to be made.

He was expecting a tantrum from the disgusted way she looked at him and squinted her eyes. Instead, she unceremoniously and defiantly dropped a half-eaten piece of baguette on the table, made a face at him, rolled her eyes and left.

"Fine. I'll take a nap then. Is there somewhere to lie down around here?"

"Upstairs, Mademoiselle," Aramis replied.

When Marianne left the room, Aramis raised her eyebrows, "Well, she's in a bad mood."

Porthos laughed nervously, "It's been a very long day," he paused, noticing the accusatory expression on his companion's face, "Also, it maaaaay have something to do with the fact that I called her a whore. To her face," he admitted.

Aramis closed her eyes, sighed and nodded, "Of course you did." Yes, prime entertainment!

…

The young woman plopped down on the bed and glanced around. The furnishings were simple and small, to fit the size of the room: a bed, a dresser with a chair and an armoire. Compared to her own bedroom at home, that was furnished with a large comfortable bed, a large armoire and multiple decorations, there was nothing elaborate or extravagant about this place. There were barely any items out on display, except a small mirror on the dresser with a wooden comb and a small dark bottle of something.

Her heart leapt a little when she saw the bottle. It looked hauntingly familiar, like the ones they had at home. But then again, anyone could own a similar bottle, it's not like these things were unique. She stretched herself on the bed, closing her eyes.

How did she do it, this woman who calls herself Aramis? How did she manage to transform herself into this haughty and talented musketeer, all the while leading others to believe that she was a real man? Even if her very life was at risk, Marianne wouldn't be able to pull such a heroic – or insane – act. One thing was for sure, though: to keep a secret like that necessitated alienation from others. How lonely must that be! Not unlike her own existence…

Marianne's eyes suddenly flit wide-open as she rolled on the bed. No, it can't be! She grabbed the pillows and crumbled the tidy sheets in her hands, bringing them to her nose. She turned them around, inside and out. It was unmistakable. It was him. It was definitely Gerard!

She leapt out of bed and picked up the bottle on the dresser. Her hand shook as she turned it around between her fingers and saw the label. It was his handwriting. But how? And when? His scent was still on the sheets which meant it was recent. Which also meant… oh God, what did it mean? Him and Aramis? But wasn't he…?

She sighed with the realization that she didn't really know who he was anymore. So, why mourn the departure of a stranger any longer? The truth was clear: he had left her and there was nothing more to it. He wanted nothing to do with her anymore. He wanted a new life. It was his right to do so.

It also was high time that she resigned herself to the fact that she was utterly and completely alone in the world, with no more friends nor family and barely any passing acquaintances. There was no point in resisting it any longer, no point in looking for friendship in others. It was simply not meant for her. Besides, her days were numbered and there was no point in wasting the remainder of her time in regrets. There was only the present now.

She undressed her bandage and applied the tincture to the gash in her right temple. Good heavens, if she had been struck at a slightly lower angle, it could have taken out her eye. What a lovely couple her and Rochefort would make then!

….

The two musketeers were speaking animatedly. Aramis was pacing across the room, her chin resting on one hand as the other supported it across her chest. Porthos was seated, clutching his injured arm and taking a few gulps from a wine bottle every now and then to numb the pain. They looked so natural together. There was an easy intimacy between them that transcended every definition.

"We must be leaving."

They were interrupted by an icy tone coming from the red-headed woman in the corner. Aramis' arm dropped as her eyes rested on the deep and bloody gash that the bandage had concealed. Her heart sank for a moment. Marianne wore her wound with a high head. Her stare was definite and her tone commanding. It was difficult to resist her. The two women stared at each other and it dawned on Aramis…The bed. The bottle. Goddammit! She hadn't had the time to clean up since… all the evidence was there. And Marianne wasn't dumb – she could easily figure it out. And it looked like she did.

Porthos looked from one woman to the other with trepidation. They were conversing somehow, on a different level that was beyond his comprehension. But what did he know about women, anyway?

He could see Aramis' chest move irregularly. She swallowed with more difficulty. There was certainly something he was missing. She even looked… guilty?

After what seemed like an eternity, Marianne broke away, grabbed an apple from the table and stole the bottle from a stupefied Porthos.

"I'll wait outside, don't be long or we will leave without you."

"What just happened?" Porthos spoke.

Aramis adopted the same embarrassed expression Porthos had before. "Long story! Let's talk on the way out."

…

Rochefort heard the door of Aramis' demure open. He barely glanced to show his displeasure when a round object came flying in his direction. He reflexively grabbed the apple and bit into it as he watched the young woman climb down the stairs. She held his gaze as she stepped down and walked towards him. There was something remarkably different and destabilizing about her just now. Something… powerful. Something new blazed within her eyes: a definite resolve. None of that clumsiness, petulance and innocence. It was as if she walked into that demure as a girl and now emerged as a woman.

"Tell me, Rochefort, was it just your masculine pride that prompted you to traipse across France after a runaway fiancée?" she crossed her arms over her chest.

He chuckled and took a swig from the bottle. Throwing the apple core over his shoulder he approached her. If his purpose was to intimidate her and regain some control, he was not succeeding. She stood up straight as tall as she could and they faced each other like two predators fighting over a prey.

"Believe you me: I would have been far happier to make the unfortunate discovery that you had perished. I had never pictured nor desired myself to be saddled with a petulant wife. Or any wife, for that matter. Alas, the Cardinal's orders were such that I marry you, Comtesse."

"Then it was undoubtedly his orders too to bring me back to this humiliating prospect?" He knew the motivation behind her question: she was someone with nothing to lose. Worse, she was someone who was prepared to find herself some enemies. A feeling he recognized all too well.

Rochefort regarded her with disdain before he turned away. He leaned against his horse and his features softened, "No, actually, he would have much preferred you disappeared into an abyss or succumbed naturally to your own death."

Marianne held her breath. Such wonderful news to receive. And trust Rochefort to be the one delivering it.

"Then why?"

"Well, my dear, you seem to be the key in resolving this blasted business of the Iron Mask and his allies."

So, she was just a bait. She nodded and went to the horse to mount it.

"Besides," he continued in a softer voice, "I'm a gentleman and I have a heart too. It is unfortunate that you were caught in all of this."

Before either one could say anything, they were rejoined by the musketeers. Rochefort lifted her onto the horse, since Porthos was otherwise indisposed and their eyes crossed. She gave him a faint smile, to which he slightly inclined and she knew she just gained herself a new ally.