Chapter Two

Aramis left the Captain's office to find Porthos waiting for him. His friend was looking over the bannister at the groups of men below. Aramis joined him, resting his arms on the top of the bannister.

'Paperwork?' asked Porthos without looking at him.

'No,' responded Aramis, as he scanned the groups of new men.

Milling around in the yard were the new cadets. A few of the commissioned men were talking to them. Aramis could pick out the transferees. Not just by their age but the way they were behaving. Those men had likely seen battles and knew how to carry themselves. They were already soldiers, they only needed to have their skills honed into something befitting the King's Musketeers.

A few men stood out. But for the wrong reasons. It was not only their youth that gave them away. They were looking around themselves warily. Aramis could pick out all the men he would be training.

'There's one over there that looks like he's not ready to leave his mother yet,' chuckled Porthos indicating a young man who was standing on his own.

The man was pale and wide-eyed. His clothing gave him away as nobility.

'I pity whoever gets to train that one.'

'You fill me with confidence,' said Aramis.

Porthos finally turned to look at him. After a couple of seconds, he laughed.

'Would you have preferred paperwork?' he asked.

Aramis shrugged, 'the Captain thought that I could regain my strength at the same time as they learned what it is to be a soldier.'

'Strength and confidence?' suggested Porthos with a knowing look.

Aramis smiled and nodded, 'I know I'll be fine. But what happened to me has knocked me. I'll admit I was worried Treville would tell me I was no longer fit to work here.'

'Never,' said Porthos with conviction.

'It was close, Porthos. They broke me in ways I could not imagine.'

Aramis stared into the distance for a few seconds, his thoughts invaded by the bare grey stone walls of his cell.

'You do not need to redeem yourself,' said Porthos, 'but if that is how you feel, I think taking those boys through their training will do it.'

Aramis straightened up as the door to Treville's office opened. The Captain stepped out; he nodded a greeting to Porthos before ushering them both down the stairs. They moved to the side of the yard and watched the Captain call the waiting men to order. Again, the difference between the experienced soldiers and the raw recruits was obvious. There was a distinct line between the cadets that would require little training and the ones that would need teaching from scratch. Aramis wondered if he was up to the task. Aramis was sure Treville would not have put his faith in him if he did not think he was capable.

Treville spent a few minutes welcoming the cadets and splitting them into three groups. Two groups of men from other garrisons and the younger men who Aramis would train. He recommended the cadets pay attention to the Musketeers who were being assigned to see them through their training and that all the Musketeers were their seniors regardless of noble rank.

A couple of the young men sneered at the remark. Porthos nudged Aramis who nodded that he had spotted them. He had already been watching the two cadets and picked them out as potentially being awkward. The young man that had been standing alone also worried Aramis but for different reasons.

Treville asked the Musketeers who had been assigned as mentors to step forward. Aramis was not surprised to find Porthos giving him an encouraging slap on the back as he stepped away. As Treville dismissed the men the cadets moved towards their respective mentors. Aramis readied himself for the task at hand. It was not the first time he had trained cadets, but it was the first time he had taken some on whilst he was not fully fit.

He indicated for the group of eight men to follow him. The men settled at the table near the stairs. They were all watching him expectantly with occasional furtive glances around the garrison.

'My name is Aramis, and the Captain has instructed me to start your training. I am sure you have worked out that the other men have previous soldiering experience.'

The cadets nodded. One of the overconfident men leaned forward.

'I have been sparring since I was a boy. Why am I with this group?'

'What's your name?' asked Aramis.

'Jacques Blanchet,' replied the cadet.

'Well Jacques,' said Aramis, 'your training was probably supplied by a local swordsman or your father?'

'My father, the Comte, yes,' said Jacques grandly.

Aramis hid a smile as he continued, 'did your father ever serve in the army?'

Jacques shook his head.

'Then, what you were taught was for show. It might see you through a duel with another Comte, but it will not stand you in good stead on the battlefield.'

Jacques scowled.

'He's right,' said one of the other cadets.

Aramis looked at him and indicated for him to continue. The cadet who had turned a few shades redder than he had already been continued hesitantly.

'There are a couple of the gardeners at my father's estate that were soldiers. They told me that battles are very different from a duel.'

Aramis nodded his agreement. Jacques did not look impressed.

'Perhaps…' Aramis looked at the cadet that had just spoken.

'Paul,' supplied the cadet.

'Perhaps Paul, you would like to volunteer to spar with Jacques, and we can see how good he is.'

Paul looked a little hesitant but nodded and got to his feet. He pulled his sword, which looked new, from his belt and moved a few steps from the table. Jacques pushed himself up to stand and sauntered after him.

Jacques was of average height; his build belied his nobility. He was well fed, all the cadets were, but he did not possess the muscle to maintain a swordfight for very long. Aramis had already spotted that Paul looked to be a stronger man. He wondered if the young noble came from a working estate.

The two cadets saluted and positioned themselves ready to spar. Aramis wondered if they were waiting for permission to begin, but he did not say anything. It was Jacques who charged forward first. His predictable move parried with ease by Paul. The two men continued to spar for a few minutes. But, as Aramis had predicted, their moves were calculated and sometimes obvious before they had made them. Neither man could gain the upper hand. It was not until Jacques began to tire that Paul pressed his advantage and forced the other young man back several paces until he knocked into the stairs and fell to the ground.

Aramis applauded. He walked up to Jacques and offered his hand to help him up, but the cadet ignored him and struggled to his feet unaided. As he dusted himself off, he scowled again, this time his scowl was aimed at both Aramis and Paul. Aramis ignored him; Paul looked a little uneasy.

'Now,' said Aramis as the two cadets took their seats, 'you will see that they were both evenly matched. Because they have both been taught for show. Not for defence or offence. But that does not mean that you do not possess skills with the sword, it only means we have to refine your technique.'

Paul was listening avidly. Aramis observed that most of the other men were as equally engaged, even the man that had looked wary was paying full attention. However, Jacques and one of the other men were having a whispered conversation. Aramis chose not to draw attention to Jacques a second time, he did not want to discourage the young man.

'Whilst we have the yard to ourselves, we can work on your footwork,' said Aramis. 'This will seem boring, but trust me, at some point over the coming weeks all the repetitive drills that you do will come together and you will become competent swordsmen. And not just for show.'

A couple of the cadets chuckled. Aramis found himself smiling as he ushered the men forward and got them to spread out. He realised what the Captain had done. Training the cadets would not only help to build up his strength it would also distract him from any chance of becoming maudlin over his ordeal.

MMMM

Aramis spent time with each cadet, working out their levels of ability. He had soon established that all but two of the men were the sons of the nobility. The other two belonged to wealthy families. He had been correct in his guess that Paul came from a working estate. The amiable cadet had been encouraged by his father to work with the tenant farmers and learn how to work the land.

Jacques and Charles, the cadet Jacques had been speaking to, clearly thought they were better than the rest of the group. They had talked down to a few of the others and talked out of turn to Aramis on a couple of occasions. Aramis let the incidents pass as first-day nervousness but knew he would have to stop them from becoming too full of themselves.

As the group broke up for the day Aramis made a point of steering Leon Lavoie to the side. The cadet, the youngest of the group, looked worried. Aramis was quick to allay his fears.

'I just wanted to ask if you were alright,' said Aramis once the rest of the cadets were out of earshot.

The blond-haired young man nodded.

He was the shortest of the group, and barely tall enough to fit the standards required for the King's Musketeers. Aramis had found out from Leon that he was the youngest son of a Baron.

'Whose idea was it for you to apply to the Musketeers?' asked Aramis.

Leon stumbled through his answer, 'my father said it would be good for me. He said as I won't inherit the estate, I needed to make a name for myself somehow…'

'Go on,' encouraged Aramis.

'...I wasn't keen. But I want to please him.'

Aramis sighed; he could tell the young man was enthusiastic, but he wondered if it was for the wrong reasons.

'My father was a soldier for a time,' continued Leon, 'he fought in battles. He led men into war.'

'What rank was he?' asked Aramis.

'A general when he retired. Well, he didn't really retire. His father died and he had to return to the estate and take over.'

Aramis wondered if the Baron wanted his youngest son to follow in his footsteps and have the full career that he had been denied by his noble rank.

'I know you think I'm only doing this for him,' said Leon, 'but I do want to be a Musketeer… But I know I'm not a fighter-'

'Yet,' said Aramis, interrupting the cadet, 'you are not a fighter, yet. But there is no reason that you shouldn't be. You were no worse than the others with the footwork just now. Better than some of the others. Your slight stature will go in your favour for some aspects of the training. You're light on your feet. Look at Paul, he's a big lad, and that will occasionally slow him down. Together, all of you will make a team that can deal with any and all eventualities. That is what being a Musketeer is. Sometimes you are an individual but more often you will fight and work as a group.'

'We should play to our strengths?'

Aramis nodded, 'exactly. Now get yourself to the mess before the food is all gone.'

Leon smiled. He walked away with a spring in his step.

'What are your first thoughts on them?' asked Athos who had been taking the saddle off his horse.

Aramis shrugged, 'it's difficult to tell. It's the usual mix of cockiness and shyness. Some of them won't make it. Some of them will excel.'

'And you?'

'The tonic I needed,' admitted Aramis. 'The distraction is welcome. And I am grateful for the Captain's trust.

'Good,' said Athos with a nod. 'I trust they have not worn you out. You will join us for dinner?'

Aramis nodded. His first full day back on duty had been a success. The worry he had felt as he and Athos returned to Paris had dissipated as soon as he got back to work. He was tired but satisfied. And very much looking forward to a hot meal with his friends.

MMMM