The king's and queen's tents had been erected, and torches lit the path toward each entrance. Members of the red guards who had been assigned to clear the roadways of potential hazards and check for potential threats stood watch. The broad branches of black pines and cork oaks with tentacled roots that surfaced above ground and crawled like serpents from the base of their host surrounded the valley. Grasses and vines threaded the field with gopher holes so that it resembled a pox ridden face.
A fire burned in a large pit that was surrounded with stones. Sparks fluttered upward, and smoke shifted direction as the wind blew across the grass and caused the leaves on the trees to flutter.
Louis dismounted and handed his reins to a musketeer who stood outside his tent. He immediately entered and closed the flap behind him, a royal attendant followed him. Aramis dismounted with a grunt and ran his hand along his horse's neck. He looked up and met Porthos' eyes as he looked over his saddle.
"I'm 'ungry," Porthos said. He immediately frowned when King Louis stepped from his tent with a broad smile, and an angling rod. "Oh… we're never goin' to eat again." He winced and shook his head.
Aramis turned, chuckled, and said, "Fishing, your majesty?"
"I shall catch our provisions for tonight," Louis said. He grabbed the fishing line and looked at the long bamboo pole that had been given to him by a palace guest. "Join me," he said, looking toward them, and then toward the river.
"We'd be honored, majesty," Aramis said. He ignored Porthos' groan and muttered curses.
"You there!" King Louis motioned toward a member of the red guard who stood at attention near the entry of the tent. "Care for their horses." He then looked toward the cook who stood near the fire and worked to prepare the evening meal. "Josue, how many fish do I need to catch to feed everyone — including the queen's company?"
"At least 50, your majesty — if they're good sized," Josue said, and shrugged.
King Louis winced, twisted his mouth, and frowned. "50… are you sure?"
"To feed the men, majesty." Josue shrugged. "You want me to hold off cookin', sire?" He shifted, held his wooden spoon in hand, and looked at the work he had done. The spike was set, a wooden cutting board was littered with apples, last year's winter squash, and potatoes rested alongside cleaned and prepared chickens and pork.
"No," Louis said, "but I will have a fish tonight." He turned abruptly and nodded toward Aramis and Porthos.
They walked on either side of him toward the river. Aramis rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, shrugged toward Porthos who scratched his jaw, and rubbed his belly when his stomach growled.
"I used to hate fishing," Louis said. He stopped for a moment and looked at the break in the trees that opened toward the river. He took a seat on the grass, removed his boots and stockings, and stood. "But I find it soothing now," he said. He closed his eyes and listened to the water slap the bank. He spread his toes and felt the balls of his feet sink into the sand. It was colder than he had expected and he quickly pulled his toes from its clutches.
"I admire your patience, majesty," Aramis said. He removed his weapons belt and jacket and then slipped out of his boots.
Porthos shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. He watched King Louis step into the water and gasp when the ice cold water met his skin.
"Oh…" Louis hissed and adjusted his breathing, "it's much colder than I expected." He chuckled, extended his pole, and cast the line outward.
Aramis stepped into the water and exhaled through puckered lips, and then quickly inhaled as the water unexpectedly slapped his knees. "What are you using for bait, majesty?" He turned and looked toward the king as he adjusted the line.
Louis turned toward him and with an animated smile said, "My wit." He chuckled, and his shoulders shook as he looked toward the bank across the river.
Porthos cocked an eyebrow, met Aramis' eyes, and pointed toward his belly. He shook his head, crossed his arms over his chest again, and flexed his biceps.
"I collected worms from the palace gardens…" Louis said, "beautiful, unfortunate creatures that will perhaps provide the local fish here a meal fit for a king." He chuckled again, but his face fell, and he watched the line move in the water without causing a disruption. "You think it's odd?" Louis turned toward Aramis as he stepped backward to avoid another wave, "That I consider worms beautiful?"
Aramis cleared his throat and pulled at the end of his mustache. "I don't believe, majesty, that I am in a position to argue that particular point." He looked side-eyed at Porthos, who cocked an eyebrow.
King Louis nodded and loosened his grip on the rod. "I have found that some of the most beautiful creatures on earth are the most deadly…" he took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and then looked upward as white clouds covered the rays of the afternoon sun, "and some of the most hideous creatures — worms for instance — provide the most care."
Porthos frowned and met Aramis' eyes in question.
"Majesty?"
King Louis licked his bottom lip and watched the waves reflect the light of the sun. "I have everything a man could ever hope to want," he paused, but took a step back when the water proved too cold, "and yet," he looked at the rod in his hand and admired the strength despite the fragile appearance, "I have nothing I need."
Aramis frowned and then asked. "What is it you need, sire?" He placed his hands on his hips, adjusted his position so he was standing opposite the king, and watched him tug on the fishing line.
There was a long pause, and Aramis assumed he had offended the king when Louis turned toward him with a look of honest longing and wistfulness. "Trust of my subjects… strong convictions of decisions… their knowledge and awareness for my love of France…"
"The musketeers, sire, we trust you —" Aramis looked toward Porthos, who shook his head in warning.
"Do you trust me because I am your king?" Louis said and cast the line into the water again. "Or because I've earned your trust as a leader who has made the best decisions for France and her people?"
Porthos looked upward, shook his head again, and shifted his feet uncomfortably. He adjusted his arms over his chest and then rubbed his left cheek with the tips of his fingers.
Aramis swallowed and looked toward Louis. "We trust you because you're our king and have made the best decisions for France and her people at the difficult time those decisions needed to be made."
Louis gave a slight smile as he turned to look at Aramis with a cocked eyebrow. "Wise answer." His smiled faded as he took a deep breath and looked out over the water as the ripples continued.
"Perhaps, sire—" Aramis said, but stopped when Louis pulled his foot from the water.
Louis turned suddenly toward Porthos. "I'm bored," he said and handed him the fishing line. "Catch me something. I prefer fresh fish over chicken." He slapped Porthos on the shoulder and walked back toward the encampment.
Porthos stood dumbfounded, leaned forward to Aramis, and pointed toward the king's retreating back. "I 'ave no idea what he's talkin' about."
Aramis frowned, watched the king pick up his boots, and return to his tent. Aramis stepped out of the water, placed his hands on his hips and looked out across the ripples as the winds shifted. "You'll never catch anything just standing there, Porthos, you must move the line, and bait the fish." He raised his eyebrows and waved his hand toward the water. "Tease it," he paused and smiled. He looked toward his legs and noticed the red splotches as the cold continued to penetrate.
Porthos rolled his eyes and cast the line out toward the center of the river.
"There was this woman once," Aramis said, and got a faraway look in his eye as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Beautiful red hair, green eyes, oh how she loved the water—"
"Is that all you ca' think about?" Porthos grunted. He pulled the line in and cast it out again.
Aramis inhaled deeply. "I do think about it a lot," he acknowledged with a nod and his compressed chin. He turned suddenly and slapped Porthos on the shoulder. "Three fish, Porthos… we'll need at least three." He skipped up the short bank, grabbed his jacket, boots, and weapons belt and walked back toward the encampment.