Louis stood back and watched several musketeers and Treville stand around a fire that blazed. It highlighted off their clothes, their faces, against the trunk of the tree, and the branches above. They smiled, laughed, and told stories with animated movements and facial expressions. He could see the horses, hobbled for the night and grazing along the green grasses. The advanced detachment was already asleep in their tents in order to start the next day before any of them would awaken. He looked back toward his tent, thought about joining his wife, and then shook his head as he gathered his strength and stepped forward.
"Majesty," Athos said, as he stood and bowed.
The others quickly joined him. Food dishes were quickly set aside.
"Please," Louis said, and waved his hand. "I wanted to experience an evening by the fire if you don't mind — my tent has become rather…" he shrugged, "stuffy." He stepped closer, raised his hands toward the flames, and felt the heat penetrate his skin.
The group had gone quiet, and instead of resuming their normal discussions, or finishing their meals, they looked awkwardly toward each other as the king stood near the fire.
"If my presence disturbs you," Louis said, and met their faces, "I will return to the tent — I'm sure the cardinal will have plenty to say about his trip."
"Please, majesty," Treville said, "you're welcome to join us." He placed his half eaten plate of food on the log behind him and raised his hands to warm them by the fire.
Louis smiled, and his face brightened. He nodded and shrugged. "Then tell me — what would you normally be discussing on a night like this… soldiers standing by the fire to warm their hands." He quirked an eyebrow. "Wild tales of mistresses and harlots or perhaps a few crass drolleries?"
Aramis cleared his throat and said, "Whatever catches our fancy, sire."
Louis looked behind him, and then carefully took a seat on a downed log. He watched Aramis, Treville and Porthos do the same while d'Artagnan and Athos remained standing. He rested his elbows on his knees, and looked up as d'Artagnan finished his meal, and Athos placed his plate on the boulder to his left.
"Are any of you interested in music — perhaps skilled in the fine art of composition or talented with an instrument?" Louis shrugged when they shook their heads and he returned his gaze to the fire. "I was always drawn to the string instruments rather than the winds — although," he smiled broadly, "much to the dissatisfaction of my tutor — who preferred the wind instruments — I excelled at the lute." He paused a moment. "Would you like to hear it?" He slapped his thighs before they could answer and trotted toward his tent.
Porthos watched him go and shook his head. "What if he's terrible?" He turned and looked toward Athos and Treville. "I mean, what if he only thinks he's good at it?"
"He's a composer," Treville said with a shrug. "And he's quite accomplished."
Porthos huffed and grabbed the bread from Athos' plate. "We'll just see 'bout that."
Aramis grinned. "Regardless of how talented the king is, Porthos," he said, "just keep in mind you once tried to convince a room full of drunken whores that you could sing —"
"I can sing," Porthos said, and looked toward Aramis with a frown.
Athos cocked an eyebrow when Aramis shook his head.
"I can sing," Porthos said, and then shrugged, "I was just nervous — those women my 'ave been whores, but," he arched his mouth downward and then quickly smiled, "some of 'em were pretty."
"Porthos," Aramis said with a chuckle, "a romantic."
"Just be thankful it's not the harpsichord that he's offered to play," d'Artagnan said with a chuckle as he wiped his plate with the last of his bread. He shrugged and looked up. "Athos says it sounds like cats in heat."
"I quite enjoyed it," Aramis said, and squared his shoulders as d'Artagnan chuckled. "What?"
"He said you would," d'Artagnan said. He tilted his head toward Athos, who squatted and rested on the balls of his feet.
"Here he comes," Athos said, as he rose and bowed again.
The others quickly did the same, but the king ignored them. He took a seat on the log and stretched his right leg out before him. With his knee only slightly bent, he hugged the lute to his chest. The large body was rounded in the back, and he wrapped his right arm over the top to reach the strings, and gripped the short narrow neck with his left hand.
"What would you like to hear?" Louis strummed the instrument and flattened his hand against the strings to silence the sound. "Something original — or perhaps something to sing to. I remember my father speaking of his soldiers singing on the night before a battle?" He looked around and smiled. "An accompaniment?" He smiled and carefully started to pick at the strings. "How about…" he paused a moment as he thought, "Now, O Now, I Needs Must Part? Does anyone know the words?"
Porthos' eyes grew large, and he stood. "I do," he said and l cleared his throat. "There was an old woman where I grew up who used to sing it." He rested his right foot on a log, leaned forward just enough to rest his forearm on his upper thigh.
Athos sat against a boulder, rubbed his brow, and looked toward Treville. He shook his head, sighed, and looked toward the fire.
Aramis chuckled, poked at the fire, and sent sparks upward. He squared his shoulders and looked up at Porthos, who smiled, and Treville, who admittedly looked nervous for a man of his years and experience.
"I haven't played in front of an audience in years," Louis said, as he began to strum the instrument.
Porthos cleared his throat one more time, looked toward the king who nodded, and immediately started to sing. "Now, O now, I needs must part, Parting though I absent mourn. Absence can no joy impart: Joy once fled cannot return…" his voice carried along with the twang of the lute strings. "While I live I needs must love, Love lives not when Hope is gone. Now at last Despair doth prove, Love divided loveth none."
Athos hesitantly looked toward Porthos through the V of his fingers and nodded when Aramis raised his eyebrows in surprise. Porthos' skill greatly improved without the addition of wine and a room full of women. The slow paced hymn told of sadness and despair at the loss of a loved one and the effects of loss on the soul. Even Treville watched as Louis relaxed behind his instrument. Instead of his normally vibrant, expansive, and sometimes comical smiles, he allowed himself to grin while he performed, and listened to Porthos' baritone voice that carried through the camp. Louis' fingers moved with practiced ease, and he transitioned from one string to another without the hesitation of unfamiliarity. He rocked slowly back and forth, and allowed himself an unguarded moment of peace.
Treville looked toward Athos, nodded once, and then looked toward Richelieu who stood a distance from the camp with his arms crossed. Though normally stern and unyielding, he too looked composed and somewhat pleased.
"Another," d'Artagnan said, and looked toward the king as he paused in his playing.
King Louis smiled, nodded, and continued his performance.
Anne stepped out of the tent, wrapped her cloak tight around her shoulders, and stepped beside Richelieu, who continued to watch from a distance. "It's the most peaceful I've seen him in weeks," she said, and rubbed the backs of her arms.
"Yes," Richelieu said with a nod. He smoothed his goatee and took a deep breath. "You were right… what you said in the carriage… about when I disappoint him."
She grasped his arm, gently squeezed, and said, "We all disappoint him at times." She tucked her hand back into her cloak, stood beside him, watched, and listened.
Now, O Now, I Needs Must Part was written by sixteenth - seventeenth century composter John Dowland. I tried to find something a bit more French... but I wanted to remain true to the song lyrics and words get lost in translation, hence my use of Dowland, an English composer.