They had ridden hard, alternating from walks and trots, to easy canters. Their horses took each change of stride with grace. The ride south of Paris had been uneventful and beautiful. They rode along the Seine, saluted other travelers with polite greetings, and continued on their way.
Athos pulled his black to a slow walk, relaxed the reins, and adjusted his seat, as the path grew long between villages.
Porthos stood in his stirrups, reached with his left arm, and grabbed an early summer apple from a branch that arched over the road. He ducked suddenly to avoid another low-hanging branch and chuckled as he took a healthy bite. Apple juice sprayed, and the tartness caused Porthos to spit and wince. He leaned forward, tapped his horse's neck and held the apple low enough for the bay to snatch. Porthos chuckled when the animal turned his head without slowing his walk and bit a large portion off the fruit. The remaining portion slipped from Porthos' fingers and fell to the side of the path.
The sun was setting and the bright blue and white clouds had changed to orange, and purples. Aramis turned his horse to the right, rode between a few trees with narrow and spindly trunks, and finally pulled his mount to a stop. The river flowed steadily and sent subtle waves against the bank. The ground was relatively flat. A few large boulders marked the ground to the left, and a downed tree rested to the right. The bottom branches submerged beneath the water's surface and the top branches arched downward.
Athos unsaddled the horses, brushed, hobbled and allowed them to graze by the river. They snorted, ripped grass from the ground, and swatted their tails at flies. Porthos started a fire while d'Artagnan and Aramis removed their weapons belts, doublets, leather breeches, and used sharpened wooden spears to fish. Athos sat against the base of tree and watched d'Artagnan thrust his spear into the water, missed his target, and slipped on an algae covered rock.
Aramis sighed and motioned with his hands toward the spear. "Hold it like this," he said, and carefully adjusted the position of his hands. "You'll catch nothing if you keep scaring the fish."
D'Artagnan shook his head, grabbed his spear, and mocked Aramis' position. "You look like an old woman whose breasts are too heavy for her to stand upright."
Porthos laughed, rested back on his haunches, and watched. He scratched behind his ear, glanced at Athos, and bit his bottom lip.
Aramis thrust his spear into the water and pulled out a fish. "Perhaps… but at least I'll eat fresh meat tonight." He cocked an eyebrow, pulled the fish from the spear, and tossed it toward the bank.
Athos, with his elbows on his knees, used his knife to cut slices off an apple. Despite the tartness, he enjoyed it, and chuckled when Aramis caught another fish. "Think like a fish, d'Artagnan, not a man trying to catch one."
D'Artagnan turned toward Athos, and with his hands raised outward, shrugged. "What does that mean?" He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "Old fools!"
"Now we're old because the boy can't catch a fish," Aramis said, and mocked d'Artagnan's posture. He placed his hand on his lower back, hunched his shoulders, and said in a decrepit graveled voice, "My poor achy back… I think I've forgotten my cane." He stood and flung a handful of algae at d'Artagnan. "Next we'll be incorrigible when he needs help washing this braies." He resumed his previous position and quickly caught another fish.
"I'm well above the age of being a boy," d'Artagnan said. In frustration, he speared at another fish and missed.
"Then act like it," Athos said. He shook his head as d'Artagnan slipped in the water again.
Porthos squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his nose while he stifled a chuckle. He turned toward Athos and said, "What do you mean… think like a fish?"
Athos spun his knife and pointed it toward Aramis. "A fish," he raised his eyebrows and then pointed toward d'Artagnan, "and a man trying to catch one."
Porthos nodded, stood, and reached for the fish Aramis had caught. He ran his knife up their bellies, removed guts, quickly scaled them, and removed the fins. By the time he'd finished, Aramis had tossed another fish toward him.
D'Artagnan muttered beneath his breath as he tried again. He moved further out into the water until he was mid-thigh. He ignored his soaked braies as they clung to his skin. He raised the spear and patiently waited. D'Artagnan could hear lard sizzling in the fry pan, and the smell of the fish frying. He held still, allowed the evening sun to penetrate his skin, and watched the activity below the water's surface.
"Think he'll catch anythin'?" Porthos asked. He shifted the fish in the skillet and glanced toward Aramis, who tossed another fish onto the bank.
Aramis stepped from the water, tossed his spear to the ground, and then took a seat on the edge of the bank. He rested back on extended arms, stretched his legs, and crossed his ankles. "D'Artagnan does not have the patience for fishing," he said with a shake of his head. "He's much more of a," he tilted his head and paused, "pig catcher."
"I can hear you!" d'Artagnan yelled over his shoulder and huffed. "And yes, I'm very good at catching wild pigs." He tightened his grip on his spear and swore under his breath. He paused a moment, focused on the water that slapped gently against his thighs, and the large pike that swam around the submerged stones. D'Artagnan again adjusted his grip and sent his spear into the water. He caught his breath in his throat and smiled when the fish thrashed against the pole that found home in its side. Despite the brutality of it, d'Artagnan pulled his spear from the water and turned toward the bank. "HA!" he whooped. He held tight to the spear as the fish continued to flip its tail frantically.
"So, you will eat tonight." Aramis chuckled, stretched his toes and looked over his shoulder toward Porthos, who watched with a shake of his head.
Athos cocked an eyebrow and ate another slice from his apple.
D'Artagnan took a step forward, frowned, and suddenly slipped to his left. He hit the water with a splash, but kept his spear and fish upright. The pike fought, and the spear swayed left to right as d'Artagnan pushed himself from the water. He wiped his face, pushed his hair out of his eyes, and smiled.
Athos chuckled, wiped the blade on a cloth, and tossed the apple-core toward the horses. "You need a bigger skillet, Porthos."
"That my friends," Porthos said with a smile, "is a fish."
Aramis cocked his eyebrow and looked toward the six trout he had caught. "In this situation it's quality over quantity —"
"Is that what you tell your mistresses?" Athos asked and tightened his cheeks and chin to suppress his smile.
Porthos snorted, shook his head, and nodded toward d'Artagnan who dropped the fish next to him.
"I have never…" Aramis craned his neck to his right and cocked an eyebrow, "left a woman unsatisfied." He smiled. "Whether it be a tantalizing kiss, the caress of fingertips across sensitive skin, or," he raised his eyebrows, "the intimacy of passion." He lay back on the grass, rested his arm over his chest, and raised his left knee. "I do love women," he said with an exhale.
D'Artagnan stood next to the fire to dry his braies and chuckled. "Some might say he loves being admired," he said. He looked at Aramis, who nodded.
"What could possibly be more rewarding than being admired by a beautiful woman?" Aramis said and looked toward the stars as they glimmered against the darkness of night.
"Being loved by one," Athos said. He nodded toward Porthos who handed him a filled plate.
"True," Aramis said, and ran his fingers across his belly. "I almost got married once," he listened as the lard sizzled in the pan and another fish was added to the fat, "we were both young… she was with child…" he paused and listened to the water hit the bank, and the flames spark and crackle, "she lost it." He sobered, bit the inside of his bottom lip, and exhaled slowly.
Porthos relaxed his shoulders and looked at the water's surface as the moon's light reflected off the gentle waves. D'Artagnan turned his backside to the fire and looked outward across the water and toward the mountains in the distance.
"Did you love her?" Athos asked and picked at the flakey texture of his meal. He glanced from the trout to Aramis and pinched at the meat.
Aramis exhaled and then inhaled deeply. "I thought I did," he said, and shifted his right hand beneath his head. "I was too young to know what I wanted." His tone changed, a sign that he would no longer speak on the matter. He paused a moment and then pushed himself upright. He turned toward Porthos, who motioned toward a plate of fish. "I learned young that I enjoyed the comfort of a woman's touch." He smiled, stood, and dusted the backside of his braies.
Athos nodded. He ate another bite of fish, wiped his bottom lip with his thumb, and shifted his elbow to his knee as he continued to pick at his food.
"I once met a man once with blue skin," d'Artagnan said as he turned back toward the fire.
Athos raised his eyebrows and looked toward him. Porthos chuckled, and Aramis laughed as he took the plate Porthos handed him.
"I did," d'Artagnan said. "He was covered with blue like scales — he arrived at my father's farm looking for work." He shrugged and watched Porthos gut and clean the pike and then slip the oversized fish into the skillet. "He said it was a skin condition he was born with."
"And what became of this blue man?" Aramis asked. He sat on a boulder and tested the temperature of the food on his plate. He looked toward d'Artagnan who shrugged.
D'Artagnan watched the flames of the fire and bit his bottom lip. "I just wonder what it might be like to never know what it feels like to have someone close to you — the people were scared to be near him."
"How do you know he was alone?" Athos asked. He pinched off another bite of food, and ate. He chewed as he looked toward d'Artagnan.
D'Artagnan frowned and shrugged. "He just seemed very alone in the world — at least while he was in Gascony."
"You don't have to be blue to be lonely," Aramis said, and shrugged, "although, being melancholy does have the blue appearance… a blue mood, perhaps." He fought through a smile as he took a healthy bite of food. He chuckled. "Like Athos."
"No," Porthos disagreed, "Athos isn't blue — pale as a white horse in the middle of snowstorm maybe — so pale in fact," he leaned forward and pointed his finger toward him, "that when Athos takes his britches off… the sun thinks the moon's out and sets early."
Athos looked up from his plate and rolled his eyes as the others chuckled.
Porthos shifted from his haunches to his backside and leaned against the bark of a tree. "You're all overthinkin' the man's condition." He said. He grasped his plate and tested the temperature of the fish with the tip of his finger. "It's not about bein' different — it's about bein' alone." He paused and pinched at the tender flakes of the trout. "Seen men — seen women — surrounded by people, bu' more alone than a poor man in a sea of royalty."
"The queen," Aramis said. He took a deep breath, shifted against the boulder, and looked toward the fire. He licked his fingers and then looked at the plate of fish. "Most lonely woman I have ever seen — and she's surrounded by people." He rubbed his bottom lip and then pulled more flesh from the bones. He ignored Athos' glance toward him, but winced, waved his hand, and sucked on his thumb when he burnt it on a hot piece of fish.
"The man's appearance may have hindered his ability to find companionship, but it would not stop it," Athos said as he shifted his foot. "We can choose to stay where we are unwanted, or we can find companionship elsewhere." He pushed himself to his feet and scraped the remains of his dinner into the fire. "The choice was his."
"Maybe," d'Artagnan said, "but he seemed… alone."
Athos raised his right eyebrow and met d'Artagnan's eyes. "Your perception may not be his reality."
Porthos nodded. He rested his forearms on raised his knees and continued to pick at his meal. "Like Aramis," he said, "who would think 'is ugly mug would get 'im the attention of so many women."
Aramis pulled at the edges of his mustache and winked. "Seduction is in the eyes, Porthos." He raised his eyebrows and smiled. "And I've found that women enjoy my looks… I'm refined." He winked toward d'Artagnan who shook his head and flipped his fish in the pan.
"Boorish, perhaps," Athos said.
"Charming, Athos," Aramis said and smiled. "I'm overwhelmingly charming."
"So are prostitutes… on any given night."
Porthos choked back a laugh and shoved another pinch of fish into his mouth. He chewed and watched Athos walk to the river to clean off his plate. "He 'as a point." He shrugged and watched Aramis shake his head.
"It's a curse…" Aramis shrugged, took another bite of his food, and smiled. "Charm, wit, handsome, passionate, tender —"
"Arrogant?" d'Artagnan said, as he slipped his fish from the skillet onto his plate.
Aramis exhaled through parted lips. "There is a skill in keeping it all balanced." He met Porthos' eyes and laughed.