He was a nondescript-looking man, average height and wiry. He was dressed in dark, undistinguished laborer's clothing. He seemed nonchalant leaning against a wall of the place's extensive stables. But his sharp green eyes didn't miss a single movement.
Jacques had spent several days watching the movements of the Musketeers from concealed vantage points.
The second day of his secretive observations, he saw an ornate carriage pull up to the back entrance.
Shortly thereafter, the Musketeers came through the door, two of them carried the wounded Musketeer, while the third kept a close eye on their surroundings.
He recognized all of them from the Comtesse's detailed descriptions, the limp form being the man his mistress wanted killed.
With the utmost gentleness and care, they deposited Aramis within the carriage, covering him well with blankets against the cool air. Jacques, who was filing away in his surprisingly sharp mind all that he saw for further use, made note of the love and concern for their injured friend exhibited by their careful handling of the obviously unconscious man.
Then, the one who Jacques had already decided was the most authoritative climbed into the carriage with Aramis, while the other two mounted horses being held for them. Then, at a signal from the largest of the Musketeers, the driver of the carriage started off. Moments later, they passed beyond the gates of the palace, headed in the direction he knew would be that of the Musketeers garrison, their home.
After they had left, Jacques went over in his mind several things he had observed.
He had no trouble knowing which one held more of a position of authority, the one the Comtesse had identified by description as Athos, a former nobleman who had left his privileged life for some unknown reason to be a lowly Musketeer.
He was also reputed to be one of the best men with a sword in the entire country.
The largest Musketeer was named Porthos, not a man one would ever want to tangle with in a close-up encounter with fists.
D'Artagnan was the newest and youngest Musketeer, sometimes a little hotheaded and impetuous, but also a fierce fighter.
The injured Musketeer he had learned was incredibly attractive to the ladies, whether it be the high -born of the King's Court,or a lowly maid or the daughter of a farmer.
He was known to be the deadliest shot in France. But he could also give Athos a highly-skilled round with swords. Not a man to be trifled with.
But, Jacques added to himself, that was when he was healthy, not fighting for his life from the wicked and deadly dagger thrust his mistress had given him.
And I will make sure I finish what she started, he promised himself. His loyalty and love for his mistress was very strong, and he would do anything for her, including killing one of the King's premier guards, a Musketeer.
I may toy with these Musketeers who have such a great reputation for fighting for a bit first, he thought. He had as always had a hatred for authority, so the idea pleased him. If it made them edgy, he didn't care. He knew he was excellent at being an assassin, and was arrogant about his skills.
Strolling slowly away, as if hadn't a care in the world and crossing the vast expanse of the royal gardens, he finally reached the horse he had secreted just within the treeline surrounding the gardens. He directed his horse towards the Musketeers garrison.
Xxxxxxxxxxx
The ride from the palace was very uncomfortable for Aramis. Although not conscious, the jolts that accompanied the ruts found in places along the road, while not many, served to drag a groan from him each time.
Porthos, who had encased his brother's hand in his own large one, would gently squeeze it when this happened, murmuring calming words as he did so. Athos and d'Artagnan just wished the journey, short though it was, would be over almost as soon as they had begun it.
Finally, the gates of the garrison appeared before them, a more welcome site than anything they could name at the moment.
Treville was waiting in the center of the compound, and when he at last saw his men come through the gates, he signalled two of his men.
They had obviously been waiting for the signal, because they disappeared immediately into the infirmary behind them. Emerging from the building seconds later, they carried between them a makeshift litter. Treville had been completely prepared ahead of time to take care of his wounded soldier.
The men held the little in readiness, as Porthos jumped out and opened the carriage door. Athos and d'Artagnan carefully maneuvered Aramis through the carriage door and into the waiting arms of Porthos. D'Artagnan tucked a blanket around the marksman's body to ward off the cold in the air.
They headed into the infirmary, Athos filling in Treville about Louis' generous offer of his own carriage for the trip, and the mostly uneventful ride from the palace, Treville frowning at the pain Aramis felt with the sometimes rough road they had to travel on.
They got him settled in the infirmary, Aramis not awakening through it at all. He was the only occupant there, which pleased his brothers, as they could all stay with him.
Treville told them he had sent for Dr. Lemay, just to make sure Aramis' trip hadn't caused any problems with the healing wound. Being unable to stay awake for anything but a short time had ensued not long after coming so close to being suffocated to death.
"The men have been coming to me constantly, asking for news," Treville told me them. Looking at Athos, he said, " I told them you would give them a progress report when you had the time to do it," knowing Athos didn't particularly like being the center of any attention.
Athos just wearily nodded.
Treville told them he had made sure Serge would begin fixing them a midday meal as soon as he was told they had arrived, and bringing it to them. At last, small smiles graced their faces for a few moments. They were all hungry, but none of them wanted to leave Aramis. Treville, knowing them so well, had arranged it.
Xxxxxxxxxxxx
Jacques peered out of a dark alleyway within sight of the garrison. They never even had a clue that anyone was following them, he congratulated himself. They will soon wish they had been more observant. I have not even begun my little assignment. They will wish I had never been born before I'm finished here.