Chapter Seven
Returning to the Garrison one man down was hard. They felt Athos's absence keenly.
Around them, life went on. The city streets were alive as they walked their horses past stallholders on the edge of the market place. They drew attention, as they had a riderless horse in tow. People stopped what they were doing to watch them walk by but they were in no mood for curious stares and met them with defiant ones of their own. Those who had shown interest soon turned away.
Ahead the Garrison archway stood in shadow, a portent of the gloom they were each feeling. They had all fallen silent as they made their way into the yard, aware they would have to report to Treville on the day's events.
"What do we tell him?" d'Artagnan murmured, as two stable lads quickly appeared at the sound of their horses.
"The truth, of course," Aramis replied, dismounting. "He is our Captain," he added, cutting off any further questions.
They looked up towards Treville's office.
The Captain had been standing on his balcony reading a missive when they came into the yard, leading the riderless horse. He raised his head and noted Athos's hat, fastened to the pommel of his saddle. He looked down and peered at them, holding his breath, a frown creasing his brow. Without having to speak, he watched as they handed their horses to the two stable lads and then crossed the yard to his stairway. The men still in the yard, including Serge, stopped to watch as the three made their way up the stairs.
Meeting him on the balcony, they stopped as Treville turned abruptly to lead them into his office. He dropped the document he had been reading on his desk before taking his place with his back to the window and crossing his arms, watching them enter. Aramis led them into the office, with Porthos and d'Artagnan following and they lined up loosely, heads down.
"By the look on your faces I take it your search has not gone well," Treville ventured, his eyes falling on Aramis. "Report," he said, tentatively, with none of his usual brusqueness; aware of their mood.
Aramis shifted his feet before whipping off his hat and dashing it against his leg, his other hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword.
"We were overwhelmed," he said, meeting his Captain's gaze. "And Athos … went with them."
Treville tipped his head back, looking intently at Aramis, the unspoken question as to whether his soldier was alive.
"He lives," Aramis confirmed, softly, before breaking eye contact.
The tension in the room was palpable.
"Then explain it to me," Treville said, bluntly; all business, now that he was more centred.
"He knew one of them," Porthos interjected. "Been quiet since we got back from the Forest. Didn't say anything, but you could tell in that warehouse, he wanted to know more. Best way was to go with them. They wanted one of us, and he got in first. Wouldn't take no for an answer."
"They wanted one of you?" Treville said, his steel-blue eyes flint-like, in the dimness of the room.
"They want information," Porthos replied. "Don't ask me what. But so did Athos."
"So he went with them. There was no force?" Treville asked then, pushing off from the window sill and crossing to his desk.
"Not yet," Porthos grunted. "But he won't tell them anything."
"But he may find something out," Aramis interjected, quickly. "We've … done this before. It can be the route to information that we may otherwise not be able to gather."
Treville scrubbed his hand over his jaw in thought.
"If he lives," he said, gruffly. "Damn fool."
"That's what I said," d'Artagnan muttered. "Though not in so many words."
"And if he returns to us," Treville added, raking his eyes over them.
d'Artagnan huffed; "I said that too."
Treville glared at him and d'Artagnan dropped his eyes to the floor.
"I know your methods are somewhat unorthodox," Treville sighed, wearily. "But this may be one step too far even for you, bearing in mind who we think we are dealing with."
"Athos ain't stupid, Captain." Porthos said, bluntly. "He knows all that. And like I said, he's onto something, I'm sure."
"I hope you are right, Porthos," Treville growled. "For if not, I don't know how to explain this to the King."
/
"My brave Musketeer!" Louis cried later that same day, as Treville stood before him in the Throne Room and explained what had happened. The King's reaction surprised him, to say the least.
Treville had asked for a private audience with Louis to impart his news, although he was irritated to see that The Cardinal was also present, shadowing the Monarch, as ever. He had braced himself for the King's wrath, but as always, Louis had surprised him.
Treville now looked carefully from the King to the First Minister, who was staring intently at Treville.
"At last, something is afoot!" the King grinned, stamping his foot and slapping his thigh.
"Sire, this is foolhardy in the extreme," Richelieu ventured, his eyes ranging from the King to Treville before taking in the rest of the room, to ensure the three of them were quite alone.
"Brave, Cardinal," Louis corrected, firmly. "It is brave! I would expect nothing else from my Musketeers. Tell me, Captain," he added, turning back to Treville and leaning forward eagerly in his chair, "When can we expect progress?"
Treville looked at Richelieu, who raised an expectant eyebrow hawkishly, waiting smugly for the response he knew the Captain of the Musketeers did not have.
"As soon as I have any news, Sire, I will inform you forthwith," Treville replied, as tactfully as he could, before giving a shallow bow.
"Excellent!" Louis said, jubilantly. "I expect extra guard patrols on the streets Cardinal," he added. "We will not tolerate any further dissent."
"Of course, Sire," Richelieu said, dipping his head in agreement, though his body was rigid with tension.
"I will see to it at once," he added, ingratiatingly, before raising his eyes to Treville once more. "And the Musketeers?" he asked, maliciously.
"Yes! More Musketeers in the Palace, Captain!" Louis directed. "I will not have my Queen living in fear."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Treville said, his heart heavy. More Musketeers in the Palace meant fewer on the streets to temper the Red Guard, for it was not the people who were causing dissent, a fact that would escape the Red Guard, no doubt, who were always prone to generalisations.
Bowing once more, Treville backed away, before turning and walking purposely from the room, relieved his audience was over.
He retrieved his horse from the Royal stable and swung up into the saddle, shoving his feet into the stirrups and pulling on the reins to turn the horse away from the palace. By the time he reached the Garrison, he was in a foul mood.
"Let us hope Athos can keep his wits about him," Treville snarled at Aramis as he stomped up his stairs to his office.
Slamming his office door, he leant back and closed his eyes.
"By careful, Athos," he said quietly to himself. "We are relying on you."
To be continued ...