Chapter Seventeen
Jacques Luc was finding it difficult not to probe for whatever else Athos had picked up during his brief incarceration with Raspier's henchmen. If he was to travel with Athos, albeit his travelling companion did not yet know that, he wanted to be in possession of the facts.
So," he said nonchalantly, a little later, as they sat on deck with a plate of food beside them. "Your incarceration with Raspier's thugs was not a total waste?"
Athos stilled as he was poking a piece of runny cheese around the plate.
"What do you mean?" he finally said, warily, not wishing to give anything away he did not need to. He trusted Foubier to a point, but not with matters such as this and not until he had them straight in his own mind, if ever. Their re-acquaintance would end soon, after all. All he knew was that he needed to speak to Treville and his brothers and to find out what had happened in his absence. That was the part that was worrying him. He welcomed the quiet in order to recover, but his mind had begun to show him all sorts of scenarios that could be happening in Paris, none of them good. The Wolf was a formidable foe and Easter Sunday loomed in the near distance.
"You have intelligence," Foubier reminded him, bringing him back to the present.
"What exactly do you know?" Athos said, his heart clenching. This was the business of the Musketeers and he was unsure as to how much he had divulged in the course of his fever, apart from the bird, which Foubier had spoken of, which made no sense. Nor did the bear, for that matter, for he was beginning to pour over all the words he had overheard that now floated through his mind.
"Don't look so worried," Foubier laughed. "You gave little away. You merely thought that I was Aramis."
"And you allowed it."
"Athos, please," Jacques Luc said, sounding just like Aramis. "I was tending you and you obviously wanted to impart something important."
"Just ...what did I say?" Athos managed.
"Other than what we have spoken about briefly, nothing that made any sense to me. Whatever it is, it is happening in eight days," Jacques Luc sighed, looking intently at Athos.
Athos, however, did not offer further information, merely taking to do a calculation in his head.
"How did you find me?" he suddenly asked, rubbing his temple, still a little confused over events.
"As I explained, I had business with Simeon. He was late and I decided to find him. I made my way to the tavern where we had agreed to meet but he never showed. I was surprised that I had to search for him. He has been prompt in the past. I saw him on the street and followed him to the grain store, where I eventually found him in one of the cellars. I was just in time to see him crouched in front of you with his blade drawn. And then he fled. I did not give chase, but freed you of your bonds, only to find you had a knife wound which the ropes were masking. Once free, you bled copiously and I had to forget about Simeon and drag you through the street to my mooring ..."
"You had business with him as a Privateer?" Athos interrupted.
"Of course, I had a consignment of muskets for him. What else would I do, apart from save pretty ladies?"
"Muskets," Athos said. "Go on."
"There is no more to tell. Suffice to say, I know every alley in this part of the riverside and we arrived safely at the mooring, where luckily Henry was still waiting for me to return. He was not too happy that I had acquired a passenger for our small vessel but we managed to get back to my ship which was moored across river. And that, my friend, is it in a nutshell."
There was silence as Athos thought.
"Doubtless to say,"Foubier added, "My business deal with him appears to have fallen through. I don't do business with murderers. I have always found him to be a reasonable man. A little cold, true, with absolutely no sense of humour, but of late all he has been concerned about is money. Perhaps he wants to retire from whatever it is he does. Why was he going to kill you, Athos?"
"I had recognised someone in the gang. I believe I spoke to him about it."
"And he sought to silence you for it?"
"I cannot believe it," Athos said, his eyes downcast. "Are you sure he was not merely trying to release me?"
"You did not have a rope around your throat, my friend, which was were his knife was aimed. And if he was trying to release you, why did he disappear so quickly?"
Foubier pulled two red apples from a nearby barrel and offered one to Athos, who took it, only to drop it onto his plate and ignore it.
"How exactly did you come by your wound?" Foubier asked, before biting into his apple.
"They wanted information on the King's movements. I asked them about Raspier but they seemed to have no knowledge of him. They only spoke of their leader, Masonne, who didn't want me dead, they were certain of that. They were afraid of him. So when they grew bored they put a sword into my hand for some sport."
"Judging by the angle of the cut, you were struck from behind."
"There is no honour amongst thieves and murderers in my experience," Athos said. "I thought I had been struck by the flat of a blade. I had my own sword raised to deliver a blow and left myself open."
"What happened then?"
"I believe Masonne appeared. I was struck as I staggered and when I woke properly, they had tied me and were gone."
"You say "properly?"
"I managed to hold onto my wits, unbeknown to them, as they bound me. They spoke of their leader, once more. Masonne was angry they may have jeopardized his plans."
Foubier raised any eyebrow.
"How so?"
"By engaging with me. He was angry they had disobeyed him, I think. I don't remember anything after that until I opened my eyes to Simeon and believed he was there to affect a rescue."
"And do you still believe it?"
Athos rubbed his forehead.
"I really do not know."
/
The Louvre:
"Two priests, dead in the street!" Treville bit out, as he walked with Richelieu in the Palace gardens. "Will you take this threat seriously now?"
"I have always taken it seriously, Captain Treville," Richelieu hissed. "But I am not in the habit of overreacting."
"The King must be protected," Treville replied, side stepping a courtier who was rushing along the path, his arms laden with garments.
"Yes, yes," Richelieu said. "That goes without saying. If this is the beginnings of a Huguenot uprising, he is the primary target. Though he grows impatient for results from the Musketeers."
"You wanted evidence," Treville said, tersely, as they came to the palace stables.
Richelieu turned to him, gathering his black cape around him against a cool breeze.
"I will inform His Majesty that things are … escalating. What shall I tell him of Musketeer results?"
"The same as you would tell him of the results of your Red Guard," Treville replied, pulling on his gloves.
Richelieu's nostrils flared, but he did not respond. Truth be told, Treville was right;
They were in danger of losing control of the situation. He must protect their established victory over the Huguenots. Anything else would be anarchy. The Catholic faith must prevail. Equally if the King were to be assassinated, as his father before him, France would be in turmoil once more. The Spanish would see an opening to exploit and the country could be plunged into war once more. He had known that the situation could worsen, of course, but had chosen not to react, hoping that Gaspar Raspier would be found. He had had a public execution in mind, to seal the victory. As usual, the Musketeers had failed. Treville may put store in his second, but he did not. It was a foolish plan and it had not worked. It was up to him now to persuade the King that he should leave Paris.
"I will speak to His Majesty," Richelieu said, brusquely, striding away. "I will send word on it."
"There is also the matter of your own safety," Treville ventured.
Richelieu immediately stopped and turned. His eyes darted around them, before he walked quickly back.
"What of it?" he said, abruptly.
"You are as much a target as His Majesty," Treville explained. "I would be derelict in my duty if I did not point out that perhaps, in your case, more so."
Richelieu bristled.
"It is not presumptuous to presume that this whole affair may be directed as revenge against the Architect of the Siege of La Rochelle," Treville added, quietly holding Richelieu's angry gaze.
It was an unstated fact, but Treville was the first to broach it.
"What are your movements over the next few weeks? We should all be conscious of our commitments."
"How is that your concern?" Richeleiu enquired, raising an imperious eyebrow.
Treville clenched his jaw. This was like drawing teeth, but he persisted in bringing up the Cardinal's latest project;
"You are aware that the incidents have all occurred in the area of the Temple du Oratoire," he stated.
"I am aware, as you put it, that there were several incidents in that area. The Temple remains untouched behind scaffolding."
"When do you plan to bring the building into service?"
"When I see fit," The Cardinal replied, turning to go. "Your duty is to guard The King. Do not concern yourself with my safety Treville, I have my own guard."
"That is what concerns me," Treville muttered under his breath, watching as Richelieu swept through the doorway into the east wing of the Palace without a backward glance.
It was a concession, of sorts. One responsibility less to worry about, Treville thought, as he walked his horse from the stables for his ride back to the Garrison. However, wherever the King went, he would want a Musketeer guard, further depleting his regiment.
Treville rode back to the Garrison with a heavy heart.
To be continued ...