Chapter Eighteen
The Adrianna:
"There is no us," Athos replied, tersely. "I do no need a travelling companion," Athos ground out. "I know my way back to Paris."
"If it is "The Wolf" you seek, you know what wolves are like. They never give up. They seek their prey and kill it. Simeon is your enemy, Athos, whether you like it or not. He was about to cut your throat. If I am correct, he awaits you at your destination. He may even have the means to intercept your journey. And you are injured and have suffered a fierce fever."
"You said yourself you have business in Le Havre. We go in opposite directions."
"You forget, I am the Captain of the Adrianna and Henry is a capable seaman. I will ensure you arrive with your information in Paris, and I will then obtain passage to Le Havre. It will be a small delay. Henry will wait for me. If we are late, he may even scare up some more business. There will be enough payment from the cargo for the crew to live for some months. And I prefer to lie low for several months at a time. It does not do to be too prolific."
Athos stared at him.
"I really have no argument to that," he finally conceded. "Though I do not like the strategy."
Foubier clapped him on the back and laughed.
"We leave at dawn. Let us enjoy your last evening aboard," he said.
Thereafter, Athos found himself sitting on the deck of the Adrianna once more, looking across the inlet toward The Seine. He could not see the wide river from where they were moored, which was the whole point in seeking a secure mooring where they would not be seen.
The early evening was quiet and it was hard to believe that to the west of where he sat lay the city of Rouen and to the East, downriver was Paris.
The Adrianna had to sail west Foubier had said. His livelihood depended upon it and Athos could not argue with that. He was grateful that Foubier had effectively saved his life because he was under no illusion that Masonne would return to the cellar. His life would have been forfeit. He may even have ended up in the River Seine.
He looked at the sky, which was a muted shade of pink. He had little occasion to admire the sky though he did take comfort from the stars when the nights were particularly dark. As a boy, he had climbed onto the roof of his home at La Fere to lie on his back and gaze at the constellations. He had known every planet that had been named and had been fascinated.
A heron stood ahead in the reeds, ghost-like, patiently watching beneath the water for a passing fish. It was quite successful and Athos admired its tenacity as it moved stealthily, its eyes on the prize. Something about its stance flit through his brain, but was gone just as quickly.
He turned his head to watch Foubier talking quietly to Henry at the bow of the ship. Henry seemed agitated, but Foubier placed a hand on his shoulder and he ended up shrugging and going below decks. Athos got the impression that Henry needed a lot of placating, Foubier being a man who seemed to make instant decisions, some of them not always wise.
He crossed his feet at the ankles and breathed in. The air was much clearer here, and the only sound was the gentle lapping of water against the hull of the ship, the slap of the ropes against the three masts, their sails further in order not to draw attention to them, for a three masted lugger with raised sails was an impressive sight and could no doubt be seen from a distance. Foubier was taking no chances, though it was probably routine in his line of work, he thought.
Foubier's boots echoed on the dark deck as he approached, reaching for his pipe.
"It's a fine evening, Athos," he said, reading his mind, as he sat next to him and stretched out his legs.
"It is good to be still," Athos replied, closing his eyes.
"How do you feel?" Foubier asked.
Athos took a deep breath.
"Better," he replied. "I have not thanked you Jacques Luc. It is remiss of me and I apologise."
"No thanks are necessary," Foubier said. "A Musketeer's life is a hectic one, I know. There is little time for conversation and niceties," he smiled.
Athos opened one eye and squinted at him, but saw no mischief in what Foubier said.
"Even so, it is no excuse."
"As you wish," Foubier said.
The heron suddenly took flight in a flurry of wings, drawing their attention, but there was nothing untoward and they watched it lumber into the sky before it gained a grace and disappeared.
The sky gradually darkened and soon, a bright moon hung in the sky.
"How long have you been a Privateer?" Athos asked, breaking the companionable silence that had fallen around them.
Foubier pursed his lips.
"Five years now," he replied, re-lighting his pipe, causing a cloud of smoke to rise above his head.
"It must be unpredictable," Athos said, declining the offer of a pull on the pipe with a wave of his hand.
"You could say that," Foubier replied with a laugh. "But it is that which I enjoy. Every day is different. Every cargo equally so. Take this as a case in point," he said. "I was prepared for a simple transaction and now I have a King's Musketeer onboard with important information to impart."
"Just for tonight," Athos said, quietly, "I would like to enjoy just sitting here as you suggested and thinking about nothing."
Foubier looked across at him. "Do you wish to be alone in that desire?" he asked.
Athos watched the dark reeds, swaying in the moonlight and pursed his lips.
"No," he said, simply.
Foubier nodded and took a puff of his pipe.
"Very well," he said.
An hour or so later, the night air cooled, but neither men seemed ready to leave the deck and so Foubier slipped off to his cabin and returned with his decanter of rum, newly filled, and two pewter cups.
"For medicinal purposes," Foubier said.
They drank one down, feeling the heat in their veins before Foubier refilled their cups and raised his aloft in appreciation.
Foubier also produced a hat, since Athos did not have one.
"From the hold," he said, happily. "For the journey. We have crates of fine garments down there, bound for England. It won't be missed."
The black hat was not unlike Athos's own and he took it cautiously, for it had a rather flamboyant blue and green feather in the band.
Athos took it and looked at it, before promptly removing the feather and handing it solemnly back to Foubier, before trying the hat on.
"My thanks," he intoned.
Foubier snorted, sticking the feather behind his ear and pouring two more generous measures of rum.
"There are weapons down there too. You can choose your own sword."
"That is much appreciated," Athos said.
"Here's to the blue blood that flows through our veins!" he said, heartily.
"I cannot drink to that," Athos said, dully, his cup remaining in his hand.
"What can you drink to?" Foubier smiled, softer now.
"To getting back to Paris," Athos replied. "Who knows what is happening there?"
"We will," Foubier said. "On the morning tide, as planned. I have made it our mission."
"It is not "our mission," Athos said. "It is mine."
"And you are injured," Foubier pointed out.
"I am not incapacitated," Athos said, knowing that Foubier would not be put off.
"Not yet, but there is the possibility."
"I thought you said your man was a good medic."
"He is, but he expects his patients to remain quiet during their recuperation."
"I do not have that luxury," Athos replied.
"You have time, Athos. It is three leagues to Paris, though a slightly longer route than by river, I agree. But tonight, as you say, just enjoy the surroundings," Foubier said, firmly as he poured more rum.
"The company is suspect but the rum is good," Athos said then, and allowed the tension to leave his body.
The rum was good and it continued to slide down easily.
"Do your brothers know of your title?" Foubier asked, as he leant forward and pulled his boots off, throwing them across the deck.
"They have visited my former home, yes," Athos replied, watching him in some amusement.
"Rum makes my feet swell," Foubier explained, as he sat back.
Athos raised an eyebrow and Foubier laughed.
"I know, it is unfortunate. It could be put to better use."
Athos did not comment but he rolled his eyes and allowed a smile to play on his lips.
Foubier sobered a little and watched him carefully.
"So, we can speak of it? Your title?
"No," Athos said, bluntly.
Foubier laughed.
"I see I will get nothing from you on your former life. At least I do not have to worry about putting my foot in my mouth with your comrades, though I am well versed in that!" he said.
"How is Boulogne?" Athos asked, swerving away from Foubier's conversation. "Do you still have the tavern?
"It is still my home port," Foubier said. "And the tavern fares well. You should visit."
"You will have to improve your vintage," Athos said, "And I do not recall you serving this," he added holding his cup out once more.
Foubier laughed so hard he almost fell off the sack he was sitting on. Athos reached out and grabbed him, wincing at the tug of his stitches and almost sliding off his own seat.
Foubier threw an arm around his shoulder conspiratorially.
"I keep this for my friends," he slurred happily. "Even ones who do not wish to be, but are Musketeers, so that's alright," he added.
Athos leaned over and clinked cups with Foubier. The man could not hold his drink, which was a surprise, given his profession, but he was generous with it, which was much appreciated. He was good company too, despite his incessant jovial demeanour.
The second decanter was finished by the time they were ready for their beds. Standing unsteadily, they hung onto each other until they were steady enough to move, and then they parted ways, Athos back to Foubier's cabin and Foubier to his temporary berth next to Henry's, trying not to make a noise and wake the crew. Athos doubted he succeeded. He found getting back into the berth as difficult as getting out, but after one or two choice curses, he found the hand hold and flopped back on the mattress, feeling no pain.
Looking up at the boards above him, the words he had overhead the gang say came back to him and his rum-compromised brain struggled with them once more;
"Between the bear and the stork, the two shall fall, and France will acknowledge our faith."
It had to be The King and the Cardinal. And what of the Temple? He must get back to Paris.
Suddenly exhausted though, his head pleasantly swimming and without attempting to get undressed, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
/
Meanwhile in Paris:
"What have you got?" Treville called down to them, as they trooped into the Garrison yard.
"Nothing much, waitin' on Simeon," Porthos growled.
Treville cast a critical eye over his men before motioning them upstairs with a wave of his hand. Turning, he walked into his office to await them.
"Are you placing too much reliance on him?" Treville said, as they all faced each other. "You are quite able to make your own enquiries."
"We have been, Captain, believe me. No-one is talking," Aramis replied, in frustration. "We have asked our usual informants but this is beyond their knowledge."
"Trouble is," Porthos added, "We are lookin' at what happened at La Rochelle. That's eighty four leagues from Paris. A lot of people did not get back from La Rochelle. A lot will have scattered. We ain't gonna find anyone to talk to. All we have got is that gang in the warehouse. We don't even know their connected with The Wolf. We don't know where Raspier came from or where he is now. All we've got is a few pictures of a wolf's head on some posters. What I'm sayin' is there's no-one to ask."
"Do you propose to go to La Rochelle?" Treville asked, trying to tap into what they were considering next.
"And do what?" Porthos grunted.
Aramis ran his fingers through his hair.
"Someone knows this man," he said, forcefully.
"We only have Simeon," Porthos said. "And we are lucky to have him. We're lucky he is here in Paris. We're lucky he still talks to us."
"Why wouldn't he?" Aramis said. "We were on the same side, Porthos."
"I know that," Porthos conceded. "But a lot has happened since the Siege. And let's face it, we never knew 'im, did we?"
"So where does that leave us?" d'Artagnan asked.
"With a King who wants answers and a First Minister who is in denial. With no witnesses and with a wall of silence," Aramis replied. "And one man down."
"Can't remember when we've never been in this position before," Porthos said. He curled his hand into a fist and wrapped his other hand tightly around it;
"I don't even know what questions to ask any more," he added. "All the people who usually speak to us weren't even at La Rochelle. The ones I've spoken to look at me as if I've been drinkin'."
"They will show their hand," Aramis said.
"Yeah, but when? And what if it's too late?"
Treville had listened to enough, his men needed direction.
"We can't afford to wait any longer," Treville he said. "Porthos, visit the Chatelet. Raspier will be known to them in some guise. They may have records on him. I am told he had a face anyone would remember."
Porthos nodded and straightened his back.
"And I'll visit the Bastille as well," Porthos said. "They say he escaped his own execution."
"Well," Treville replied, "There you are."
He turned to d'Artagnan and Aramis.
"What are you waiting on with Simeon?"
"He still has contacts from that time. Any leads at this stage would be useful."
"Alright, how long are you going to wait for him?"
"Gave him two days," Porthos said. "He's late."
"So if you don't hear from him by tomorrow, what then?"
Treville was pushing them. They needed it. He had seen how dejected they were becoming. They had been pole-axed by Athos's decision and paralysed by his order. Then, there was the silence of the people. There was always someone who would talk to them, but this was different, even with Porthos's brand of intimidation. This did not feel right. The whole business had brought up memories for all of them, bar d'Artagnan, but even he was affected by their lack of results.
Porthos was already heading to the stables to saddle up. Inside the stable, he pulled his saddle from its resting place and slung it over the back of his horse. He adjusted the stirrups and fixed the bridle, running his hand over the horse's nose. As he led the horse out into the yard, d'Artagnan walked quickly up to him.
"Good luck!" d'Artagnan said, patting the horse's rump. "Hopefully we will have something to go on soon!"
As Porthos eased his horse toward the archway, he looked up toward the Captain's office.
Aramis was standing with Treville on the balcony and they both raised their hands to him.
/
And then, word did come from Simeon later that same day.
He sent the names of two villages, one a possible birthplace and the other a village where Raspier was known to hire men for his cause.
Aramis and d'Artagnan tossed a coin. d'Artagnan got the longer journey.
They wished each other a safe journey as Treville watched them from his balcony. Searches like this were always frustrating, but the King was growing tired. He knew Athos's plan and could not understand why he had not reported back. It was difficult to explain that these things took time and came at a cost. It hinged on whether Athos could get information and whether he could get out.
These were the two questions Treville did not know the answers to, despite Louis's impatience. Athos thought he could. They just had to have a little faith.
To be continued ...