A/N: So, with both feet on firm ground, what awaits our two travelling companions?
/
Chapter Twenty
Foubier declined Athos's offer to carry one of the sacks, with a remark about pulling his stitches.
They watched as Foubier's ship weighed anchor and slowly moved from its mooring in the inlet into the wider expanse of the Seine.
"You don't have to do this," Athos said once more.
Foubier gave a final wave to his six man crew on deck before turning to Athos.
"I know," he said. "But you have enemies, my friend, and how could I forgive myself if I heard you had never made it back to Paris? How could I look your two comrades and your Captain in the eye again?"
He took out a small wooden box and opened the lid. Inside was a compass.
"You don't know the way to Paris?" Athos asked, in surprise.
"I know the way, Athos, I just don't wish to go off course. You know this river twists and turns and we can follow its flow, but if we need to go inland, this will be invaluable," Foubier replied.
"If the information you have is as important as your demeanour conveys" he added, "No doubt we will be followed. They will seek to silence you. And my ship is distinctive and will be known in some quarters."
"I imagine it is," Athos agreed, ruefully.
"Especially by the man who awaited his cargo."
"Simeon again?" Athos sighed.
"Why do you find it so hard to believe?" Foubier asked.
"Because we worked with him … some years ago," Athos said, not wishing to divulge the full story. For truth be told, he was realising he knew little about Simeon. He had been an ally then, up to a point. But times change.
"If those men realise it was I who rescued you, their next step will be to find my vessel and hope that you are on it."
"So they may follow the Adrianna to Le Havre," Athos pointed out.
Foubier closed his eyes briefly and breathed in; hearing her name on Athos's lips brought him up in his thoughts.
Athos, sensing his disquiet, waited.
"At best, yes," Foubier said, after a few moments. "At worst, they will realise we have disembarked. But if they do follow the ship, Henry is well-armed. Any attempt to board her will be repelled."
"You sound like you have done this before," Athos said.
"We have commodities on board," Foubier shrugged. "People are sometimes tempted. And I had a sword master as a boy, like yourself. I do not run from a fight, it will only come back with a vengeance."
"We spoke with Simeon," Athos said, thoughtfully, picking up on Foubier's original grievance. "He had agreed to help us locate Raspier. Why would he betray us?"
"Don't you think it is strange that the cargo he was waiting for was a casket of muskets? And, he did have a knife at your throat."
"He could have been aiming to cut my bonds." Athos said, stubbornly.
"You didn't have a rope around your throat, my friend!" Foubier huffed.
He suddenly stopped, halting their progress.
"Why do you not wish to believe he is not who you thought him to be?"
Athos looked away, back to the Seine.
"Because he once saved me from a terrible fate," he said, quietly, pulling at a tall switch of grass and tossing it away angrily, his hangover flaring.
Foubier sighed.
"If he was once a good man, then I can see why you would trust him. But if he has turned, it does not reflect on you, Athos, only him."
"There is something else," Athos said then.
"What is it?"
"The others. Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan."
Foubier frowned;
"D'Artagnan?"
Athos smiled, ruefully, reaching out and taking one of the sacks Foubier held, to which Foubier finally relented.
"You have yet to meet him," Athos replied. "He is raw, but promising."
Foubier nodded, before raising his eyebrows for Athos to continue voicing his concern.
"They will trust Simeon," Athos explained. "And I have no means to warn them."
"Then we should hurry," Foubier replied, decisively. "We have but a ten minute walk to the village, where we will get horses."
"You seem sure of that, Jacques Luc," Athos replied.
"I have passed this way more than once, my friend," Foubier replied. "Contrary to popular opinion, Privateers do set foot on dry land occasionally."
Slinging the provisions he had taken from Henry over his shoulder, Foubier set off. Athos took one last look at the lugger which was sailing elegantly away from them and sighed.
He pulled his new hat low over his eyes against the morning sun and gave silent thanks to Foubier for the gift. He idly wondered what he had done with the feather he had rejected. Carefully hefting his own sack in his right hand, he set off in Foubier's footsteps. The sun had risen fully, the blue sky a backdrop to thick white clouds that billowed high above them.
At least Foubier was right, the village was only a short walk away. They approached cautiously, but soon Foubier was striding down the track that fed into the main dusty street into the village. Athos could not remember ever having passed through this village before, but there were many such villages spread throughout France. He was well aware that Musketeers were still seen with a mixture of suspicion by some villagers, fear by others and mild curiosity by the rest.
It had a neat arrangement of thatched houses aligned along the main street and also along a parallel street that ran behind. There was a well at one end of the street, with a blacksmiths and a tavern. Further up a slight hill was a larger house with a number of stable blocks and it was to this house that Foubier made his way, Athos in his wake. The people seemed friendly, none standing and staring as in some villages. But then, Athos was aware he was not in uniform, which may have helped.
Nearing the house, Foubier led them straight to the stables, six in line with a ridge-tiled roof. The first five were empty, the horses in the nearby field. Athos could see they were fine animals. Suddenly a tall, lean man appeared, marching from the last stable pulled up short, staring at them. Then a proper smile broke across his face.
"Jacques Luc!" he cried, coming forward to clasp his hand. "Business or pleasure?"
"Business," Foubier smiled, shaking the man's hand heartily. "Always business Mattieu. This is Athos," he added. "We need two of your finest animals."
Mattieu reached across and shook Athos's hand warmly, sizing him up as he did so.
Meanwhile, Foubier was fishing in his sack. He pulled a long flat velvet box from it and slipped it into his pocket. Turning, he winked at Athos and put his arm around the man and led him to the back of the stables.
Athos took the opportunity to look into the sack he had carried from the river. It contained enough provisions for at least two days, though they would need to supplement them on the third, no doubt. He sat in the shade of the building where he watched as the two men stood with their heads together for ten minutes or so, before Foubier clapped the lid closed and handed it over. Mattieu put the box inside his jacket, shook Foubier's hand and headed off to the fields with a young stable boy who had suddenly appeared at his side.
"You know him well?" Athos asked as Foubier returned, looking very pleased with himself.
"I have done business with him, yes. He is a fair man, if that is what you are asking."
Half an hour later the man returned leading two excellent horses, already tacked up and complete with two saddlebags and bedrolls each. He tied them to a post and bid them farewell, walking back into his stables. It was the quickest transaction of horses Athos had ever seen, and he had seen a few.
Athos looked at Foubier in surprise.
"What did you expect?" Foubier asked.
"I really have no idea," Athos replied, taking hold of the reins. The animal sidestepped and snorted. Athos reached up and ran his palm firmly over the chestnut stallion's neck. The stallion shook his head and settled.
"Spirited," he murmured, approvingly.
He looked across at Foubier, who was checking his own horse. Athos had never seen him with a horse and he thought for a moment how strange it looked, having seen him striding about his ship, completely comfortable with his surroundings. Now as he watched, he saw that this man would probably be a good horseman, if he upbringing were anything like his own.
"What was in the box?" he asked, his curiously nipping at his tongue.
"A beautiful necklace," Foubier replied as he swung into the saddle. "Martin has a mistress. She is a noblewoman who takes her horseflesh seriously. He likes to keep her sweet. She loves jewellery," he said.
When he saw Athos staring at him.
"It must have been an expensive necklace," Athos murmured.
"It was," Foubier replied, simply. "I understand the lady is worth it."
"That's all," Foubier said, with a shrug, as Athos continued to look at him.
Athos noticed that Foubier no longer carried his sack. Whatever was in it had no doubt been transferred to his saddlebag.
"That's all," Athos scoffed, as he stuffed his own sack into his own horse's saddleback. He ran a hand over its lush mane. It was indeed an excellent specimen of horseflesh. He put his foot in the stirrup and eased himself up into the saddle, feeling the sharp pull of Marcel's stitches in his side and the aches in his muscles. Foubier had the decency to remain quiet while Athos breathed steadily, settling himself.
"Is your horse to your satisfaction?" Foubier asked, leaning back in his saddle.
"More than I expected," Athos replied, straightening and squaring his shoulders. He pulled his horse around and cantering off, leaving Foubier laughing and racing to catch up.
To be continued ...