Athos learns a little more about Marcel, d'Artagnan reports back and Treville cannot shake an ominous feeling.
/
Chapter Twenty Two
An hour or so later, Athos and Foubier sat side by side, resting the horses, while eating the biscuits that Foubier had taken from his saddlebag, courtesy, no doubt, of Marcel.
"Privateers are not confined to the sea, Athos. You know that," Foubier was reiterating, as they quietly chatted.
"I was just taken aback that you know of an obscure village that has excellent horseflesh and a stableman who has a wealthy mistress to keep."
"It pays to know these things. And that was my favourite inlet we spent the last few days in. I make it my business to know what surrounds me."
"I suppose so," Athos replied. "That makes sense."
He had yet to get used to how gregarious Foubier was. The man could speak to anyone, he was interested in everything and found humour in most things. It was not the first time he had felt somewhat diminished in his company.
"Just as you must have your contacts, I have mine. I would be a poor businessman if I did not," Foubier added.
"Is that how you see yourself?" Athos huffed, "A businessman?"
"What else? Commerce, my friend, knows no class. The poorest man can pull himself up if he applies himself."
Athos thought of Porthos and he nodded.
"What else have you brought to barter your way to Paris?" he said, though lightly now.
"A few trinkets. A few favours to call in, if need be. If it makes our journey to Paris more comfortable, then why not?"
Athos smiled.
"Our ideas of comfort may vary a little," he said.
"I have rum too," Foubier replied, with a wide smile. "I am aware of your preferences now, my friend."
"Then we shall be comfortable," Athos conceded, with a smile.
Foubier pushed himself up and returned to their horses, returning with a small ceramic pot with a cork lid.
"Courtesy of Marcel," he said, holding it up.
Athos nodded.
Normally, he did not like a fuss but even the short ride this morning had set his side throbbing. He had realised the full extend of his hurts. Indeed, he seemed to be still developing bruises each day, he had a particularly large one on his biceps, where he had obviously been kicked but could not remember it happening. His eye had improved, but again, the ride had set his cheekbone throbbing.
Foubier dropped down beside him and uncorked the pot. It smelled of lavender but there were other fragrances too that he could not identify. A pity, for if it worked well, he could have told Aramis who was always on the look-out for different remedies.
He lifted up his shirt and waited until Foubier had unwound the bandage. Then, he was looking at Foubier's face for his reaction. Only a slight frown creased his brow,
"How is it?" Athos ventured, holding his arm aloft, his other hand in the shirt, making it difficult to see himself.
"Not too bad," Foubier said, in a voice that confirmed his relief.
"Really?" Athos replied. He did not want anything to impede their journey to Paris.
"Really," Foubier confirmed. "The stitches are small but close together, Marcel has done an excellent job."
He raised an eyebrow, expecting a retort, but received none.
"He is wasted on you," Athos finally said.
Foubier did not reply, busy carefully smearing the thick balm gently over the stitches.
"Foubier," Athos persisted.
"I know!" Foubier replied, sharply, before looking up. "Don't you think I know?"
Athos met his dark eyes and understood.
"He is family," Athos said, in realisation.
Foubier sighed and sat back on his haunches.
"He is Adrianna's brother," Foubier replied, flatly. "When she died, he saved me from myself. I could not argue with him; he has her eyes. He and Henry ..."
Athos reached across and put his hand on Foubier's wrist, stilling him;
"I too had a similar experience," Athos said. "Though it has involved three such brothers."
"Three?" Foubier replied.
"Three now," Athos confirmed. "I told you about d'Artagnan."
Foubier smiled.
"The Inseparables."
"Just so."
"How alike we are," Foubier said then.
Athos huffed.
"I would not say that!" he said.
Foubier began to rewrap Athos's wound, before re-corking the pot and setting it aside.
"More than you know," Foubier replied.
"I believe we both carry ghosts within our hearts, Athos," he continued. "But we are still here. We have purpose. We have people who care for us. I know you think me reckless, but don't throw your life away easily and without thought. You are worth more than your oath."
And with that, Foubier left Athos sitting on a tree stump, a little stunned. Athos watched him walk back to the horses. He had said nothing of Ann, but Foubier had seen it. Perhaps he was a little deeper than he had given him credit.
/
d'Artagnan had thanked the village woman enthusiastically. It was a lead, at last! He rode hard the short distance back to Paris and to The Wren, where he hoped his brothers awaited him.
On entering, he saw Aramis and Porthos, slumped over their drinks in the corner. Aramis rubbed his forehead, just as d'Artagnan came in, swiping the dust from his clothes.
"I feel as though we are standing in front of a very tall wall," Aramis was saying. "Our answers are behind it, as is Athos, but we cannot reach it.
As he walked toward them, he caught Aramis's words.
"I may have something," he said, with a grin.
"Sit," Porthos commanded, turning around and beckoning the barmaid.
d'Artagnan sat back and began to relate his tale.
"At first, I had nothing. I was on the point of leaving when a woman called me back. She was scared, but she was brave enough to tell me what she knew."
The barmaid came across and d'Artagnan stopped, waiting for her to put down her laden tray. Porthos and Aramis removed the two bottles of wine from the tray and she swiped the table with her cloth and winked at Aramis before sashaying off.
"She spoke of two brothers," d'Artagnan said, immediately. "Brought to live with an elderly couple. Raspier took the youngest when he was fourteen. The older boy had gone by then. She said the boy, went willingly. The old couple didn't object. He was a bit of a handful, apparently. Raspier used the local villages to recruit followers. Some returned but many died at La Rochelle."
"We knew Raspier did that though," Porthos said, with a frown. "Recruited men like that."
"The younger boy, though," d'Artagnan said, urgently. "He had red hair and a temper to go with it. Raspier had visited occasionally in the past. She thinks he had been nurturing him."
"So the red-haired man who rode from the forest is the route to Raspier," d'Artagnan said.
"He was there," Aramis said suddenly.
"What?" Porthos said.
"Don't you remember?" Aramis said. "The red-haired man was in the warehouse!"
"Yeah?" Porthos replied, though he did not remember, too caught up in the threat they had been under and Athos's reaction.
"This is interesting," Aramis smiled, clapping d'Artagnan on the back. "Well done, my young friend!" he exclaimed.
"All we have to do is find him," Porthos said.
"Have you heard from Simeon?" d'Artagnan asked, taking a cautious drink of his wine.
"No, he's late." Porthos said.
d'Artagnan sighed. "More than late."
"I know you don't trust him," Aramis said, "But Athos had reason to, so we should give him the benefit of the doubt."
"What is Athos's connection to "Simeon?" he asked. "You've never told me."
"How do you know there is a connection?"
"By Simeon's reaction when you told him Athos had been taken," d'Artagnan replied, looking at them both.
"Lad's sharp," Porthos smiled.
Aramis paused and then, he nodded at Porthos.
"Someone saved Athos from being caught up in the Siege," he began;
"He has never been sure it was Simeon, it happened so fast, though we believe it was he. As you know, Simeon was a Royalist spy – a ghost back then. We knew him by that one name but had not talked to him personally until that day. It must have been him, he was the one who entered the city for intelligence. He seemed to be able to move in and out at liberty," Aramis digressed briefly.
"That day," he continued, "According to Athos, who was in the city on Richelieu's orders, the man he thought was Simeon was in an argument with one of the townsmen, who was standing guard up on the wall. Athos said it was very heated; Simeon was beckoning the man but he was standing firm. Then the first cannons blew and all hell let loose. Simeon pushed Athos out of the gates. He came back and spoke to Richelieu. Told him the people were already starving, but Richelieu would not listen. The Huguenots played into Richelieu's hands. Firing the cannons on our men gave Richelieu the justification he sought. A few days later he sealed the city, sure he was in the right."
"Can you imagine what would have 'appened to a Musketeer sealed within those walls?" Porthos added. "He saved his life."
"Why do you think Simeon saved him?" d'Artagnan asked.
"He worked for us," Porthos shrugged. "He'd chosen his side."
"So, what do you think they were arguing about?" d'Artagnan said.
"Who knows?" Aramis replied. "There was so much madness in those final days. Only Simeon can answer that."
"An' he's disappeared," Porthos growled.
"We should report to the Captain," Aramis added, rising and placing his hat carefully on his head. "Tell him what we have found out."
/
"I have had a meeting with the Cardinal this morning," Treville said later that day, after he had heard their report;
"The King wishes to go on a hunting trip. He says he will not hide away. I have been formalising plans this afternoon with the Cardinal. He will be gone for four days and will return for the Easter services. The Queen will remain here. Richelieu is sending a detachment of Red Guard with him. At least we are spared sending a regiment of Musketeers. The King was quite firm with the Cardinal. I believe he still has faith in Athos," he finished.
"That's one thing," Aramis said, looking at Porthos.
"It's usually "out of sight, out of mind," Porthos added, under his breath.
"What are the Cardinal's plans?" d'Artagnan enquired.
"He plans to consecrate the Temple de la'Oratoire," Treville replied. "But with the Red Guard now guarding the King, he is not sure when."
"He's nervous," Aramis said.
"I believe he has always been so," Treville replied. "He just did not want to admit it."
"Didn't want the ruin 'is reputation as Defender of the Catholic Faith, more like." Porthos said.
"I think you may be right," Treville said, rubbing his fingers over his forehead in an attempt to dispel an impending headache. "But the threat is building. At some point, something may happen that will be so devastating, the people will rise against us if we do not put a stop to this."
Outside, dark clouds had started to gather over Paris.
Treville closed his window as the wind rattled the frame.
"As you were, Gentlemen, dismissed," he said, without turning.
Aramis looked at Porthos and d'Artagnan and nodded. They all left his office, unsettled by Treville's demeanour; quietly heading back onto the streets in search of a red-haired man, a wolf and the possible threat of life as they knew it.
To be continued ...