CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
The men on the horizon had scattered as soon as Athos and Foubier split.
Athos had reckoned on six men in total, which meant three pursuers on each of them. For an hour, he wound his horse off the road and across streams and finally through woodland as he turned back. His horse was worth whatever Foubier had paid for it, and if Foubier was the horseman his upbringing decreed, they would outrun them and buy themselves time for an ambush.
Athos burst out of the woodland as Foubier, on his own mission, came across the field.
They met on the approach to the farm and kicked their horses, riding side by side for their lives.
"Do you think they are Raspier's men?" Foubier shouted over the thunder of the horse's hooves on the packed earth track.
"I don't know!" Athos returned. "The only way to find out it to capture one of them."
"How many can you see?"
"One on me," Athos said, as a shot was fired. It was way off mark, but the intention was clear.
"One on me also," Foubier shouted.
There was a barn ahead, standing alone at the side of the road, on the edge of a field. A little way ahead, the farm stood in a thicket of overgrowth and trees.
"Around the back of the barn and dismount!" Athos shouted, as he veered his horse toward the barn. Foubier followed closely behind and came around the side of the barn to see Athos already off his horse with his sword drawn. Athos moved away from the horse as Foubier joined him.
"We're not shooting them?" he asked, as he too withdrew his sword.
"Maybe one," Athos said. "But we need one alive," he added, raising his sword. "I'll take the first, you take the second. Watch yourself!"
With that, the sound of two horses came amid a cloud of dust, riding into their trap. Expecting their quarry to be in the barn, the first man drew up but before he could draw his weapon, Athos had shot him in the head. He fell in a heap as the second rider met Foubier's blade with his thigh. The man screamed though did not fall, leaning down and grabbing Foubier's wrist. His horse jerked and Foubier cried out, falling backward.
Athos came around the other side and pulled the man off his horse, slapping the rump of the horse to move it away. The man was bleeding heavily, but he was alive.
Aware Foubier was on the ground, Athos reached down and grabbed the squirming man by the throat.
"Who are you!" he demanded. "Who sent you!"
The man attempted a punch, but Athos kicked him on his injured thigh and he screamed.
The wound was worse than he thought, having probably hit an artery, and Athos knew he only had a few minutes.
"Who sent you!" Athos yelled, as the man's eyes dimmed.
Before he died, he said four words.
"The pack is on you."
Athos dropped him unceremoniously on the ground and re sheathed his sword, before running over to Foubier, who was scrabbling to get up.
"Sweet Poseidon!" he ground out through gritted teeth, as Athos dropped down next to him
"The God of the Sea does not hold sway here," Athos said, tersely. "Where are you hurt?"
"My pride," Foubier hissed, the lines around his eyes deepening. "And a dislocated shoulder, damn him!" he added.
Athos sat back on his haunches.
"That's all?" he huffed, looking him over.
"That's enough!" Foubier ground out, glaring up at him.
Athos looked around. They were now quite alone.
He held out his hand.
"Come, let's get out of the sun and I will put it back for you."
"Have you done this before?" Foubier said, biting down a scream as Athos hauled him to his feet.
"Many times," Athos said. "Though Aramis is better at it than I."
"What!" Foubier gasped, as Athos moved them both forward.
"It's just the way it is," Athos grunted, as he kicked in the door of the barn and pulled Foubier into the shade within.
"Get the rum!" Foubier snarled, as he was dropped onto an old bale of hay.
"Gladly," Athos replied, happy to take that order.
/
Foubier groaned as his eyes opened.
"What …?"
"You passed out," Athos said, passing him a water bottle that he had discovered was full of rum.
"No wonder, you butcher!" Foubier replied, snatching it with his good hand and taking a long swallow.
"My apologies," Athos replied, "You should not have shifted."
"I didn't shift!" Foubier growled.
"Everyone shifts when they faint," Athos said, taking the bottle back and retreating to a hay bale of his own.
"I didn't faint!" Foubier cried, indignantly.
"As you say," Athos replied, tipping the rum down his throat. "How does it feel?"
Foubier gingerly moved his shoulder and groaned.
"I know from experience how much it hurts," Athos said, in sympathy. "But it will settle."
"That's good to know," Foubier said, his head hanging low as he leaned forward. "And how long will that take?"
"If you move between resting it and exercising it gently, it should feel more comfortable by tomorrow."
"Is that your professional opinion?" Foubier asked, lifting his head to stare balefully at Athos.
"No, it is Aramis's," Athos replied with a smirk, taking pity on him and passing the rum back.
"Remind me to go with him the next time there is an adventure to be had," Foubier said, wrapping his hand around the bottle.
Athos left the barn and came back a little later with a thick wedge of cheese, wrapped in a muslin cloth.
"Henry seems to be an accomplished valet," Athos said, passing the fare over.
Foubier could not help but grin.
"Don't let him hear you call him that. He stopped being a valet when I stopped being a Comte."
Athos did not ask any more. He had not offered any information on his own circumstances and, apart from knowing Foubier had walked away from his holdings after his wife's death, he knew from their drunken evening that Foubier's title had come from his great-grandfather, whether by heritage or letter, he did not know but it mattered no longer. They were two ex-Comtes and both happy to be so.
Athos retrieved the thin blade from his boot and wiped it with the muslin cloth, before cutting the cheese in two.
"Can you ride?" Athos asked then when they had finished their simple meal.
"Until the sun goes down, I believe so," Foubier said.
"There are apple trees behind the barn, so we can supplement our rations but we will need to think about replenishing our food tomorrow. By my reckoning, there are still four pursuers out there. We need to hide the bodies. Their horses have bolted but no doubt will be found."
Athos found a serviceable cloth at the far side of the barn and fashioned a sling for his travelling companion, tying it at the back of his neck.
"Just while you ride," he said. "If you wear it for too long, your arm will stiffen."
"More Aramis wisdom?" Foubier asked, supporting the arm with his other hand.
"Experience," Athos said, softly.
He shared the rum again and Foubier nodded.
"This will need refilling soon," Foubier sighed. "I cannot ride to Paris dry."
"I was hoping you would say that." Athos smiled.
"Those men meant business," Athos said then, seriously. "We should be prepared. There will be more. Wolf packs are tenacious."
"There is one more thing," Foubier added.
"What is that?"
"Those stitches of yours will need to come out soon. Marcel gave me a kit. It will be my turn to inflict pain and suffering on you, Athos of the King's Musketeers."
Athos sighed.
"Are you right handed or left handed?" he asked. Foubier's damaged shoulder was his left.
"Right handed," Foubier confirmed.
"That is a small blessing," Athos replied, taking a careful swallow of the diminishing rum.
With two good arms between them, they pulled the two bodies into the undergrowth behind the barn and retrieved their own horses from the field they had cantered into.
They rode on cautiously, keeping off the tracks. They saw no one else following them, but both knew they would not reach Paris without another encounter.
As the sun began to dip, they made camp in a woodland, buried deep in the trees. Foubier checked his bearings on his compass and nodded, as Athos retrieved their bedrolls. Having limited movement between them, it was slow progress but luckily, Henry had packed dried meat and bread, so neither had to hunt, nor set a fire.
The moon was low in the sky but cast a dim luminance through the trees.
Foubier settled with his back to a wide oak, as Athos approached him, reaching out his hand.
Foubier looked up at him with a raised eyebrow and Athos sighed.
"I merely wish to check your rotation," he said.
"Have you done it before?" Foubier asked, cautiously, before giving in under Athos's glare.
Athos grabbed his wrist, not too gently, and turned his hand over. His bit in a curse as his own wound made its presence known, but carried on.
"How does it feel?"
"Fine!" Foubier replied, a little too lightly.
Athos thought about how Aramis scoffed at that answer and smiled to himself.
"Good," he said, not taking Foubier up on it.
"Good," Foubier echoed, tearing into a piece of dried meat rather aggressively.
"I'll take first watch," Athos said.
"You think they'll find us?"
"Perhaps not here," Athos replied, quietly. "But they will find us."
"Now that we have had our first encounter, are you going to tell me what you know? They are probably after me too, you know. I was the one who rescued you."
Athos thought about it and then decided Foubier had a point.
"They asked about the Temple d l'Oratoire," he said. "It surprised me, but I supposed it should not have, as it is located in the same street as the original damage and assaults we were sent to investigate."
Foubier knew Paris and blew out his cheeks.
"It is a beautiful building, no doubt, behind all the scaffolding."
"You have seen it?"
"In passing. One cannot help but admire the construction that has occurred in recent times."
"The King's mother, Marie de Medici" Athos replied. "Before she attempted to overthrow her son."
"One would have thought that would have been easy," Foubier huffed.
"Do not under estimate Louis," Athos warned. "Nor the Cardinal."
"Nor your Captain Treville," Foubier added.
"Quite," Athos agreed.
Athos went on to explain what he had overheard in the grain store. Foubier had heard him utter some of it in his fever but to hear it now, he began to see what Athos and his Musketeer friends were up against.
"It is the bear and the stork though that I have been thinking on," Athos said.
"And The Wolf," Foubier interjected. "And this Masonne."
"The red-haired man," Athos nodded. "We searched the Forest of Compiegne for Raspier and saw a group of men leaving. He was among them. "
"You disturbed them?" Foubier asked.
"I thought not, they were too far away. It is a pity we did not find them in the caves, we could have avoided all this."
"So this "Masonne" is the red-haired man," Foubier said, biting into an apple. "And how does he fit in with Raspier?"
"That, I do not yet know," Athos sighed. "But he was in the warehouse when we were overwhelmed."
"Ah, that is why you went with them!" Foubier exclaimed.
"That, and the fact I had seen him on the battlements at La Rochelle."
"You remember that?"
"He is distinctive," Athos said, waving his hand at his own hair.
"Of course," Foubier nodded. "So that is all the pieces of your puzzle?"
"That and the fact that you are involved, having a consignment of muskets to offload to Simeon. Do you know who he intended them for?"
"He said they were for defence, that is all."
"It is all a puzzle, just out of reach," Athos sighed.
"One which your brothers are working on too."
"But they only have a few of the pieces."
"And now we have a pack of wolves behind us. We must be doing something right." Foubier's grin was evident in the dim light.
"You could say that, I suppose," Athos sighed. "Do we have any rum left?"
"A drop or two," Foubier laughed.
The woodland was silent, the moon now hidden behind clouds, casting no shadows. It was how Athos liked it. Any crack of twig or disturbance of undergrowth would be doubly emphasised in the silence. He run his hand under his arm, over the thick bandage. His healing muscles were tight and sore after their earlier encounter, but there was no heat. He eased his shoulder around in a circle. It was time for Foubier's watch. The man would not thank him for not handing over.
"Have you ever been back?" Athos asked, as he approached Foubier.
Foubier had not slept, despite Athos taking the watch. Both had been lost in thought for the last few hours.
Foubier lifted his head and frowned.
"To your lands," Athos explained. "To your chateau?"
Foubier smiled grimly.
"Good heavens, no!" he replied. "It can burn to the ground for all I care."
Athos turned away, his throat tight at the image of the blackened shell of his own home.
"My ship is my home now," Foubier was saying, as he rose to his feet to take Athos's place on the edge of the clearing. "Free of responsibility. Free to roam."
Later, as Jacques Luc stood watch, Athos lay wondering what life would have been like for them both if circumstances were different and if fate had not intervened so cruelly.
To be continued ...