A/N Anyone else think Athos and Foubier's luck is too good to be true?
/
Chapter Twenty Seven
The Return to Paris – Day Three
Content in the knowledge that Madame Lamont would be safe after their detour and after a fairly uneventful night spent in the cave, Athos and Foubier continued on. Athos wanted to make up the time lost in their detour but they were agreed the horses would need to rest and they would also have to obtain more food and, truth be told, wine.
They rode on towards Paris.
Throughout the morning, they rode and walked, rested, and rode on.
By noon, the sun was high in the sky, though clouds were gathering on the horizon.
They made a short stop in a smal, poor village, which only had a few scattered houses, but a retired blacksmith ensured their horse's shoes were examined. He pronounced the animals fit for continued travel. The man also confirmed that no strangers had passed through in the last day. However, four of the pack were still out there, and Athos was not entirely comforted. Reluctant to take any food from the few villagers, they continued on.
"We need to reach an Inn before nightfall," Athos said, as they rode hard for the last leg of their journey. He knew of a place, but had not used it himself. Hopefully, it was still there and functional.
They were both weary now and their nerves were frayed. Foubier had lost a little of his energy, as they grew closer to Paris.
"Can we not carry on?" Foubier asked once.
"It is too dangerous to ride at night, Jacques Luc," Athos had replied.
"There is a steep elevation toward the city, and the horses are tired," he added. "They need a decent feed and a night's rest. As do we."
Foubier accepted it without further argument. It would be foolish to risk all now.
"Well," he said, "As much as I enjoy your company, my friend, I look forward to seeing your Musketeer brothers again and being able to consider this threat thoroughly."
Athos had been thinking about the reunion himself, hopeful that nothing had happened since his enforced absence and that Paris had not decended into anarchy. Foubier had persuaded him that Simeon could be a threat and he did not like to think about the King's reaction should they fail to unravel Masonne's plot.
But at the moment, they could do nothing. Tonight, with continued luck, they would sleep in a proper bed and drink a little wine and eat a hearty meal, replenishing their reserves for the last push to Paris.
/
By late afternoon, the sky had darkened considerably and they were losing the light. It started to rain and they urged the horses on. Athos had his bearings now and as the road forked to the right, he waved Foubier along the road to the left. A wooden sign was nailed to a large oak tree, with "The Fallen Oak," written on it in rough black script, as he remembered.
A little further along, a low whitewashed inn came into view. It had a moss-covered red tiled roof, partially hidden by a few trees to the side and at the rear. A black sign swung on a bracket with the inn's name written more formally in white lettering. It was an old establishment, but looked welcoming. He and Foubier dismounted with relief and removed their saddlebags, before walking the horses around to the back of the building, where they found a stableman, tending five other horses.
Establishing that the horses had been stabled for some days and could not belong to the four men who had been pursuing them, Foubier dropped a few coins into the man's hand to take care of their animals and they walked around to the front door.
Inside, they found themselves in a wide room, the bar of which was made of a huge slab of aged wood, its grain densely packed and no doubt the reason for the Inn's name. It looked as though it been well oiled through the generations. The bar itself had three groups of patrons, each sat at the tables set around the room and a good fire was burning in the grate. The windows had started to rattle with a wind that had whipped up.
Athos breathed in the smell of ale, wine and something akin to beef stew. He threw a relieved look at Foubier, who clapped him on the back.
"Did the bar come first, or the tavern?" Foubier asked the inn keeper, Puckett, who welcomed them from behind the bar. Through a doo way behind him, a woman bustled behind him, busy with pots and pans.
"Word is, both at the same time," Puckett laughed. "They say oak is longer-lived than bricks and mortar of course, so who knows?"
Foubier ran his hand along it. Being a searfaring man, he was appreciative of fine wood. Good quality, well-maintained wood was a matter of life and death to many a sailor.
"Beautiful," he murmured.
Though Athos could appreciate the look, he could not get excited about it as all he wanted was a few drinks and a room where they could lock the door behind them and sleep until dawn.
"The inn used to be on the main route," the landlord said, confirming Athos's memory. "But after some of the forest was felled, the road was rerouted," he continued, wiping the bar with a cloth. "It left us here, though it suits us well enough. Word of mouth ensures our custom. We are the only tavern in these parts before Paris, and we still get passing trade, as it were. Yourselves a case in point."
It suited them too, as he led them to their room, where they intended to lie low until morning. If their detour had split their four pursuers up, it may mean they were ahead of the two they had led astray to safeguard Madame Lamont. However, there remained the other two, who may or may not now be ahead of them. Athos anticipated the former. Their entry into Paris would need to be carefully negotiated.
The only vacant room was in the attic. It stretched the full length of the building so was not cramped. It had two clean beds at opposite ends of the room, which both men were grateful for; Athos especially because Foubier often never stopped talking and at least he could pretend to be asleep should the Privateer be feeling particularly gregarious. Oak beams criss-crossed the roof space, and there was ample space to hang their wet clothes.
They removed wet jackets and hats and dropped their now-empty saddle bags on a nearby chair before going down to the bar for a meal before retiring. It was their last evening; they should arrive in Paris sometime before noon on the morrow, so an early night was in order. The stew was good, and they sank one bottle of wine and bought two more. At least Foubier did not roll his eyes like Aramis sometimes did on the wine front. The man enjoyed drinking as much as Athos.
The landlord was a good host, attentive but discreet, and as the night wore on, the room thinned out as those who were lodging drifted off to their rooms.
Foubier raised his glass;
"To Paris," he said, quietly.
"To Paris," Athos replied agreeably, as they clinked glasses. "Thank you for your company. How is your arm?"
Foubier had not replaced his sling, but Athos had seen him easing it in gentle circles throughout the day.
"As you predicted, much better. Your side?"
Athos raised his hand to his side.
"Good," he said, though he would need to replace the bandage when he reached Paris.
Foubier poured them another measure of wine.
They were both in fairly good spirits, though neither was complacent and they did not intend to drink too much. As such, they soon decided to call it a night and made their way up to their room, each carrying a bottle of wine.
"This reminds me of my school room," Foubier said, as he lit a candle near the bed he had chosen.
"You were schooled in an attic?" Athos replied in surprise, taking his own candle over to Foubier's and lighting it, before retreating to place in on a beam near his bed. Puckett had left an oil lamp on a table in the corner, and Athos turned it low but left it lit.
Foubier laughed.
"Not in the house. Above the stable block. We boys were noisy. It was our Governess's last resort. If we were too boisterous, we were given stable duty."
"Did it work?" Athos asked, working his shirt out of his breeches, knowing the answer t his question already.
Foubier laughed once more.
"Foolish woman. We enjoyed it more than shoolwork! Our Governesses didn't last long. I suspect Father was on our side. He did not want our spirit broken. Mother was mortified at the procession of Governesses, however."
"I have a theory that all Governesses come from the same school. A rather grey place behind grey walls covered in dead creepers," Athos murmured, settling on his cot.
Foubier raised an eyebrow and looked at him.
"Not mine," he replied with a wink. "I think Father favoured the young ones."
Athos raised an eyebrow himself and looked steadily at him.
"I jest," Foubier laughed, though Athos wasn't so sure.
"I had one called Grace," Athos said, then. "Though I doubt she knew the meaning of the word."
Foubier snorted.
"All that is wrong with the world is the aristocracy," he said. "It creates these creatures to torment us."
"You seem to have got off lightly," Athos smiled gently, before heaving a sigh.
"You are worried what we will find in Paris" Foubier stated, as they pulled off their boots. He stored one bottle of wine in his saddlebag and opened the other, picking up the two cups they had brought upstairs with them. "Despite Masonne."
"Of course," Athos replied. "If we do not stop Raspier, his influence will grow. The Huguenots swore allegiance to the Crown after La Rochelle because they had little choice but there are still many who could be enticed to regroup. They need a charismatic leader. I believe one may have re-emerged.
"The fact we have been followed for three days is indicative of the gang's intent," he added. "I am worried that Raspier will draw more men to him. I am concerned at the disruption to ordinary people's lives for they are prone to turn on the authorities at such times. I am concerned as to Simeon's involvement and I am concerned for the safety of my friends."
"Is that all?" Foubier huffed, pouring the wine. "And here was I thinking you were a cold-hearted ..."
"You asked me," Athos interrupted, tersely. "I told you. If you are not interested in the answers to your questions, do not ask them."
"My apologies, Athos," Foubier said, sincerely. "I know you are worried about your friends. And the country, of course. And I realise that's probably the longest statement you've made since we started this adventure."
Athos huffed out a laugh and accepted the cup Foubier held out to him.
"You are incorrigible, Foubier. Is everything an adventure to you? Even this?"
"How else do we know we are alive?" Foubier replied, filling the cup before retiring to sit on his own bed and crossing his feet at the ankles. He looked perfectly comfortable. It was impossible to offend the man.
"That is something Aramis would say," Athos said, laying back against his pillows, his cup balanced on his chest.
"Do you ever get tired of serving the King?" Foubier asked, as he made himself comfortable on his own bed. "You could live a quiet life on a country estate."
"Foubier..." Athos ground out,
"Don't get me wrong," Foubier replied, airily, "I am no lover of the current King, Athos, but I would rather see his arse on the French throne than some I can think of. Though his wife is a sight to behold."
"She is the Queen of France," Athos ground out in exasperation.
"True, I mean no disrespect. As I say, she is a beautiful woman but she must find all the pomp tedious. On the few occasions I have seen her in public, she seems to struggle to tolerate her husband."
"Louis can be … difficult," Athos conceded. "But we verge on treason, Foubier, so let us desist with this talk."
"As you wish. Though I would remind you it is not I who has sworn an oath to lay down my life for the King."
"I did not ask you to come," Athos sighed, swallowing a mouthful of wine and setting his cup on the table next to his bed.
"That was my choice, true," Foubier agreed. "And I stand by it, and by you, as true to any oath the Musketeers are bound by."
Athos looked across and met Foubier's eyes.
Foubier looked away, aware that his comment had touched Athos and hoping he had not embarrassed him, or that Athos expected that he had to reply.
Athos though, merely tilted his head, which, Foubier knew now, was worth more than any words.
It was extremely gratifying when one reached an accord with this Musketeer but Foubier was not a man to push his luck.
/
During the night, the rain began to fall heavily and they found out that the roof was not as sound as they would have liked. Foubier got up to put the chamber pot under the worst leak and as he did, Athos hissed at him.
Looking over, Athos was sitting up in his bed, reaching for the knife he had put under his pillow extracted from its place in his boot earlier. Holding the knife in one hand, he reached across and picked up the cup on the bedside table, throwing the last of the wine that remained in it down his throat.
Foubier was staring at him, water dripping on his head, waiting for an explanation.
It came in the form of a creaking floorboard on the other side of the bedroom door.
Athos cocked his head, and held up one finger.
Foubier nodded, silently pulling his sword from his belt that had been draped on the chair by his bed. Athos rose slowly and pulled his own sword from his weapons belt.
At the sound of another creak outside their door, Athos held up a second finger.
To be continued ...