And so we come to the final chapter, Dear Readers. ...
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Chapter Thirty Nine
The Wren
For the last hour, the Musketeers had watched as Jacques Luc Foubier regaled and enthralled their young companion with tales of his sea faring privateering. They rolled their eyes, but said nothing for what they could overhear was, truth be told, quite fascinating.
Foubier spoke of bartering for carpets and pottery from North Africa.
"I have a fertility statuette on my desk, you should see it. And a rather splendid carpet which I was grateful was not on my cabin floor when Athos lost his stomach!"
d'Artagnan's eyes widened and he risked a looked over at his mentor, who at that moment chose to hide his reaction by tipping up and downing his cup of wine.
Foubier was in full swing now, talking of port from Portugal and wines and soft leather from Italy. Then came fruit from the islands in the Mediterranean, sunsets and sunrises, different languages, customs and cultures.
For a farm boy from Gascon, it was eye-opening on a summer's morning in Paris.
At one point, Foubier waved Athos over to confirm a point, as he had seen the contents of the Adrianna's hold. Athos had pushed off and made his way through the Wren's patrons out of politeness, but his reluctance could be seen in the line of his shoulders and weariness of his tread.
"Do you think we'll lose him to the sea?" Porthos whispered at the bar with Aramis a little later as they watched d'Artagnan listening to Foubier.
Just then they saw how his d'Artagnan's eyes followed Athos as he left the table and walked back toward them.
"No, I think his devotion is elsewhere," Aramis smiled, clapping Porthos on his broad shoulder. "He is meant to be with us."
They all laughed as Athos approached with a look on his face that said, "Help Me."
Aramis draped his arm around his shoulder and drew him close.
"When does he leave?" Porthos muttered, taking a long pull of his wine.
Just then, Foubier's loud laugh rang around the tavern and they watched as d'Artagnan grinned at him, before looking their way.
The three held up their drinks to him and he did the same.
"All is well," Athos said, before turning to them and giving them a smirk, "Tomorrow."
"We had better be off," Aramis replied, reaching for his hat. "The King waits for no man."
/
The Louvre
The afternoon found them lined up respectfully in the Palace Throne Room, the King having been informed by Captain Treville of the full machinations of the previous day. But Louis, being Louis, he wanted to hear the story from his Musketeer's own lips.
Richelieu, for once, was not in attendance, having pleaded State Duties must keep him at his desk.
Louis had listened rapturously to the full story, without interruption and seemed quite entranced by a certain Privateer. Foubier had certainly made an effort, tying his hair back with a strand of leather and sporting a gold earring in both ears. He also wore a new sash, purchased that morning. Athos had wondered how he had found the money for his transformation, but this was Paris after all and the man worked every location he found himself in to his own advantage.
Standing next to the four Musketeers and their Captain, in their dark uniforms, Foubier certainly cut a fine figure. As was his intention, of course.
The Cardinal entered quietly then, just in time to hear the King make a decision that he had not been privy to.
"I would expect no less from my Musketeers, Captain Foubier," Louis cried, after he had been appraised of the full story.
Tilting his head to look intently at Foubier, he leaned forward.
"But you apparently went above and beyond the call of duty, Foubier! I would like to reward you for your part in suppressing a potential uprising. I had it in mind to give you some land, Captain."
Treville coughed into his hand.
Porthos growled.
Richelieu raised his hand in an attempt to forestall the Monarch. But Louis's eyes were on Foubier and he held up his own hand to silence the room.
Richelieu caught Treville's eye. The King knew nothing of their previous adventure in rescuing Mistress Cromwell and returning her to England, nor Treville's prior dealings with the flamboyant privateer. Treville let his lips press together and gave nothing away. Let His Eminence stew.
Foubier, in the meantime, had visibly paled. He risked a sideways look at Athos, who hid his smile well.
"Sire," Foubier began, with a sweeping bow. "That is most generous, but my heart lies with the sea. I have a respectable ship and a loyal crew. Land means nothing to me. I wish no more than to be allowed to go on my way."
"Piratin'" Porthos grunted under his breath. "Connin' the gullible."
A sharp look from Athos stopped him. As far as Athos was concerned, Foubier had proved his worth and he did not class himself as gullible. He had been cautious, suspicious even, but he was the only one who knew of Foubier's noble birth and Athos had seen beneath the swagger and had, eventually, liked what he saw.
"I was thinking, Sire," Foubier continued with another dramatic bow that even had Aramis rolling his eyes,
"That I might convince Athos to join me."
There was an audible gasp from behind him and he half turned to see Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan staring at him and Treville frowning.
The King himself was looking aghast. The smile dropped from his face and he turned wide eyes on Athos.
Athos was looking at a very interesting spot on the floor.
"But, unfortunately," Foubier quickly added with a smile, before turning back, "He turned me down."
The King relaxed and Athos lifted his head and bowed;
"My service is here, Sire," he said, quietly, amid relieved groans from behind him.
"That was close," Porthos muttered.
"Must have been tempting," Aramis returned, as they watched the King beaming at all of them.
"Very well, Captain, if you do not wish reward, we wish you God's Speed. Audience over!" he chirped hurriedly as he jumped from the dais, waving his hand loosely toward his audience before quickly disappearing.
Richelieu following in his wake after a lingering look at Treville.
"When do you set sail, Captain?" Treville said quietly as he approached the Privateer, who was looking somewhat relieved himself that the audience was over.
"I think I will enjoy Paris for one more night and be off with the morning tide," Foubier replied.
"Where to?" d'Artagnan asked, with genuine interest.
"Initially to La Havre to meet the Adrianna. Thereafter, where the tide takes me, my young friend," Foubier said, adjusting his sword. "Henry willing, of course. East, West, it is all the same to me."
"As long as there's a profit in it," Porthos said, smiling when Foubier met his eye.
"Of course, I have expenses and a crew to keep in rum, Porthos," Foubier replied, lightly, though there was a steel glint in his eye.
Porthos tilted his head back and then he huffed out a laugh, effectively dropping the subject and making his peace. He had, after all, done them the greatest service in protecting their dear brother, even if he was a prancing peacock.
Athos met Porthos's eyes and nodded. He would explain to Porthos later that they had only seen one side of Foubier, the side he preferred and enjoyed displaying for effect. There was, in fact, a steel core to the man and a firm sense of justice. He was not to be crossed. He just did not take life too seriously,; something to be envied, perhaps, even though life had dealt him a most terrible blow.
They all shook hands. Despite his profession, Foubier had proved he was a man of honour and they were grateful to him.
Treville crossed the floor to stand before him and meet his gaze.
"So, your attempt to prize my best man from my Garrison failed," he growled.
"I knew it would," Foubier laughed, "Athos is a land-lubber through and through."
Treville nodded.
"And it would take more than me to prise him away from his true calling," he added, firmly, with a wink. Athos's past still held him captive.
Treville took his meaning and sighed.
"Some temptations are harder than others," he agreed. "God Speed, Jacques Luc Foubier. We may meet again."
"I have no doubt, Captain," Foubier smiled, as they shook hands warmly.
/
That night, back in The Wren, they all did see another side to Captain Foubier.
In warm company, he had spoken of his beloved wife Adrianna, and Marcel and Henry.
Athos realised too that, although he had made light of walking away from his Château, it had been more dear to him than he had admitted. There, he had hoped to raise a family.
"Three boys and five girls!" he had said, raising his glass, before he faltered.
Aramis had reached over and clinked his glass.
"Our dreams and hopes stay with us, Jacques Luc. Keep them safe."
Comforted, Foubier, quickly recovered, but not before catching Athos's sad gaze and raising his cup to him, unseen by the others.
"Wise words, my friend," he said quietly.
Athos's hand tightened on his cup. Then, he slowly raised it and they both drank.
Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan had seen it, though they said nothing, keeping their friend's counsel.
"To Paris, my friends!" Foubier said, loudly, bringing them all back. "A city of light and darkness, of Royalty and beggars!"
They all raised their glasses, and then he suddenly said, with a wink;
"And Red Guards!"
The cup lowered as one;
"Ah, see, I can't drink to that!" Porthos growled, his knuckles tightening around his cup.
"Who are completely outshone in every way by The Musketeers," Foubier finished, with the widest, brightest smile.
After that, the night went well.
/
Dawn the following day on the Riverside quay:
They all gathered on the quay, watching as the vessel that would take Foubier to La Havre was made ready. He had little luggage, just his saddlebag, empty now, save for his compass.
The early morning mist hung over the river, giving it an ethereal appearance. Masts, large and small broke through the greyness, though a weak sun hung in the sky with a promise of warmth to come. The city was waking up and soon, the Seine would be a hive of activity.
"You know, we will probably meet again," Foubier said, looking around at his Musketeer friends, for that is how he saw them now.
"Paris is not my home port but she and her river are lucrative," he continued, looking around. "I may even buy another tavern."
"Not the Albatross?" Porthos said.
"Good grief, no!" Foubier laughed. "Somewhere a little more "earthy," my friend. Clientele is everything in my line of business."
"I'd have said the Albatross clientele were earthy enough," Porthos muttered under his breath."Well in that case," he said, loudly, "We may well meet again, in the execution of our duties," he added, pointedly.
"Not if I stay one step ahead, Porthos," Foubier smiled.
"You could try," Porthos replied.
"Porthos takes his duties very seriously," Aramis said, before catching Athos's eyes and quickly adding, "We all do."
Soon, Foubier's vessel was ready and the gangplank was lowered. He said his goodbyes to Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan, with a quiet word to the latter to follow his dreams.
Athos and Foubier now walked towards each other smirking.
"Try to stay on the right side of the law occasionally," Athos said, quietly.
"What fun is that?" Foubier replied. "Though I will think of you whenever I get too close to the edge," he added.
Athos smiled.
"You know, Athos," Foubier said, "You would have made a terrible Privateer. So serious."
"And you a terrible Musketeer," Athos replied. "Far too light-hearted."
"You live in a strange world, my friend," Foubier sighed. "Are you sure I cannot offer you the respite of the sea?"
"My life is here, Jacques Luc," Athos replied, firmly. "For now, at least."
They clasped forearms.
"Farewell, brother," Foubier said, sincerely.
"Safe journey," Athos replied, softly.
Breaking apart, Jacques Luc laughed.
"You do realise, this is merely adieu. I think we will meet again. I have enjoyed our adventure. Send word if you need me again," he added.
"Wherever will I find you?" Athos queried with a grin, his eyebrow raised.
"That's true," Foubier conceded, rubbing his jaw.
"The sentiment is reciprocated," Athos declared. "You know where the Garrison is."
Foubier bowed, though it had none of the flamboyance of his performance at the Palace.
"It was quite an adventure, wasn't it," he stated, searching Athos's eyes.
"You could say that," Athos smiled. "Yes, it was."
"Keep the hat," Foubier smiled back. "If you want the feather, you know where to find it. I am sure Madame Lamont will welcome you back with open arms!"
He turned to go then, before stopping a few paces on, and turning back;
Adieu, Athos."
"Adieu, Jacques Luc."
Athos remained on the quay until the boat set sail and was out of view.
/
Notre Dame:
As Foubier's boat sailed quietly past Notre Dame, Simeon Masonne sat at the back of its beautiful nave, his head bowed.
He felt no guilt, no responsibility for his brother. His heart was beating normally, his chest was not tight. He felt lighter than he had in years.
Indeed, he felt hope.
His hand strayed to the tattoo on his forearm and he felt only warmth.
THE END
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A/N: So, the adventure is over. Thank you for coming on it with me. I hope it was fun. What other adventures lay ahead? Who knows.