Greetings and a Happy New Year to you all. May 2022 be a little better for us all.

Thank you for reading and commenting on the previous chapter. I must be on a bit of a roll (or it's due to a relaxing time with family) as here is ch 23 but please forgive any errors that may have crept through! What is Tanquerel up to?

CHAPTER 23

I

Aramis and Athos were in an upper room of the same Calais inn where they had already spent a night before sailing for England. How long ago that seemed now and yet it had only been two days but so much had happened!

Athos had stripped to his shirt and braies before climbing into one of the three beds that seemed to fill the room whilst Aramis set about tidying his discarded clothing.

"I am sorry," Athos suddenly said softly as he watched Aramis moving about.

Draping the dark, leather doublet over the back of a chair, Aramis then dragged the seat to the bedside and sat down near his brother.

"Why are you apologising?"

Athos looked anywhere but directly at him. "Because I was so useless on the ship … and because of my behaviour when we were below deck."

Aramis grinned, "I do not want to hear another word of apology. You consider yourself useless and yet you defended yourself against Chesman's attack? The man got what he deserved!"

Athos sat silently reflecting upon the words. "I would have preferred not to have killed him. It would have been better to have questioned him."

"Perhaps, but not having witnessed it, I suspect you were not given much of a chance. He was out to kill you and, thankfully, you had refused to take any of the sleeping potion I had prepared."

Aramis laid a conciliatory hand upon his brother's arm and his voice dropped further. "As for what happened below the decks? I admit that I did not like to see you in that state. Fear is something we all feel at times, but you are better than most at masking it … until you are on a ship. Today, you allowed Porthos and me to see the depths of that fear and we were humbled. I know you didn't intend for any of it to happen, but it did. We could never think any less of you as a result. We are only sorry that we were so helpless in the wake of what you were experiencing."

Athos covered Aramis' hand with his own. "No, I am indebted to both of you for your care and concern. You supported me through it." He hesitated. "I must confess that the feeling was so strong that it took me by surprise; it was all-consuming, and I could not have shaken myself free without your presence. I do not like such loss of control."

Aramis patted his arm. "I know and I appreciate what it has taken you to be so open now. I think it is clear that, in future, we should avoid all sea-faring adventures at all costs! We will speak to Tréville about it on our return."

Athos huffed in amusement. "You can try but I doubt you will have any success. If our duty calls us to travel on the high seas again, we will have to go. I do not think the Captain will permit me to remain behind on solid ground."

"Then we will have to take more extreme measures to ensure you a comfortable journey."

The huff became a contented smile. "I dread to think what those measures might entail when you plied me with herbs to calm a stomach that still rebelled and a sleeping potion that kept me unaware of anything for several hours." He rubbed his jaw and eyed his brother sceptically. "By the way, who hit me?"

"That was Jacquot," Aramis answered easily. "He was a little annoyed that we were taking so long to follow his orders and get below during the storm. 'My ship, my rules,'" he mimicked in what was a passable representation of the ship's captain.

This time, it drew a rueful roll of the eyes. "I think he has a punch to rival that of Porthos then."

Aramis' heart was warmed to see his friend slowly being restored to him once more. Still pale, he at least had lost the worrying greenish-grey hue to his skin, and he was no longer sweating and clammy.

The sickness had ceased as soon as they disembarked although hours of retching over the two days had left him sore, exhausted and weak so that he stumbled through the Calais streets from dock to inn as if drunk. Porthos, the reliquary in the bag over his shoulder, had maintained a firm hold of him and even broke into a raucous drinking song as if to explain the incapacitation of the man he was managing to keep on his feet.

"Hold your tongue!" Aramis had chided him. "Your choice of song and its words are enough to make a maiden blush."

Porthos guffawed loudly and released one hand from where he was guiding Athos to gesture to the sailors, stall holders and bawds who milled about the streets. "What maidens?" At which point, he got a firmer grip upon Athos and regaled them with another verse.

"Are Musketeers always such an embarrassment?" Tanquerel said bitterly from his position a few paces behind them as though deliberately distancing himself from them. He moved easily carrying his one bag but had not offered to help when Aramis was left to carry the soldiers' personal bags as Porthos otherwise had his hands full.

"Oh, sometimes we can be a while lot worse!" Porthos had stopped mid-verse to call back over his shoulder.

Tanquerel's mood darkened even more when they arrived at the inn where they had spent one night and wished to remain for another one before they left for Paris. The innkeeper was apologetic, but the place was almost full and he only had one room left which they would have to share.

"But we told you that we would be returning," Tanquerel objected loudly. "Our horses are stabled here and we left you coin to cover them and our need for rooms on our return."

The large, balding man shrugged. "With the storm, I had no way of knowin' whether you'd be back or not. I can't keep rooms vacant just in case and turn away custom."

"You were amply recompensed," Tanquerel persisted. "We may even have been prepared to pay more when we came back."

"I weren't to know that now, was I?" objected the innkeeper. "There's just the one room; take it or leave it."

And so they took it for they had no other choice. They had neither the time nor inclination to go in search of alternative accommodation for the night. Athos did not have the strength to walk further for however long it took to find two rooms and his brothers were adamant he needed rest as soon as possible.

The arrangement was even worse when they had been shown the room.

"There are only three beds!" Tanquerel exclaimed. "This is preposterous. There are four of us."

Porthos was already lowering Athos to sit on the middle bed.

"There's no problem," Aramis said, ever the peacemaker. "You take the one nearest the door, Porthos the one by the window whilst Athos and I will share the one in the middle."

Tanquerel was not so easily appeased but Porthos intervened.

"'Ow about you an' me goin' back downstairs an' getting' somethin' to eat? Aramis can join us when 'e's ready. Athos needs rest to recover for our journey to Paris; 'e's nearly asleep as it is."

The emissary reluctantly followed the Musketeer out of the door, leaving Athos and Aramis alone. The pair talked quietly as Athos pulled off his boots and breeches and clambered into the bed.

"Have you any preference as to which side you sleep?" he asked.

"Not really," Aramis said. "I'll sleep whichever side you're not on when I come back up. Just don't settle in the middle, that's all."

"If I do," Athos replied, "you'll just have to push me over."

He watched as Aramis willingly tidied up after him and fell silent, his thoughts racing as he recalled being in the close confines of the ship and how he had reacted. There was no escaping the shame he felt regarding his behaviour, his lack of control, hence his apology but Aramis' words did much to mollify him.

Aramis reached for his bag and took out a small bottle. On arrival in the room, they had sent down for wine and water. Now, Aramis poured a goblet of watered wine, added a few drops from the bottle and handed it to his friend.

"You need to drink," he urged.

Athos did not drink immediately. "What have you put in it?"

"It is the sleeping draught I gave you before but not as much. You are exhausted enough and weakened and should have little trouble getting to sleep; this will merely help you to relax a little." Aramis stoppered the bottle and slipped it back into his bag.

"As long as it does not put me to sleep for hours again," Athos countered.

Aramis grinned. "I doubt you would need help for that. However, I have put the bottle away out of reach; I'd hate you to be half awake and decide to take some more."

"You fear I would take too much?"

"Unintentionally. You could end up sleeping for a lot longer than a few hours."

"How much longer?"

Aramis raised his eyebrows. "How about permanently?"

II

The expression on Porthos' face when Aramis appeared and slid onto the bench beside him was unmistakable. He was relieved at additional support in entertaining the emissary.

Aramis helped himself to stew from a bowl in the centre of the table and tore some bread from the loaf that was also there. Tanquerel had mellowed and greeted him warmly; the empty wine bottles on the table were a mute explanation as to the reason. Aramis' and Porthos' eyes met fleetingly, the bigger man dipping his head slightly in amused acknowledgement.

"How is Athos?" Porthos asked, refilling his own bowl with stew. He had a prodigious appetite and a harsh childhood spent forever on the periphery of starvation meant that he now abhorred any food wastage.

"He's asleep and should stay that way. He'll be much better come the morning."

"Did you give him help?" Tanquerel asked, a slight slur to his words and a stupid grin on his face.

Aramis shrugged. "As I told him, just a few drops merely to relax him. He was so exhausted, he did not need much help."

They chatted amiably for nearly another hour as they continued to eat and drink, the fruit of the grape making Tanquerel a much more pleasant companion, although the two Musketeers were no longer fooled by him and considered his words superficial.

Suddenly he pushed to his feet, swaying. "I need some fresh air, to clear my head."

Porthos likewise rose and smiled. "Then I will accompany you."

Tanquerel gave a lopsided grin in response. "I thought you would, and I welcome your company but first I must go to our room and collect my cloak."

They watched him weave his way across the floor towards the stairs.

Porthos' smile faded. "Is this 'im up to 'is tricks again? Passin' off another note to one of 'is colleagues?"

Aramis leaned forward and dropped his voice. "I should come with you too. The streets may not be safe."

Porthos shook his head, picked up the bag that had been wedged on the bench between him and the wall. "You stay 'ere with Athos an' look after the reliquary. I'll keep my wits about me, don't worry."

III

Ascending the stairs and approaching the door to the chamber they shared, Tanquerel's step became more sure. True, he had had his fill of wine, but the extent of its effect was exaggerated.

He quietly lifted the door latch and slipped into the room. His cloak lay on his bed but ignored it, his attention drawn only to where Athos lay sleeping in the central bed.

Instinctively, Tanquerel's hand moved to his dagger's hilt but then stilled. It would be too easy – and too obvious that he would be the one responsible. The method had to be more subtle. Then he spied Aramis' bag where it had been left on the chair beside the bed.

Crossing the room stealthily, he lifted the flap on the bag and saw the bottles, ointments and bandages within it. He reached in and withdrew the bottle from the top; if Aramis had recently used one, it was logical that it was on the top, but he looked at the fine script on the label to be sure. He had kept quiet that he was familiar with herbs and such and knew what was in the potion. It contained a strong sedative and abuse of it could prove fatal.

Without hesitation, he unstoppered the bottle and poured its entire contents into the goblet. He was opportunist – he understood that – and there was no guarantee that Athos would stir and drink, but that was a risk that he was prepared to take. There was even the chance that one of the other two might seek to quench their thirst instead during the coming night; in which case, the Musketeer numbers would still be depleted by one.

He bent in low over the sleeping form, taking care not to let his breath fall upon the man. Athos' chest rose and fell rhythmically, his eyes closed and long lashes a stark contrast to the pale skin.

"Wake and drink, Athos of the Musketeers," Tanquerel muttered.

Turning abruptly he strode out of the room, grabbing his cloak as he went.