Good evening. Many thanks to all readers and reviewers for the previous chapter. As usual, apologies for any errors that might have crept through in this one. I do proofread but they still manage to edge through. My excuse is I have always found it hard to check work adequately on a screen, preferring to edit on a hard copy even when it was work-related, but I'm trying to train myself to do it more accurately on the screen!

CHAPTER 7

I

Athos nudged Aramis as arranged and as soon as he was sure that the other man was fully awake, he wrapped himself in his cloak, lay down on the hard ground and attempted to sleep but rest eluded him. He lay there, eyes closed, but was fully aware as the minutes dragged by and was still awake when Porthos took over the watch from Aramis.

His thoughts would not allow him any repose, yet he could not give in to the weariness that sapped his energy; that and the guilt. Perhaps Aramis was right, and he needed to make more of an effort as far as Tanquerel was concerned. He did not deliberately need to go out of his way to alienate the man, especially if it transpired that the emissary was innocent. Athos needed to mask his suspicions if he were to stand any chance of catching Tanquerel in his deception; too blatant in his dislike and the man would be wary in whatever it was he was doing.

So, as dawn broke, he resolved to make amends; it did not have to mean that he stopped watching Tanquerel closely though.

Having made his decision, he thought to snatch an hour's sleep at least but still it would not come. By the next evening, they would have reached Calais and the morning after that … His entire body tightened up just at the mere thought of it. He hated that he was so useless on the open sea; it was a weakness that humiliated him, and he abhorred the nausea that always afflicted him. The sea could be calm and yet he was still ill, so he surmised that it was a combination of the ship's movement, no matter how slight, and the memory of a past event when he lost his beloved uncle to the sea. It was an incident that could so easily have claimed his father and younger brother too.

For so long, he tried to tell himself that his resultant terror was irrational, but he could not convince himself; too many stories were heard at court each year of lost vessels, the numbers who had perished and the cargoes that had sunk to the seabed, ruining merchants and courtiers who had invested money into a failed venture. Fortunately, he was rarely required to leave French soil but there was a certain irony that both recent occasions were in the service of his country. The first was three years before when the Musketeers were sent to the Île de Ré to defend the island from an English attack led by the Duke of Buckingham* and now, here he was, preparing to sail to England to collect a dead man's bones. It would be the last straw if he endured an uncomfortable journey there and back, only to discover later that the remains were not those of de Ricart.

"You look tired. Did you not sleep?" Aramis asked later as they quickly washed at the stream by which they had camped.

"Not really," Athos admitted, combing wet fingers through his hair in an attempt to restore some order to the tangles. "My mind was too active."

Aramis perched on a rock and fixed him with a concerned look. "Are you thinking too much about Tanquerel?"

Athos took a deep breath. "I know for all the world it looks like I am being unreasonable and maybe I am. I spent the night going over everything he said and did at court and since we were on the road. All I have is my gut instinct that something about this mission is not right and that is without the men following us and whoever they represent. Richelieu was not honest with Tréville at the outset …"

"Why should that surprise us?" Aramis interrupted.

"And supposing he is still with-holding vital information?"

"Such as what?"

"I do not know!" Athos was frustrated. "I just feel that Tanquerel knows more than he is telling us?"

"And if he does? What then?" Aramis asked. "He is the King's emissary, the one who has been employed to negotiate the handing over of the reliquary. All that is required of us is to escort him safely to Dover and back again and the main thing we have to consider now is what those three men want with us, Tanquerel or the reliquary."

"You believe him." It was a statement and not meant as a challenge.

Aramis sighed and reached out to clasp Athos' shoulder. "It is not a case of blindly believing him. I don't see what has aroused your suspicion, but I've known you far longer than I've known him, and we've shared too much for me to ignore your instincts. If you say we have to be careful around him, then so be it but you must not let this eat away at you. If you get too tired, it'll cloud your judgement." He gave a wry smile. "If there is danger ahead of us, Porthos and I need you to be thinking clearly, you understand?"

Athos nodded. "I understand."

Aramis frowned, tightened his hold and studied his brother. "And are you worrying yourself about the crossing?"

Athos rolled his eyes and huffed in annoyance.

"You're not fooling anyone, you know, least of all me," Aramis scolded him.

"It, too, plays on my mind," Athos reluctantly confessed. "I would have preferred not having to go to England."

Aramis chuckled softly. "I know, my friend, but I have brought things with me to make something for you before we sail. It will help relax you and should keep the seasickness at bay."

"I will try anything to survive this journey!"

There was a louder laugh from Aramis. "I will remind you of that statement when you are adamantly refusing any medicine that I might want you to take in the future."

Athos shook his head. "It depends upon the circumstances. Right now, needs must!"

II

As the four men prepared to break camp for the final push to Calais, Tanquerel was struggling with attaching his bag to his saddle when another pair of hands reached out to the buckle.

"Here, allow me to assist you," a voice said quietly.

Momentarily surprised by the offer and the close proximity of Athos, Tanquerel nodded and dropped his hands as the Musketeer's deft fingers, well used to the task, secured the emissary's saddle bag.

The job done, Athos did not immediately step away. Instead, he raised green eyes to meet the disconcertingly pale blue ones of Tanquerel.

"I fear we had an inauspicious start to this mission," Athos began. "I wish to apologise," and he extended his right hand.

Tanquerel glanced at it and then his face broke into a smile that suggested his relief. He took the proffered hand and shook it warmly. "Accepted. I know I have given you cause for suspicion and I, too, am truly sorry."

Porthos was dousing the fire as Aramis rolled up his cloak for the day promised to be warm and he would have little need of it.

"They makin' friends now?" Porthos asked, an eyebrow raised in disbelief as he watched the pair.

Aramis looked to where the Musketeer lieutenant and the King's emissary stood talking and then turned back, his face grim.

"I wouldn't bet on it if I were you," he answered. "If deception is the name of the game, then I believe those two are master players."

III

It was early evening when the travellers rode through the gates of the medieval port and there was a hustle and bustle about the place that intensified as they reached the central town square where they found a tavern and secured two rooms for the night, one for the sole purpose of the emissary and the adjacent one to be shared by the Musketeers. It would be a welcome change after the long hours they had spent trying to sleep under the stars on the bare ground.

Once they had freshened up from their ride, they reconvened downstairs where Porthos found them a table in the corner of the main tap room and they ordered a dinner which turned out to be a passable mutton stew. As they ate, three of them chattered about the upcoming voyage to the English shores but Athos remained quiet. He anticipated that the crossing would be a nightmare for him, and he refused to be drawn into the conversation. Instead, he watched the door of the tavern as newcomers drifted in.

"Did you notice anything that might distinguish the men following us?" he asked Porthos quietly as Tanquerel regaled Aramis with a tale of an adventurous trip he had in the Mediterranean when the ship on which he was travelling was attacked by pirates.

"Too far away most of the time, although they were in dark cloaks. One was a dark green, I know that much. The other two could've been in black or a dark blue; 'ard to tell the difference at a distance. No idea of height or build really, given what they were wearin'and the fact they were ridin'." A thought struck him. "Wait a minute! The one who dismounted at the fork in the road. A gust of wind blew 'is cloak open. He was in the green. Average height and average build as far as I could tell. He almost lost 'is hat. He grabbed at it an' rammed it on 'is head but not before I caught a sight of 'is hair. It was so fair as to be almost white. Why?"

Athos finished his cup of wine before answering. "A man in a dark blue cloak and hat pulled low came in through the door, looked around until he saw us and walked out again." He set down his cup and stood. "I am going outside to see if he is still around."

Porthos stood too. "You're not goin' out there on your own."

Athos rolled his eyes. "There is no need for you to accompany me."

Porthos merely flashed a wide grin that meant he was not to be deterred. "I know, but I feel the need for some air. Bit stuffy in 'ere."

"Where are you two off to?" Aramis asked, noticing that they were both on their feet.

"Porthos needs some air," Athos said quickly and, slapping Porthos on the back, pushed him ahead towards the door.

Alone with the emissary, Aramis changed the subject. "Am I right in thinking that things seem to be a little better between you and Athos now?"

Tanquerel nodded and signalled to a serving maid for more drink.

"We spoke this morning. Both apologised for any misunderstanding, and all is well again."

"I am glad to hear it," Aramis said, hoping that he looked and sounded convincing enough for he knew that Athos' deep-seated suspicions had not dissipated so easily.

"He is a very taciturn fellow though," Tanquerel continued. "He has said little all evening."

"Ah," Aramis said, "but there is a reason for that. His thoughts are fixed upon the crossing tomorrow."

"He is absorbed so far ahead?"

"Unfortunately, Athos does not appreciate a bracing sea voyage," Aramis said.

Tanquerel studied him and then realised what he meant. "He suffers from the mal de mer?"

"Terribly! He only has to look at the sea and his colour turns to green."

"I think you exaggerate," Tanquerel scoffed and accepted the new bottle of wine the girl brought. He slipped her a coin and she giggled her thanks.

"I wish I were!" He watched as the emissary refilled the four cups. "I know it is a weakness that annoys him tremendously. It is probably the reason why he has been so ill-tempered since we left Paris, for he knows what lies ahead and it cannot be avoided. I have seen him endure being shot and sliced with a blade and he has borne them all in silence and with fortitude but put him on a ship and all resolve goes; he is helpless."

"Really?" Tanquerel was suddenly very interested. "I find that hard to believe of him."

Aramis chuckled. "I think it stems from the fact that in a fight, he has some measure of control and a lot of skill but on a ship, the odds are completely stacked against him; the sea has all the advantages."

"That really is unfortunate," the emissary said and sipped thoughtfully at his wine. "I, on the other hand, have always enjoyed the movement of the sea, the feel of the rolling deck beneath my feet. The rougher the sea, the more I delight in it and its power. Oh don't get me wrong, I understand the dangers a storm at sea poses but that battle against the elements is so exciting."

"Have you ever been shipwrecked?"

"I've come close a couple of times but the Almighty watches over me," Tanquerel said blithely.

Aramis' face darkened. "Then you have been truly fortunate. Sadly, it is not so for Athos and that also influences his perception of the sea."

"Really? What happened?"

It struck Aramis that Tanquerel was suddenly too eager to hear more. "I'm afraid I have said too much already. It is not my story to tell, and Athos would not be best pleased if he knew that we were discussing him like this."

He was saved from trying to excuse himself further by the reappearance of the topic of their conversation.

"Well?" he asked as Athos and Porthos resumed their seats. "How was the air?"

Porthos wrinkled his nose. "Not that good. Smells of fish an' the sea."

Aramis and Tanquerel laughed aloud and even Athos managed a wry smile, but he was thinking of the cloaked man who had completely disappeared when he and Porthos emerged from the tavern. They completed a quick circuit of the square and wandered down some side alleys, but they found no trace of him.

It was Tanquerel who eventually gave a loud yawn and broke up the gathering.

"I must go to my bed," he announced. "I have a letter to write first to update the Cardinal in Paris and that needs sending before we set sail. I also need to be out early if I am to replace those gloves prior to boarding."

"You will have time enough," Athos assured him. " As soon as we arrived, I sent a message to the Captain to say that we were here. I received a reply just before you came down for dinner. The tide will be high by mid-morning. We will leave then."

"That is good to hear and means that we will be in Dover by mid-afternoon then. Excellent news. I bid you all a goodnight."

He left the Musketeers to finish their drinks and it was not too long before they followed him up the narrow, creaking stairs. As they went to pass the emissary's room, Athos tapped lightly on the door.

"Come!" ordered a voice from within.

With an annoyed frown, Athos opened the door. Candlelight gave the room a warm glow as Tanquerel sat on the bed in the process of removing his boots.

"You are very trusting," Athos said. "I could have been anybody and you know we are being followed."

Tanquerel looked amused. "And you must likewise trust me. I have done this job long enough not to be so naïve." His left hand, the one furthest from Athos, reached down beside him to the coverlet and retrieved a dagger. "Its partner is under my pillow. Besides, I heard the three of you come up the stairs. Two continued past my door to the adjacent room even as you halted outside. Now, what is it that I can do for you?"

Athos' eyes scanned the room quickly. "I just wanted to make sure that you have everything you need and are comfortable."

"I am absolutely fine. I have finished my letter to the Cardinal and now I am going to sleep. I shall see you in the morning."

As Athos closed the door on the emissary, he paused, his suspicions rising to the fore again. Twice now, Tanquerel had made a point of declaring that he was writing one letter and that it was to Richelieu back in Paris, although why the Cardinal needed to be informed that they had safely arrived in Calais was strange for he would only be interested in their safe return with the reliquary.

One letter to go to Paris.

Why then, as Athos surveyed the room and the table where Tanquerel had sat to pen his missive to the First Minister, did he see two letters carefully folded and sealed?

A/N

* As told in 'Retribution'