Greetings and profuse apologies for the tardy upload of this next chapter. Life is a little frenetic at present and likely to be so for a while. I apologise for any errors that have crept through; I have checked it twice!
Thank you so much for reading and the feedback so far.
CHAPTER 8
When Aramis stirred the next morning, Athos was already packing together his few belongings in his saddle bag. His eyes were heavy and darkly ringed, so Aramis knew immediately that he had had little sleep for a second consecutive night which was worrying. Perhaps he would be able to rest once he reached Dover.
Pushing back the blanket, Aramis moved to sit on the side of the bed and rubbed his face with his hands before turning to shake Porthos awake in a mild revenge for he had been sharing the bed with Aramis and had monopolised much of the available area as he lay on his back, limbs spread and snoring gently. Jerking awake, he groaned loudly.
"Don't tell me it's mornin' already."
"Very well; I won't," Aramis quipped. "It's night-time and you've just gone to bed."
"When it's light outside? I don't think so. Anyone tell you you're far too cheerful of a mornin' for your own good?" Porthos complained.
"The ladies I have loved and left have said many sweet things to me in the morning but never that," Aramis said with a chuckle.
"They're probably warnin' you that their 'usbands are on their way home an' you need to get out of there."
Aramis laid a hand on his heart as though mortified. "You wound me deeply, Porthos!"
The big man snorted with amusement. "I reckon you'll get over it."
"When you two have finished with your banter routine, we need to go and eat. We will leave our stuff here and collect it afterwards. Whilst you both get moving, I shall see if Tanquerel is awake," Athos said.
When the door closed behind him, Porthos and Aramis began slowly to get themselves ready for the day ahead, donning clothing and boots and taking their turn to wash their faces in a bowl provided, the cold water topped up from the mismatched ewer standing with it.
"You made up that remedy to give to 'im?" Porthos wanted to know.
"Yes, but I've only told him that it'll relax him and settle his stomach," Aramis answered.
Porthos' brow furrowed. "'E doesn't know you're puttin' him to sleep?"
Arams continued stuffing items into his bag. "He would refuse to take it if he knew so don't go telling him." He saw Porthos make a gesture to indicate that his lips were sealed. "He'll need to swallow it shortly before going on board as it works fairly swiftly. The sleep will do him good as he's not had much over the past two nights."
"'E's bothered about the journey to England then," Porthos said.
"That and this whole mission."
At that, the door flew open.
"Tanquerel is not in his room," Athos said curtly. "I will see if he is already downstairs eating," and he was gone again.
Porthos and Aramis exchanged a concerned look and hastened after him.
Tanqerel was not downstairs, and the inn keeper was apologetic but he had not seen him leave the premises.
Outside in the square, Athos issued rapid instructions.
"Aramis, you go that way, I shall go in this direction and, Porthos, you head across to the other side. Check the side streets as well. We will meet back here as quickly as we can."
With a nod, the others complied and the three dispersed.
As Athos walked, his mind was in turmoil for when there had been no response to his knock upon Tanquerel's door, he had opened the door warily. The bed was left un-made and the man's belongings were mainly packed, the bag set upon the chair at the table as a reminder to the owner not to forget them, as if that were at all possible anyway. It had not taken long for Athos to see that only one letter remained on the table itself, the creaminess of the paper in stark contrast to the dark wood of the piece of furniture.
Glancing back over his shoulder to reassure himself that the passage was empty and that there was no sound of approaching footsteps on the stairs, Athos darted across the room to the table to see the intended recipient of the letter. It was the one addressed to Richelieu.
Now, as he searched the square for Tanquerel, he began to doubt himself and his senses. Had he really seen two letters the previous evening or was that what he had wanted to see? Perhaps, in the low candlelight, it had merely been the way the message had been folded that suggested another below it as it lay upon the table.
If there were a second one, what had happened to it?
The answer was obvious. Tanquerel had taken it with him with the intention of delivering it to someone whilst he was outside, having given the Musketeers the slip. The addressee and the necessity for this other letter were uppermost in Athos' thoughts, as was the burgeoning fury that they had allowed the man to have a room to himself, giving him the liberty to do whatever he pleased.
Looking around to ascertain the whereabouts of his brothers, he saw Aramis emerging alone from a side alley and, on the other side of the square, he saw Porthos. Their eyes met and the big Musketeer shook his head; he had not seen Tanquerel.
Athos huffed with exasperation, although his stomach muscles clenched with worry. Where had the emissary gone? What could have happened to him? Had the three men who had been following them moved against Tanquerel? The anxiety then began to gnaw at him that the emissary might be carrying the crucial papers about his person and if they were to fall into the wrong hands ….
He dared not think about the consequences. Perhaps the documents were back at the inn, stashed in the bag that awaited its owner by the table. If Athos had them, he and his brothers could still proceed to England in the hope that they could obtain the precious reliquary without Tanquerel. Would he send the letter to Richelieu in the emissary's stead? At this moment, he did not know. And then there was what to do about the missing man. They would continue to search for him in the time they had left to them, but the vessel sailed in just over two hours, and they had to be on board. The thought of the crossing and what it might hold for him personally never crossed his mind. He was far too preoccupied with his concern.
Initially, he had been angry that Tanquerel had left the premises without telling them of his intentions but what if he had not done so of his own volition? Suppose the men who were trailing them had gained access to the tavern and seized the emissary? Surely, he and his brothers would have heard something? But there had been no evidence of anything untoward having happened in the room when he entered; it was perfectly in order.
The doubts were beginning to surface once again; that perhaps he had done Tanquerel a grave injustice and that the man was, at that very moment, in mortal danger, which also had serious implications for the mission.
And then he saw him!
Tanquerel was sauntering along the south side of the town square towards him, although currently unaware of the Musketeer's proximity. His whole demeanour did not hint of any problems and the direction in which he walked was taking him back to the tavern.
Athos' face darkened as he felt the heat of rising fury and quickened his pace to intercept the man. His mind was in turmoil as he tried to decide upon the most caustic comments that he could launch to vent his fury but then he noticed another figure, dark-cloaked, approaching swiftly on the diagonal across the square and who would reach the emissary first.
Eyes widening in horror at what might be about to happen, Athos yelled a warning and started to run, knowing that he would be too late.
He saw the man collide with Tanquerel, causing him to stumble but the emissary kept his footing, rounded on the man who neither broke his stride nor turned his head with an apology but kept on going.
"Pardon, Monsieur. I am sorry to be in your way," Tanquerel hollered good-naturedly after the disappearing figure.
Athos skidded to a halt and grabbed Tanquerel by the shoulders, eyes raking the man for any sign of injury.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded.
Tanquerel looked puzzled. "I am fine, thank you."
"Are you sure?" Athos persisted as Aramis and Porthos joined them, having been alerted by his shout. "I saw him head straight for you, barge into you and walk away. There was no reason for him to act as he did. There was plenty of room and he could easily have avoided you; it looked deliberate. Do you have your purse? Did he pick your pockets?"
Tanquerel patted his pockets and shook his head. Then he checked that the leather pouch still hung from his belt.
"Nothing has been taken and I am at a loss as to his purpose, other than the fact that the smell of drink was strong about him. Perhaps his judgement was affected," Tanquerel said, apparently unperturbed about what had just transpired.
His nonchalance was the final catalyst and Athos' temper snapped. He had the presence of mind not to raise his voice, thus avoiding a scene, but his words were little more than a snarl.
"What the hell do you think you were doing leaving the tavern without telling us where you were going or having one of us accompany you?"
Tanquerel's eyes narrowed and his breath quickened as his own mood soured. "I did not realise that I had to inform you of my every move."
"Then why do you think we are here? You know damn well that we are being followed. You could have been taken captive whilst walking alone and just now, you could have been injured or even killed by an assassin's blade for I am sure that he was the dark-cloaked man who came into the tavern last night and saw us."
"You can't be sure of that. Look around you," and Tanquerel gestured to the Calais citizens going about their business in the square. "How many do you see wearing dark cloaks?" He did not wait for Athos to answer. "There are too many to count. You are too suspicious and see a threat at every turn."
"And so what if I do?" Athos demanded, taking a step towards the emissary who stood his ground, glared back and clenched his fists.
"Athos," Porthos said quietly in warning, his hand reaching out to take his friend's arm.
Athos shook off the restraining hand without even looking at it, his voice dangerously low. "I am doing my job. I am tasked with getting you to Dover in one piece to collect this reliquary and then see you deliver it to the King in Paris and if that means suspecting the most important burgesses of this town, then so be it. However, you seem to be doing everything within your power to create problems. Your actions this morning could have cost us dearly and sacrificed the mission. What were you thinking?"
Tanquerel held out the small, paper-wrapped package he carried, his tone curt. "I told you last evening that I would be abroad early today to replace my gloves and that is what I have been doing. I found a glove-maker and had him open early on the promise of a purchase. Do you wish to see them as proof?" and he began to unwrap them.
"That will not be necessary," Athos ground out. "With the accounts you have given of yourself on the journey here, I thought you had been in this line of work long enough not to take such stupid risks."
"Let's go back to the tavern to break our fast," Aramis urged as the animosity between the other two men reached new heights.
"I work alone!" Tanquerel spat out. "I did not ask for three Musketeers to be appointed as my nursemaids."
"And we did not ask for the role," Athos fired back.
"But we've all 'ad our orders," Porthos intervened, "so we need to make the best of it. Come on, both of you. I'm 'ungry an' we need to eat before we get on board. Let's get back to the tavern, eat an' collect our stuff."
There was a lingering moment when Athos and Tanquerel continued to eye up each other but then Athos stepped back out of the emissary's way, gave a wry smile that did not reach his eyes and indicated for the man to precede him.
Aramis fell into step beside Tanquerel and attempted to initiate a conversation by showing an interest in the newly acquired gloves. Porthos followed with Athos but knew better than to talk, for he imagined that he could feel the waves of suppressed fury emanating from his brother.
From the shadows of an alleyway, a figure stood watching the altercation that had transpired between the two men. He had not been able to hear any of the heated words that had been exchanged, but he knew from the body language that there was conflict between them. Having collided with the one who was not a soldier, he had hurried away, darting down the first side street to back- track and return to the square using a parallel alley so that he could witness what happened next.
As the four moved away, he leaned back against the wall and tore open the letter that had been thrust surreptitiously into his hand during the deliberate collision. He rapidly read its contents and then thrust it into a pocket before striding off in the opposite direction to that taken by Athos and his group.