Afternoon. Thank you to all the readers and to those of you who left comments after the last chapter.
Here, it is time to go on board the ship bound for England. Apologies for any errors that might have slipped through!
CHAPTER 9
I
When the group reached the tavern, Aramis held open the door and ushered Tanquerel through first with Porthos entering after him.
"I have a small errand to run and will not be long," he said.
Athos' expression was thunderous. "You have just heard me tell Tanquerel what I think of his desire to take off on his own. My words are meaningless if you do likewise."
Aramis sighed. "I appreciate that, but I consider this necessary and I promise I will not be long."
"And if you are followed?"
"I will be alert. Besides, we are not in possession of the reliquary yet. We are of the opinion that they have no purpose in acting before we have collected it."
"But if we are wrong?"
"Then we are wrong and have to react accordingly. You worry, my friend, because of lack of sleep, Tanquerel's behaviour and anxiety regarding our imminent journey. I am more than capable of looking after myself, you know that. It is daylight and there are many people abroad. I shall keep to the main streets. I am not going far and I swear my business won't detain me for long. Go inside, eat something to line your belly and make sure that Porthos leaves something for me," he said, striding away.
"At least tell me where you are going!" Athos called after him.
Aramis turned but did not stop, walking backwards as he shouted his answer. "I wish to offer prayers for our safe crossing at the church of Notre Dame."
Not concentrating upon where he was going, he cannoned into someone, spun around and apologised profusely to the annoyed man. Athos stifled an amused smile as he watched him go in the direction of the church, whose tall spire towered over the buildings behind and to the right of the square where they were staying.
He shook his head slightly. He might deem the visit unnecessary but he could not deny his brother the comfort being sought so he hoped that Aramis would not be long just as he claimed. Entering the tavern, the door swung closed behind him.
He was not the only one to see Aramis go. A cloaked figure lingered in the entrance to a narrow alleyway but made no effort to follow in the wake of the Musketeer. However, he did see the same Musketeer's head reappear moments later around the corner where he had turned.
Reassured that Athos was nowhere in sight, Aramis changed direction and crossed the square towards the huge stone gate that led to the quayside, whistling as he went.
II
Porthos, Athos and Tanquerel were seated at a table in the corner of the tavern, their position allowing a clear view of the door and any newcomers. They had emptied their rooms of their few possessions and the bags lay on the floor at their feet as they broke their fast.
"You want me to go after 'im?" Porthos offered. It had not escaped his notice that Athos was distracted, his gaze fixed upon the door, the food untouched on the platter before him.
Athos shook his head. "And have to start a search for you as well? No, he said he would not be long and so we will wait."
In truth, he did not want to be left alone with Tanquerel for the tension continued between them and he was aware of Porthos looking warily from one to the other of them, his brow creased as he considered how best he might alleviate the friction at the table.
It was Tanquerel who was the first to broker peace.
"I must apologise, Athos, for my behaviour in acting without careful thought. You are correct in your assumption that with all the work I have undertaken, I should be more careful, and I am … usually. Perhaps, because I am in the company of the King's élite soldiers, I have relaxed too much, and it is unacceptable. I should not ignore the presence of the men who are pursuing us, although I am sure that we will be safe from them once we are on board."
Athos nodded his acceptance of the apology and sought to suppress his confusion. Tanquerel was like the weather; deceptively calm but unpredictable with the potential for a sudden storm. He was the wind that repeatedly changed direction, creating havoc in his wake.
"I hope you are correct," Athos conceded and reached for the jug of ale in front of him.
"You ought to eat somethin'," Porthos said and leaned across to push the plate closer to his friend.
Athos immediately pushed the plate back towards Porthos. "I have no desire to see it again when we are at sea. You eat it so that it is not wasted."
"Aramis won't be 'appy. He'll be wantin' you to 'ave somethin' inside you before you take 'is medicine."
Athos downed the ale he had just poured into a pewter cup to delay making any answer but was further saved from replying when Aramis arrived and dropped into the seat beside him.
"All done?" Porthos asked.
"All done," Aramis replied, grinning broadly.
Athos eyed them guardedly as he realised that Porthos knew about Aramis' visit to the church, but he did not usually inquire as to whether Aramis had concluded his prayers. He wondered if Aramis had stopped somewhere else to make a purchase but he did not appear to have bought anything, unless it was so small it fitted within a pocket of his coat.
As far as Athos could see, though, there were no tell-tale bulges in the line of the garment. "What are you both up to?"
Aramis had the effrontery to look innocent. "Nothing at all." And he deftly changed the subject. "Have you brought my bag down?"
Porthos nodded and eased it from under the table towards his friend with his foot.
"Excellent." Aramis broke off a chunk of bread, cut a thick slice of cheese to go on top, took Athos' nearest hand and slapped the food into his open palm. "I told you to eat." Then he concentrated on preparing some food for himself, ignoring Athos rolling his eyes frustratedly at hearing the same instruction yet again.
Further opposition was pointless, so Athos nibbled at the food, chewing slowly, his appetite non-existent. Aramis was partially jubilant for he knew his friend would find some means not to finish what had been given to him but at least he was taking something before swallowing the medicine that had been prepared.
Conversation at the table was a little stilted, primarily focusing on what they might expect when they reached England and it was not long before Athos put down the remainder of the bread – he had eaten about half of it – and picked up his hat.
"It is time to go," he said, lacking any enthusiasm for their departure.
Porthos and Tanquerel stood but Aramis leaned down and opened his bag.
"Wait! You must take this now," and he retrieved a small bottle. Pulling on the tight cork, he poured half into Athos' empty cup. "Drink it all."
"What is it?" Tanquerel asked.
"An herbal remedy to help with the crossing," Aramis answered.
"No doubt it is another of your foul-tasting concoctions," Athos grumbled, embarrassed that Tanquerel should be witness to his need of the herbal assistance and wondering where he could go on board to secure some privacy when the inevitable seasickness hit him for despite Aramis' assurances, Athos doubted the efficacy of the remedy. He reluctantly picked up the cup. "And what do you claim this will do?"
"I am claiming nothing. It will work in as much as it will relax you and ease the nausea," Aramis said lightly, refusing to let Athos goad him for he knew the worry that lay behind the comment. "And I added some honey to improve the taste."
Athos looked sceptically from the cup to Aramis and back again and then, with a deep sigh, he downed the contents in one, wincing at the flavour. "One of the better ones to swallow," he conceded.
"Good," Aramis said, slapping him on the back. "Let's go."
He hung back, letting Athos and Tanquerel lead the way so that he could walk with Porthos.
"Stay close," Aramis said quietly. "It will work quite quickly. We cannot have any delays getting on board."
Porthos nodded his understanding. "D'you manage to do what you wanted to do earlier?"
"Yes, although I feel very guilty about lying to Athos. I told him I was going to the church to pray for us all ahead of the crossing."
"Your intentions are good so I think you'll be forgiven."
"Well I did say the prayers; I just didn't say them in the church."
They laughed together and headed across the square to the gate that Aramis had already used twice that morning. Calais was steeped in history and much blood had been shed to procure control over it. The English had held it for two centuries and the French had only regained it seventy-two years before. Its importance was reflected in the impressive curtain walls and towers that protected the town, whilst the main thoroughfare to the left of the square led to the Tour de Guet, all that survived of a former medieval castle, and the citadel that now stood proudly upon the earlier foundations.
Once through the gates, the four men turned left and headed along the quayside to where a three-masted vessel, the Orléans, was moored. It was a renamed Dutch fluyt, one of several in the French fleet, and was a bitter reminder to the King that he needed to find the money for the country to invest heavily in its own ship-building programme.
"It is an unfortunate name for a vessel considering where we are going," Athos declared.
"And why is that?" Aramis asked breezily, trying to ignore the slurring that was suddenly evident in Athos' words.
"Joan of Arc led forces there in a battle that defeated the English in the fifteenth century."
Porthos also noticed the lack of clarity in his brother's speech and, frowning at Aramis, moved closer to Athos as if he expected him to collapse at any moment.
They reached the bottom of the gangplank and Athos ground to an abrupt halt, eyeing it suspiciously.
"Well if anyone mentions it, we'll tell them that it commemorates the Catholic defeat of the Protestants in the sixteenth century instead," Aramis insisted as he tried to encourage Athos up the gangplank.
"Also inadvisable," Athos said, his words barely distinct as he added, "since England is a Protestant country."
"Perhaps we can rename it mid-crossing," Aramis suggested, eager to get his brother on board for Athos was blinking rapidly, his eyelids heavy, and shaking his head as though to clear it. The action caused him to sway and Porthos caught him by the elbow to steady him.
"Easy, we don't want you fallin' in the water."
Athos did not offer any resistance and allowed himself to be guided up the gangplank and on board the vessel.
"That was easier than at La Rochelle," Aramis whispered to Porthos as he stepped down onto the deck and stood beside his brothers. He nodded a greeting to the Captain, who had been waiting for them to board. Tanquerel produced their travel papers that had been written by Richelieu and bore his distinctive seal.
"Welcome, gentlemen. I am Hector Jacquot, captain of the Orléans. Your papers are all in order. I have my instructions from Cardinal Richelieu and I am at your service. Monsieur Tanquerel, there is a small cabin below that is at your disposal should you wish to use it."
"I thank you, but I would like to stay on deck for a while at least to see our departure from Calais."
"As you wish. With you all on board, we may leave now." He looked at Aramis. "What you requested is forward to tribord*."
As he moved away, Porthos looked puzzled. "What's that?"
"The right-hand side," Aramis explained, taking Athos by the arm and leading him towards the bow where, against the ship's side, several full grain sacks had been stacked to form a long bench. Positioned discreetly to the side of them stood a bucket and a waterskin.
"What is this?" Athos asked, his words barely coherent as he visibly swayed, and which had nothing to do with the ship's movement.
"I misled you, my friend, for which I apologise, but I came earlier to organise this with Captain Jacquot. You have your own little space, somewhere to sit and you can stay on deck in the fresh air out of the way." Aramis looked very pleased with himself.
"Thank you," Athos mumbled, genuinely touched by his friend's thoughtfulness but as he took a step towards it, his legs ceased to function properly and he stumbled.
"Steady!" Porthos said, catching him and keeping him on his feet. "Let's get you sitting down before you fall." He eased Athos down onto the sacks. "Bit 'ard but it's better than sittin' on the deck itself."
Athos was struggling to keep his eyes open and he frowned.
Aramis leaned in to undo the tie of Athos' cloak which he wore over one shoulder. "We should make you a little more comfortable."
Without warning, Athos' hands snaked out and grabbed fistfuls of Aramis' coat, pulling him close.
"What did you give me?" he hissed.
"I told you. Something to help you relax and to ease the nausea," Aramis answered, "and …." He hesitated.
"And?" Athos demanded, forcing his eyes open.
"And to help you sleep."
The sound Athos made was guttural.
"It will make the journey pass more quickly for you," Aramis rushed on as he attempted to justify his actions. "You will sleep for its entirety and, when you wake, we will be in Dover, or near enough," he finished lamely.
"What have you done?" Athos groaned at him, tightening his hold on Aramis' clothing. "You fool! I cannot sleep. I must not sleep. What have you done?" he repeated. "I cannot save myself."
"What do you mean?" Aramis asked, alarmed by the abrupt change in his brother's eexpression.
Yes, there was the anger that Athos had been deceived into taking something that would make him sleep and Aramis had been prepared all along to face his wrath, but there was something else in those deep, green eyes and it shook Aramis to the core for he could recall only seeing it once before and then, as now, it was when they were on board a vessel, only that time they were bound from La Rochelle to the Île de Ré.
It was the look of sheer terror.
A/N
Tribord is from the Old French (Norman) – estribord. It's the French for starboard from the Anglo-Saxon 'steorbord', the side of the vessel from which it was originally steered.