Afternoon. Thank you to all who read and those who commented upon the last chapter. I'm hoping that I've eliminated any errors in this latest chapter so profuse apologies if I missed any.

What was at the top of the tower?

CHAPTER 19

I

Holding his torch aloft, Athos led the way up the steep, spiral stairs to the King's floor and on again to the gallery. There was nothing to hold onto and so he steadied himself against the cold stonework with his free hand and breathed deeply, the ascent taking its toll on him in his weakened state.

He knew he was caught in a vicious circle and that after the dreadful crossing, he needed to eat but his stomach muscles were still sore and the prospect of the food at dinner, as good as it looked, actually repulsed him, hence his picking at the different courses. Even the wine had tasted sour in his mouth and so he had drunk sparingly, equally aware that he was not replenishing the fluids his body craved. Under different circumstances, the spiral stairs would still have been taxing but, as he threw open the door onto the roof, he was breathing hard.

Fortunately Fitzwilliam and Willoughby were behind him as he took several deep breaths to compose himself and there was some consolation that they also paused to recover themselves after the climb. Perhaps he was not as unfit as he had initially feared.

"Let us spread out so we can cover the ground more quickly," Athos instructed.

High above them, the night sky was dotted with stars and the sliver of waning moon offered little light. As Athos looked out to sea and to the right, there was nothing, indicating a high bank of cloud being driven in their direction by the strong onshore winds. He shivered as another cold blast hit him and he rued not bringing his cloak. The wish was immediately dismissed when he thought of how cumbersome it would have been on the way up. Besides, he had no intention of remaining long on the roof.

Fitzwilliam noticed him staring off into the distance. "There's a storm blowing up the Channel."

Athos' heart sank as his thoughts instantly turned to the next day's journey. "A storm?'

Even as he spoke, there was a distant flash of lightning followed by a low rumble seconds later.

"It could blow itself out before it gets here but I doubt it," Fitzwilliam continued, oblivious in the flickering torchlight of the impact his words were having on the Musketeer. "Chances are that it will go on past but, in my experience, it'll sit out there, roll in, retreat and come back again several times before it dies out."

"That sounds strange," Willoughby said from the corner of the tower's roof where he had already begun his search.

"Not at all," Fitzwilliam countered. "I've known storms go on for several hours."

Athos desperately tried to focus on the task in hand, but the thought of an ongoing storm and the accompanying raging sea was the stuff of nightmares. Perhaps, if it were too bad, the ship's captain would delay setting sail but then Athos remembered the crossing to the Île de Ré. The winds had been strong and a storm approaching but they had still sailed and were forced to anchor outside the harbour walls for the sea was too rough for them to venture through the narrow opening to dock. They had remained there for several hours, so near and yet so far from the reassuring safety of solid ground! To Athos, it had been the ultimate torture.

And tomorrow it could happen all over again!

Shaking his head as if to clear his distracted mind, he crouched and held his wildly flickering torch over the thick wooden planks that covered the roof.

"What are you hoping to find, Athos?" Fitzwilliam asked.

"There's a lot of dust and dirt on the ground. See if any of it is disturbed. Tanquerel was bleeding and so there might be droplets. We are seeking any evidence of recent activity up here."

They searched on as the wind intensified and dragged at their clothing. Athos had been counting between the lightning flashes and thunder to gauge the storm's distance, but that lull had reduced to almost nothing. He swiped at the hair that blew in his eyes again and resolved to have it cut on returning to Paris.

"We need to go down," Fitzwilliam declared, an edge of nervousness in his voice. "That storm is getting closer, and we are too high and too exposed up here. I swear I have felt the first drops of rain."

"Keep searching," Athos ground out, intensifying his own efforts.

It was Willoughby who called them over to give their opinion on what he had found. They bent to peer closely at where he pointed, adding the light from their torches to his, but the flames were dancing madly, and the one Athos held was abruptly extinguished.

"Here," and Fitzwilliam angled his own torch to relight the other.

There were the tell-tale signs of partial footprints and scuff marks and a dark spot. Athos put a finger to it and rubbed the congealed mess between his fingers and held his hand as close to his torch as he dared without scorching himself.

"Blood," he declared with grim satisfaction and began to follow the sparse trail.

"There's not much of it," Willoughby said as the few drops led them back to the doorway and the top of the spiral staircase.

"Definitely not," Athos agreed. "Hardly a severe beating in my mind. Fitzwilliam, have you had any men posted up here on duty in recent days?"

The Englishman shook his head vehemently. "No need when there are lower towers, gates and battlements. This would only be used if we were under heavy attack.

"Are you going down to confront him?" Willoughby asked.

Athos thought for a moment. "No. We will let him play out his little game. If I distrusted him before, that distrust has increased tenfold now. I am even more convinced that our greatest danger lies on our return journey to Paris when there are only the three of us guarding the relic. Whatever plans he has would be jeopardised here; there are too many people and soldiers about."

"I could let you have some men," Fitzwilliam offered but the Musketeer declined.

"We would arouse his suspicions. I want him to have every opportunity of condemning himself. He is Richelieu's man, and I must have all the evidence possible to bring Tanquerel down and to satisfy myself that the Cardinal is not involved in this. I do not believe that he is, but I need to be sure."

"You play a dangerous game, my friend," Fitzwilliam said softly.

Athos huffed his amusement and felt a strange warmth spread through him at the genuine way in which the man addressed him. He was developing a high regard for both the officer and the intelligencer and wished that circumstances had been different for them to further this fledgling friendship but then, he corrected himself, it was this circumstance which had thrown them together in the first place.

"Somehow being a Musketeer is always dangerous," he quipped and then glanced skyward as the rain became harder, washing away the scant evidence they had found and causing the torches to sputter an objection. "Come, we need to get out of this before we are soaked to the skin."

II

By the time they reached Tanquerel's chamber, Aramis was finishing restoring some order to it. He set the chair upright and straightened.

"Did you find anything?"

Athos' answer was a quick dip of the head. " Confirmation of what I surmised. Is he still asleep or has he remembered anything else?"

"I woke him briefly and he thought one or two men attacked him, but he could give no details. Then he went back to sleep," Aramis said, "so he wasn't very helpful."

"I am not surprised; the beating did not happen down here. I am not sure how his mind is working if he thinks he can convince us that two men attacked him in here and we missed it all!" The corners of his mouth twitched. "If you feel inclined to wake him more frequently than necessary to monitor his pretend concussion, you will have no complaints from me. Why should he sleep, pretend or otherwise, when such a luxury is denied us?"

Aramis chuckled. "Why, Athos, if I did not know you, I would say that you sounded bitter!"

Athos clapped him on the shoulder. "It is not bitterness, my friend. You will know when I am bitter! Now, is Porthos with Tanquerel and the reliquary?" Aramis nodded. "Good. I am putting him in charge of keeping it in his possession throughout our return journey."

"Do you want me to keep an eye on Tanquerel and his well-being?" There was a scathing tone to Aramis' words.

"No, I need you to keep an eye on me," Athos insisted, all humour gone from his eyes. "You must keep me in check for I am perilously close to wringing his neck with my bare hands or running him through with my sword, whichever is more convenient at the time!"

III

Tanquerel did not join the Musketeers when they broke their fast, pleading the need for resting as long as possible before they embarked upon the long, gruelling journey back to Paris.

"He needs rest?" Aramis complained loudly as they sat eating with Fitzwilliam and Willoughby. They had all seated themselves in the same places as for the meal the previous evening. None of them had seen their beds that night.

The castle's lieutenant had spent time checking his men on duty and questioning them as to whether they had seen or heard anything out of the ordinary before he returned to his office and wrote two reports of the same incident. The first was without any hint of Tanquerel's own involvement in the attack he experienced and was constrained to the chamber on the first floor whilst the second was a much more detailed, accurate account of what they had perceived and finished with the climb up to the gallery. The two were written on Athos' recommendation; the initial report was to be used with the Earl until the Frenchmen had left England's shores when he would be furnished with the more truthful account. Fitzwilliam was not entirely happy but could understand Athos' reasoning, especially when supported by Willoughby.

"We need to be sure that the Earl is not involved so we have to wait and see what Chesman does when our guests depart," the intelligencer said, adding his view.

Aramis had not dared fall asleep when he wanted to prod Tanquerel awake throughout the night to see if he suffered any effect from his supposed concussion. When the emissary complained that it was unnecessary to wake him quite so frequently – Aramis had decided to do it every hour without fail – he had been met with the Musketeer's most charming smile and concern about the violence of the beating.

There had been no point in Porthos attempting to shut his eyes when Aramis was so intent on noisily caring for his patient every hour for Tanquerel had made no effort to move back to his own room and was taking up one of the soldier's beds. Besides, Porthos was taking his responsibility for the reliquary very seriously, so he sat on his bed, leaning back against the wall, arms folded across his chest in the safe knowledge that the object was wrapped in fabric and stowed beneath his bed.

Athos would not sleep in the same room as Tanquerel, but it was unnecessary to voice his refusal when he spent the remainder of the night talking quietly with Willoughby and, just before dawn, Fitzwilliam joined them. They had taken over the restored outer room and revisited all that had happened to see if there were any other plausible explanations. Nothing new came to mind and it was left to Athos to explain to his English colleagues what he proposed doing as he and his brothers returned to Paris with the reliquary and Tanquerel. He was still adamant that he was not going to challenge the emissary until after they had departed from England and were well on their way, and whilst he did not know the when, he knew that the confrontation would definitely happen at some point.

Tanquerel might have been absent from the first meal of the day, but Chesman was there at the top table. No-one else deigned to sit with him, but he did not appear to mind and set about the food placed before him as if he had not eaten for days.

"I was raised to consider it bad manners to eat without removing my gloves," Aramis announced quietly as he refrained from glancing sideways at Chesman who still wore his at the table. Instead, he concentrated upon plating up two helpings of food, one for himself and one for Porthos who had remained in their room, insisting that he was there to guard the reliquary rather than keeping Tanquerel.

"Perhaps his hands are cold," Fitzwilliam said cynically.

"Or perhaps he has something to hide," Athos added ominously. "He is watching us very carefully."

IV

Their meal concluded, the five men separated. Fitzwilliam went to take his report of the night's event to the Earl, having graciously declined Athos' offer to accompany him. Aramis took the food to Porthos and, between them, they were going to pack up the few belongings the three Musketeers had brought with them; at the same time, he would monitor Tanquerel.

The rain had stopped but the winds were still strong, the sea grey and the waves turbulent. That much could be seen from the castle and Athos, in the company of Willoughby, decided to ride down to the dock to speak with Captain Jacquot regarding their expected time of departure., whilst in his heart, he fervently hoped that it would be delayed.

"I was going to send word to you." Jacquot greeted them with a cheery shout from the deck of the Orléans as they walked along the quayside, having left their horses tethered at the nearest tavern.

Athos tilted his head back to look up the sides of the vessel as it rose and sank with the swell of the waves and even that sufficed to make his stomach lurch. In his heart, he fervently hoped that Jacquot intended to delay their departure.

"The storm has died down for now, but more bad weather looks set to follow. The wind is in our favour so I would like to leave ahead of what was planned. Rather than early afternoon, I want to set sail by noon. The sooner the better really."

"I will return and inform the others. We will be with you as soon as possible," Athos ground out, his teeth already clenching.

"Thank you," Jacquot called down. "Oh, and Lieutenant?"

Athos turned.

The captain was wearing an infuriatingly broad grin as he indicated towards the bow. "Your place on deck is ready and waiting for you."

Athos said nothing but groaned as he turned away and saw Willoughby eyeing him questioningly.

"Don't ask!" Athos ordered.

V

The Musketeers were back at their table with Fitzwilliam and Willoughby, their packed bags stacked against the wall behind them and the wrapped reliquary beside Porthos when Tanquerel emerged from the rooms they had occupied and insisted upon taking the time to eat something. Platters on the table offered them bread and cold meats left from the previous evening's meal.

Knowing that he would be bullied by his brothers into eating something, Athos decided to spare them the effort and was chewing slowly on some fresh bread and creamy butter, ignoring the meat.

Fitzwilliam was asking the emissary how he fared after his experience and missed Aramis pulled out a small bottle from his pocket and reached across the table for Athos' cup. The Musketeer lieutenant wrapped his fingers tightly around the pewter cup so that it could not be moved.

"I have done as you wished," Aramis said quietly. "There is nothing added. It is just an herbal combination intended to ease your symptoms."

Athos fixed him with an icy green stare.

"I promise," Aramis said to reassure him.

With a curt nod, Athos relinquished his hold but looked on as Aramis poured the contents of the bottle into the cup. Under the scrutiny of his brothers, he hesitated but his trust of Aramis ran deeper and so he snatched up the cup and downed its contents in one go.

Neither of them noticed Tanquerel, attention diverted from Fitzwilliam as he closely watched the two friends, a satisfied smirk on his face.