Greetings, all. The building work continues; there's a man making a lot of noise even as I type. He's replacing a window frame that was cracked when they installed the new windows and doors. New roof leaks - that's being fixed tomorrow morning. The electrician came Monday so I have heat, plug sockets and light and today the new floor was laid. Right now, I am totally euphoric! Please forgive any errors that have crept through.

No doubt Athos would give his last coin to feel as happy as me! Thank you to all who continue to read and leave a comment.

CHAPTER 21

I

Aramis and Porthos were not the only ones to be attracted by the sound of men fighting. Some of the crew and the Captain himself had rushed to the forward deck but they were unlucky if they expected to come upon some sport. They knew that Musketeers were on board and perhaps they thought the soldiers were wiling away the journey time by sparring together and demonstrating the skills that set them apart as the King's élite regiment.

But they had reckoned without Athos' prowess with weapons, and this was not mere exercise but a fight to the death. The first there skidded to a halt in shocked silence as their comrades cannoned into their backs and they all stood, staring at the passenger lying in an untidy heap upon the deck, his life blood staining the boards. The most callous among them might have been forgiven if their thoughts had immediately strayed to the onerous job of scrubbing the wood clean again.

'Fight' was a misnomer anyway.

Chesman made one fatal error from which there was no going back. As he had approached the supposedly sleeping Musketeer, he had brought back his sword to deliver his coup de grâce, running the soldier through before he knew what had happened.

But something had gone wrong.

The Musketeer was not asleep. Up came the main gauche in the left hand in one fluid motion to deflect Chesman's strike. The unexpected strength of the parry jarred his arm, startling him, and was what had elicited the cry from the Englishman as he stumbled backwards, desperate to recover his balance on the moving deck.

Athos seemed to rise behind the main gauche in one fluid motion, his face dark with intent and anger as his sword, which had been lying at his feet one second, was in his right hand the next and he launched his fierce attack.

Taken by surprise, Chesman did not stand a chance as he was driven back across the deck by a series of rapid, deft strokes. He probably never even registered the thrust that pierced his heart and he was dead before his body crumpled to the wooden planks.

When Aramis arrived upon the scene, Athos was bending over Chesman and pulling roughly at the man's gloves, allowing his limp hands to land with a thump. The Musketeer was breathing heavily, strange after so limited an action but he also swallowed convulsively, his skin a sickly hue and sheened with sweat. As the ship rose again on a swell, he staggered.

"Are you unhurt?" Aramis asked Athos anxiously, catching him by the arm to steady him whilst Porthos knelt beside the stricken Chesman to feel for a pulse, although he was sure he would not find one. Athos nodded a reassuring answer, his teeth clenched as he was unable to speak.

"Dead," Porthos said and stood again.

At the grim pronouncement, Jacquot turned to his crew. "Back to work, all of you. There is nothing else to see here."

The men muttered amongst themselves but, to their credit and to that of the man who gave the orders, there was no hesitation as they moved to resume their tasks. Within seconds, they had all dispersed.

"I presume there is a good reason as to why you killed one of my passengers?" Jacquot asked, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Athos.

"It was self-defence," Aramis said.

"And you saw this?" the Captain demanded, knowing full well that Aramis had arrived after him.

"No, but …"

Before Aramis could utter another word, Tanquerel, who had been staring down at Chesman's corpse in wide-eyed horror, recovered enough to find his voice.

"What have you done?" he screeched, throwing himself forward as if he would launch his own attack upon Athos but Porthos, with his quick reflexes, intervened and moved between the two, his arms grabbing the emissary and holding back the struggling figure. "You're a dead man, you know that?"

Aramis was furious. "Get him away from here," and Porthos nodded his agreement, pushing and then pulling Tanquerel away from the scene.

Athos looked as if he might say something but suddenly spun round, staggered to the bucket, dropped to his knees and vomited violently.

"Perfect timing," Aramis sighed and crossed to assist his brother, Jacquot not far behind.

"He really isn't a sailor, is he?" the Captain asked.

"That's what we've been saying all along," Aramis answered, passing Athos a cup of water that had been set ready for him.

Jacquot looked from the stricken Musketeer, on all fours as he retched into the bucket again, to the alarming spectacle of the corpse.

"What do I do with the body?" Jacquot asked.

"Wrap it in canvas, weight it down and throw it overboard. I am sure you or I can find a few suitable words to say in the process," Aramis declared, hands on hips as he, too, gazed at Chesman.

"But surely he will be missed," Jacquot pressed. His sea career was long enough that he had had occasion to do battle in order to defend his vessel, but to have passengers killing each other in a sword fight whilst on board was unprecedented.

"Undoubtedly," Aramis replied. He then remembered Athos' suspicions that the ship's captain might be involved in the conspiracy. "What do you know of him?" and he inclined his head towards the body whilst his eyes never left Jacquot's face to gauge his expression.

The sailor shrugged. "Not much, other than he was an Englishman eager to reach his homeland on the same tide as you and willing to pay over the odds for the privilege. When I initially hesitated, he pleaded his case and Cardinal Richelieu's orders did not preclude me from having other passengers as long as your needs took priority, so I gave him passage. He claimed he would make a return journey at the same time as you, so I assumed he was part of whatever took you to England."

"Indirectly," Aramis admitted. "He had been following us since we left Paris."

"And he was up to no good?"

Aramis nodded.

"Then I am glad at his passing," Jacquot announced. "I admit to becoming a little suspicious of him though." When Aramis frowned, the captain continued. "His behaviour was somewhat odd. If he were part of what took you to England, why didn't he spend more time with you all, rather than skulking around and having that secret conversation with the emissary?"

Aramis had stooped to help Athos to his feet and settle him back on the sacks, but his head snapped up at the comment.

"What do you mean? What secret conversation?"

"Yesterday, on the outward journey. I saw him on the deck a couple of times. He seemed furtive, keen to know what you were all doing, and then I saw him with the emissary on the other side of the ship. It was after that delay across the Goodwins."

"And they were talking together?" Aramis asked, trying to keep a level voice.

"Well, the emissary was doing the talking. The dead man was in the shadows just watching and listening."

"Did you hear what was said?"

Jacquot shook his head. "I was too far away, and the wind was taking the sound away from me. Besides, I was busy checking conditions and trying to work out if we could make up some of the time lost."

"And you never thought to mention any of this?"

"Who was I going to tell? And what was I to say? I wasn't to know if they were up to something. I just knew it was strange but then, I've often seen strange ways in those supposedly well born." He snorted. "All that in-breeding, I presume. Catches up with them eventually."

Athos managed a wry smile at the negative aspersions being cast about nobility in general but did not dare add his opinion on the subject.

Aramis caught his brother's reaction. "Have you been hearing all of this?"

Athos nodded. "It confirms what Willoughby told us; Chesman and Tanquerel are known to each other."

"And this … Chesman attacked you?" Jacquot was trying to keep events clear in his head. One look at the faces of both Musketeers told him the answer. "I must apologise. As Captain of this ship, I am responsible for the wellbeing of the passengers on board, not admit a would-be murderer amongst their number."

"You were not to know any of this," Aramis said to exonerate him. "There is no blame laid at your door."

Jacquot gave a little bow. "I thank you, gentlemen. If you'll excuse me, I have a burial at sea to arrange."

II

Much happened within the next hour. Conditions worsened as the sky darkened and the wind grew stronger, whipping the waves into a rolling, gut-churning frenzy that had Athos cocooned in abject misery and mentally begging for some relief. They were in a race with nature as they prayed to reach Calais before the storm that had been threatening for hours eventually caught up with them. From the black clouds banking high into the sky, no-one needed to say aloud that it was going to be a bad one and that it was necessary to reach the sanctuary of a harbour.

Chesman's body was sewn into a length of old sail. Jacquot paused from his duties just long enough to commit the corpse to the waves, joining with Aramis to say a few words as to the repose of the dead man's soul. The only others in attendance were Athos, barely able to stand by now and held steady by Porthos at his side, Tanquerel and the two sailors who hefted the Englishman's remains over the side.

The emissary stood glowering, his face dark with anger. As he glared at Athos, he looked like he was about to say something and thought better of it. Instead, he turned to go below.

"Where are you going?" Porthos called after him, raising his voice above the noise of the wind.

"Below to the warmth and comfort of a cabin. I do not need you to act as my protector. You can stay on deck with him," and he inclined his head towards Athos. "You have the artefact in your keeping, so I don't need watching."

Porthos made to follow but Aramis caught his arm. "Let him go. I want your help with Athos. As expected, he categorically refuses to go below. Jacquot has brought me lengths of rope. If that storm hits us before we reach Calais, we have to tie ourselves down so that we are not washed overboard."

It was a grim prospect and they both hoped that it would not come to that. Between them, they guided Athos back to the sacks. He weaved across the deck as if he were well into his cups; sweat ran down his face and he shook his head as though trying to clear it.

"Dizzy," he muttered, shivering as a blast of cold wind hit them all.

"That's the lack of fluids," Aramis said knowingly, throwing Athos' cape around his shoulders.

He nodded his acceptance of the explanation as he sat back and closed his eyes. Porthos studied him for a moment, caught Aramis' eye, clenched his right hand into a massive fist and raised an eyebrow questioningly. His silent message was clear. If it came to it and they were forced to go below deck for safety, he would knock out Athos and get him down the narrow stairs somehow. With Aramis' assistance, they would have to deal with their brother when he regained consciousness, but he would gladly face Athos' resultant wrath – or terror – as long as it protected him.

Aramis' eyes widened in warning, and he mouthed the word 'no' but he was not convincing.

Porthos watched as Athos, eyes still closed, swallowed repeatedly, and his twitching facial muscles suggested that he had his teeth tightly clenched against the waves of nausea.

"He's bad," Porthos noted. "Worse than yesterday."

Aramis sighed. "He's had two days of this sickness with little to eat, no sleep and not enough to drink. It's hardly surprising. We may have to lay over in Calais for a couple of nights to give him time to recover sufficiently."

"No!" a voice ground out between them. "Paris. I am here, remember?" and Athos opened an eye enough to scowl at his friends.

"Ow could we forget?" Porthos quipped.

"We will review things after a night at the inn," Aramis declared forcefully, reluctant to get into an argument, even if it were one that he knew he would easily win, given Athos' current condition. "There is no way you could sit in a saddle until tomorrow at the earliest."

If Athos had anything he wanted to say, it was not the time. He lurched forward and bent miserably over the bucket as another bout of retching wracked his frame.

Once finished, he took some deep breaths and sat back again to lean against the wet wood. "How much longer?" he asked, the question sounding pitifully plaintive.

Aramis stood so that he could see better. "There's Calais. I can see the harbour." He smiled down encouragingly. "About half an hour, I'd say."

At that moment, the vessel dropped into a trough and then rose sharply, its bow pointing heavenward, or at least that's what it seemed to Athos as his eyes shut again and he let out a low groan. Thirty minutes sounded like a veritable lifetime as far as he was concerned. He had nothing left to bring up and yet that did not seem to bother his unhappy insides.

His senses and body were all warring with each other. He could feel the vessel from the deck beneath his feet, the sacks upon which he sat and the wood against which he leaned, the combined movements at odds with his roiling stomach and his head, which was spinning in its own completely different way. At least sitting with his eyes closed spared him the alarming visual stimulus of the grey sky one second and the greyer sea the next, although it seemed to heighten his awareness of the rolling of the vessel.

A large wave crashed against the hull, the chilling spray flying upwards and over the side of the ship to soak him and his brothers, even as he swallowed hard in his constant battle against the rising nausea.

"Please make it stop," he begged in a small whisper that went unheard by his brothers.

It was nature that answered him, mocking him cruelly and denying him any respite. There was a sudden bolt of lightning that was shockingly bright as it rent the dark sky from the heavens to the horizon and was immediately followed by a crack of thunder so loud that they all knew the storm was upon them.