Greetings. It never rains but it pours! Got home after a wonderful Christmas and New Year and all motivated to finishing getting the library completed in its contents/furnishings, only to find the house had suffered another leak! Not as serious as the 2018 one that had me living somewhere else for six months but it has stained the lounge ceiling. Good job the room is on the project list for decorating this year. This time it was a leaking water tank in the airing cupboard. Two men worked for nine hours last Friday replacing it and doing other things, only to find that a new piece of equipment they had installed was faulty! I have had hot water and heating but one of them returns tomorrow and the whole system has to be drained yet again!
Anyway, I have managed to complete the next chapter. What will happen regarding Athos' cup topped up with a lethal sleeping draught by Tanquerel? Thank you to all who read and commented upon chapter 23.
CHAPTER 24
"Just be careful out there," Aramis warned. "Both of you," he added to include Tanquerel as the man approached, fastening the cloak at his throat.
"We won't be out there long," Porthos said and got to his feet. "What about you?"
"I shall turn in; last night's lack of sleep is now catching up with me," Aramis admitted. "We have a long day in the saddle tomorrow."
"We'll try not to wake the pair of you when we return," Porthos grinned and slapped him on the back as he moved past him and towards the door. "Come on then. Let's have this walk."
Aramis watched the two men head out into the night. He had not been exaggerating when he said that lack of sleep was affecting him too. Two days' travel by sea, events at Dover Castle, Tanquerel's beating the previous night, the subsequent tending of him and, later, Athos had all combined to keep him busy and then there had been the time spent speculating on all that had happened since they left Paris.
He yawned and was about to head towards the stairs when he saw another cloaked figure, face carefully concealed, push his way through the standing drinkers, eliciting some complaint before he opened the outer door and also disappeared. Something about the figure – the way it moved and its haste to be gone so soon after Porthos and Tanquerel – rang the alarm bells in Aramis' head and he immediately forgot his own tiredness.
Annoyed that he was hampered by the reliquary but not daring to entrust it to the safe keeping of anyone else, he slung the bag over his shoulder and left the warmth and friendly noise of the inn.
Not much time had elapsed since Porthos and Tanquerel had departed, and he could see them ahead of him as they crossed the square, whilst in front of him was the figure that Aramis was convinced was following them. He could have taken any path on exiting the inn but continued in their wake, not making any effort to close the gap between them.
Sliding his dagger from its sheath and comforted by the familiar feel of the hilt in his grip, Aramis followed the follower, but was not as careless in that he regularly glanced behind and to each side of him to ensure that no one else thought to join the bizarre procession. Porthos and Tanquerel looked as if they were heading back towards the waterfront and Aramis frowned, for there was a warren of narrow alleyways between the square and the quayside which provided ample opportunity for an ambush. It was worrying that the man following the pair had speeded up and so he quickened his own step, suspecting that their route was at the suggestion of the emissary and that there was imminent danger to Porthos.
He hated being proved correct.
The pursuer became more wary, and Aramis managed to dart into a doorway as he saw the man begin to turn and look behind him. Thereafter, the Musketeer moved carefully, not wanting to alert the person in front of him as to his presence. Porthos was streetwise and Aramis hoped that he too was aware of the unwanted company. If an attack were about to be launched, he wondered what Tanquerel would do.
Would the emissary maintain his innocence and stand to one side in wide-eyed shock as Porthos defended the pair of them? For one who travelled widely in the service of aristocracy and royalty, Tanquerel ought to have the ability to take care of himself; he definitely carried appropriate weaponry for the Musketeers had certainly borne witness to that. So would the man lend his weight and skills to Porthos' sword, or would he side with the attacker deliberately putting the soldier at an immediate disadvantage?
Aramis had no qualms about Porthos being capable of fending off two assailants in most circumstances, but would he be so fortunate in a narrow alleyway, in the dark and taken by surprise by one whom he was supposed to consider an ally should abruptly turn against him?
The Musketeer instinctively broke into a run and not a moment too soon. Clouds parted in the night sky, a fortuitous gleam from the moon directly above the alley bathing the area in ghostly blue and grey hues, enabling Aramis to recognise the follower drawing a weapon from beneath his cloak.
"Porthos!" Aramis yelled.
Something in his tone – be it a mixture of warning and fear for his brother combined with years of fighting beside each other – was enough and Porthos whirled on the spot, weapon drawn and met his attacker blade to blade, avoiding the blow designed to mortally wound.
Aramis had not slowed his pace and joined the fray, first pushing Tanquerel aside as if to protect him but actually more to prevent him from assisting the attacker who was no match for two of the King's finest. Grunting as a blade pierced clothing and caught flesh on his upper arm, the attacker turned and ran. Porthos was ready to give chase, but Aramis held him back and shook his head.
"Let him go. He is wounded but it will not kill him. At least we will know him again."
"You saw 'is face?" Porthos frowned. "I was too busy tryin' to make a hole in him."
Aramis clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. "So I noticed, but we must get back to Athos. We have left him alone and asleep and whilst we have one of the three men who were after us still unaccounted for, we need to ensure that he is unharmed."
Throughout the incident, Tanquerel had neither moved nor spoken and now Porthos turned to him.
"You alright?"
Tanquerel nodded. "I think that has served to sober me up somewhat," he admitted, appearing a little shaken by the events.
The three walked back to the inn where Tanquerel and Porthos remained in the taproom and ordered a much-needed brandy each whilst Aramis headed upstairs and stopped outside the door of the chamber that the four men were sharing. Ear close to the wood to listen, there were no sounds from within and he quietly entered to find Athos in the same position as when Aramis left him.
One candle had been left alight on a chest well out of reach so that Athos could not knock it accidentally should he stir and yet it afforded him enough light on waking so that he was not disorientated. Aramis picked it up now and approached the bed to have a closer look at his sleeping friend.
The lines of strain, particularly around the eyes and mouth and which served to give him a pinched look, had softened at last and genuinely made him appear more peaceful. His colour, ever pale and the source of much amusement to his friends, had definitely been restored to what was normal for him.
Smiling to himself, Aramis turned to take the candle back to its place when he lightly bumped the chair on which he had deposited his medical bag earlier. He recalled leaving the flap unbuckled and, on impact, a small bottle fell out onto the chair. Before he could react, it had rolled to the edge and landed on the wooden floor, making a noise but fortunately not smashing on impact. Aramis darted a look in Athos' direction to see if the sound had disturbed him at all, but he remained still. It had been close enough that, normally, it would waken Athos from sleep but Aramis supposed that the bad sea crossings and no rest at all the previous night had taken their toll so that, with the assistance of a few drops of the draught given earlier, he had slipped into a deep, restorative sleep.
Reaching for the bottle on the floor, Aramis was surprised by its lightness and held the candle to have a better look. There was no denying that the bottle was empty and then he saw its label with his familiar handwriting. It was the one that contained the sleeping draught but there was nothing left now.
Alarmed, he picked up the cup that also stood on the chair but some of the contents had spilled onto the seat when he had knocked it, so he had no way of knowing if Athos had drunk more. He certainly had not swallowed it all before he fell asleep and Aramis had left him.
Dipping a finger into the spillage on the chair, Aramis tentatively licked it and winced at the concentrated flavour. There was no doubting that the bottle's contents had been emptied into the cup.
His alarm intensified and he hurriedly set the pewter candle holder down on the floor below the chair.
"Athos? Athos, can you hear me? Wake up!" he ordered loudly but there was no response.
Was it his imagination or did Athos lie there deathly still? In the dim light, it was hard to see any rise and fall of his chest and if he still breathed, it was too soft to hear. Aramis grabbed his brother's shoulders and shook him violently, forgetting the one rule they all usually acknowledged, which was never to startle him awake.
"Wake up, Athos!" he demanded.
And Athos awoke with surprising strength and flailing fists, one of which caught Aramis heavily on the chin and knocked him backwards onto the floor.
"Second time in a day. That has to be a first," Aramis moaned as he sat there, rubbing his jaw.
"Wha' is it?" Athos demanded, agitated and looking about him frantically for the danger. "What are you doing?" His words were heavily slurred with sleep, his eyes bleary.
Aramis scrabbled to his knees and grabbed Athos' arm with one hand whilst pointing to the cup with the other. "Did you drink this?"
Athos looked puzzled. "Yes, when you gave it to me."
"But did you drink any more of it after I left you?" He watched as Athos' brow furrowed, the memory difficult to formulate. "Athos, think. This is important. Did you drink it?" In his mind, he was already hoping that he would not have to make an emetic for his friend who had suffered enough that day.
"How could I? I was asleep," Athos answered, his tone scathing.
"You are sure?" Aramis persisted, willing there to be no doubt.
"Sure I was asleep?" Athos' confusion continued. "Of course I am."
Aramis slumped with relief and let go his fierce grip. "Thank goodness."
His seriousness stirred something within his brother and any remaining drowsiness faded.
"Why? What is it? What has happened?" Athos noticed for the first time that they were the only two in the room. "Where are Porthos and Tanquerel?"
"They're downstairs having a drink. There's nothing to worry about … now," and he proceeded to regale the story of the attack on Porthos by the cloaked figure and his conviction that Athos' cup had been tampered with, the prime suspect being Tanquerel as he had come back to the room to collect his cloak.
"So," Aramis finished with a grin, "whilst you have been a sleepy head, we have been having adventures without you."
Athos made soft appreciative noises at the news, but his eyes were heavy and there was none of the alarmed or angry reaction that Aramis had expected.
"Have you even understood anything that I have just told you?" he asked gently.
Athos managed a nod. "D'you see Chesman's hands?" he mumbled.
Aramis wondered if he had heard his friend correctly. "What have Chesman's hands got to do with anything?"
"Tanquerel … t'morrow," Athos said vaguely, burrowing his head into the pillow.
"Go back to sleep," Aramis ordered and waited. It was not long before the green eyes did not open again, and Athos' chest rose and fell with the regular breathing of deep sleep.
Chuckling to himself, Aramis mopped up the spillage from the cup with his handkerchief before pulling off his boots, removing his long coat and draping it over Athos' doublet on the chair back. He walked round the bed to get in on the far side of his brother. He hesitated for a moment but there was no sign of awareness from Athos, so he lay down, made himself comfortable and pulled up the blanket over them both.
When Porthos and Tanquerel entered the room less than an hour later, warmed and relaxed by more than one brandy apiece, they found the two Musketeers lying back-to-back and sound asleep. Porthos grinned delightedly, the sight familiar to him.
Tanquerel even managed to raise a smile as well but his was more the result of the reassuring sign of the reduced level of liquid in the cup. It was not empty, as he would have hoped, but there was definitely less which suggested that Athos had drunk from it. The emissary wondered if it were enough to do what he wanted and if so, when Aramis would realise that he had been sleeping next to a corpse, but there was nothing he could do about it now and therefore, like Porthos, he prepared to retire.
It was not too long before the snores and grunts of the newcomers were in sharp contrast to the silent pair who lay in the middle bed.