Greetings, all. Leak update: water tank replaced and malfunctioning new piece replaced a week later, carpets dried out, more shelves bought for new library and that is where I am sitting right now. Sun's shining and all is good!

Thank you for reading and reviewing the previous chapter. Things are unravelling around Tanquerel. The best laid plans etc. So what is Athos up to?

CHAPTER 25

When Tanquerel awoke, he lay there with his eyes still closed as he gathered his thoughts and listened to the sounds within the room. Someone was moving around quietly but there was none of the commotion, the cries of consternation that he expected when the Musketeer Aramis awoke to discover that he was sleeping next to a dead man.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to see said Aramis, booted and clothed and packing up his few personal belongings. Task completed, Aramis paused long enough to clutch Porthos' leg above the knee and shake him awake. The big Musketeer grunted loudly but then opened his eyes wide and sat up in one fluid movement. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and scrubbed at his face with his huge hands.

There was no-one else in the room.

Throwing back the blanket and sitting up abruptly, Tanquerel looked to the middle bed where Athos had been sleeping but there was no sign of him; his clothes were gone, as was his own saddle bag.

"Where's Athos?" the emissary asked, trying to keep his voice steady and unconcerned.

Aramis' eyes narrowed at the question but, just as swiftly, his face broke into his customary wide grin.

"Oh he was up and out before I even stirred. He can move silently when he wants," he answered brightly.

Was Tanquerel imagining things or did Aramis sound exultant? Without thinking that the gesture might betray him, his eyes flickered in the direction of the medical bag which still stood on the chair between the beds, but its flap was now firmly fastened. The goblet was beside it and, leaning to grab his boots, he took the opportunity to glance into the cup, but it was empty. Had Athos woken up, dressed and quenched his thirst before going out?

Tanquerel's heart leapt at the thought of the lieutenant collapsing wherever he had gone as the fatal draught took effect.

II

The three vacated their chamber and made their way downstairs where Tanquerel's hopes were immediately dashed, and his heart sank.

Athos sat in a booth, the table before him laid with an assortment of dishes and platters, most full and others empty to be used by his companions.

"Good morning, gentleman," Athos said airily, gesturing towards the food. " I took the liberty of ordering for you; I hope that it is to your satisfaction. Our horses will be ready for us within the hour."

Porthos eyed the spread, grinned and rubbed his hands together gleefully; he was obviously quite happy with what had been provided. He was just about to slide in along the bench opposite when Athos stayed him with a raised hand.

"Porthos, perhaps you will allow the emissary to be seated first."

"No, it's no problem. I am fine on the outside," Tanquerel began.

Athos shook his head and indicated the place before him. "Please," was the expressionless entreaty.

Porthos frowned, hesitated a little and fixed his dark eyes upon the lieutenant. A silent message passed between them, and he nodded, holding back so that Tanquerel was obliged to take the inside seat.

Aramis had watched the exchange without a word. He had known Athos long enough to realise that he was up to something.

"Well, this is all good," he announced as he sat beside his brother who spooned more porridge into his mouth. "You look better this morning," he commented lightly as Athos tore off another chunk of freshly baked bread.

"Yes, and for some reason, I find myself very hungry," Athos announced. He spread his hands wide over the platters and bowls. "We do not stand upon ceremony so help yourself," he urged Tanquerel in a friendly manner. The man was sitting watching him, an inexplicable expression on his face as if wondering if any deception lay beneath the words of invitation.

"If you don't," Aramis warned, noting the emissary's reaction to Athos, "Porthos will eat it before you have a chance."

"You makin' me out to be greedy?" Porthos complained, having already filled his dish from the large bowl of porridge in the centre of the table and piling his plate with bread, cheese and fruit. He bit into an apple and poured himself a mug of watered ale.

"Not at all, my friend," Aramis replied. "We know you have a prodigious appetite. I just do not want the emissary to wait politely for his food, only to find that there's nothing left."

"We could always order more," Porthos added, his mouth full.

The four ate in silence for some minutes but, with the light-hearted comments at an end, there was an undisclosed tension in the air, although the only person who appeared to be remotely at ease was Athos who emptied his dish and cut himself more cheese. He had already eaten more as they sat there than Aramis had seen him do at any time since leaving Paris.

It was quite reasonable to suppose that he was very hungry given the events of the past few days and the misery of the sea crossings, but Aramis knew him of old. He was lulling Tanquerel into a false sense of security and planning something; something that was imminent for he had ensured that the emissary was sandwiched between the wall and Porthos. There was no escape.

Aramis glanced at Porthos and their eyes met. The big Musketeer's brow furrowed for he sensed it too. Athos was about to do something. The other two trusted him completely and would follow his lead without question as there had been no opportunity to share details or to fulfil any forward planning.

Having finished breaking his fast, Athos leaned back against the settle and studied his half empty cup as he turned it slowly with one hand. Seemingly relaxed, he was picking his moment.

"We were pursued by three men on our way to Calais. With Chesman now dead, that leaves two who are unidentified," he suddenly announced.

Tanquerel's head snapped up. "You have a name?"

"Of course," Athos replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I recognised him as soon as I saw him at Dover Castle; it was not hard finding out who he was as his white-blond hair made him easily memorable. Then there was the man last night who attacked Porthos. We shall call him number two. It is amazing how he knew we were back at the inn last night for I am convinced he was the same man who was watching us on our arrival from Paris."

"Perhaps he was watching the inn and waiting," Tanquerel offered lamely.

"I have no doubt those were his instructions. He was wounded last night, not seriously and not enough to incapacitate him. but it has probably annoyed him somewhat and we must not underestimate him. That leaves pursuer number three." He paused; green eyes fixing upon Tanquerel's watery blue ones. "Is he the mysterious cousin who objects to the reliquary going to the King?"

Thrown by the unexpectedly direct question, Tanquerel was momentarily flustered but swiftly recovered himself. "Why would I know who it is?"

Athos huffed in mild amusement. "Forgive me. Indeed, why would you?"

Tanquerel replenished his cup from the ale jug, which he then lifted in mute question to the other two, but they shook their heads, their faces unreadable.

The slight tremor in his hand as he raised the cup to his lips indicated that Tanquerel was unnerved and he was stalling for time but Athos, whose eyes had never left his face, was content to wait.

"Tell me what you know of the cousin," he said eventually.

The emissary shook his head. "I know nothing of him except that there was a cousin who objected to the exchange."

"And you know this how?" Athos insisted.

"Philippe de Ricart told me in an early letter when I first began negotiations."

"This cousin must have a name. Why does he object? What is he prepared to do to stop the reliquary arriving in Paris?"

"The letter never gave me a name; it was left vague. I don't know what his objections are. If I did, I would have told you," Tanquerel blustered. He reached out to add more cheese his plate; it was another ploy - a poor one - to divert attention and regain his composure.

Suddenly, a hand snaked out and caught his lower arm, slamming it down with force so that his wrist banged on the wooden trencher of bread and cheese. He winced at the painful contact and tried to wriggle free but Athos, leaning forward, held him fast. Aramis and Porthos stiffened at the move and angled their positions to obstruct the view of what was happening at their table, not that there was anyone near them in the tap room.

"I do not believe you," Athos said slowly, his voice low and ominous.

"I don't know why you're doing this," Tanquerel said in panic as he looked in desperation to Aramis and Porthos.

"You are lying," Athos accused him.

"What? You're mad!" the emissary almost squeaked. "He's mad!" he appealed to Aramis for help but one look at the Musketeer was enough to see there would be no assistance there.

"You'd better start talkin'," Porthos warned him, his tone menacing.

"Mad, am I?" Athos demanded, his mood increasingly intimidating. "I think not. You are in league with our pursuers and have been from the very beginning."

"This is preposterous!" Tanquerel spluttered and launched his own verbal attack. "When we get back to Paris, I shall report you to your Captain, to the Cardinal and the King, anyone who will listen. For some reason, you took against me the moment we started out for England and now you are making ridiculous accusations."

Athos' face darkened. "I took against you because I did not trust you and I have been proved correct time after time. Three men followed us and when we took a different route, you deliberately dropped your glove informing them of the road we had taken."

"I told you at the time that was an accident!"

Athos ignored the man's objection. "Our first night in Calais, you repeatedly said you were writing a letter to the Cardinal, but you penned two missives. I saw them on the table in your room when I knocked to ensure that all was well with you before retiring. Who was the intended second recipient?"

"You were seeing things! There were not two -."

But Athos interrupted him. "It was a letter of instruction that you slipped to the man who cannoned into you in the square when you had to go out to replace your gloves. It was the same man I had seen in here the night before and who seemed very interested in us. Porthos and I went out to look for him when he left. He fits the same description as the one who attacked Porthos last night."

"You're delusional!" Tanquerel spat at him.

"Chesman procured passage to England on the same vessel as us and you are definitely acquainted with him."

The emissary took a deep breath to deny it vehemently, but Athos continued, silencing him with his next words.

"Jacquot saw you talking to him on deck and later, when I was awake and sick to my stomach, I saw him. It did not serve his purpose to act before we were in possession of the reliquary, but you knew Aramis had drugged me on the outward voyage and the effect that it had on me, and you made the erroneous assumption that the same thing would happen on our return. You were agitated when you saw that I was not asleep, as you expected, and you had no way of warning him, so you were understandably upset when I killed him in self-defence. I assume, from last night's attack, that the plan is to eliminate each one of us so you can take possession of the reliquary, but we will come back to your possible intentions later.

"In Dover, you went to the upper storey after dinner to join a select group that included Chesman, and it was simple for the two of you to go up another floor to give you a beating. It would not be heard by anyone."

"You think I arranged my own beating?" Tanquerel was incredulous. "I was hurt!"

"But not seriously," Aramis interjected. "Your injuries were superficial."

"You were just a good actor," Porthos added.

Aramis chuckled but there was no levity in the sound. "Just like you're trying to be now!"

"And why would I allow myself to be beaten up?" Tanquerel was scathing.

"You tried to make yourself the unfortunate victim. You were probably tired of my suspicions," Athos continued. "Chesman was wearing his gloves at table the next morning and, strangely, he made no attempt to remove them. What was he hiding? So, when I killed him, I pulled off his gloves and his knuckles were bruised and grazed; he had clearly been punching something … or someone."

Tanquerel shook his head in disbelief. "And so you assume it was me. It's a coincidence, like everything else you have said."

"I will admit that his bloodied fingers and your injuries could be a coincidence," Athos admitted, "albeit an unfortunate one. However, one coincidence is enough but even you must agree that far too many have occurred to be mere chance."

"An' what about you talkin' to 'im on board the ship?" Porthos demanded.

The emissary sighed in frustration as if the constant questions and accusations were beneath him. "Yes, I talked with the man on deck and discovered we were heading to the same place but that's it."

It was Athos' turn to shake his head and there was a semblance of regret on his face.

"Another lie, I am afraid. You see, Chesman was already under suspicion and was being closely watched by one of King Charles' men. He had followed him to France on a prior visit and witnessed the two of you meeting."

The colour drained from Tanquerel's face; he had nothing to counter the claim and the news was a shock to him. Evidence was steadily mounting against him.

"When you saw what I had done to Chesman, you shouted that I too was a dead man. Did you think I was past taking note of what you said or that I did not hear? What did you mean? Who would want to see me dead? A relative perhaps? We know Chesman was related to the de Ricart family. Would his death upset this mysterious cousin perhaps?"

By now, Tanquerel had clenched his mouth shut, refusing to say anything else, his breathing heavy and rapid through his nose.

"But as Chesman failed in his work on board, you decided that you would make an attempt on my life by emptying the sleeping draught into my cup last night."

"You were the only one who had the opportunity when you went for your cloak," Aramis added, his tone cold as he considered how close he had come to losing his friend. "Fortunately, I tasted the drink and recognised its strength before I discovered the empty bottle which you had carelessly put back into my bag. Don't even think of denying it."

"You could 'elp yourself by startin' to tell us the truth," Porthos warned him.

"You are making more and more careless errors," Athos said quietly. "They smack of recklessness, lack of preparation and, dare I say, desperation." He saw Tanquerel rally himself for a final defence and began his final attack. "Especially as we happen to know more – a lot more – than you have told us," Athos said quietly.

Tanquerel looked sick but was determined to brazen it out. "If you think you know so much, why are you bothering to ask me more questions?"

"You might be able to fill in any remaining gaps in our knowledge." There was a disarming calmness about Athos now.

"Besides," he went on, "we know that the Saint was a Templar Knight before he went to England; that he was potentially a custodian of the supposed Templar treasure, and that the reliquary is definitely of far more value than its skeletal contents for it is engraved with clues that are thought to give directions towards the hiding place of the treasure. We also know of a Tanquerel at the English abbey founded by de Ricart; not at the same time, of course, but one who felt strongly enough not to take the Oath of Supremacy. I am presuming he is your ancestor."

Sweat beaded Tanquerel's brow and his mouth had gone dry as the Musketeer continued to speak, so he picked up his cup and sipped at it but, as Athos revealed the extent of his knowledge, the emissary began to choke on a mouthful of watered ale. Porthos clapped him heavily on the back.

"You could still help yourself. I would say little damage has been done but several men already lie dead and there have been three separate attacks on the lives of my brothers and me, with one remaining in Paris with his injuries. So I ask you again," Athos said quietly as he saw the emissary collapse in upon himself with the realisation that his plans were slowly being stripped back, one by one. "Who is the mysterious cousin?"