Good afternoon, all. Thank you for continuing to read and leave comments. It's been a busy couple of weeks. Workmen were here for a day and I'm awaiting another team to come and take down scaffolding (another necessary job ticked off the list.) Did 4 late night sessions learning from a publishing house on the US west coast (11 till midnight) and then straight into 2 full, intensive days of a Zoom writing convention on publishing routes and writing historical fiction. They were brilliant and I still have 9 sessions to watch.
Things are still tense for the Musketeers and back in Paris. Apologies for any errors that have crept through.
CHAPTER 27
Cardinal Richelieu was at his desk reading and signing documents when he was distracted by voices raised in anger in the corridor outside. He barely had time to frown at the disturbance when the doors flew open and Captain Tréville strode into the room, two flustered and apologetic Red Guards in his wake.
"I did not recall our having a meeting at this time," said the First Minister, his sardonic comment a veiled reminder to the Musketeer of the irregularity of his entrance. Eyes narrowing, he studied the other man; there was no mistaking the intense anger in his expression and posture. He would have to handle the soldier carefully.
"We have no meeting now as you are fully aware; just as we have had no meeting any day since my men left almost a week ago," Tréville ground out. "You have been deliberately avoiding me, rushing to depart from the King, ignoring me when I call after you and responding to my written messages with a string of excuses. Enough! We are going to have that long overdue conversation right now!"
Richelieu thought for a moment and then nodded a dismissal to the two men who stood menacingly at Tréville's shoulder. He waited until they had almost reached the door before adding an afterthought.
"Before you go, bring a chair for the Captain."
Tréville raised an eyebrow in surprise at the gesture and what it might portend but said nothing as he seated himself. The doors shut, signifying that they were alone.
"So, what is on your mind?" Richelieu prompted. "I take it that your abrupt entry was not because you wished to discuss the weather."
"Very funny!" Tréville was scathing. "You have kept information from me and continue to do so."
"What do you mean?" the Cardinal countered.
"You know exactly what I mean. You failed to tell me what my men went to Falaise to collect."
"Correct me if I am wrong, but I do not believe I always tell you the nature and contents of the documents your men transport on behalf of His Majesty."
"You usually warn me if there is sensitive material that is likely to put them in danger," Tréville persisted.
Richelieu gave an exasperated sigh. "I was completely unaware of any potential danger until they returned and reported the attack."
The Captain hesitated but wavered towards believing that he was now hearing the truth. He decided to press home his advantage. "So tell me of the danger they still face. I am not leaving this room until I am satisfied."
Realising that the officer meant what he said, Richelieu knew he could not procrastinate any further. Sitting back in his chair, he steepled his fingers and told Tréville what he knew about Philippe and Guiscard de Ricart and their differing wishes regarding the reliquary and the bones of their ancestor.
"So Phillippe doesn't want to keep it in the family, but Guiscard does," Tréville was perplexed. "Why resort to violence though? You say there is some monetary value in the casket itself, but it has to be more than that. Did Philippe not give you any reason in his letter for the discord with his cousin?"
"None whatsoever," the Cardinal asserted.
"But it doesn't make any sense; there has to be more," Tréville repeated, his brow furrowing as he considered the working relationship he shared with the man of God. 'Enjoyed' was definitely the wrong word for it was tempestuous much of the time and he often felt as if he were walking a pace behind. He knew that Richelieu only divulged things when it suited him – or France – the most and that made his own position so difficult.
As the man responsible for the King's interests and, ultimately, his safety, he had the right to know these things and should not be left to play some convoluted guessing game. He had his men to consider and, where possible, protect for he could never escaped the shadow of the Savoy massacre and the loss of twenty men. That was all down to being kept ignorant of the relevant information at the right time.
He had vowed every day since that it would not happen again, not whilst he was still Captain of the King's Musketeers.
"What haven't you told me?"
Tréville would never know what it was that persuaded Richelieu to reveal everything he knew but, after a significant pause, the Cardinal began his extraordinary tale of warrior monks, lost treasure and the destruction of the Templar Order - one of whom escaped to England, joined an abbey, founded his own religious house and became a saint. Now, it seemed, that saint had been a custodian to a portion of the treasure and had left vital clues engraved in what was his own reliquary. Together with the document in the Cardinal's possession, it would lead to the hiding place of untold wealth.
"Hidden treasure?" Tréville was sceptical. "Surely you don't believe that?"
Richelieu's mouth twitched into a strange smile, seldom seen, and there was no disguising the amusement in his eyes. "Of course not. It has been spoken of for centuries and none of it has ever come to light, but even you must admit that the thought of it is fascinating and entertaining and…" He paused for dramatic effect, "perhaps a little tempting?"
"It would swell the King's coffers," Tréville noted, wondering what exactly the Cardinal might be thinking of doing with the treasure if it were to exist.
"Naturally," said the other man quickly. Maybe a little too quickly. "It is enough that it has set cousin against cousin."
"With my men and your emissary stuck in the middle," Tréville added grimly.
II
Athos spread the map out against his saddle and ordered the horse to stand still and stop fidgeting.
Tanquerel raised an eyebrow as the animal seemed to obey immediately. He moved in so that he could see the map properly whilst Aramis and Porthos pressed in behind him. He was surprised at the amount of detail he could see for he had expected it to show only the main and subsidiary routes.
"In about three leagues, there is a narrowing of the road with higher ground on either side," Athos said, pointing to the relevant place.
"Similar to when we were attacked on our way back with the documents," Porthos grumbled.
"There will always be places like that; we have seen enough in our lifetimes," Aramis admonished lightly and then grew serious. "I remember riding through this on our way to Calais; it's a good place for an ambush."
"You think that is where they will be waiting for us?" Tanquerel queried.
Athos shrugged. "It is the first of several possibilities that offer them concealment but now we know what they are about, we can prepare ourselves,"
"You have a plan!" Aramis grinned. "I knew you would."
A brief eye roll and Athos began to set out what they were to do.
"You, Tanquerel, will ride through here alone."
"What!" The emissary's voice rose an octave as he instantly envisaged a gamut of dire things happening to him without the security of having the Musketeers nearby.
"We will not be far away. We will leave you in a little over a league from now and we will split up, approaching from three different directions."
"You're intendin' on comin' up behind 'em," Porthos said, nodding his approval.
"Hopefully, the surprise element will work in our favour this time," Athos said.
"Hopefully?" Tanquerel was far from convinced.
Aramis slapped him on the back. "They will be expecting four of us, so they'll probably ignore you completely."
"But you don't know that," the emissary insisted.
"Well, no," Aramis conceded, "and if Guiscard is with them, he'll recognise you straight away and will be wondering where we are."
"So he'll turn round in time to see us creepin' up from behind," Porthos added.
Tanquerel was not placated in the slightest. "What sort of plan do you call this?"
"A suicidal one," Aramis answered flippantly.
"But it is the only one we have got," Athos announced, rolling his eyes again, "unless you gentlemen have an alternative suggestion?"
Aramis and Porthos glanced at each other questioningly, shrugged and shook their heads. In the next instant, three pairs of eyes turned on Tanquerel simultaneously. He realised they were looking to him for inspiration.
"No, no … I …" his voice trailed away to nothing.
"Good," Athos declared and focused on the emissary. "When we leave you, you will wait thirty minutes before moving on at a steady walk. We do not know the surrounding terrain and need time to get into position."
"What will be your signal?" Tanquerel persisted. "I need to know when you will attack the attackers."
"'Attack the attackers.' I like that," Porthos said approvingly.
Athos ignored him and eyed his brothers. Once again, a silent communication passed between them that the emissary could not understand.
"You need not concern yourself with that," Athos continued. "Suffice it to say, you will know soon enough and must be ready to defend yourself should the need arise."
III
"'Must be ready to defend yourself should the need arise.'" Aramis quoted when the three Musketeers had taken their leave of Tanquerel so that he had to continue alone.
"Care to let us in on the rest of your little plan?" Porthos prompted.
The corners of Athos' mouth twitched. "You assume there is more."
"There's always more goin' on in that head of yours," Porthos insisted. "Question is whether you're prepared to share it?"
"You might not like what you hear," Athos teased.
It had not escaped his brothers' notice that his humour, such as it was, had improved since their last night in Calais. In Porthos' parlance, the cards may be stacked against them, but Athos was doing what he did best – assessing a situation and developing a strategy accordingly.
Now he reined in his mount and stopped in the middle of the road for this was the point he had designated as their parting of the ways.
"We do not know what we face; how many of them there might be. We were four against five before, when d'Artagnan took his hurt, and they were easily overwhelmed by us; we are all agreed that their skills were sorely lacking," he continued.
"So are we to meet more of the same? Were they all that Guiscard de Ricart could find at the time and consequently expendable? Is he accompanied by a larger band of the same? They could also be poorly trained but more of them would make them just as dangerous when we only number three."
"And we won't have the luxury of being in close proximity to each other either," Aramis admitted.
"No, and Tanquerel must, at least in the beginning, be left to look to himself. We must remain aware that he might still throw in his lot with the attackers. However, the stakes for de Ricart are higher now that we are in possession of the reliquary. He must also know by now what happened to the first group he dispatched; at the least it will be because they never returned to him with the documents he sought and at best it will be because Tanquerel passed on that information somehow. So, has Guiscard reserved his fighters for now or has he opened his purse to hire his trained help to get rid of some of the King's men?"
Aramis shrugged. "I suppose it's for us to find out."
"The time is short; we must press on," was all Athos said by way of acknowledgement and picked up his reins from where he had draped them over the horse's neck.
"Just make sure you two look after your sorry hides," Porthos said gruffly. "You won't 'ave me close enough to be breathin' down your necks an' come ridin' to the rescue."
This was it then. They had lost count of the times they had stood shoulder to shoulder in preparation for battle: fighting close by so they had each other's backs, shouting a timely warning or taking the initiative to dispose of the threat to a brother. There would be a slight dip of the head in thanks, the half-smile of appreciation and then the fight would continue but, in that brief exchange, their eyes would speak volumes as to the depth of their brotherhood.
And then there were the times such as this when they were forced to separate to fulfill the necessary task. They did not like being out of visual contact with each other, but they had an innate trust in one another, an instinct and faith in their brothers' abilities and belief that each would do whatever was necessary for them to achieve their common aim.
They dare not dwell on the other possibilities: a blow to the head that could permanently addle a brain or crush a fragile skull, a pistol shot that found its fatal mark, or the blade that laid open flesh and caused indescribable damage. Aramis had his medical knowledge, but he would be the first to admit that he had his limitations and none of them wanted to entertain the thought of the day when, faced by a fallen brother, he would be forced to witness the last breath and concede defeat. If they ever considered the possibility that he might be the first to receive such a grievous injury, they never spoke of it.
For Musketeers did not die easily; they knew that and had proved it on many an occasion. It did happen though, and the garrison cemetery attested to that, but they knew better than to think on it. They had received their commissions and sworn their oaths to do their duty for the King and France no matter what was expected of them.
And if that expectation stretched to the safe delivery to His Majesty of an ornately engraved box containing a few bones that might or might not belong to a saint who once hailed from Normandy, and that might or might not hold the clue to the whereabouts of untold treasure, then so be it. It had been tasked to them and they would see it through to the end – bitter or otherwise. They had nearly lost their lives for things that were far more weighty and things that were less so. They would do their duty without question.
Besides, they might not admit it openly, but they thrived on the excitement … and the risk!
Porthos took a deep breath, "Never thought I might get killed for a box of old bones."
Aramis raised an eyebrow. "Put like that, it loses any idea of glamour and gallantry."
"It is the principle that counts, gentlemen," Athos reminded them solemnly. "Principle and honour."
"That's alright then," Porthos said and held out his hand, palm downwards. "All for one."
The eyes of the three Musketeers met, their expressions otherwise unreadable as Aramis and Athos covered his big hand with theirs.
"And one for all," they chorused.