Morning. Thank you for reading and taking time to leave comments on the last chapter. Feedback is always welcome and encouraging. :) Apologies for any errors that may have sneaked through; I have checked it more than once but, somehow, I always manage to miss something!
In the aftermath of their short-lived battle, what do our Musketeers do next?
CHAPTER 29
I
Aramis knelt, his head bowed in prayer for the soul of the recently departed, when he heard the quick footsteps; footsteps that he immediately recognised as belonging to Athos before they halted. He sensed his brother's mood, hearing him restlessly change from one foot to the next on the spot and admiring the self-control at curbing impatience until he had completed his intercession for the dead man.
He crossed himself and opened his eyes to look up at Athos who stood on the other side of the fallen emissary, just as Porthos finished sliding down the slope and hurried over to join them.
Around them, all was unnervingly silent. The breeze that was rustling the trees as they took up their individual positions prior to the skirmish had dropped and the leaves and branches were stilled. The birds had ceased their singing. Whether it was nature's way of showing deference to the slain men or shock at the scene of carnage, Aramis could not tell.
He looked from one to the other of the men standing before him and saw the almost imperceptible shake of Porthos' head; a gesture that spoke volumes to the kneeling Musketeer. The man they pursued on foot had escaped from them and Athos was wound as tightly as a coiled spring, confirmed in his terse question.
"Well?"
"There was nothing I could do," Aramis said softly, "except for just being with him."
"He pushed me out the way," Porthos said sadly. "Guiscard meant to kill me."
Aramis frowned. "Are you sure?" When he saw Porthos nod, he continued. "I wish you would stop doing this, my friend. First Grenouille and now Tanquerel. I worry that there will not be anyone there the next time …" His voice trailed off.
"You talk as if I'm deliberately makin' a habit of it," Porthos said bitterly. "I don't ask 'em to do it."
It was Athos who sighed, his anger draining from him as he realised the enormity of what could have happened if Tanquerel had not reacted so quickly, and he laid a conciliatory hand upon the big man's shoulder. "Aramis meant nothing by it other than to stress our relief that those two were there to prevent your being hurt or worse. Their willingness to put themselves in danger for you is to their credit and earns our undying gratitude."
"At least Grenouille is still there to annoy us when he wants* and Tanquerel was able to make some sort of amends at the last," Aramis added with a slight smile. "He knew he was in serious trouble and things would not go well for him once Richelieu learned of his deception." He glanced at the dead emissary. "Perhaps this end is for the best."
Athos squatted across from Aramis, the body on the ground between them. "Did he say anything before he died?"
"He was sorry for what he had done, admitted that greed had been the driving factor and his downfall, and that we would find the documents in his saddlebag, but he did not think them very helpful," Aramis explained, pushing himself to his feet and standing, hands on hips as he took in the scene around them.
"'E said plenty then," Porthos noted.
Aramis shrugged. "I made his message plain; the giving of it was not easy for him."
Athos likewise stood. "We had better clear up this mess." There was no expression in his face or voice. "We have nothing with us to dig graves, no matter how shallow, and there are too many of them to cover with rocks. We will gather all their horses, wrap the bodies as best we can and tie them to their mounts."
"You're not thinking of taking them all the way back to Paris?" Aramis wondered.
"Definitely not. The first habitation we reach, we will borrow the necessary tools and deal with them where we can. We must be alert at all times though and assume that Guiscard still wants the reliquary."
"'E'd be a fool to think 'e can take on three of us when 'e 's on 'is own," Porthos scoffed.
"We all know that," Athos concurred, "but I suspect that he will not have learned his lesson and therefore must not be underestimated. He is probably desperate – if not arrogant - and therefore dangerous having employed others to do his bidding and seen them all fail against us. It might be a case of 'if you want something doing, it is better to do it yourself'."
"I'd best get Tanquerel's horse first then," and Porthos set off down the road to where he could see the animal in the distance. The frightened animal had taken itself off to what it deemed a safe distance from the noise and violence and was now grazing peacefully.
It took the Musketeers a good two hours to collect their horses and those of the attackers, tethering them beside the road as they set off again to bring down the bodies that were scattered on the rises. Gathering as many blankets as they could find attached to saddles, they wrapped the worst injured bodies and, between them, hefted the dead over a saddle. It was usually Porthos who bore the brunt of this heavy work as the others alternated, the third holding the horse's bridle to steady the creature. Some of the animals disliked the sensation of a dead weight slung across their backs, their nostrils flaring uneasily at the unmistakeable smell of death in the air.
They left Tanquerel until the last, Porthos and Aramis wrapping the man in his cloak as Athos went through the emissary's saddle bags for the documents. He opened them briefly to verify they were what he sought and then stuffed them inside his doublet before leading the animal to where his friends waited.
Minutes later, the Musketeers mounted. Athos paused long enough to look around at where there had been such a violent fight only hours before. They had scuffed the ground with their boots, kicking dirt over the worst of the blood stains. Now there was little to show that this was the place where so many men had lost their lives, and for what? Did these men know why they had been sent to intercept the Musketeer escort or had they simply been paid to follow an order and had attempted to do just that? Guiscard had erroneously believed that subterfuge and superiority of numbers would triumph, but he had seriously underestimated the skills of the King's men.
"Where is the reliquary?" Athos asked, looking first at Porthos who grinned and patted the bag over his shoulder.
"It's safe. Mind you, I did hide it in some bushes before the fight started. Didn't want just to leave it 'angin' from my saddle where anyone could come along an' find it."
"Very thoughtful of you," Aramis grinned but Athos was not so easily cheered.
"I cannot wait to see the back of the wretched thing. It is supposed to be a religious artifact but more likely the damn thing is cursed," he declared, an edge returning to his tone.
"Athos!" Aramis gave the mild rebuke.
"So far, this fancy box and its promise of untold riches has cost eighteen men their lives and could so easily have counted d'Artagnan amongst their number. How many more must die before it is in the King's hands?"
Athos' grim mood was a pall that darkened the day. Not waiting for any response, he spurred his horse onwards and led the way, trailing four more animals and their unholy burdens in his wake.
Aramis frowned. "Eighteen? As many as that?"
"The five at the beginning', the eleven that attacked us 'ere, Chesman and Tanquerel." Porthos listed the men who had fallen for Aramis' benefit. "Not a nice thought, is it? An' we still 'ave to work 'ard to make sure we don't get added to that total. Seems like a very long way to Paris still."
With that, he moved on to follow Athos, leading his own string of four extra horses.
Aramis sat for a moment digesting the grim reminder before offering up a swift prayer of protection for his brothers and him. Then he, too, moved to catch up with his two friends, the animals for which he was responsible trailing after him.
II
The afternoon wore on, but the time dragged for the men as there was little conversation between them, lost as they were in their own thoughts. It was Porthos who was the first to notice the change in the weather. The skies had darkened with rain clouds and the breeze, pleasant when they resumed their journey, had developed into chilling gusts.
"We need to start lookin' for some shelter; that rain isn't goin' to hold off for ever," he warned. He had no need to add that it was going to be difficult to find adequate cover for three men, fifteen horses and a dozen bodies.
But Athos had straightened in his saddle for something had caught his eye through the gloom.
"It looks like there is a farm over there. Perhaps they have an outbuilding large enough for us all." He looked about him. "Let us take all the horses into the trees over there and you, Aramis, wait with them. Porthos, you are with me."
It did not take long to conceal Aramis and the mounts so that, minutes later, Athos and Porthos were riding up the rough track that led between two fields to a one storey building of stone and wood.
A short man, grey-haired and slightly stooping emerged warily from the front door but, to his credit, stood firm as the two strangers approached slowly. An even smaller woman of indeterminate age hesitated in the open doorway.
"Agnes, I told you to wait inside," the old man hissed.
Athos and Porthos reined in their horses at a respectful distance.
"Good day, sir, madame," Athos began and smiled. "I am Athos of the King's Musketeers and this is Porthos."
Porthos nodded in acknowledgement and flashed a broad grin.
Athos made no attempt to dismount and kept his hands clearly in sight for he had seen the old man's eyes roam over the weapons each man wore and carried in their saddle holsters. When the rheumy eyes settled on the pauldron Athos wore, the farmer nodded.
"I am Pierre Chenery and this is my wife, Agnes. What can we do for you, Monsieur?" Suspicion still lingered on Chenery's face.
"We are on the King's business returning to Paris from England by Calais. We were escorting an emissary acting on His Majesty's behalf but a few leagues back, we were set upon by a large group of men and were forced to fight for our lives."
In the doorway, Agnes gasped, her hand to her mouth as her eyes widened in horror.
"You escaped?" Pierre's interest was piqued.
"We did," Athos replied, "but the emissary was slain and our brother, Aramis, received a head injury."
Pierre leaned so that he looked past the horses back down the track in the gathering gloom. "Where is he, your brother?"
"In the stand of trees on the other side of the road." Athos took a deep breath. " Also, we would trouble you for the loan of shovels or spades." He glanced up at the looming clouds. "We have many men to bury and would prefer to lay them in the ground as quickly as possible."
Pierre thought for a moment. "I have both in the barn that you can use."
"How many?" came a strong voice from the doorway. "How many men are to be buried."
Athos wondered at the reasoning behind the question, but he was not about to give Agnes a vague response. "Twelve. Eleven attackers and the King's emissary."
"All those men were slain?" Pierre sounded incredulous.
"It was a bitter fight," Porthos spoke up for the first time. "It was them or us. They wanted to stop us from getting' to Paris an' completin' our business. "
Pierre nodded again and studied the two soldiers, noting once more the pauldrons, dusty leathers, the range of weaponry, the blue saddle blankets that bore the fleur de lis denoting the regiment and their royal affiliation, and the magnificent beasts that the men rode.
"I've done my bit of soldiering in the past, for the present King's father and I've heard tales of the King's Musketeers and their skills." A gleam suddenly sparkled in the man's eyes. "I bet it was some fight you put up."
Porthos chortled. "It was."
"Did you get them all?" Pierre wanted to know.
Athos' face darkened. "All but one. Their leader escaped but we know who he is so he will not be at large for long. The shovels?" he prompted. "And if you could tell us somewhere we can bury the dead that is not on your land, we would appreciate it."
"One of you boys come and help me with the tools and then I'll take you to where we can dig."
Athos picked up on the 'we' as Porthos slid from his saddle. "We do not ask for your help with the digging. It is enough that you are loaning us the tools and, perhaps, you will let us shelter in your barn away from the rain."
Pierre drew himself up to his full height. "You've got an injured colleague and twelve dead men. I'd say you need all the help you can get to bury them before the rains come. Our food is simple but when your work's done, Agnes will make the meal stretch." He turned to smile affectionately at his wife. "She can make the most basic meal into a banquet fit for the King."
"I don't doubt it," Porthos grinned encouragingly at her.
A flush rose in her cheeks at her husband's compliment. "Get away with you, Pierre. You talk such nonsense sometimes. It's naught but a rabbit stew and fresh bread."
"I love a rabbit stew," Porthos admitted, smacking his lips together at the prospect. "I bet it'll be a lot better than I could make."
"That would not be difficult," Athos said drily, rolling his eyes.
Porthos feigned hurt feelings. "You don't complain when I 'ave to catch an' cook 'em."
"I would not dare."
Pierre chuckled at the unexpected banter between the two soldiers. "Come on then. Let's collect the shovels and get this job done." He started to walk towards the barn. "You can bed down in here later; at least you'll be warm and safe from the bad weather."
A/N
* Grenouille is a Red Guard who makes an appearance in 'Revenge'