TRAVESTY OF JUSTICE.
Chapter Eighteen.
Captain Tréville shuffled with the toe of his boot as he peered among the embers. He slowly scanned around the scorched remains before his eyes fell on the charred remains of what looked akin to a sword, Tréville crouched down on his haunches and reached into the ash. He could feel the heat through his gloved hand as he picked up the weapon, the sword that had belonged to Athos. The lump in his throat began to form again, he instantly became aware of Aramis watching him. The marksman took it from him and looked at it, his lips tightening with emotion as he wiped away the ash with his fingers, he could just about make out the inscription, Oliver de Athos.
Aramis swallowed hard as he spoke, his voice breaking in mid sentence.
"His...favourite sword...he...said it always brought...him luck."
Porthos walked up behind the marksman noticing the weapon his friend held.
"Didn't bloody work this time did it." he growled. "I'll skewer the bastards for this...and God 'elp anyone who stands in me way."
Aramis squeezed the big mans shoulder and nodded.
Tréville had bent down as he noticed the charred and blackened manacle restraints.
"They must have...shackled him...look." exclaimed the older man aghast prompting Aramis and Porthos to turn and join him.
Porthos had clenched his fists obliviously as he glared enraged at the scorched chains that had held his friend against his will. His jaw twitched as swallowed the lump in his throat.
Aramis put his hand to his face and ran his fingers through his hair. He shook his head in anguished torment as he blinked away moisture from his eyes, his mind thinking about Athos, the torture he must have felt knowing what was happening.
The marksman reached into the folds of his shirt for his crucifix and kissed it, before muttering a prayer.
d'Artagnan scanned around the still burning embers, the Gascons eyes resting on what looked like the remains of a charred boot, he crouched down picking up the mangled hide, the foot of the boot had come away from the scorched leather. d'Artagnan felt like he wanted to throw up as his eyes filled with tears spilling down his face.
"This is pure evil." gasped the young musketeer as he swung around facing the others, he still held the remains of the boot in his hand as Aramis approached him, both musketeers falling into each others arms and weeping openly.
"Shuuuuuushh...shuuushh." whispered the marksman as he cradled his younger brothers head.
Porthos shook his head in disbelief as he hit out at one of the charred beams with his clenched fist, the big musketeer growling in frustration and rage.
Tréville inhaled as he watched his men become grief stricken, something he had never witnessed before,apart from when Aramis lost his comrades in Savoy, he had seen them annoyed, he had seen them deal with losing men in battle, even when one of them was wounded, the others not leaving their brothers side until they were satisfied he would recover. He had seen alot of mixed emotions over the years they had been in the regiment. But this was something else, one of the inseperables had gone, would they ever be the same again.
Tréville wiped the back of his hand over his tear stained eyes and glanced across at his men.
"We should return to the palace, we need to inform the king of this woeful deed."
The three musketeers slowly followed the older man across the muddy terrain towards the forest where they had tethered their mounts. Aramis carrying Athos' sword at his side. Each man lost in his own world of sorrow as they trudged aimlessly across the scorched field.
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Palace
Royal Chambers.
Queen Anne gasped as she reached for her silk hankerchief and dabbed her eyes. Captain Tréville and his three despondent and grief stricken musketeers stood in a semi circle as their leader declared through broken voice what tragedy had befell Athos.
"Dear God, I cannot believe such sorrowful tidings gentlemen, Athos was a very fine musketeer, such an honourable man, I am most distressed."
The king was pacing the ornate floor, his hands clasped tightly behind his back as he went. His head lowered.
"I want these men found Tréville, I will not have such heinous and barbaric torture inflicted upon my elite guard."
"We already have two in the garrison cells your majesty, the two men I informed you about, the two we need to apprehend are Madam Anon's associates, they are the ones who were ordered to light the fuses killing Athos."
"May I ask who ordered such an evil act? asked Louis pausing in his tracks.
Tréville caught glances of determined resolution from each of his men, their faces said it all. Whoever had committed such an act would truly be executed by them alone.
"We will indeed endeavour to find out your majesty...we will not rest until the perpetrators are brought to justice."
The king turned to the musketeers, his features that of pallid and sorrowful anguish as he glanced from one to the other.
"I am deeply saddened by such a deed gentlemen, I truly pray you will all find some solace and comfort and think of Athos and the times you have had with him with great acclaim, he was indeed a fine and worthy musketeer, he shall be truly missed."
Aramis felt like he wanted to collapse into a heap and sob as the king spoke, he could feel the sorrow emitting from his brothers. Porthos stood rigid, a proud gaze on his face at having known Athos. d'Artagnan closed his eyes for a couple of seconds as he thought of Athos sparring with him in the Garrison courtyard, he swallowed hard to abate the lump in his throat.
Tréville wanted to yell out loud in enrage at losing the young man he thought of as a son.
"I shall pray for him at chapel." murmered Anne softly.
The men bowed in acknowledgement to the young monarches..
"Thank you your majesties." was spoken in unison from each musketeer before they turned to leave.
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The bloodied hands gripped the long neglected grass as he tried desperately to drag himself along the damp ground, his breaths coming in gasps as he felt every agonising bump and lump in the terrain. His bare feet blue with the coldness of the now pouring rain. Lightning ripped the dark sky in two followed by the loudest clap of thunder. He wanted to throw up, he was too weak to walk, his side felt like a hot sword had skewered him as he clenched his teeth and endured the pain. He suddenly paused to catch his breath and slowly looked up, his soaking wet hair obscuring his view across the ridge. Was that a road ahead, he could just make out a horse and cart as an elderly man piled it up with small chicken coops, he could hear the chirping clucks as he persevered to drag himself towards the road.
oooOOooo
TBC...
Hi Guys,
I know...such torture. Sorry!
Thank you for your brilliant comments I appreciate the time taken to post, means alot.
Well well...what next?
Hope you stay with the drama.
Speak soon
Pippa xxx
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