136. Last Chance
"Leave us."
Treville had walked quietly into the Infirmary and was standing stiff-backed in the doorway.
Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan looked from him to Athos, who was propped up on a mound of pillows, with several under his left knee. He gave them an almost imperceptible nod and they rose as one and walked past their Captain with a tilt of their heads in acknowledgement. By the look of him, he was in no mood for discussion.
As their footsteps died away, Treville quietly closed the door behind them but remained standing, leaning his back against the rough wood. Athos finally looked across and met his steady gaze, noting the deep frown that gave him the fierce look that Athos and his brothers had seen many times.
There was a defiance in both their expressions. Two very stubborn men. Who would break eye contact first?
Treville finally walked firmly across to the table and pulled a chair across, ignoring the two that Aramis and Porthos had vacated, d'Artagnan having chosen to stand.
"We need to talk," Treville said, gruffly.
"Sir," Athos said, moving the sheet aside.
"Don't even think about getting out of that bed," Treville growled. "Stay where you are. Today, tomorrow and most probably, the next day."
Athos's mouth dropped open and he frowned. Before he could speak, Treville sat down and leaned forward, pinning his soldier in place with a steel grey, pointed gaze.
"This is not the first time, you know that," he said, with a weary sigh.
"Captain..." Athos began, but abruptly stopped when Treville held up his hand in exasperation.
"You have no defence." Treville said firmly. "You know that. At one point, Aramis did not think you would wake."
"I will put it right," Athos replied, his face darkening.
This was turning out to be the difficult conversation Treville had expected, but he was well prepared. He knew Athos would put up a spirited defence and his initial thoughts had been to shoot him down from the start. He knew all the arguments, but something in Athos's expression made him pause. It had been a difficult few weeks, with random skirmishes and the loss of one Musketeer and all nerves were strained. His men had sought ways to alleviate their stress and Treville had tolerated it, to a point.
"And how," he said in reply, sitting back, "Do you intend to do that, may I ask?"
The chair creaked and silence ensued.
The truth was, Athos did not know himself if he could achieve what he needed to. The situation had come to an inevitable head, as he knew it would. He had run various scenarios through his mind and drawn a blank, if he was honest. He wanted desperately to rectify the situation and to retain his reputation, which had slipped slightly of late.
Treville had seen it develop, Athos knew, watching from his balcony. So he knew how this would go. He knew that the Captain had turned a blind eye for several weeks, but could not be expected to do so any longer, as he had the safety of his men to consider, including the stubborn one before him.
Athos shifted his leg and stifled a groan, keeping his face as impassive as only he could.
Treville saw all though. "Look at you," he said, quietly. "How many more times are you going to end up like this? I would be failing in my duty of care if I did not put a stop to it."
Athos sighed, his nostrils flaring. He closed his eyes briefly.
"I am giving you a short leave of absence, Athos," the Captain said, firmly. "But when you return, this situation will be rectified. One way or another. "How long do you need?" he added, watching the rare emotions flit across his soldier's face.
"One week," Athos finally replied, equally firmly. "I can do it in a week."
"You think that is enough time?" Treville countered. "It seems there is much to do on your part."
"There is," Athos acknowledged. "But if I cannot do it in a week, I will never be able to."
"You have faith you can do this?" Treville persisted.
Athos was quiet for a few moments. "I know what is at stake," he returned quietly. "I cannot bear the alternative. I will do my very best. You have my word."
Treville held his gaze for a few moments before slapping his hands on his thighs and rising. He held out his hand;
"I will take it," he replied. "I am sorry it has come to this, Athos, but do your best, for all our sakes. You have taken one injury too many. It must be sorted out."
Athos reached up and took his Captain's hand and an accord was reached.
"In three days time, then, you will leave here and you will begin," Treville said. "Thereafter, I will see you a week hence."
"Thank you, Sir," Athos murmured. "I appreciate your patience."
"Well, as I say," Treville replied, "Let us see how you fair on your return. This is in your hands."
/
As decided, after three days of recovery, Athos collected his horse from the stables and made his farewells to his friends, who clapped him on the shoulder and wished him well.
"I wish we could help," Porthos said, as they watched him swing into the saddle and walk the horse through the archway.
"We could help him, surely?" d'Artagnan quickly said.
"He is on his own, my friends," Aramis sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He knows what's at stake. It is how he wants it and we must abide by his decision."
A week went by.
Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan had mooted about going to find their friend, but had decided against it. This was something Athos had to do himself and he would have no distractions or advice on the matter. If he did not achieve his goal, it would be on him. They did not wish to add to his burden. It was a task none of them would have relished, had they been in their friend's boots.
Finally, time was up and they all watched the archway for Athos's return.
Treville had placed himself at the small table on his balcony, while Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan went about their duties in the yard, but every now and then, their glances strayed to the Garrison entrance.
Finally, as the city's church bells tolled noon, a familiar figure came through the archway.
/
While life at the Garrison continued without him, Athos had taken himself to "The Swan," a small inn on the outskirts of the city. He had wracked his brain about his course of action. Aware it was not the best place to tarry with his 'mission' about to commence, he finally made a decision and quietly left the city.
Just over an hour later, he rode quietly into familiar territory.
He had rolled his uniform jacket up and stored it in the requisite waxed linen bag at the back of his saddle. His saddlebags held his requirements. He set his face in an impassive expression and nodded to the first person who stopped their work to watch man and horse pass by.
As before, the villagers of Pinon stopped and watched him, but now, without the drama of his previous entrance. It was, of course, Jeanne who was the first to come over, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Monsieur Athos," she said, stopping in front of him, her hands on her hips. There was a friendly smile on her face however, and he relaxed, dismounting rather delicately and wincing when his knee threatened to give way.
"You are injured?" she asked quickly, eyeing his leg with a frown.
"It is nothing," he replied, straightening. "Though I do need your help."
By then Bertrand, her father, had emerged, aware of his fellow villagers standing around. Since they had taken control of the village through Athos's goodwill, they had all worked together in a co-operative and as such, they were strict about their duties. Even at this time of year when the harvest was some weeks away, there was always something to be done.
Bertrand carried a hammer, having come from his work shed where he had taken on some of the duties of the blacksmith, who visited once a month from a nearby hamlet. Bertrand always liked to be busy. When he recognised their visitor, his step at first faltered, but then he pushed forward with a smile, his hand outstretched.
"Monsieur Athos!" he said, his voice firm. "What brings you back to us?"
Athos had pulled Roger's reins over his head and held them as he turned to speak to father and daughter.
"I have one week. I need your help," he said, quietly, aware the villagers were all leaning forward to hear what business their former Comte had with them. "And I need your barn."
"Back to your work, my friends," Bertrand cried, as he walked back toward his shed, Jeanne and Athos following. The villagers parted, some of them reluctantly going back to their business. It was seldom that anything of interest happened now that Renard had been defeated by the Musketeers two years previous, and distractions such as this were welcomed. Bertrand encouraged the stragglers with a firm pat on shoulders and wave of his hand. Athos was pleased to see the authority the man had grown into, considering his initial reluctance to take over the mantle of authority.
Athos tied up his horse and followed the two into the barn.
"It is an odd request and I am somewhat ashamed to relay it, but I am hoping your barn is empty, as the harvest is not yet in. I believe you are my only hope. I have only one week to achieve my goal and I need quiet and privacy to achieve it."
Bertrand scratched his head and glanced at his daughter in concern.
"Whatever you wish, my Lord, of course." Bertrand replied, catching himself at his use of his former Liege Lord's title.
"State your business, Ms Athos," Jeanne said. "For as much as I am happy to abandon my chores, I am dying of anticipation."
Athos merely looked from one to the other, but he reserved a small smile for Jeanne. "You were always an open book with your opinions, Jeanne," he said, softly.
"And you, a closed one," she replied.
"Jeanne!" her father admonished but Athos held up his hand. "Please," he said, "I do not wish to cause disharmony."
He sighed, not wishing to put his business into words. It was embarrassing and frustrating in equal measure and did not put him in a good light. Though, when had that concerned him? So he took a deep breath and turned to Roger, who stood looking at him impassively in the doorway of the shed.
"I need to re-teach this brute his manners," Athos said quietly. "He may look innocent right now, but I can assure you, he is guilty of arrogance and aggression.
There was a stunned silence.
Roger raised his head and dropped it defiantly, maintaining eye contact with his master, who equally, glared back.
And then Bertrand grinned.
"He always was a spirited horse, that one," he said, dropping his hammer on a nearby table.
"And I like him that way," Athos agreed. "Though he has become very opinionated of late, and has caused one or two injuries. He... has grown fond of the occasional surprise."
Jeanne looked at Athos's knee and raised an enquiring eyebrow.
"Precisely," Athos sighed. "A disagreement on which way to go, and which brigand to engage with and I was thrown before I had chance to catch myself. He has also bitten two of the stable lads."
"You always had a good accord with him, as I remember," Jeanne replied, reaching out and stroking Roger's nose. Athos held his breath, but, annoyingly, the horse was sickeningly placid, as if to spite him.
"He has been a good horse," Athos conceded. "An excellent horse. A credit to the regiment. But of late, I fear he has been neglected. There has been much to deal with in Paris and I have not had the time to spend with him. He has shown his displeasure at being abandoned in various ways."
"So you have a week, you say?" Bertrand said, aware of the former Comte's discomfort.
"That is the allotted time my Captain has given me to get him back in control. Or …"
Jeanne raised her hand to her mouth; "He wouldn't!" she said, getting a head of steam up.
"No, no!" Athos replied. "Nothing so drastic, but I fear he will be drummed out of the regiment if his behaviour deteriorates further. He seems to have forgotten some of what I have taught him. Perhaps purposefully," he added, ruefully. "If he cannot be controlled by relevant others …" his voice trailed off.
"Is he not happy?" Bertrand asked, looking the horse in the eye. Roger took that moment to shake his head and stamp his foot. Jeanne stifled a laugh.
"Like I said, spirited," she said.
"Of course, you remember him," Athos said, leaning against a pillar.
"And his sire, 'Conquest,' though I was only a child," she replied with a smile, looking at her father.
"Of course," Bertrand replied. "A sound bloodline."
"Well," Athos murmured, pushing off the pillar. "As I say, I wish to use your barn. To eat there and sleep there, while I bring him back in line. Despite his unruly behaviour, I doubt he will be happy outside the regiment. I think he rather enjoys all the pomp."
"He's just got ideas above his station," Jeanne smiled.
"Something like that," Athos replied. "And I'll take any help I can get."
For the first time since he had concocted his plan, he felt it just might work.
/
The barn was as Athos remembered it. It was large, the roof high, and it was sound. As a boy, he and Thomas had sometimes made their way to the fields at harvest time when their tenants worked through the week to cut their crops and bring them into the barn. It was an exciting time for two young boys.
Currently, it was empty but in a few short weeks that would no longer be the case, and Athos said a silent prayer that he had remembered the place at the right time of year.
"This will be perfect," he said, quietly, as he led Roger to the end of the barn and tied him to a low beam that ran along the width at hip height.
He untied the bag that he had stowed his jacket in, unfastened his bedroll and unbuckled his saddle bags, dropping them all onto two lonely bales of straw in the corner. Reaching into one of his saddle bags, he withdrew a coiled length of rope. Next came his food supplies; dried meat, bread and cheese. Not enough to last the week but he would work something out with the villagers, not wishing to abuse their hospitality at this time of year. He had coin with him and intended to use it, as he could not help them in other ways as he was of the mind to close the doors of the barn and remain at work until his task was done.
Next, he took out a tightly rolled spare shirt and shook it out before laying it over the low beam that Roger was secured to.
"Leave it," he growled, as the horse showed interest in it. The horse watched him quietly, with the occasional stamp of his hoof.
Finally, Athos removed a small leather roll that contained his razor and soap and shook out his uniform jacket, laying it next to his shirt on the beam. Satisfied with his little home from home, he turned, catching sight of Jeanne at the other end of the barn, standing inside the great open double doors, watching him.
"You are well prepared," she called across. "Though you will need water and fodder for your impatient companion."
"Water for us both," Athos agreed, walking across to her as he rolled up his sleeves.
"And ale, no doubt," she added, as he turned and they both surveyed the black stallion, who was now throwing his head from side to side. "Though he may not agree," she added with a laugh.
"He has no say in that," Athos said, with a huff.
Leaving Athos, she walked toward the horse and reached out her hand.
"Be careful," Athos warned, but she threw him a look over her shoulder and ran her hand down the horse's nose. Roger stilled, before his nostrils flared and he snuffled her hand.
"He remembers you," Athos said, watching the two.
"From your last visit," she said, without turning around. "We were re-acquainted. You were otherwise detained."
"You mean unconscious," he growled, though he enjoyed watching the two.
"He likes you," Athos added with a small smile. It was good to see Roger in a different environment.
"Perhaps it is soldiers he has grown weary with," she suggested as she continued to make a fuss of the stallion.
"Perhaps," he replied. "Though that makes my job a little more difficult."
"He always pushed his boundaries," she added.
"He did that," Athos replied. "He did, indeed as a youngster, make my father's stable hands work hard."
"Do you remember the signal you taught him?" Jeanne suddenly ventured.
"What?" he said, frowning.
"About a year before you … left us," she said, guardedly. "I watched you in the field. You patted him four times here, on his shoulder and he calmed to your touch. Not two pats, or three, but four."
"Good heavens," he replied, "I had forgotten that particular signal. He responded to nothing until he finally accepted that from me."
"Perhaps he remembers," she said.
"I will add it to his list of training. It is growing longer by the hour," he huffed, but he did file it away.
"I will leave you to your task. We are at your service Monsieur la Comte," she said, with a grin as she turned and hurriedly left the barn, closing the doors behind her. Athos turned his attention back to Roger, who had watched Jeanne's departure and now looked at his master almost quizzically, or more like it, defiantly.
Athos picked up the long line of rope he had brought and attached it to the horse's bridle, leading him into the centre of the barn.
"Let us begin," he said. "I believe it is called, "bonding."
/
Over the next two days, Athos re-established trust with the horse and their communication improved. It was not easy but eventually, Roger, who had begun to keep his distance of people of late, began to move closer to Athos and stand quietly beside him instead of returning to the rear of the barn. During that time, Athos groomed and bathed him and walked him around the barn. The horse, always highly strung, began to relax.
Athos had always been a calming presence for Roger, but lately, Athos realised, he had not spent the time with him because of the situation in Paris and their friendship had suffered because of it. Those who tended to the horse had become wary and then, fearful. The regiment demanded a lot of their horses and stable hands came and went, thereby not often allowing time to build a bond with the animals.
"I am sorry, old friend," Athos had said on the third day, when he realised the extent that Roger had been 'faring for himself.'
He leant his forehead on the horse's nose and the two of them stood perfectly still in a shaft of sunlight that fell from a small hole between the roof tiles above them.
"I have taken you for granted. Not all your needs have been met. And that is on me."
It was to this quiet scene that Jeanne entered, carrying a tray. It was noon and she was aware that Athos had been spending every waking hour in the barn, diligent to his mission.
He moved to help take the tray, suddenly realising how hungry he was, but stopped and stifled a groan as his knee, now swollen once more from the excessive exercise, threatened to give way.
She swung away from his outstretched hands and walked around him to the two hay bales.
"Sit, Monsieur," she said, firmly and he meekly followed. "Before you fall."
Seeing she had on the tray several thick slices of bacon with bread fried in fat, and fried eggs, their yolks a golden yellow, his mouth watered. There was also a pitcher of buttermilk.
"You will have no argument from me," he said softly.
She passed him a plate, piled with food and picked at a slice of bacon herself, looking at the horse, standing calmly where Athos had left him.
"Obedient once more," she stated. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and handed him a small pot. "Liniment for your knee. It should help."
Used to Aramis's ministrations he took it with thanks, though after a moment or two, he sighed.
"This was all very well, but Roger still has to behave himself amongst strangers and crowds and my time with him is running out. I cannot do much more. It will be the Captain who decides."
Jeanne was quiet for a moment. "Perhaps there is more," she murmured, pouring the milk into two cups and handing him one.
He raised an eyebrow as she raised her cup.
"The rest of the day, is mine," she said, as they clinked cups.
"Very well. I am intrigued," he replied, gratefully lifting his leg and resting it on the smaller of the hay bales.
/
Treville now stood and walked to his railing. Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan paused over their mid-day meal and stood. Athos's hat was pulled low but as he came to a halt in the yard. His eyes met theirs and he tilted his head in greeting, his lips tugging into a small smile. His eyes then drifted up to Treville and he carefully dismounted.
Standing next to Roger he slowly removed his hat.
Roger lowered his head, as Athos extended carefully bent, expending his right leg and bowed, as if Treville were the King himself. At the same time, the stallion mirrored his stance and they both offered deference to the Captain of the King's Musketeers.
A few moments later, Athos stood, his eyes flitting upward to Treville, who tipped his head back and looked down his nose at the pair below. The implication of the action was not lost on Treville and a smile slowly spread across the Captain's face as he shook his head.
"As you were," he said, before turning to his staircase.
Porthos let out a loud laugh and walked swiftly across and took Roger's reins from Athos, as Aramis and d'Artagnan joined them. Aramis reached forward and grasped Athos's shoulder.
"How was it?" he asked, trying to read his friend's face.
"It was harder than I thought," Athos admitted. "Though I had help."
At the puzzled expressions of his friends, he looked toward Treville, who was making his way across. The Captain reached up and, after a moment's hesitation, stroked Roger's neck.
"You have tamed your beast," he said and Athos was pleased to hear it was not a question.
"He and I eventually came to an understanding, yes, Captain," Athos confirmed.
Porthos laughed. "I knew you'd do it."
"Never doubted you," Aramis replied.
"Not for a minute," d'Artagnan smirked.
"He certainly seems calmer," Treville said, standing back and giving the horse a thorough look over.
"And you look exhausted, my friend," Aramis said, peering at his friend, who was, definitely, sporting shadows beneath his eyes.
"It was a battle of wills at times," Athos agreed. "I should not have let him get the upper hand."
"There is a fine line between control and breaking a horse's spirit, Athos," Treville said. "He is a good horse. I would have been sorry to lose him because he was too headstrong."
"You talkin' about the horse still?" Porthos murmured, earning him a glare from Treville.
"How did you do it?" Aramis asked, as he waved for a stable boy to take Roger to the stable. Admittedly, there wasn't a queue.
"Simply went back to basics," Athos replied.
"And you did it in a week?" Porthos asked.
"Night and day," Athos replied. "Every time I got the upper hand, he changed tack. It took a little longer than I thought to remind him that I was the master, not he. He can be quite formidable."
"You reckon?" Porthos laughed. "He scares the stable boys to death."
"Not so much from now on, I trust," Athos remarked.
"It would be a shame to change his personality too much," Aramis said.
"I have not," Athos replied. "I rather like his personality."
"You are well-suited," Treville said, clapping Athos on the shoulder as he made his way back to his office.
"So, what was this help you mentioned?" Aramis questioned, as the stable boy who had lost the bet came reluctantly forward. "And who would be brave enough to help in your task?"
Athos passed the reins to the boy, patting Roger on the shoulder four times. They watched as the horse followed quietly along beside the boy, whose chest puffed up considerably as he passed his friends at the stable doors.
"That is a tale that requires wine," Athos said, turning back.
"Then you shall have it," Aramis beamed, leading the way to their table.
Athos eased himself down onto the bench, his leg stretched out before him. The bow he had made had aggravated his knee once more, but it had been worth it to see all their faces.
He would never forget the help he had received at Pinon, nor his two last days, when the villagers had filed into the barn, lining the walls, old and young.
Jeanne's idea of desensitizing Roger to strangers had worked. The horse had walked amongst them as they slowly each reached out to touch him. Athos had ridden him slowly around and through them, tapping him four times when he seemed to be getting agitated or impatient. The older, braver children played their part, as did the elderly.
By the time Roger and Athos emerged from the barn into sunshine, horse and rider were in accord once more.
As a military horse, Roger had been well trained, but this was a lesson well learned - he and the other Garrison horses were spirited, wilful animals and would need to be reminded of their training more often. The stable boys would be a timely reminder of this, as they were easy targets for the proud, wilful and sometimes, bored beasts.
Athos had made his farewells to Pinon and her residents in relief and gratitude. He could not envisage life at the Garrison without his temperamental steed and hoped they would have many more years of partnership ahead of them. His heart was lighter when he rode away.
Roger's last chance had proved an awakening for him as well. Pinon held many bad memories for him, but because of those good people and their generosity, he had made new memories that would serve to lessen his pain.
Brotherhoods were not always purely human. Roger and Athos would ride again.
/
Thanks for reading!
A/N: Did you think I was talking about a certain Musketeer having to pull his socks up on the sobriety front? Shame on you.