Porthos slapped Aramis on the shoulder as d'Artagnan and Athos walked their horses beneath the archway of the garrison's entry. Aramis then shoved Porthos, who braced his arms against the edge of the table. The sun worked to burn away the fog that continued to hover and clouded the buildings in the distance. Smoke filtered from chimneys and disappeared within the haze. The city was slow to awaken, but the sounds of buckets being emptied, horses' hooves striking stone pathways, and the echos of lovers' calls rang throughout the city.
Porthos lifted his chin and sniffed the air as the scent of cooked eggs, sliced ham — seasoned and fried — and the powerful aroma of hot spiced cider hit his scenes. His stomach growled in response. He again pushed Aramis aside as d'Artagnan and Athos handed the reins of their horses to Jacques, who exited the stables.
The young man nodded with a smile and ran a hand along the big horse's neck. "Captain," he said, and looked at Athos.
"Extra oats, Jacques. He's earned it." Athos nodded to the stable hand and saw for a brief moment the boy who was growing into a man. Athos turned suddenly when Porthos clapped his shoulder.
"Let's eat."
They entered the commissary and grabbed plates of food and cups of hot cider. Gentry smiled and continued his cooking while he hummed a tune from his past. Porthos, with a plate heaping with food, took a seat at the table farthest from the kitchen and closest to the fireplace. The others joined him.
Athos looked better, although still tired. At least he was eating and appeared more composed than he had in days. He felt the heat of the fire at his back and tired muscles relaxed. When he finished his meal, he placed his fork on the empty tin plate and wrapped his hands around the warmth of his cup. He looked at Porthos, who returned to the table after refilling his plate with a second helping, then at Aramis, who chuckled and wiped his plate clean with a slice of toasted bread, and then at d'Artagnan, who pushed his empty plate away from the edge of the table and then leaned forward onto his elbows and forearms.
"What's next?" d'Artagnan asked as he looked at Athos, who took a deep breath.
"We wait," Athos responded, knowing they all wanted answers.
D'Artagnan had grown and matured over the course of the past couple of years. The young man who arrived at the garrison, ready to fight and die in a duel with Athos, had found himself surrounded with brothers who defended him, protected him, and guided him. He was still impatient, and his drive to do the right thing and fight for those less fortunate would always be a part of him, but he had learned to trust his friends, and his family.
"How are we going to find 175 men?" d'Artagnan asked. He exhaled slowly, shifted his cup across the table, and then looked at the fire that continued to blaze. "Given the king is trying to grow his military… Most eligible young men are going to join those regiments."
"Maybe we should travel to Gascony…" Aramis laughed, "find some sheep and dirt farmers who happen to be good with the blade?" He said and then chucked when d'Artagnan shook his head with a knowing grin.
"Or maybe we could visit a few monistaries," d'Artagnan countered, "find some monks who are good with muskets."
Aramis laughed. "You'd be surprised how good a few of them are."
"Why not?" Porthos said with a shrug and then shoved a mouthful of meat and eggs wrapped in bread into his mouth. He smiled as he chewed and then said around his food as he looked at d'Artagnan, "We trained you… figure we can train more Gascons…" He looked at Aramis, "an' a few would-be-monks… even if they are a bit on the daft side."
"I have yet to meet one," Aramis said with confidence.
"I can think of at least one," Athos said as he leaned to his right, stuck his finger between his boot and his britches to scratch at his leg.
Aramis mocked him with a quick tilt of his head and a curled lip and then said, "Hedges and sheep, the king once said." He then turned to straddle the bench. Then, in a serious voice, he looked at Athos and asked, "If the king wants us to increase the number of musketeers," he shrugged, "he must be thinking about sending us to fight… at least a portion of us."
"We're soldiers, Aramis," Athos said, "We go where we are ordered."
Aramis rolled his eyes with a knowing shrug and said, "Always the conciliatory one, Athos. You can't give us a hint?" He raised his eyebrows.
Athos sipped at his drink to hide his amusement.
Porthos chuckled, wiped his plate with a slice of bread, and said, "Athos' can't 'elp 'imself — 'e's as stubborn as a mule without legs, or a goat without teeth."
D'Artagnan frowned and said, "That's a terrible analogy… Mules are just stubborn — with or without legs." He chuckled and ducked when Porthos threw his napkin at him.
"It's a perfect analogy" Aramis said and then winked at Athos in jest. "Porthos could have said he was as stubborn as the threads of King Henry VIII's britches."
Porthos laughed, slapped the table and caused the dishes to bounce. "There's a double meaning in that!"
Athos snorted.
D'Artagnan frowned in confusion.
Aramis laughed until his belly hurt.
"I 'eard he was a big man." Porthos laughed again, pushed his plate to the center of the table, and leaned forward onto his elbows. "With too many wives to service." He laughed again.
They slowly quieted, listened to the thumps of footsteps as men walked along the upper decking, the creaks of the old building, and the cracks of snapping wood as the fire blazed.
D'Artagnan cleared his throat. "What about the king?" he asked and shifted uncomfortably. "Who will stay to protect him?"
"That is for Treville to decide —"
"You don't think the king will combine the red guards with the musketeers, do you?" Aramis winced and then gripped the edges of the bench and tighten his fingers around it. He groaned and leaned forward. "That might be disastrous."
Athos grasped the end of his fork and tapped his plate a couple of times before he looked over his shoulder. "We will do what is asked of us…"
"You sound like one of those birds that repeatedly says the same thing over and over again —"
"A parrot?" Porthos asked and looked skeptically at Aramis. "The king 'ad one at the palace once…" he smiled, "it sounded like a baby cryin', 'e couldn't stand it an' sent it away."
"I don't remember that," Aramis said.
"You were preoccupied with Adèle at the time."
Aramis raised an eyebrow and nodded.
"Adèle?" d'Artagnan asked.
"A woman in Aramis' life before you joined us," Athos said, and then glanced from Aramis to d'Artagnan. "She died." He did not elaborate.
D'Artagnan winced and said, "I'm sorry." He had been so occupied with finding the man who had killed his father he'd had little time or thought for anything else.
"It was a long time ago," Aramis said.
Porthos huffed. "It wasn't that long ago." He grasped the edge of the table and took a deep breath. "Still," he said with a pause, "she brought you joy."
Aramis smiled fondly, but bowed his head and rubbed the edge of the table with his thumb. He cleared his throat and then took a drink of his cider. "We've all had, and lost, women who have brought us joy." He looked at Porthos, who nodded, and then at Athos, who looked away.