It was early. A rooster crowed and someone yelled angrily out their window to shut him up and then a dog started barking. It was a morning ritual. The rooster belonged to Madame Maple, a tavern owner who had suddenly come into wealth after the sudden and unexpected death of her husband. While the locals raised their eyebrows at the coincidence, they also enjoyed her raspberry brandy, and chose their enjoyment over their curiosity. Monsieur Alliare, the early morning vocalist and rooster hater, spent his days trimming the hooves of horses, mules, donkeys, and cattle. He always walked with a hunched back, but was known to challenge even the strongest of men. His early morning shouts of anger was the wake up call for Master Thomas' hound, who enjoyed watching the rooster, the chickens, and Madame Babcock's short tailed cat. The butterfly tabby was a well known mouser and on occasion fish thief when the ships came to port.
The domino effect of Paris' early morning life was branded into Athos' memory. Not that he enjoyed the morning hours, he typically hated them, but as captain he found himself working as soon as the sun was up and the hint of light was visible on the horizon. He knew the rooster, the complainer, the morning alarms that caused even the heaviest of sleepers to wake from their beds.
This morning had been different. Not only had he awakened before the crow of the rooster, but he had left the garrison and met with Minister Treville before the light had the opportunity to present itself. It hadn't been planned that way. But when an early morning messenger awakened Athos with frantic knocks at his door and a message from the Minister of War, he had wasted no time in getting himself prepared for what he knew was coming.
Athos glanced at the fire that blazed in the fireplace, smelled the hint of smoke, and listened to the crackles of wood as flames devoured it. The roster of three hundred men had taken months to complete. Long hours of training, coaching, and evaluations had earned each of the men an opportunity to go before the king and receive their commission. And now, Athos paused, they would pack up what little belongings they had and ready themselves for a war with the Spanish while protecting their backs from a potential traitor. Athos knew his position, he knew what was expected of him and his men, and he understood the ramifications of the decisions he would make. His men did not. Even those he had elevated to lieutenants to oversee a company. Six men, Porthos, Aramis, d'Artagnan, Remi, Mark, and Levi had all proven themselves time and time again. The men respected them, the king trusted them, and Athos knew they would take charge when the moment arrived.
He ran his hand over the edge of the desk and felt the indentations of years of scarring as well as dirt and grime that had collected. The desk was old, well used, but had become a part of the garrison — as much as entry gates, or the banister railing to his office. He had kept the room simple, unadorned, and uncluttered. He didn't want his past life to dictate his actions — not now — not when the lives of his men depended on him making good decisions. Instead, he focused on strategies, tactics, and who he would be fighting alongside.
The knock at the door caused Athos to look up and call for his guest to enter. He smiled, nodded, and motioned for Remi to take a seat.
"The others will be joining us shortly," Athos said.
"Is there a problem, sir?" Remi asked with a frown.
Athos shook his head. "No." He looked at Remi and said, "You and your company will remain in Paris —" he raised his hand to stop Remi from speaking, "at the king's request."
Remi tilted his head and raised and eyebrow. "My company?"
Athos tried to hide his smile but failed. He licked his bottom lip and cleared his throat. "I believe, King Louis, enjoys your singing."
Remi smiled and nodded. "I always knew my voice would keep me out of the action," he shrugged, "I just never expected it would be at the king's request."
"He's going to be more vulnerable. His enemies will not be lax in their efforts to eliminate France or her king. Be on guard."
Remi nodded, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees. "Does he have any special requests?"
Athos quirked another smile and looked at Remi. "He loves music… just sing when the moment strikes you." He shifted forward and tapped his finger on the desk. "I'm going to rotate the men on occasion. When the fighting begins I'll be sending a few back to Paris, those unable to continue fighting, and those who simply need time away from it — I'll leave it to you to decide which members of your company will replace them." He shrugged and then said, "Consider them a company of…" he paused as he considered the term, "reservists."
Remi nodded and looked at his hands and then the floor.
Athos looked at Remi and met his eyes. "You need to make the decision about who stays and who goes — unless there is a request from the king or Treville."
"I can do that." Remi rubbed his thighs. "When will you be departing?"
"Friday."
Remi exhaled through puffed cheeks and slowly nodded. "I didn't realize it would be so soon." He turned suddenly when knocking at the door echoed and before Athos could say enter, Aramis, Porthos and the others entered.
"We're servin' under Raboin, aren't we?" Porthos said and crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at Athos.
Athos leaned back, took a deep breath, and nodded. "Yes."
"Ha!" Porthos turned with his hand extended. "I told you." He motioned for d'Artagnan and the others to place their coins in his hand.
Aramis added his.
Athos furrowed his brow as he looked at Aramis. "You knew, why would you wager on someone else?"
Aramis shrugged. "I was hoping Minister Treville would reassign us." He twisted his mouth and cocked an eyebrow. He chuckled when Porthos slapped him on the back of his shoulder.
"You knew and said nothin'?"
Marc popped another grape into his mouth and watched while he leaned against the wall overlooking the courtyard. He adjusted the cluster in his left hand and looked at Remi with a knowing smile.
"Secrets die with me, Porthos," Aramis said, "everybody knows that."
Porthos huffed and snickered. "Just your own —"
"Actually," d'Artagnan said, "that's not true." He cocked an eyebrow and shrugged.
Aramis winced and nodded, but didn't say anything further. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood with his feet shoulder width apart. He looked at Athos and quirked a knowing smile.
Athos inhaled deeply and suddenly felt for Treville and respected his ability to maintain his composure while he was commissioned as the captain of the Musketeers. "We are departing Friday. Remi's company will remain in Paris to see to the king and the queen." He watched them nod and then shift in understanding as the realization that days of fighting, cannons, musket fire, and sword fights would become a daily ritual. Serving the king was a duty that required their fullest attention at all times, but this was new for some, and for others it was something they had never wanted to be a part of again.
"Say your goodbyes, and ready your belongings. Take only what is needed." Athos looked at each of them, saw their grief, and their pride through their actions and the looks on each of their faces.
"Yes, Captain," Levi said with a nod.
There was a brief moment of understanding in the room, a shift in the environment, when casual friendships would suddenly change and attention would be focus not on each other, but on the battlefield. Athos would lead the charge, it was up to the rest of them to carry out his orders.
"Captain," Marc and Remi both said as they stood and left the room.
Levi soon followed.
D'Artagnan nodded once, slapped his hand against the wood frame of the door and then left, while Aramis quickly followed.
Porthos watched them leave and then looked at Athos, who looked up at him. "It's not your duty to bring us all home… it's your duty to protect France and her king."
Athos nodded and with an appreciative smile, said, "Regardless. Protect your men, Porthos, protect France, but bring yourself and your men home."
Porthos raised the right side of his mouth into a smile and said, "You're leading us into battle, Captain. We'll follow you home too." He turned and left the room.
Quick note: Cattle do get their hooves trimmed, although not nearly as frequently as horses. And it wasn't unusual to have oxen shod when they worked the fields or pulled carts across country.