Thank you everyone for your beautiful reviews! The "site" seems to be working, at least for now. There are 7 more chapters of this story after today's posting.
On with the episode...
It was a combination of trepidation and excitement. Once word spread about their departure, the men had informed their wives, lovers, families, and friends that they would leave to defend France from the Spanish aggressors. The news became a reason to eat, drink, and celebrate. If Musketeers were going to war, then the men were going to celebrate as though it would be their last time doing so.
While most had gone out into the city, they had found themselves returning, entering the commissary and eating whatever it was that Gentry and his band of cooks created. The men needed each other more than they realized as the door to the commissary was propped open and men suddenly found themselves eating and drinking in the courtyard.
Stories were told, jokes were laughed at, and dreams were shared. Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan sat at the table next to the steps leading to Athos' office. They shared a bottle of whisky Alice had given to Porthos to share with his friends, and they each used their hands to dig at the apple cake Gentry had cooked.
"This will be the last time the regiment will be together," d'Artagnan said. He looked at the men he had grown to know over the past few two years and twisted his wrist, causing the drink in his glass to swirl and rise up the sides of the cup.
Porthos nodded, took another bite of the cake, and then looked at the arches to the garrison. Remi and Marc stood near the left and spoke together while Levi spoke with several of his men near the entry to the stables.
Aramis clutched the crucifix at his chest and took a deep breath. "We'll return… one of these days, when the war is over, when things settle… we'll return."
"All of us?" d'Artagnan asked.
Porthos looked away.
Aramis looked at d'Artagnan and said, "I pray that all of us walk through those gates when this is over." He took a sip of the whiskey and licked his upper lip. "How is Constance?"
D'Artagnan exhaled and winced. "Trying to be strong for me… but I think she's scared."
"Have a 'hard time seein' 'er as scared," Porthos said and then shrugged. "Best come back alive though. I wouldn't put it past that woman to hunt you down an' kill you all over again if you don't."
D'Artagnan chuckled and nodded in agreement. "She would."
"How's Alice?" Aramis asked.
Porthos looked at d'Artagnan and said, "She's strong." He shrugged with a wince. "Or she's tryin' to be."
"Any women willing to change her mind for love," Aramis said, "is a woman worth fighting for."
Porthos nodded. "I'm comin' 'ome, an' when I do," he smiled, "I'm never leavin' 'er again."
D'Artagnan looked up and over his shoulder and spotted Athos leaning against an awning post while watching the activities below. Lanterns and candles lit the space as night encroached. The moon's light was partially hidden with a series of passing clouds. Stars twinkled, and the night stilled. The echoes of the men's voices surrounded the space. Laughter erupted on occasion as animated stories continued.
"Hey Irish," Sully called from the confines of the stable.
"I'm Scottish!" Brodie replied with a roll of his eyes and shake of his head.
"What's the difference?" Ansel responded.
Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan all turned to look at Brodie, the Scottsman, and Sully, an excellent fighter but he lacked social skills. Both men turned to face one another amongst their brothers and engaged in a battle of wits.
"Well," Brodie said, "if I were to call you a Spaniard what would you think of that?" He spread his feet shoulder width apart and placed his hands on his waist.
"Spain's a different country," Sully said. He scratched his head and raised his hands in assertion. "I'm French."
Brodie opened his mouth to say something but frowned in question when Ansel clapped him on the back of his shoulder in jest.
"It's a good thing you're not English," Ansel said.
"Sing one of them Irish tunes — the one about the glass." Sully raised his hand into the shape of glass and nodded with wide blue eyes. "You remember?"
"That was Remi," Brodie said. "I've never sung an Irish tune — I'm Scottish — it's a different country."
Porthos looked up when Athos chuckled. "If we're not careful, someone's liable to end up dead."
"They'll be fine," Athos said with a quirked smile, "he's not English."
"I'll sing," Remi said and stepped away from the left pillar. "Only on the condition… someone find Sully a map to learn from."
"Captain," Levi called from the stable. "Do you have a map we can borrow?"
"I'm sure I can find one the Spaniard can learn from," Athos said.
"I'm French!"
Aramis clapped and laughed. "Welcome, Brother," he said and leaned forward. "Now I'm not the only Frenchman whose mistaken as a Spaniard."
"But I am French."
"So am I!"
The crowd erupted, more wine was poured, and then Remi cleared his throat and sang. The Scottish tune was well known, having been written as a poem years prior. Though the song was traditionally offered to a departing guest from a tavern or home the words resonated with the men on a much different level. Remi's voice echoed over the cracking of the lanterns and flames of the small night fires, and the sounds of the horses from the stables. The men grew quiet as they listened and appreciated the tenor voice, and the beauty and the meaning of the words.
"So fill to me the parting glass, and drink a health whatever befall, and gently rise and softly call, goodnight and joy be to you all… Of all the comrades that e'er I had, They're sorry for my going away, and all the sweethearts that e'er I had, they'd wish me one more day to stay, but since it falls unto my lot, That I should rise and you should not, I gently rise and softly call, goodnight and joy be to you all…"
The night grew quieter and more solemn as the song continued, but one by one more voices joined for the chorus until nearly everyone was singing. It would be the last time everyone would be together, the last time the members of the king's special guards would be allowed a moment of comfort, refection, and joy, when everyone was well, families were together, and the city was at peace.
Aramis smiled, took a deep breath as the song ended, and the murmurs of conversations continued. He glanced toward the balcony to Athos' office and found it vacant. Aramis looked at Porthos who stood, placed his cup on the table and nodded to his brothers.
"I'm goin' home," Porthos said and then looked at d'Artagnan. "You should too." He gripped Aramis' shoulder, squeezed, and then turned and left the garrison through the archway to the city.
"I'm surprised Constance didn't come out to join us," Aramis said.
D'Artagnan shook his head and said, "She wouldn't… not tonight."
Aramis licked his bottom lip and nodded. "She's a good woman."
"I know," d'Artagnan said and stood. He slapped the table with the palm of his hand and left.
Aramis clinched his jaw, swallowed, and then looked toward Athos' office. He stood, grabbed his weapons belt, and walked up the stairs. Hesitantly, he knocked. Before Athos could call for him to enter, he opened the door and found Athos standing beside the fireplace.
"I want to see her," Aramis said, and closed the door. "Just for a few minutes… I want to see my son." There was a tone of desperation to his voice, a father yearning to know his child, and desperate for the woman he could not have.
Athos exhaled slowly and looked again at the flames of the fire. "He's not your son… he will never be your son." He looked at Aramis. "You know that." He grabbed the edge of the mantle and squeezed it. "You were nearly executed, Aramis. Do not think the king will not attempt it again should he even assume you and the queen —"
"We're headed to war, Athos. There is no guarantee that anyone one of us will make it back alive — a few minutes, that's all I ask. Just," he paused and ran his fingers through his hair, "just a few minutes."
"Why are you asking for permission?" Athos pushed himself off the mantle and walked to his desk. He leaned against it, crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Aramis. "I'm not your keeper."
"I," Aramis said and took a deep breath. He rubbed his brow and then pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't need permission, but he wanted a brother to know that leaving Paris without saying goodbye would do nothing but haunt him. He wanted Anne to know he still thought about her. He wanted her to know how much she meant to him. "I want to see her… I want to tell her —"
"Don't put her in that position," Athos said. "If you love her…" he exhaled slowly with a shake of his head, "let her go, Aramis." He looked toward the floor. "You put her and the dauphin at risk by engaging with them — no matter the reason. You've already been accused… don't give anyone anymore reason to accuse you further."
Aramis nodded, turned and grasped the doorknob. He paused for a long moment, and without turning around he said, "I have nothing to leave anyone — I've spent my entire life admiring women, loving women, and as I stand here… I have nothing to show for it."
"You have family here, Aramis."
Aramis winced and frowned. He turned and looked at Athos. "I have nothing to leave anyone."
Athos clenched his jaw, pursed his lips, and said, "Tomorrow at noon Treville and I meet with the king. The queen will be in the gardens." He looked Aramis in the eyes. "Do not get caught… I have not the fortitude to survive another meaningless death."
Aramis met Athos eyes and nodded. "Thank you."
Athos rubbed his eyes with his left hand when the door closed. He looked again at the flames of the fire and exhaled slowly.