Athos pushed open the door to the chateau. Mud was smeared across his britches, his doublet, and along the right side of his jaw. Damp hair fell limply along his face and dark circles beneath his eyes made him look sinister as he stepped across the travertine floors. Two house servants ducked and scurried from the foyer. He could smell the scent of meat roasting, freshly cooked breads, and he could hear the sounds of chopping on a cutting board. Athos clenched his jaw, tightened his fists, and walked toward the library where Raboin had taken up residence. The house had been changed to suit his needs. He had removed several paintings, replacing them with the hides of animals he had hunted. The belongings of the Fontaine family had been stored, while weaponry — some too old for modern day warfare — rested within arm's reach.

Without being invited, Athos pushed open the library door, and found Raboin behind his desk drinking a glass of wine. A young woman quickly turned, buttoned her blouse, and rushed from the room.

Raboin shook his head, placed his glass on his desk, and leaned forward. "I demand respect from those who report to me, Captain Athos."

"It would appear, General, you demand much more than respect," Athos said, placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, and paused in his walk forward. "You're being overrun. The Spanish have acquired more cannons — men against iron is not a fight —"

"Have you forgotten your place, Captain?" Raboin pushed himself from his desk and tapped the leather cover of its surface with his fingernails. "War is not won overnight… it takes time, men, and a sufficient amount of tenacity — which it appears you are missing."

"Personal attacks against me will not bring success to France or her king."

Raboin clenched his jaw, paused his tapping, and squinted when he looked at Athos. There was a long pregnant pause before Raboin curled his lips into a snarl and said, "The lives of the men outside," he pointed to the window, "do not matter to me. What matters, Captain, is whether we can withstand the influx of Spanish as they encroach onto French lands and the ONLY way to keep them back is if the men do as they are told by their captains who are expected to follow MY orders." He stood, slapped his hand on the desk, and pointed toward the door. "This is not a negotiation — I cannot make King Louis send more men any faster than what he is, nor can I force him to deliver more weapons.

"Whatever it is we have is what we need to fight with — regardless of the enemy's talent for obtaining more cannons and artillery. I expect YOU on the battlefield with your regiment, Captain!" Raboin clenched his fist and pointed toward the door.

"Your men are dying, General. What good is an army without a general brave enough to lead them?" Athos clenched his jaw and held fast. He looked Raboin in the eyes. "While you busy yourself behind the walls of a borrowed chateau — with — I might add, refugees who will submit to humiliation for a bite of food — your men, the men King Louis placed under your command —"

"OUT!" Raboin shouted and pointed toward the door. He quickly shoved the papers and books on his desk to the floor. "You have been nothing but a thorn in my side since the day I first saw you — you and the rest of the Musketeers are nothing more than glorified henchmen for the king. This is a war, boy, or have you forgotten that war is bloody and men die — good men!"

Raboin moved out from behind his desk and placed his hands on his hips. He shoved his long doublet back and exposed a gold dagger at his hip. "I expect you and the other captains in my presence before nightfall… I will not be spoken to in such a manner by a failed member of nobility." He stepped forward, chest out, shoulders back. "I do my research, Athos. I know who fights and why. If I don't know something about my men, I find it." He clenched his jaw and placed his hand on the handle of his dagger. Though he appeared relaxed, the tapping of his fingers against the blade indicted his readiness.

"Do you want to win this war — or is your Spanish bride challenging your allegiance to France and King Louis?"

Raboin narrowed his eyes and looked hard at Athos. "Careful, Captain… accusing your general of treason without proof is egregious, not to mention…" he paused and took a long, deep breath, "punishable at my discretion."

"Your men are dying, General. Within weeks, you will not have an army left."

"I'm meeting with all of my captains tonight at sundown," General Raboin said. He returned to his desk, took a seat, and leaned back. "You'll learn then what it is I have planned." He turned while seated, poured himself another glass of wine from the port on a shelf behind him. "Now leave…" He looked at Athos. "While I continue to feel generous."

Athos clinched his jaw, nodded in disappointment, and quickly left.

Raboin watched the door close. Instead of drinking from the glass, he drank from the port and stared at the door.

"The King's Musketeers will not surrender," Grimaud said as he stepped from the shadows at the back of the room. He closed the narrow door behind him and stepped into the glow of the window and looked at Raboin.

"You hide like a rodent," Raboin said with a huff and leaned back, the port held tightly around its long neck, and he rested it against his chest.

Grimaud shrugged, removed the hood from his head, and looked at the leather-bound books on the shelves that lined the walls. "What do you plan to tell your captains at sundown?"

Raboin frowned and then pulled the opened letter from King Louis from the desk. He flipped open the parchment and reread the words: Your orders were clear, hold the line. Finding men for replacements was the duty of each of the king's generals — not the king himself. The letter had been signed by both King Louis and Minister Treville.

"I will tell them that they must remove the refugees from the surrounding lands… and, I will tell them that King Louis is sending reinforcements in the weeks to come."

Grimaud choked back a laugh and shook his head. "They will know you're lying."

"Thorell is moving his military to within a league of us — his army will be within riding distance should we need additional men." Raboin leaned forward, took another long pull from the port of wine, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"The Spanish will cease all cannon fire tonight," Grimaud said. He pulled a book from the bookcase nearest the door and flipped through the pages. He smelled it, closed his eyes as though a memory surfaced, and then quickly replaced it. Grimaud looked at Raboin. "There will be a few days of rest."

"The gold?"

Grimaud shrugged. "In transit," he said and grabbed another book.

Raboin nodded. "The Musketeers and their captain may be a problem."

"For whom?" Grimaud said and then chuckled. He turned, looked at Raboin and shrugged. "I've done what I was hired to do."

"And if I pay to keep your services?"

"Then we can negotiate."

Raboin smiled. "Then let's negotiate."