General Raboin sat at the end of the long table in the dining hall. A fire blazed behind him. Smoke filtered upward, followed by the sparks of the flames. Occasionally, a log would shift, coals would crumble and slowly turn to ash. Seven captains sat around the table with lieutenant Grimaud, while house servants stood at attention at the doors, one at the fireplace to feed it, and one who stood beside the credenza and poured wine for those who requested it. The paintings had been removed and shadows of their former selves stared back at them. If it were not for the warmth of the red mahogany table, high-backed chairs upholstered in rich, dark leather, the room would have appeared cold and lifeless.
"King Louis promised his supplies were on the way," Raboin said, and flipped the letter open and then quickly tossed it into the fire behind him. He dipped his bread into the gravy and took a massive bite. The aroma of slow roasted beef, stewed vegetables, and freshly baked bread filled the room.
Several captains shifted uncomfortably in their seats, including Comtois and Pruette, as they watched Raboin eat. Athos remained still, rested his right arm on the table and looked at Raboin and his lieutenant. Athos' plate remained untouched before him. The white porcelain reflected the lights of the lanterns and the fire that blazed behind him. The grotesque display of gluttony was unusual, and neither Raboin or Grimaud knew what was happening beyond the walls of the chateau. Raboin may have enjoyed taking part in the previous battles, but lately, the extent of his involvement had been riding the line, quick looks, and quicker assumptions. His lieutenant kept to himself, shadowed in his heavy cloak, and frequently rode beyond the battlefields. He had captured Athos' attention on several occasions, but he seemed to know when to disappear and when a solitary appearance was necessary.
"Once the supply wagons arrive; food, weapons, and ammunition will be disbursed appropriately — I understand this is stressful for you all, but rest assured…" He looked at his men confidently. "I have communicated with the king and his minister of war and I have been reassured that help is on the way."
"What about Thorell and Vires, General?" Captain Quin said. He shifted forward, rested his elbows on the table, and turned to look at the general. "Are they making their way east, or have they stalled in their progress? I understand they were going to join us in the fighting since this is the hardest hit area —" He tapped his fingers on the table.
"Generals Vires and Thorell have found themselves under heavy attack since the beginning of the year — both have written to inform me of their delays. Our job is to maintain the line and keep the Spanish on Spanish ground — which we have done successfully."
"At the cost of our men," Captain Quin, countered and leaned back. He lowered his hand to his lap and clenched his jaw. Blonde hair fell forward across his face, and blue eyes looked across the table at Athos, who glanced at him and then returned his gaze to Raboin.
"This is war, Captain. In war, men die," Raboin said with annoyance. He rolled his eyes, held out his glass, and watched as the servant beside the buffet stepped forward with a port and refilled it.
"In just a few days' time, General, our men will be without food and ammunition —"
"Then perhaps they should hit something with their ammunition rather than just shooting at the Spanish, who," Raboin raised his eyebrows and leaned forward in his seat, "are too far away to strike."
"We are fighting an army of cannons, General, not muskets," Captain Fain said with his thick eyebrows pulled together. His broad nose nearly touched the peaks of his upper lip and caused his thick mustache to part in the center. "Cannons that have caused serious injury to many of my men, which has reduced the number of fighting men in my company."
Several captains nodded in agreement.
"The Spanish have an endless supply of cannonballs. Either they arrived here well fortified and knew who they would face or they are getting supplies — supplies that," Captain Fain continued, "I believe were meant for our companies."
"If the Spanish are indeed appropriating our supplies…" Captain Duris said, "how are they gaining the information about the shipments?" He shifted nervously in his seat, and the light of the fire caught the bald spot on the back of his head as he looked from one end of the table to the other. His hair was cut short, and his mustache was well trimmed and ran along each side of his chin. Hooded green eyes flickered with concern as he looked at those he fought beside.
"That wouldn't explain the cannonballs," Captain Fain said.
"Maybe that's the point," Athos said and looked at General Raboin. "Not only are the Spanish acquiring our goods, but they're receiving Spanish supplies through the ports of Dinant."
General Raboin raised an eyebrow. "If the Spanish were thieving our goods, captains," he said and looked around the table, "I would know. My scouts have said nothing about supply wagons going missing — nor have they seen Spanish soldiers on French grounds."
"Perhaps your scouts aren't looking in the right direction?" Captain Fain said and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "The Spanish are too well supplied… while we struggle to feed our men and care for those who are injured."
"Then perhaps, Captain, and the rest of you." Raboin looked around the table and pushed himself to his feet. He bumped his plate, causing it to clang against the wood surface, and his silverware to clatter against it. He leaned forward, rested his palms against the wood and said, "Should stop feeding the refugees and start taking care of your own men — rationing food, supplies, and yes, medical treatment. If we are going to survive this war, then we all must make a few sacrifices, and from what I've seen none of you have been willing to do so!" He pushed himself up, grabbed his glass of wine, and quickly gulped it down. "I understand the Fontaine family is still on the grounds?" He turned, motioned for a house servant to refill his glass, and then turned back toward the table.
"The Fontaine family has been a valuable asset to the needs of the men, General," Athos said. He glanced at Grimaud, who looked at him, and then at Raboin, who shook his head and chuckled.
"More mouths to feed," Raboin said and shrugged. "And here you are, one of seven captains in need of supplies, because you've been caring for those who are not fighting this war, but sucking off the teat of our good fortune."
Athos frowned questionably and asked, "What good fortune?"
Raboin swirled the wine in his glass and looked at Athos. "To be in the position we are in, Captain." He turned and walked toward the window that overlooked the hills behind the home. He watched the clouds shift and move across the moon that glowed. "Ration your food — however much you have left," he turned and looked at his captains. Whether he ignored the looks of confusion on their faces or was blind to it, he said, "Those injured," he shrugged, "care only for those who will survive and those who can fight again — it will be some time before a wagon is returned to Paris and I will not send maimed men back to their homes… nor will I send men home, only to die on the journey." He lowered his voice and said, "It's better to die as a solider than to die victims of war."
"That is murder," Athos said as he pushed himself out of his chair. The legs scraped against floor, and he slapped his right hand on the table. "Those men fought for you… many lost their lives fighting for what you're supposed to be defending!"
"That is war! Or have you forgotten while running back and forth to the palace to answer the king's needs?" Raboin turned suddenly as the captains stood and shoved their chairs beneath the edges of the table. "The refugees need to be escorted from Verdun —"
"Denying soldiers medical attention and forcing the refugees away at a time of war further denotes the consummate problems we have faced since the battle has began!" Athos tightened his jaw and stared at Raboin and his lieutenant, who seemed less interested in the general and more interested in the men standing across from him.
"Those people have no other place to go," Captain Comtois said. He rested his hand on the back of the chair he stood behind.
Raboin clinched his jaw, tightened his lips, and shrugged. "That is not our problem. It's theirs. We have a battle to fight and a war to win and we cannot do that while seeing to the needs and whims of every poor soul who needs assistance."
"General?" Comtois said. In frustration he looked at those around him.
"I want them gone!" Raboin shouted from across the room. "It appears they are causing more problems than I first believed if my captains are defending then over their own men."
"If you send them away, you insure their deaths," Athos responded. Leaning forward, he tightened his hands around the edge of the table and locked his elbows.
"We are at war, Captain. I will not sacrifice my men's lives for a few French locals, too unfortunate to keep their homes."
"Those people need our protection… they may one day be able to return to their lands," Captain Comtois said.
"Those people are a detriment to the mission!" Raboin took another drink of his wine and shifted uncomfortably.
"Those people are France!" Athos slapped the table with the palm of his hand, drawing everyone's attention to him. "Without them, France is nothing but vacant ground — it's the people who make up France — not borders, nor the land! The very people King Louis is trying to defend!"
Raboin swallowed, looked hard at Athos and said, "Those are my orders, Captain!" He took a determined step forward and kept his gaze on Athos. "You think me difficult? Unreasonable?" He raised his eyebrows. "I don't have the luxury of defending everyone, Captain. I have been ordered to win a war and I will do that by any means necessary. I will sacrifice the lives of my men, nobility, the lives of those," he pointed toward the window that overlooked the refugee encampment, "you call France to do it. War is not for the weak of heart… it is only for those willing to make the difficult decisions and apparently the only one in this room willing to do so is me."
Athos hastily turned and walked from the room. He paused a moment and turned back to Raboin, who leaned toward Grimaud and whispered something unintelligible.
Grimaud nodded, but motioned with his chin toward Athos.
"Have you suddenly gone daft, Captain, or are you defying my orders?"
"You have spread your men too thin for far too long by sending them to the north and south of the heaviest fighting. Those of us in this room," Athos said, "are still here and despite the overwhelming armament we are facing, we are holding the lines. The cannons have stopped for tonight, General, and I wonder why? For weeks they have continued… for weeks you have promised supplies and fresh men to help us hold those lines. You say your scouts have seen nothing, but where are your scouts looking?"
Raboin stood still, his face unreadable as he stared at Athos.
"What decisions are you making to benefit your military? To improve your relationships with the surrounding nobility? At what cost are you willing to lose this war, because as of now, your men are weary, hungry, and sick? And yet I question," Athos tightened his hands into fists, "who are you really fighting, General? Us or them?"
"What are you accusing me of?"
"It was a simple question, General," Athos said.
Raboin cocked an eyebrow, glanced at Grimaud, who stood and grasped the handle of his sword. "That is not what this sounds like."
"My oath is to the king and to France," Athos said, "and to fulfill that oath, the refugees will remain under the care of the Musketeers — I will not, nor will my men, abandon the people of France in a time of need. That includes the Fontaine family, it also includes those wounded on the battlefields… regardless of their injuries, they will not be denied medical attention."
"You are disobeying a direct order —"
"On the contrary, General, I'm fulfilling my orders as requested by the king. Should you have issue with that…" Athos looked him in the eyes, "Minister Treville will hear your complaint."
"If your men starve, Captain Athos of the King's Musketeers, the fault will lie with you."
Athos relaxed his hands and took a deep breath. He nodded once, and then turned and walked from the room. The other captains parted and opened a path for him to exit, and then they looked at General Raboin, who tightened his fists.
The captains quietly left the room, and the doors shut behind them with a slight gust of wind and squeak of the hinges.
"I want him dead… I don't care how," Raboin said and stared at the closed doors.
Grimauld shook his head as he leaned closer and said, "You kill him now…" he raised his eyebrows, "you will have created a martyr… you can't kill him — not yet."
Raboin grabbed his glass of wine and threw it at the fireplace behind him. The shattered glass scattered across the floor and glistened beneath the flames of the lanterns.
"You may be the king's cousin, General," Grimaud said, "but Captain Athos has the king's ear — you cannot fight that."
"I want him dead… I want them all dead!"