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Onward we go...
Chapter 12
Billy sat on the cot, rubbed his hands together, and then shoved them between his clenched knees. He looked toward the exit, the flap that shifted and swayed as the breeze caught the edge of the canvas. He could see the boots of the musketeer standing guard, and occasionally he could hear short snips of conversations. Billy knew he was a fool. It had been foolish to hide what he had done, to think that impressing the general was a good thing, for putting his pride before his duty to the musketeers… to his captain.
Athos has always been kind to him. As a boy, Billy had run through the laundry, chasing imaginary enemies and pretending to be a musketeer, fighting to defend the king. He had admired the pauldrons, the leather symbols of honor that each of them wore. Not a one of them was the same, each characterized and designed individually like the men who wore them. Billy had made his own when he was young. The fabric had been scraps, but his grandmother had helped him stitch a design using her skills as a seamstress, and at one time a dressmaker. He still had it packed away, hidden from view, but fondly remembered. His grandmother had never judged him, never shamed him for wanting to be like the men he admired. Instead, she got to know them, introduced them to her grandson, and as time went on, she often scolded them like her sons.
Billy sighed, rubbed his face, and shook his head. He deserved whatever punishment Porthos decided on.
Billy looked toward the exit when the conversation grew louder and he listened.
"I think we should rush the chateau — General Raboin cannot kill all of us —"
"What reason could he have for wanting Captain Athos dead?"
"He's lost his mind," a musketeer said. "I heard one of Comtois' men speaking about it. The man needs to be removed —"
"Someone mentioned he has committed treason — perhaps he has aligned himself with Spain —"
"No," someone else said. "A general of his caliber — losing his mind would be a better accusation than being a traitor to his country."
Billy rubbed his jaw, looked around the tent, and then took a deep breath. He heard several horses nicker, someone shouted, and then the men rushed from the scene. The tent flap was suddenly pushed open.
"You stay here!" The musketeer ordered and then suddenly sprinted away.
Billy sat for a long moment. He felt his heart race, this mind conflict with his heart, and then suddenly he stood. He knew what he had to do. What had to be done. He walked to the door, pushed open the flap, and then dashed from the tent.
Ducking and dodging as the chaos ensued, he ran through the trees, stopped momentarily when he spotted a weapons belt hanging from a tree branch, and grabbed it. He slipped it around his waist, tied it because the belt was too large, and then ran again. His heart pounded, his chest ached, but his determination and need pushed him forward.