Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents.
Chapter Seventeen: Capture and Confession
Alright, planning on making plans and actually having them were two different things.
Right?
Elizabeth knew she was just making justifications to herself as she skulked through the trees near the Sons' encampment; but seriously, no one had actually expected her to obey that ridiculous pronouncement. She had more staked in this than anybody, she was going to kill Philippe.
And anyway, when Athos had asked her she hadn't actually had any plans… yet.
Elizabeth sighed, cursing the full moon which made her tracking easier, while simultaneously making it increasingly more difficult to stay hidden in the thinning underbrush.
Ahead of her, she could see five all too familiar cloaks. She would be avoiding them, thank you very much. She trod a wide path around the Musketeers and silently made her way from tent to tent. All of them were that shade of cream that tents naturally seemed to come in; save one. A bright red tent stood in the center of the camp, at least three feet taller than the others.
"Philippe, you are so easy to predict." She muttered under her breath. She briefly held a hand to her ribs and then her arm. It was really amazing the amount of injury she had sustained in the past week. Not that she'd let it stop her. Of course not. But when looking at the greater scheme of things, she was also the only person in her group of friends to have any injury whatsoever; which was odd in itself.
She shrugged as she made her way towards the center of the Sons' encampment. It was simply her misfortune to have less than admirable luck she decided.
Upon arrival at the garishly colored tent, Elizabeth circled it warily from the shadows. It didn't seem to be too heavily guarded, but then again, no one actually expects a surprise attack in the middle of one's own camp. That's what makes it such a surprise. She nearly giggled at her own morbid humor. With a knife in her palm and her free hand on the hilt of the other, she slipped up next to the entrance to the tent.
With the hand holding the knife, she pushed back the flap serving for a door. Inside, Philippe and Henri stood over a table discussing something heatedly. They were thankfully alone.
"'Allo muffin."
Elizabeth spun, but not in time to dodge the fist which connected with her head in a blinding flash of pain.
When she awoke, Philippe stood grinning over her. "Evening my darling. Ah, ah! So quick to leave us?" He admonished as she struggled upright. "My dear girl you wound me with your impatience."
"If only." She mumbled. "It was a trap?"
It wasn't really a question, but Philippe answered her anyway. "Of course, dearest Lizzy, you are so easy to predict."
"Bastard." She spat
He tsked at her. "Now now my love, that's no way to talk about your future husband."
Her eyes grew wide. "You don't give up do you?"
"You know why I won't." He reminded her with a sly glance at Henri. Elizabeth was disgusted by his playful tone.
"When do the Musketeers plan to attack?" Henri broke in impatiently.
As fate would have it, the Musketeers chose that particular moment to burst into the tent. They made a good show of it, but they were no match for the dozen men Philippe had lying in wait outside.
"It seems history repeats itself." Philippe smirked at the men, "Although, I don't recognize one of your number."
"Louis, monsieur, my cousin has told me of you." He managed a mocking bow from his prone position.
"Ah, you are kin to Lizabetae here? Lucky you."
Louis raised an eyebrow at Elizabeth, "He knows?"
"My father could not keep a secret to save his life; in fact, this one cost him his."
"Secrets Elizabeth?" Philippe sat in a high backed chair, "You mean you keep truths hidden from your friends?"
"Some things are not meant to be known." She gritted out.
Philippe smiled, "Even your heritage, your family, who you are?"
"Lizabetae, Elizabeth, it makes no difference to who I am."
"And just who are you?" the words sounded as though they'd been pulled forcefully from Porthos' throat.
Philippe moved behind him to pull his head up by a handful of hair. He held a knife to Porthos' neck. "Lizzy, you have kept secrets too long, do you think they will acknowledge you when they learn of your family, the tainted blood you share, the danger you live in and have therefore put them in?" He pressed the knife until a trickle of blood ran down Porthos' throat, "Go ahead and tell them Lizzy, or I will cut his throat."
Her eyes began to fill with unshed tears as she began. "My name is Lizabetae dei Medici. I am the daughter of Giuliano dei Medici, of Florence."
Aramis' head jerked up, "I knew I'd heard that name before."
Porthos swallowed, "Elizabeth, I hate to say anything, but Philippe seems to think there is more to tell."
"My family is an old one, and wealthy." She continued, "Twenty years ago a rival family in Italy, the Pazzi, attempted to murder my father and his brother Lorenzo, hoping to gain by their death. Lorenzo escaped, but my father was caught on the steps of a cathedral- praying for sanctuary. Injured badly, my father went to his brother, but Lorenzo had found a chance to gain the Medici fortune and sent assassins after him." She swallowed hard, "The mere mention of my past is as much as a death sentence in certain circles. As well as anyone who is thought to also know the truth of my parentage."
The Musketeers sat in stunned silence.
"And you wonder why I will stop at nothing to have you Lizzy." Philippe drawled as he moved from Porthos, "With the Medici fortune, nothing could stand between me and power."
The first gunshot was heard.
"What was that?" Henri sounded alarmed.
Philippe's eyes shot to Elizabeth. She grinned, and it was all teeth, "You didn't really think we'd come alone again did you?"
"It doesn't matter. No matter the how many of your servants you brought along, I have an army they'll have to contend with." He boasted.
Elizabeth continued to grin, and it was then that Philippe noticed the Musketeers also wore self-satisfied expressions.
"What do you know?" He demanded.
More gunshots, closer this time and followed by the sound of men shouting.
"What do you know?" His voice had risen in pitch.
The sounds of a battle reached the tent, and Philippe had finally lost his composure.
"What do you know!?!" he shouted, grabbing Elizabeth by her collar.
"Did you really think you could threaten the king in such a manner without incurring the wrath of the Musketeers?" Philippe's eyes shifted to those in his tent, "No Philippe, I mean all of the Musketeers; nearly four hundred strong."
Henri groaned aloud.
"Have you made your peace with God?" Aramis intoned piously.
"We must run!" Henri demanded.
"Where you fool?" Philippe clouted him over the ear, "Where could we possibly run to? His eyes shifted to the prisoners, "Perhaps we could use them as hostages…"
"You'll have to be quick to get away with it Philippe. Have you the time?" Athos taunted.
Philippe growled and snatched a knife from the table, "You think you are better? Well if I must die, I will take at least one of you with me." He lunged at Athos and that might very well have been his end had not Elizabeth thrown herself at Philippe's feet, causing his knife to miss its intended goal. They tussled on the floor, an uneven fight seeing as Elizabeth's hands were bound behind her back.
From outside the tent, shouts and signs of a fight could be heard. A group of Musketeers burst into the tent, immediately taking down the soldiers and capturing Henri. Some of the Musketeers moved to free their comrades while others pulled Philippe up and tied his hands behind him. His knife was elsewhere. Once Elizabeth was free, she hurried to Athos' side where the knife stuck from his leg.
"It's a flesh wound." He tried to wave her away.
"You big fool," she sighed fondly running her fingers through his hair.
D'Artagnan cleared his throat.
"Go away." Elizabeth murmured before leaning in to kiss Athos.
Aramis and d'Artagnan rolled their eyes while Louis and Porthos stifled their laughter.
"That wound needs to be looked at." Porthos pointed out.
Elizabeth reluctantly pulled away. "Come my love, your friends call to us."
Athos' eyes widened but she didn't notice as both she and Porthos helped him to his feet. He grunted in pain when his leg straightened. "Do you intend to leave it in there?" he asked Porthos.
D'Artagnan stepped forward to pull the knife from his Athos' leg. He hefted it experimentally, "Nice balance." He commented.
Their rescuers had already carried Philippe and Henri from the tent when they helped Athos onto the table while Aramis went to find a healer.
Elizabeth held his hand, smiling down at him. "It's about time somebody besides me took an injury for the cause."
Louis guffawed and Porthos choked on his laugh. Athos was not amused, "I see I'll get no sympathy from you."
"You'll get plenty… eventually." She was about to kiss him again when Trèville burst into the tent.
"You!" He pointed at Elizabeth, "I thought I'd find you here. How dare you defy my order?"
Elizabeth rose and placed her fists on her hips, "You have no right to order me about monsieur."
Trèville opened his mouth to argue but at that moment, Aramis returned with a healer and another Musketeer entered the tent.
"Captain, the prisoner is saying things I think you need to hear."
Trèville waved him aside, but the man would not be side-stepped, "Monsieur, I really think you ought to hear this before the others do."
Trèville sighed, "We will speak of this later Elizabeth."
"Oh gee." She sighed sarcastically, "I just shiver in anticipation."