Chapter 34
Aramis and Porthos rode toward the village, both silent, which was most unusual. Inevitably it was Porthos who finally spoke, not afraid to say out loud what both men were thinking.
'What a bloody mess, no wonder 'e don't sleep at night.'
Aramis winced at his friend's typical candour. 'We always had the pieces, we simply did not imagine they would fit together in such a way. How did we not see that she was his wife?'
'Because 'e never said so.' Porthos would often hide his emotions behind a gruff demeanour, but it meant nothing. The big man felt as cut up for Athos as they all did – quite often even more so – his inability to solve his friend's problems only adding to his frustration and heightening his emotion. Such as now.
'I suppose it explains her behaviour in some way.'
'Really, 'ow do you work that out?' Porthos turned and scowled at the marksman's comment in disgust.
'Well, she does seem to take an inordinate amount of interest in his life, and she has saved said life on more than one occasion. She must feel something, or she would simply have stood back and watched him die.' Though everything he said was true, somehow he still failed to understand the dynamic between his friend and Milady de Winter, though he supposed he should now think of her as Athos' wife.
'If you ask me, she just likes torturin' 'im. She knows 'ow she affects 'im and she likes to poke 'is wounds.' Both men fell silent - Aramis considering the accuracy of Porthos' remarks. Sighing, he decided it was impossible to decipher her intent, but he knew one thing for sure, their relationship was not healthy, nor was it advisable for them to continue in such a fashion.
By the time the two men reached the main thoroughfare, which in fairness was the only road through the village, the place was already bustling with activity. Children played here and there, carts came and went, whilst men and women calmly saw to their daily business – all seemingly without concern. The buildings appeared to be in good repair, and those villagers that were abroad showed every indication of being well fed and clothed. All in all there were no signs that the overlord's absence was detrimental to his estate and tenants.
The sharp clanging of metal rent the air and the two riders exchanged glances. 'The blacksmith?' Aramis suggested. His friend grinned and together they rode toward the industrious sounds of a busy forge, and the promise of some much-needed warmth.
It was perfectly normal for folk to look upon the Musketeers' arrival as a portent of trouble, so the expression of alarm upon the smithy's face was to be expected and roused no sense of suspicion.
'Good morning, I am addressing the smithy for the village, am I not?' Aramis beamed.
'Ay, that's right. Name's René.' Well, the welcome could have been worse. The man halted his task and watched the two men approach. He was broadly built, and his strong arms had a firm grip upon the hammer he had been using; his eyes now watchful of their every move. 'How can I help you, gentlemen? There's no trouble in the village that I know of.'
Aramis nodded and continued to smile. 'That is indeed good to know. However, worrying news has recently reached the King, rumours of trouble upon the roads in this area. Would you know of any such activities?'
The smithy licked his lips. 'Why would I know?'
'Well you appear to have a stable yard attached to your forge, so any strangers with horses may have had need of your services.' All this time, Porthos was hovering in the background like some form of avenging angel, and as there was no way of diminishing his intimidating presence, whenever he wanted information from a reluctant source Aramis simply had to work a little harder on his charm.
The blacksmith appeared to relax slightly. 'No, we have not heard of any attacks or problems, not for some time now. Occasionally when the weather is bad and food is scarce, some poor sod takes it upon himself to try his luck, but that is not unusual.' He gave the Musketeers a searching look, and garnering some measure of reassurance from Aramis' lack of response, he eventually returned his metal to the fire and began working once more. Clearly, he thought the conversation to be at an end.
'Have you noticed any strangers in the village lately?' Aramis shouted, attempting to make himself heard over the din. The marksman wandered around the forge admiring the man's handiwork, not failing to note the rhythmic strike of the hammer falter for a second before striking out its beat once more.
'You'd be better asking at the inn, they would be more likely to answer your questions. There's nobody been to see me for a job that I don't know already.' Again, the monotonous tone of the hammer strike, sparks flying from the beaten metal like fireflies. Aramis moved a little closer and was about to speak again, when the smithy plunged the white-hot metal into the tub of water at his side, the submersed inferno sending a plume of hot steam shooting high into the air. Aramis jumped back, but the smithy made no sign of apology.
Porthos took a step forward, causing the recalcitrant René to raise his head in anticipation, his knuckles white around the hammer handle. Aramis nodded his thanks and turned to steer Porthos out of the stifling workshop.
'Well he was chatty.' Porthos gave the cheery marksman a sidelong glance and deliberately cracked his large knuckles.
'Indeed, but then I suppose the smithy is a fairly solitary job.'
'Yeah, or perhaps 'e 'as somethin' to hide.'
'Porthos, you are very suspicious, mon ami. Not everyone who fails to instantly tell us their life story is guilty of something – and your presence does not encourage such intimacies. Now, that was thirsty work asking all those questions – I bet all that chatter has left you dying for a drink,' Aramis mocked.
'Ha, I don't ask questions, I just encourage them to consider their answers – very carefully,' the big man laughed.
'What a poetic way of putting it, and there I was thinking you were simply trying to terrify them into confessing all of their sins. Our smithy appeared rather unsettled though, would you not say?'
'We'll ask 'is lord and master what 'e knows about the man. Of course whether 'e'll tell us is another thing altogether.'
Smiling, the two Musketeers found the inn and entered. Like most taverns of its ilk, it was low ceilinged and dim; the smell of ale and hops was prevalent in the room, along with the reassuring aroma of wax. From the appearance of the tables, the owner looked after his establishment, and the gleaming wooden bar suggested the smell of wax emanated from its recent cleaning. Encouraging.
A smiling woman came out from a room behind the bar. 'Oh my, Musketeers, now how long has it been since Pinon has seen soldiers? Not for many years, I think. What can I do for you, gentlemen?' The smile did not diminish, and Aramis sighed his relief. Information came so much easier from a willing source.
'Good morning, madame, am I addressing the good woman who keeps this establishment so clean, and, I suspect… reputable?'
The woman blushed and gave a low chuckle. 'Oh you're very good, young man. Yes, me and my husband – with a little help from our boy Tom – we've run the tavern for a few years now. My name's Bessie, what can I get for you?'
The two men requested ale, which they drank with relish. 'Rumours of problems on the local highways have reached the ears of the King, and we have been charged with checking their validity. We have just come from Anet. Your blacksmith suggested this would be the best place to seek our information.'
The woman frowned but appeared to be giving the question some thought. 'No, I can't think of any reports of robbery. Poaching is probably the worst of crimes we see about here. Sometimes the village lads get carried away with their larking around, but nothing serious.'
Nothing like the murder of the local nobleman's brother then,Aramis mused.
'Would you 'ave seen any strangers in the village lately?' Porthos chimed in. Causing Aramis to raise a brow in amusement. This time the woman appeared to be slightly taken aback, but whether by the question, or Porthos, was difficult to say.
'Well yesterday was market day, and it isn't unusual for the odd stranger to come for the market. There was a lovely young lady who came just to get medicine from the apothecary for her mistress, but she stayed the night on account of the weather. She paused to think. There has been one odd gentleman. Not that he has caused any trouble, just the opposite. He sits nursing the same drink for most of the night and simply watches, as though he is waiting for someone. It might seem cruel to say it, but what with his terrible scars he is not good for business. It's not very Christian, but it's enough to put my regulars off their ale.'
Both Aramis and Porthos paused their drinking to attend to her tale.
'When did he arrive?' Porthos asked, though with his rumbling growl he sounded more like a tiger with a thorn in his paw. The woman subjected him to a thorough assessment before she answered his question; her experience told her his bark was worse than his bite – at least when addressing her.
'Well let me see, about two, maybe three nights ago, it has been busy, so I can't be absolutely sure. He was here last night, left early, went out into the bitter cold. I thought it might snow but it held off. It won't be long now though, I wouldn't be surprised if it doesn't come down tonight. The sky is full of it.' She looked at the two men expectantly as if she awaited further questions.
It was Porthos who spoke again. 'Who is in charge around this area? Do you have an overlord?' He managed to ask the question with an unusual amount of finesse, and Aramis was impressed, and somewhat amused that his friend had taken over the interrogation.
'Well not exactly. Of course we have one, the young Comte lives up at the manor, but he is away at the moment, travelling we believe. The steward is a good man though and he looks after the estate in the young master's absence.'
'Was he a good master?' Aramis asked, taking up the thread, unable to curb his curiosity.
A strange expression stole across the woman's face before she smiled once again, wariness flitting across her features for the first time. 'Oh yes, a most agreeable man. Not that we saw a great deal of him, well we wouldn't, would we. But when he did come in, he was always polite and respectful. Such a sweet boy too.'
'He came in as a boy?' Porthos asked, somewhat taken aback.
The woman laughed. 'Oh, not for drinking purposes, and only when the old Comte was away. He was a tyrant that one was; looked after the estate, but everyone kept well clear of him. Still, the young master would hang on the coat tails of our Tom – the gamekeeper at the time. He was courting my younger sister back then, she worked here. We named our boy after him. Well he would meet the child in here, whilst he had his last pint, before they went hunting for poachers.' She laughed at the memory. 'He was mighty fond of the boy was Tom, though he said the child did ask some right awkward questions. He always was a serious little lad.' She laughed again and shook her head. 'I must get on now, gentlemen, the lunch stew won't cook itself. Will you be wanting rooms?'
Aramis drained his cup and shook his head. 'Thank you, no. We have permission to stay at the manor.' This appeared to take Bessie by surprise, but she said nothing, simply waved goodbye and went about her business.
'She'd not be surprised to know 'e ain't changed much, just don't ask so many questions, and don't answer any at all,' Porthos guffawed. 'Where to now? Should we find scar face?'
Aramis shrugged and inspected the remains of the village. Despite all of their combined experience their current situation was unique. They had a victim, if that is indeed what Athos was, yet they had neither motive nor any clear indication of the culprit. It would have helped if Athos had not collected quite so many enemies in his relatively short life; they were not exactly short of potential suspects. However, none of the more obvious of those known to the swordsman appeared to have orchestrated this – though they remained shadowy figures upon the periphery. Which was odd in itself. Why would the likes of Rochefort, Giroux and Dubois have somehow forged an alliance to at best damage Athos' reputation, and at worst, kill him? They were as much in the dark as ever.
The comings and goings in Pinon had settled in comparison to the bustle of their arrival. Despite the onset of winter there were still dozens of tasks for local farmers, fixing fences, moving animals closer to shelter, as well as storing hay and food for overwintering their more precious stock. It was now close to lunch time and already the inn had begun to fill up as they were leaving. Workers would be home in the warm, filling their stomachs before venturing back out into the bitter cold.
'Considering the size of the village, there does not appear to be a great deal of options available where we might seek information. I suppose there must be an apothecary, for Bessie mentioned one. It cannot hurt to ask. Perhaps The stranger's scars are recent, and he has had need of medication.' Porthos nodded, eager to have some goal to occupy him, and the two men walked along the street in search of the store they sought.
Eventually they recognised a swinging sign bearing a familiar snake entwined around a staff, the symbol most associated with practitioners of medicine. Bending slightly, they entered the small space within. Behind a long, gleaming counter sat an enormous selection of bottles filled with liquids, papers and herbs. The smell was extraordinary.
Aramis beamed, feeling right at home, his joy quickly dissipating as the smells instinctively reminded him of his patient lying back at the château, and the fact he had left him. A tall, gaunt man appeared from behind a heavy curtain and gave them a courteous bow.
'Good day, we are Aramis and Porthos of the King's Musketeers. We have a seriously injured man at the manor house, and I have run out of willow bark preparation to help with his pain. Also, I would be grateful if you could recommend a salve to help seal his wound, it was too jagged for me to attempt to stitch it closed.' The man listened intently, not appearing surprised by the request, but rather more intrigued.
'Of course, willow bark is a staple, frequently requested; I ensure I never run out,' he smiled as he busied himself with the jars and packets stacked on the small shelves behind him.
'My name is Jordane, Claude Jordane. I know the regiment fairly well. How is Paris? I miss the variety of enquiries that I used to get when I lived in the city. In fact, I have visited the garrison on several occasions. You had a small outbreak of cholera last year if I remember correctly, from a corrupted well. We were lucky the source was located so swiftly before we had a much wider outbreak. My wife and I moved here not long after, she had family in the village, and she was needed.' He gave a wistful sigh. 'Now this wound, does it still bleed or show signs of infection?'
Aramis and Porthos viewed the man with admiration – he had issued the entire diatribe without appearing to take a breath. He now peered at them over small, metal framed spectacles, patiently awaiting the information he had requested.
Aramis blinked and considered his reply. 'No bleeding, but the bullet entered at the front of his right shoulder and exited at the back of his left. It has obviously done a great deal of damage and if I am honest, I do not put a great deal of faith in his recovery. If we can make him comfortable and at least close the wound to prevent further infection, then I believe that is the most we can hope to achieve.'
The man appeared solemn. 'Very unlucky, yes infection must be prevented. Have you considered cauterising the wound? That would provide an effective seal.' His eyes had an odd gleam of enthusiasm, which made Porthos shudder, though Aramis recognised it as pure intellectual curiosity.
'It is a possibility, but he was very fragile by the time we reached the manor, and I was afraid the renewed agony might be too much for him to endure.'
Jordane nodded his head in understanding. 'It is rather extreme. My only suggestion then is a mixture of egg yolk, oil of roses and turpentine. It is the best solution I have to offer, and a lot less savage than burning oil.' Aramis paled at the mention of the old barbaric field method of sealing wounds, more likely to kill than heal.
'Thank you, eggs we have, but the other ingredients would be most welcome.' The man went about his business once more and Porthos moved closer to scrutinise the jars filled with abundant leaves and spices, his demeanour suggesting he was not entirely trusting of the man's wares. Aramis leaned on the counter and attempted to make up for his friend's suspicion by making polite conversation.
'You must have been busy yesterday, what with it being market day.'
Jordane glanced over his shoulder and snorted. 'It was a funny thing, but apart from a few regular orders I needed to put up for villagers, not a soul came into the shop.' Aramis made the appropriate noises of sympathy, but Porthos ceased his investigation of the jars and spoke directly to the apothecary.
'Except the young woman, the one who wanted the pills for her mistress.'
The chemist peered over his spectacles. 'No. No young lady, not a soul. Very odd,' he muttered as she wrapped the preparations up in paper.
Porthos muttered something under his breath and turned on his heel, thrusting the door open and exited into the fresh, frigid air outside. Aramis thanked the apothecary and followed his friend in consternation.
'What is it?'
'Bloody Athos, that's what. 'E might not be a liar, but 'e's damn selective when it comes to the truth.' The big man stalked up and down, running his hands over his face, and noting Aramis' confusion he continued.
'Someone went to the trouble of setting fire to the bloody garrison, just so they could warn Athos he was walking into a trap. 'E stated 'e did not see them… not that 'e didn't know who it was. 'Ow many people in Paris does Athos know, know well enough to go to such extreme measures, well enough to care for his wellbeing? Setting fire to the bloody garrison, I ask you!' Porthos was ranting now. 'A young woman, travelling alone, arrives in the village to get medicine for 'er mistress, only no one entered the apothecary all day yesterday. Now, is it just me, or is the 'air standin' up on your neck too?'
Aramis groaned. 'I am afraid you could be right about our fire starter, it would make sense. Milady never does anything the easy way. However, it is possible this young woman was simply that, maybe she arrived too late, maybe she obtained what she needed from the market.' Aramis was running alongside Porthos as he strode along the street with a sense of urgency. 'Where are we going?'
'To find out if I'm right.' Porthos pushed open the door to the tavern, causing a lull in the chatter from within. Bessie smiled and waved, reassuring the regulars all was well.
'Back so soon, gentlemen?'
'The young lady, the one you mentioned. Is she still here?' Porthos barked.
Bessie scowled, answering the question readily enough, ignoring the terse manner in which it was delivered. 'Now it is funny you should ask. When I went up to check on her this morning after you had gone, I found the room empty. Not a sign, just the money for her board left on the dresser. Most odd I thought. I never saw her go.'
Porthos thumped the bar and turned to Aramis with a face like thunder. 'Now what do you think?'
'Could you describe her?' Aramis wanted to be certain, he did not want to go back to Athos and confront him with the news should they be wrong.
'Well now, she had a cloak that covered her clothing, and a scarf covered her hair, but I got the impression she was dark. Well spoken, but that was not surprising if she worked for a Lady. Pretty, had the loveliest green eyes, like a cat.' Bessie smiled at her little joke. Aramis closed his eyes, as Porthos huffed with satisfaction.
'Thank you madame.' Exiting the tavern together the two soldiers breathed in the cold air to clear their thoughts. Above them loomed an intense bank of cloud, the previous grey now merged with a sickly yellow hue, not a break in the brooding sky. The landlady may well have been right, there could very well be snow on the way. Porthos strode over to the post where they had left their horses and mounted.
'What about the man with the scars?' Aramis called.
''E can wait.' With that Porthos rode off, leaving Aramis cursing out loud as he galloped behind him.
ooOoo
The First Minister was feeling decidedly smug. His plan could not have gone better had he planned it down to the smallest detail. Now all he had to do was find Athos and summon him back to Paris, gagged and bound if necessary.
He awaited the Captain of the Red Guards with impatience, pacing the floor of his oversized office. The knock at the door was firm but hesitant. 'Come in, Captain.' Giroux entered the room, his countenance stiff and wary.
He had hardly stepped inside the room when Richelieu barked his demands. 'I have an urgent mission; I need someone with discretion, and probably a certain amount of skill with a sword. I appreciate that may be difficult from within your ranks, but I need the Musketeer Athos bringing back to Paris with all speed. Alive and unharmed, but apart from that, I do not care how they accomplish the task.'
Giroux's heart began to hammer, if the men he had sent on ahead had already completed the deed he had paid them to do, then Athos would already be dead. If the First Minister even remotely suspected he was behind it, Giroux would be dead too.
'Well, man, what are you waiting for? Find someone and see it done.' Richelieu glared at the mortified soldier with contempt. 'Surely your regiment is not so incompetent that you cannot find one man to accomplish the task?'
'I will go,' the captain practically shouted. 'It appears the mission requires someone you can trust, someone who will carry credibility with the Musketeers. I should be the one to bring him back.' He stood straight and hoped his panic did not show upon his face.
Richelieu regarded him carefully and not without a certain amount of scepticism, before waving his hands in the air. 'Fine, but do not harm him, the King needs to be able to see he is well and whole. Athos will be no good to me confined to the infirmary. And Giroux, if you fail… do not return to Paris.' The captain blanched upon hearing his worst fears spoken aloud. He bowed and exited the room at a run.
God almighty, now he would have to ride with all speed to save the damn Musketeer's life. He hoped whatever the Cardinal was planning would be worth it, and Athos would finally be a thorn in their sides no more.
Giroux briefed his second in command and gathered what he needed. Wasting no time he charged out of the guard headquarters, galloping out of the city, scattering people and merchandise in his wake. He had to be on time, he had to get to Pinon, and whatever was so bloody important there, before Jobin and Peloir carried out his instructions.
ooOoo
Athos paced the room up and down as Treville bemoaned the absurdity of their situation.
'Why did you not simply tell me? Why does everything have to be so complicated with you Athos? You have allowed yourself to be manipulated to the very place they want you. Why we do not know, but somebody wants you in Pinon and they appear to have a great deal of help. I hate to ask the question, but is there anything else, anything you are not telling me?'
Treville glared at his errant Musketeer, daring him to lie to him, or in Athos' terms, avoid the truth.
Athos shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head in confusion. 'I have considered everyone who might have a grudge, but none of them has any connection to Pinon. As far as I am aware, only you, Aramis, Porthos and Anne are aware of my past – and the King of course.' He eyed Treville, ready for his Captain's reaction.
'You think the King has told Richelieu?'
Athos frowned. 'I cannot see why he would do so, and even if he had, why would the First Minister want me returned here, what would be his purpose? No, somebody needs me here in Pinon, whether to do me harm or for some other purpose, it has to be here.'
'Then it must be her, Milady de Winter. By your own admission she is the only other person who knows you are the Comte de la Fère, assuming you are ruling out Aramis, Porthos and myself.' Though Treville's comment dripped sarcasm Athos was still shocked by the inference.
'I am not even going to answer that. As for… my wife, she has had more than enough opportunities to end my life. What would be the point in making me return here? This place holds as many ghosts for her as it does for me. Why would she bother to warn me? She may taunt and provoke, but she rarely wastes time.'
'Perhaps she is working for the Cardinal once more.'
Athos shook his head. 'I doubt it; he was the one who wanted her bought before him on charges. No, she would not have approached him.'
'Then why is she back in France, and how does she know what Rochefort is up to?' Treville was beyond exasperated now.
Athos ran his hands though his hair in frustration, his voice vibrating with pent up anger. 'Do you not think I have considered all of this? I have relived the past two years moment by moment and have forgotten more enemies than I can remember. The men from Anet, yes, I probably crossed them at some point before I ended up in Paris; I killed many men during that time – but I do not remember them.' Athos closed his eyes as he recalled how low he had sunk before he had stumbled across Porthos and Aramis. Dark days, but ones he would never forget. 'There are dozens more, faces in taverns, brawls or fights I cannot recall. Not to mention more powerful enemies – Richelieu, Anne, Rochefort – but none of it makes any sense. Why here, when a dark alleyway in Paris would be so much easier?'
Treville had no time to reply, as Porthos came crashing through the door with Aramis at his shoulder. He had stewed and fretted all the way from Pinon and his patience had long since flown.
'She's 'ere, and you bloody knew it, didn't you?' He stabbed his finger in Athos' face; the swordsman did not blink, merely glaring at his friend.
Despite his surprise, Athos gave no indication he had suspected such a thing. That she was indeed in the area and not a ghost, was somewhat reassuring. He may not trust her motives or her methods, but he did not believe she was behind this – it had been going on for far too long, and he had not sensed her presence for many months. No, whatever her intent, she was not the one he needed to worry about.
Thanks to Porthos' accusation Athos was aware he was the centre of attention, and he knew they would not believe his intuition regarding Anne's innocence.
'I am not surprised, but I did not know,' was his only response, no emotion upon his face.
'But it was her who warned you at the garrison?' Aramis asked, though without the inference of Porthos' criticism.
Athos gave a curt nod.
'And you didn't think it was important?' Porthos bellowed.
'No!' was the emphatic reply.
The argument may have rumbled on, if Dubois had not begun to awaken from his drugged slumber.
Aramis was at his side straight away. 'Call for Madame Renard, there are things I need.' Porthos nodded and left the room without question.
'How is he?' Athos enquired, standing at the medic's side.
'He is slightly feverish, but the bleeding has stopped. I have something with which to try and seal the wound, which will help.' He shrugged his shoulders. 'Other than that, God will decide.'
Athos snorted, his disdain regarding his friend's faith in the almighty obvious.
'Do you need me?'
Aramis ceased his study of his patient to frown at the swordsman's question. 'Why?'
'If I can offer no support, then there are other things I should do.' He held Aramis' gaze but gave nothing away.
But the medic knew his friend far too well and was not about to let him off so easily. 'Like what?'
'Like find my wife.' The statement was delivered with no trace of emotion, but Aramis bridled.
'Out of the question.'
'She is not a threat.'
'Oh no, she is a pussycat, she has only followed you out of sheer devotion.' As soon as he had uttered the words Aramis wanted to take them back.
Athos's eyes glittered, but he spoke with quiet control. 'Whatever her motivation, devotion is not one of them. However, I need to know whatever she knows.'
'Athos do not dare. I am needed here, I cannot come, wait for Porthos.'
Athos was halfway to the door. 'What, so that he can shoot her?' He was gone before the frustrated medic could say anymore.
Treville placed his hand upon the Musketeer's shoulder and strode from the room. 'I will not let him out of my sight.'