TWO

He was jolted into semi-consciousness by the abrupt slam of a door, and as wakefulness slowly returned, he became aware of voices nearby, clipped and harsh, as if the people speaking them were arguing.

Though still not fully cognizant, he was able to discern that he was lying on a surface that was feather soft beneath him, and he decided that he must have been transferred to a bed somewhere; a house, he realized without making it a conscious observation, for a distinct aroma of food cooking in a kitchen somewhere permeated the air. There was a dull ache behind his right ear that threatened to ignite into something much worse if he moved.

As the voices became more defined and recognizable, he heard Aramis say sharply, "The matter was under control, Athos. You did not have to hit him!"

"He cannot be trusted!" Athos shot back. "I did what I had to do to restrain him."

"No, you did what you wanted to do, and it had nothing to do with restraint. It had only to do with vengeance for something he was not even involved in. For weeks now, ever since Raoul's death, you have been a coiled spring just waiting to lash out at someone. D'Artagnan was a convenient target because you still want to blame him for your anguish over Raoul."

"He has the king's ear, yet he did nothing to bring my son home safely. Yes! I blame him for that! He could have redeemed himself by siding with us, by helping us, but he didn't. He sided with the king. He is a traitor to our code! He abandoned us when we needed him."

The bedroom door burst open, and Porthos, apparently the source of the door slam that had been heard moments earlier, burst into the room. "Aramis!" he bellowed.

The shout seemed to bounce around inside D'Artagnan's skull, intensifying his headache, and he felt his body flinch in response to it, but he was still unable to make any voluntary movements. His head began to throb, and a feeling of nausea crept into his stomach.

Spotting the Musketeer, Porthos pulled up short. "I was coming to tell you that D'Artagnan was in town, but I see you already know." He paused, as if just then noticing that the Musketeer was reclining on the bed. "What happened here? Is he unconscious?"

"Yes," Aramis replied. "It seems he came to talk to us about something, but Athos, in his infinite wisdom, decided it would be a good idea to strike him down with the hilt of his sword before hearing what he had to say."

"I am not interested in anything he has to say," Athos said, bitterly. The volume and pitch of his voice had changed, and D'Artagnan knew that he had moved closer to the window. "There is nothing he can say that will change anything."

"You saw the condition of his mount. It was near to the point of collapse. It would have to be something very urgent for him to push a horse so hard," Aramis told him, the calming voice of logic and reason. "He said it had something to do with me," he added. "And I would like very much to know what that is."

"A trick to get into your confidence," Athos accused. "You heard him – he knows that this is a congregating place for your Jesuits. He is here to lay a trap for us."

"I don't believe that."

"Is he all right?" Porthos asked, bending over the bed to scrutinize the Musketeer's appearance. "He looks rather peaked."

"You would too, if you'd just been clubbed to the floor by a hard metal object," Aramis told him.

"I saw him ride into town from Angelina's room," Porthos said, straightening up again. He paused briefly, then with great admiration in his voice, he added, "Damn, he's good! He knew he was being watched. He almost saw me, too. I couldn't believe it when I realized it was him. How did he find us?"

D'Artagnan's senses had returned enough that he experienced a moment of quiet revelation: So, that had been Porthos watching him from the window.

"That is a very good question," Aramis replied, then added, incredulously, "You said you spotted him coming into town? Why did you wait so long to come and tell us?"

"Well, I was . . . a little bit engaged at the time," Porthos explained. "I wanted to finish what I was doing first. I was looking out the window while I was waiting for Angelina to ---"

"Never mind," Aramis interrupted. "I don't think we need to hear the rest. Athos, I spoke to the physician before he left, and he said that you could have killed him with that blow to the head."

Athos exhaled heavily. "I didn't intend to hit him so hard," he said, the first trace of regret that had heard from him in a long time.

"You shouldn't have hit him at all!" Aramis retorted.

"I just wanted to subdue him. After what he did to me on the Musketeers' grounds, pinning me to the ground and humiliating me, I felt I was owed compensation for that."

"He stopped you from getting yourself killed!" Aramis reminded him. "You should thank him for that."

"Never. Had he not interfered, the country would now be free of that tyrant . . . and I would be with Raoul."

Aramis sighed, and D'Artagnan heard his footsteps thumping on the wooden floor as he moved closer to the window and clapped a comforting hand on Athos' shoulder. "Athos, I grieve for your loss, I truly do, but D'Artagnan was right to stop you. And now, because of your temper, we will have to wait until he comes to before we can find out why he came. And all of this is taking away valuable time from training the boy."

"I don't see how he can possibly be ready in time anyway, Aramis," Athos said in a defeated tone of voice. "He has too much to learn in too little time. The ball is less than three weeks away. There is no way possible that he can be ready by then. And now with him here," he added, indicating D'Artagnan, "it only makes it more dangerous."

"Would it kill you to speak his name?" Aramis asked, sadly. "Only a few short weeks ago, you loved him as a brother. I never thought we would come to this; that you would deliberately cause injury to one of our own."

"And I never thought he would turn his back to us when we needed him!" Athos declared, resentfully. "He's no longer one of us."

"He is!" Aramis insisted.

"Why do you keep taking his side?" Athos bellowed, his temper flaring again.

"There is no side to be taken here, Athos," Aramis said, wearily. "The bond between the four of us has not been broken simply because he chose not to join us in this. In the old days, the four of us were known by the other Musketeers as the Inseparables, and there was a reason we were called that –"

"Because we always stuck together!" Athos interrupted.

Aramis continued without acknowledging the outburst. "It may not be obvious to you right now, in your grief, but he still abides by that bond we established all those years go. Here are the facts: he could have had us all arrested for treason, yet he did not do so. He also could have arrested you for your attempt on the life of the king, but again, he did not. He allowed you to walk away from that incident. Did it never occur to you that he could have lost his commission for that?"

"He's right, Athos," Porthos agreed. "You wounded at least two of his Musketeers in that attempt, one of them seriously. He knows that we intend to replace the king, and he knows where our meeting place was. He could have gone there with a platoon of soldiers and arrested us, but he let us go, even knowing what we intend to do, even though he opposed us. He may not be with us in this matter, but it seems he is not entirely against us, either."

Athos was silent for a long moment, unable to argue with their logic. "I don't like his being here," he said, at last. "Aside from the queen herself, he knows Louis better than anyone. He's the one who is going to be the most difficult to fool. I don't know, Aramis. I think we should reconsider this plan of yours. Philippe looks almost exactly like Louis, but there are differences, and D'Artagnan is the one most likely to detect those differences."

"Which is exactly why I wanted him in on this from the beginning. To pull this off, we need him!"

"He will betray us!"

"No! Now that he's here, it may be to our advantage. Once he meets our young replacement, we may be able to sway him to ---"

"No! Absolutely not!" Athos' exclamation was forceful, and caused D'Artagnan to flinch again in response to the pain that shot through his head, and he could not suppress a low groan. This time, the others must have noticed, for the conversation abruptly stopped, and he knew they were looking at him.

"I think he's coming out of it," Aramis said. His footsteps indicated that he was approaching.

D'Artagnan felt the bed shift slightly as the priest sat down on the edge of it. Then something was pressed against the injury, and excruciating pain shot through his head again, bringing him fully awake. He inhaled sharply through his teeth with a hissing sound. His body recoiled, as if to rise, and his hand reached for the injury.

Aramis caught his wrist, and held him firmly. "No, don't touch it. You were bleeding just a bit, so the physician applied a compress to it.'

D'Artagnan opened his eyes and found that he had slightly risen up from the pillow, and Aramis had placed a hand on his chest to hold him down. The other hand still clutched his wrist.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you," Aramis apologized, releasing his wrist. "I was just checking the compress. The injury appears to have stopped bleeding." He removed the cloth from the pillow and set it aside.

D'Artagnan relaxed on the pillow again, stroking his forehead with his fingers, his expression slightly contorted as he attempted to manage the pain and nausea.

Aramis was watching him carefully, taking notice of the degree of pain he saw on his friend's face. "How do you feel?" he asked, concerned.

"I've felt better," he said with a note of sarcasm.

Aramis's expression was sympathetic, even apologetic, even though he had not been the one to deliver the crushing blow. "The doctor said you may have a headache for a while. I've prepared something for you that might help." He reached for a tin cup on the bedside table and offered it to the Musketeer. "Let me help you."

D'Artagnan looked into the cup at the rather murky looking liquid, reluctant to drink it. "What is it?"

"Water and a mixture of some herbs that help to relieve pain."

D'Artagnan knew that Aramis had learned some natural remedies during his training for the priesthood, and also believed that his friend would never give him anything that was not safe to consume. Trustingly, he allowed Aramis to slip his hand beneath his head as he tipped the cup against his lips. At the first swallow, he felt his body shudder in violent revulsion, and for a moment, feared he would retch. "Ugh!" He pushed the cup away.

Aramis smiled. "I know, it tastes a bit like barnyard sludge, but it does have some effectiveness against pain. You should drink it all. It will help, I assure you."

"I would rather deal with the pain."

The priest's smile broadened as he returned the cup to the bedside table. "You wouldn't believe how many times I've heard that. Do you remember what happened to you?"

Prompted by the query, D'Artagnan's eyes darted to Athos, who stood beside the window watching him with an expression that was devoid of emotion. "You hit me," he said with a note of disbelief in his voice. "I was no threat to you. Why would you do such a thing?

"You know why," Athos told him, coldly.

"Yes, well," Aramis said, feeling the remorse that Athos apparently did not. "I'm sorry your welcome here was so uncongenial. One of my helpers was in the tavern when you arrived, and he came to inform me that a stranger had ridden into town; a stranger who wore the clothing of a commoner, but who possessed the countenance of a nobleman. We feared you were one of Louis' spies."

D'Artagnan pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, trying to ease the relentless throbbing. "I am anything but a nobleman, Aramis. You know that."

"Yes, but you carry yourself like one. I can see how he was unable to make the distinction."

"Are you a spy, then?" Athos challenged.

The question stung, and D'Artagnan's gaze fell upon him once again. "Of course, I am not a spy. Whatever you may think of me, Athos, I would never consent to that." He fell silent for several moments, concentrating on the persistent aching in his head. He noticed for the first time that they had removed his cloak, and had draped it over his lower body. The sharply slanted sunlight of evening shone through the open window, and he found the brightness to be very uncomfortable. He laid his forearm across his eyes to shield them. "How long have I been out?"

"More than half an hour. We were starting to worry about you, my friend." He looked at the former Musketeer who still stood near the window. "Athos, would you close the shutters? The sunlight is bothering him."

Athos glared resentfully, but did as he had been asked. The shutters were closed, and the room became more shaded.

"Thank you," D'Artagnan said. He fell silent for several moments, but then remembered the tired horse he had ridden from Paris. Withdrawing his arm from across his eyes, he asked, "Has anyone cared for my horse?"

"Yes," Aramis told him. "I had one of my helpers walk him, rub him down, and then bed him down in the paddock. With a few days rest, he should recover from the hard ride you gave him. Whatever it was you wanted to talk to us about must have been important to have pushed that horse so brutally."

"It is." D'Artagnan grimaced and closed his eyes tightly for a moment, fighting a wave of nausea. When it passed, he placed his hand on the priest's arm and said, "Aramis, you must not journey to your rendezvous point at the docks. Louis is laying a trap for you."

The three former Musketeers exchanged shocked glances. Athos moved closer to the bed, his expression decidedly confrontational. "How did you know about that?"

"One of your Jesuits was captured in Paris two days ago with a communication bearing the seal of the general of the Jesuit order. In it were detailed plans for a rendezvous between him and some local compatriots at a storage shed at the docks."

"Were you the one who made the arrest?" Athos asked.

"No. I don't know how this man came into Louis' custody, and he did not take me into his confidence in this matter, but I overheard him meeting with one of the generals in his army. The secret passages in the palace were beneficial to me in this. He's sending soldiers there dressed as dock workers to lie in wait for you. He ordered the general to take no prisoners. Everyone is to be killed on the spot."

Aramis grasped Porthos's arm. "Go to Pierre. Send him to Paris immediately to cancel that meeting! I don't want a single man at that dock!"

Porthos nodded, and quickly departed.

"What happened to my messenger?" Aramis asked. "Is he alive?"

"No. From what I overheard, the interrogation was brutal. The general wanted the name of the Jesuit leader. He eventually succumbed."

Aramis closed his eyes briefly, speaking a silent prayer for the messenger's sacrifice.

"I do know this," D'Artagnan continued. "He did not give up your name. Louis still is unaware that you are the Jesuit general, but he suspects that the three of you are up to something."

Aramis sighed, regretfully. "You barely got here in time to stop me, D'Artagnan. I was planning to leave in the morning. What about you? Will he connect your absence with the cancellation of the meeting?"

"I don't think so. He knows that I disapprove of his handling of the Jesuits, but he has no way of knowing that I overheard the meeting. And I had already asked for a leave of absence on another matter before I overheard their plans."

"Thank you, D'Artagnan," the priest said, gratefully. "You saved many lives by coming here with this."

"I could not allow you to walk into a trap."

Aramis cast a meaningful glance at Athos, who looked away, still unwilling to admit that he was wrong.

D'Artagnan continued, "There are other things I wish to discuss, but later, when I feel better. Stopping you was the most urgent."

Aramis nodded his understanding. "All right. We shall talk more in the morning. In the meantime, supper is almost ready. Do you feel you can eat something?"

D'Artagnan grimaced as he felt his stomach tighten at the mere thought of food. "I fear I will become ill if I attempt to eat anything right now," he admitted.

"All right. I'll bring you something later, if you wish. You rest."

Aramis rose from the bed and gestured toward the door. Athos went through it without a backward glance, but Aramis reached out to pat his shoulder affectionately before following. The gesture hurt, intensifying the headache, but because it was offered with fondness, he covered his discomfort.

Withdrawing the hand from the Musketeer's shoulder, Aramis proceeded to the door, but paused to turn back. "I'll look in on you again later." Then he stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him.

Left alone, D'Artagnan lay quietly on the bed and closed his eyes to rest. His primary mission accomplished, stopping Aramis from leaving for the meeting, he felt his body began to relax, and soon he began to doze.

Gradually, as the hours passed, the light in the room began to fade as the sun set and the darkness began to settle over the land, and slowly, the throbbing headache and the waves of nausea began to subside enough that he felt able to rise.

Tossing aside the cloak that covered him, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up – too quickly.

The room spun madly, and he groped for the bedside table on which to catch himself. The candleholder toppled to the floor with an alarming clatter as the table tipped on two legs.

The door opened at that moment and Aramis stopped in the doorway holding a tray. He watched as D'Artagnan caught himself on the table, falling heavily across it as the table thudded back on all four legs. Then he sank back down on the bed to wait for the dizziness to abate.

Aramis quickly set the tray on the table and placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I don't think you're ready to be up just yet," he observed.

D'Artagnan nodded his head in agreement. "I was feeling better, but I didn't consider that I might become dizzy when I tried to stand."

"You must take it easy. That was quite a hard blow you took."

D'Artagnan looked up into Aramis' face, feeling great sorrow that he had made an enemy of his best friend. "Does he hate me so much, Aramis?"

Uncomfortable with the question, the priest withdrew his hand from his shoulder, and bent to retrieve the fallen candleholder. He replaced the candle that had fallen out of it, and set it upright on the table beside the tray. "He doesn't hate you, D'Artagnan," he said at last. "Not in his heart. He hates everything that has happened, and he doesn't understand why they happened. If it makes you feel any better, he's been surly for weeks, lashing out at all of us."

"I'll warrant he did not try to cave in your skull or that of Porthos."

Aramis sighed, heavily. "No, he did not. I hope you can forgive him for that. He has not been the same since Raoul died. None of us have known the love of a child, so we cannot fully comprehend the agony he must be enduring."

D'Artagnan looked away, a strange cloud passing across his brow. "No, we haven't," he agreed. "Being loved by one's child must be a wondrous thing."

"I never really wanted children myself, but Athos had a true gem in Raoul."

"Yes. Too bad all children do not turn out as well." He fell silent, deep in thought.

"I have brought you something to eat, if you feel up to it. It isn't much. Just some broth cooked with some chicken and vegetables, but since you haven't eaten yet this evening, I thought you might be hungry by now. The doctor said you should eat lightly at first."

He glanced at the bowl of soup and felt his stomach grumble eagerly in reaction to the sight of the food. "Actually, I haven't eaten since this morning, before I left Paris. I was on the road at lunchtime, so I skipped it."

"I'm sure you will like it," Aramis said with a knowing smile. "Angelina is not the most virtuous woman in this village, but she is surely the best cook!"

D'Artagnan was too tired and too sad to comment. He slowly pushed himself into a seated position again to slip off his coat. Beneath it, he wore a billowy white shirt with ruffled cuffs, the current fashion for men. He started to lay it across the foot of the bed, But Aramis reached for it.

"I'll take that," the priest offered.

D'Artagnan passed it to him, and he hung it and the cloak up on a peg on the wall.

"I brought in the satchel from your saddle. It's here on the floor under your coat." When D'Artagnan did not answer, he added, "I'll leave you alone now." He moved toward the door and placed his hand on the knob, but was stopped by D'Artagnan.

"Aramis."

He turned back to face him.

"Thank you."

Aramis smiled. "I'll come back later for the tray." He closed the door behind him, leaving D'Artagnan alone again.