TEN

D'Artagnan's anger continued to sizzle as he strode down the gently sloping ground toward the river. As he neared the waterway, he resentfully kicked at a small rock that was in his path, sending it tumbling down the grassy knoll and over the edge of the bank to land in the water with a plopping sound. A young duck, resting in the shallows, took flight in a flurry of beating wings, quacking in protest at having been disturbed.

Startled by the sudden commotion, the Musketeer stopped to watch as the bird flew across the river to a quieter location. It came to rest again in a shady spot beneath the branches of an oak tree which leaned rather precariously over the bank. Rising up, the duck flapped its wings as if in triumph, then floated lazily on the water's surface and preened its feathers with its bill.

Restlessly, D'Artagnan began to pace back and forth along the edge of the bank, his mind still reeling with what had almost happened. Athos had not only challenged him to a duel, he had challenged him in front of Philippe. And even worse, his temper has risen to a level where he had nearly accepted. Automatically, his hand reached up to the injury he had sustained as a result of Athos's hostility, and felt a fresh surge of anger as his fingers found the sore spot.

In the span of two days he had been assaulted, cursed, and challenged to combat by the man he had considered his closest friend for more than twenty years. He had endured the hostile glares and tolerated the hateful words because of Athos's tremendous grief, but his patience was being stretched beyond its endurance. There was only so much a man could be expected to endure, and he was rapidly approaching his limit.

What had he done to deserve such animosity? How could Athos hold him accountable for what had happened to Raoul? He had loved Raoul as dearly as he would a cherished nephew, and he had done all he could to assure the young man's safety. Or had he?

His pacing stopped, and his eyes studied the beautiful landscape of the farming community as his mind drifted back over the events that had brought him to this point in his life. He had spoken to Louis on behalf of Athos and Raoul, but had he been as clear on the subject as he could have? Louis had promised that Raoul would return soon, but that had not happened. Instead, he had ordered the young soldier to the front lines, where he had faced the cannon that had killed him. Still, there was only so much a Musketeer could do without being considered out of line. Louis respected him more than any of his other advisors; he knew this to be true. None of the others dared to question the king's decisions, as D'Artagnan occasionally did, but to press the issue would likely have risked Louis' ire.

An errant lock of hair fell softly against his cheek, and he reached up to tuck it behind his ear. He knew now, as he had known then but had refused at the time to accept, that Louis had sent Raoul to the front lines to be killed. It had been his willful intention to sacrifice a life for his own lustful pleasure. The very thought that his own son could be so dishonorable shamed him. Were he the one in Athos's place, perhaps he would be reacting with similar rage. The question remained: Could he have done more?

A light breeze caressed his face with its whisper soft touch, cooling his brow and gently stirring the wisps of hair that rested upon his shoulders. Gradually, he began to calm himself, and felt relieved that he had refused to allow himself to be provoked by Athos into a duel in which one or the other would likely have been wounded. He had no doubt that he could hold his own against the older man, especially in Athos's current state of mind, but he never wanted to find out what the result of a duel with his old friend would be.

He sank down on the grass in the shade, adjusting the scabbard so that it rested on the ground behind him. Bending his knees, he rested his elbows on them and clasped his hands together as he gazed across the shimmering water, wishing for happier times, times that could be visited only in his memories. His mind's eye returned him to that day, two decades earlier, when he had first encountered the three Musketeers who had become his closest friends.

The soft rustling of clothing alerted him that someone had joined him on the bank, and it was simple to deduce that Philippe had followed him. Turning his head, he saw that his son had sat down beside him and was observing him with a pensive expression.

"You were very deep in thought," the boy commented.

"I was just thinking about the day I first met Athos," he explained.

"Is it true what he said back there? That the two of you had scheduled a duel?"

"It is true. I had just arrived in Paris and was chasing someone, a man who had wronged me, and in my haste I accidentally blundered into Athos, who had been wounded in a previous duel. I did not see him there, or I certainly would have avoided the collision, but my carelessness caused him a great deal of additional pain. We exchanged a few insults, and he challenged me to meet him in combat."

"So, he had a temper, even then?"

D'Artagnan smiled. "I dare say, we were all young and impetuous in those days. After accepting, I rushed off, still in blind pursuit of Rochefort, and somehow got myself wrapped up like a mummy in Porthos's cloak. I ended up embarrassing him by exposing a secret he was trying to keep from some of his friends involving the gold braid on his baldric." He paused to laugh softly in remembrance of finding his nose pressed against the baldric that Porthos had been trying to conceal with the cloak. "You must ask him about that sometime. I was immediately challenged to yet another duel, one hour after the one with Athos. And as if that was not enough, I accidentally compromised Aramis's mistress, and found myself scheduled for a third duel an hour after the one with Porthos! Three in one day!"

Philippe smiled. "You had a very busy day."

"I did indeed," D'Artagnan agreed.

"What happened? With the duels, I mean."

"I arrived at the meeting place, but before the duel could commence, the Cardinal's guards arrived on the scene to arrest Athos, Porthos, and Aramis for dueling. Presumably, the duel in which Athos had been wounded. Because I was very young, the head of the guards, urged me to withdraw, but my respect for the Musketeers compelled me to defend them. It was one of those unique moments that creep up unexpectedly in a man's life and determine his fate for evermore. To fight the guards was to defy the law, yet I had only moments during which to make my decision. Remember that Athos was wounded, and I was hardly more than a boy. There were some five or six guards against the four of us, yet we easily won the fight. The fact that I won my duel with the older, more experienced guard earned me the respect of my new friends. The duels were forgotten, and that is how I became one of them."

"The Inseparables," Philippe said, admiringly. "How old were you?"

"Eighteen."

"Even younger than I am now. When I was a boy, growing up with Yvette, I heard the priest speak to her of the courage and devotion of the Musketeers known as the Inseparables. I never imagined that I would ever meet them, or that one of them would turn out to be my father."

Returning to the present, D'Artagnan asked, "Is the lesson over already?"

"No. I quit," Philippe said with conviction and a sense of pride that he had taken a stand on his father's behalf. "I told him I will not accept any more lessons from him until he apologizes to you."

D'Artagnan shook his head disapprovingly, and his voice was mildly scolding as he said, "Do not involve yourself in the dispute between Athos and me, Philippe. It does not concern you."

Philippe felt suddenly deflated, bewildered that his act of allegiance had apparently displeased his father. "But he challenged you to a duel! For no good reason!"

D'Artagnan stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles, and reclined on his elbow, facing the boy. "I appreciate your loyalty to me, but Athos is a good man and an excellent swordsman. You will learn well from him. He is very fond of you, and I know you have become fond of him as well. I do not want you to think less of him because of his anger toward me."

Philippe again experienced that sense of loss that he had felt while watching Athos return to the village. "I do care about him, but I care about you, too. I do not want to lose either of you. I worry about what will happen if he tries to provoke you again. You almost accepted his challenge."

A long moment of silence passed between them as D'Artagnan considered his son's words. The unexpected anger that had risen inside him at Athos's challenge had caught him off guard, generating the impulsive response, but reason and logic had ultimately overruled the hasty reaction.

"This is true," he admitted. "I almost accepted, but in the end, I did not. For a moment I allowed my anger to guide my actions, and I will not make that mistake again, so you need not worry about him provoking me again. It is my wish that you go back to him and accept his willingness to teach you."

Philippe was totally mystified by this directive. "I do not understand. He knows that I am your son, yet he challenged you in front of me! How can you send me back to him after the way he treated you?"

"It is between Athos and myself," D'Artagnan told him, firmly.

Philippe tugged absently on a tuft of grass at his side. "He was very angry with me for the things I said. He probably won't accept me back, anyway."

"He will. Go to him and tell him you were wrong, and that you wish to learn swordsmanship under him. You could find no better teacher."

Philippe looked at him a moment longer, understanding that D'Artagnan was setting aside his own personal feelings in order for him to obtain the best education possible. He sat quietly for several moments, watching the famous Musketeer, feeling a sense of awe that this man of honor and courage was his father. Finally, the boy nodded his acceptance, his intense admiration for him shining in his eyes. "Very well. If I can become half the man you are, I feel I will have done well."

Slowly, Philippe rose to his feet again, and began walking up the knoll toward the village.

D'Artagnan watched his son's retreating figure, and for the first time in his life, he felt his chest swell with pride for his son.

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Upon reaching the house, Philippe stopped first in the kitchen, but saw only Angelina, who was sweeping the floor with long swipes of the straw broom, and Porthos, who was seated at the table ogling her swaying bosom through eyes that were watery and bloodshot from too much ale. Leaving without acknowledging them, he went to the drawing room, and found that Athos had rejoined Aramis there. Both of the former Musketeers looked up as he stepped into the room, and he knew immediately that they had been discussing him.

"So, you went running to your father?" Athos asked sarcastically as he busied his hands by poking and prodding the logs in the cold hearth with the iron poker.

"Yes," Philippe admitted. "And he sent me back."

Athos's head came up in surprise, and a smile of approval slowly formed on Aramis's lips.

"He said that you are one of the finest swordsmen in France, that I could learn a great deal from you, and that I should not involve myself in your dispute with him." He hesitated, for apologizing was always the hardest part. "I ask your forgiveness for my behavior, and that you give me another chance. It is my wish, and my father's wish, that I learn swordsmanship from you."

Athos gazed at him for a long time, musing over the fact that D'Artagnan had returned his son to him for training, even after everything that had transpired between them. A twinge of shame nudged his heart, regretting the fact that he had attempted to provoke the Musketeer in front of his son.

He set aside the poker, then picked up Aramis's sword again and passed it back to Philippe, then left the room without saying anything.

Philippe glanced at Aramis, who smiled encouragingly, then he followed the retired Musketeer back to the grassy area just outside the gate. He looked around as he took his position in front of Athos again, but his father was no where to be seen.

Athos adjusted the shield on his arm, avoiding the boy's eyes. "Philippe, I owe you an apology as well. I should not have challenged D'Artagnan in front of you. I was angry and I did not consider how it might affect you."

Philippe felt his affection for the older man returning. "I accept. But I do not understand your anger toward him. Even though I have only known him a short while, I can see that he loves you like a brother, and that your hatred is hurting him. I think a dagger to his heart would not hurt him as badly as the sharp words you use on him."

Athos stood silently as the boy spoke, eyes averted, but Philippe knew that he was listening to what he had to say. After a moment, he asked, "Did he tell you this?"

"No. If there was one thing I learned from everything that have happened to me, it is how to observe people. And I observe that he has shown more patience with you than most people would in his position. Perhaps even more than you deserve. You have been vicious and cruel toward him from the moment he arrived, yet he has not responded in kind. He has allowed you to vent your anger upon him without seeking reprisal."

Athos continued to stare at the ground, looking rather shamefaced, but made no reply.

Encouraged, realizing that his words were having the desired effect on the older man, Philippe persisted, "I know the two of you have unresolved issues, issues which he does not want me to become involved with, but I do not believe that he would deliberately cause harm to you or to your son, and I think deep inside you know this as well. I believe that he cared for Raoul, your son, in the same way I hope you care for me, his son. Because I care very deeply for you. Ever since I was freed from the mask, you have been someone for me to lean on and seek comfort from. I do not wish to lose that."

At this, Athos looked up. The anger had faded from his eyes, and the sadness that had been there before had returned. He nodded, slowly, indicating that he did indeed care very deeply for the boy.

"I ask you to think of this, Athos," Philippe continued, hoping to dissuade a repeat of the confrontation between the two men. "When you hurt him, you also hurt me. And even more, you are hurting yourself, because I know you love him, even though you try to deny it."

A long moment of silence passed, but Athos made no attempt to refute Philippe's words. "You are a good diplomat," he said, softly. "You will make a fine king. Now, let us begin."

They crossed swords again, and resumed their lesson, unaware that D'Artagnan was watching, concealed behind a portion of the village wall. Although he had been unable to hear their conversation, it was apparent that they had resolved their disagreement. Satisfied, he walked slowly back up the street and into the house, hoping that someday, he and Athos could resolve their differences as well.

As he passed the drawing room, he glanced inside through the open door and saw Aramis seated there reading a letter. From the priest's expression, it seemed apparent that the letter brought pleasant news. It had been D'Artagnan's intention to go up to his room to be alone for a while, but he discovered that was not what he really wanted. He stepped through the door and rested his arm against the mantle, gazing moodily into the hearth.

Aware that the Musketeer had entered the room, Aramis spoke without looking up, "That was a good thing you did, D'Artagnan, sending Philippe back to Athos to resume his lesson. Your ability to forgive is as valuable a lesson to Philippe as anything we have taught him yet, and it will give him much to think about."

"Regardless of my feelings toward Athos, I do not want the boy involved in any disagreement that he and I might have. They are very fond of each other, and I do not want to come between that."

Aramis looked up from his letter, studying his friend with interest. "You have noticed it too, haven't you?" he asked. "You have noticed that Athos has found a purpose in working with Philippe. For weeks, ever since the news of Raoul arrived, Athos has been like an empty shell of his former self, just waiting for death to claim him. When I initially presented the plan to remove Louis from the throne, it became a single-minded focus for Athos in his thirst for revenge, but now working with your son has given him something more to concentrate on than vengeance. It is almost like the boy has given him a reason to go on living, to do something that will have a positive outcome on someone else's life. He needs that as much as Philippe does."

D'Artagnan nodded. "And I will not take that away from him. I was just thinking; it was Athos who trained Raoul how to fight, preparing him for the Musketeers. Now he trains Philippe."

"Yes," Aramis agreed. "But if you must know, I think Philippe reminds him a little bit of you at that age. I commented on the similarities between you even before we knew that he was your son." Changing the subject abruptly, he held up the letter he was reading. "A courier arrived from Paris just moments ago. We were able to notify every one of my men about the trap. Everyone is safe, thanks to you." He smiled rather maliciously, enjoying the fact that Louis' plan had been successfully foiled. "I would love to see Louis' face when he discovers that his massacre has been prevented." He paused to allow D'Artagnan a chance to respond. When he did not, he continued, "Are you feeling all right? You seem troubled."

D'Artagnan hesitated bringing up the subject, but at the priest's prompting, he said, "Athos challenged me to a duel."

Aramis sighed, heavily. "He neglected to mention that when he came back to the house. He just said that Philippe had decided he did not want him to give him fencing lessons because of the tension between the two of you. Blood is thicker than water, and the boy naturally sided with you, didn't he?"

D'Artagnan nodded. "I think Athos did not like me being there. I am afraid I was a distraction for Philippe, for he kept looking over at me. Athos did not seem to like that. My patience with him is wearing thin, Aramis," he admitted. "He has not spoken one civil word to me since I got here, and that is when he speaks to me at all. Had it not been for Philippe, I fear I might have accepted that challenge. I am growing weary of turning the other cheek."

"I know," Aramis agreed. "His words are harsh, but I beg you to continue to turn the other cheek. I believe he is holding back his sorrow, channeling it into anger. Once he lets go of it, I believe he will suffer a breakdown. And when that happens, he will need his friends to help him through it. And you are the friend he loves the most."

D'Artagnan shrugged away the comment in apparent disbelief. "Perhaps once, but no more. When I look at him, I no longer see the friendship that was once there. All I see is contempt."

"It will pass, D'Artagnan," Aramis assured him. "Just give it time."

D'Artagnan's fist was clenched in apparent frustration, but he nodded his consent. "I suppose time is the one thing I do have," he said. Moving to a chair, he sat down to wait.

Lowering his eyes to the letter, Aramis began to read it once again, very pleased with the contents.

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More than an hour later, Athos and Philippe returned to the house from the fencing lesson.

Philippe, still weakened by years of inactivity during his lengthy incarceration, dropped onto one of the chairs to rest. He was clearly winded from the exertion, and his clothing and hair were damp with perspiration. With his sleeve, he mopped the moisture from his brow, but his face with shining with exuberance, apparently pleased with the result of the lesson.

As he removed the shield from his arm, Athos's eyes briefly met those of D'Artagnan and he gave a barely perceptible nod, silently acknowledging the fact that the Musketeer has set aside their differences for the sake of the boy, but neither man spoke. Finally, the older man pulled his eyes away and went to his bench to sit down to rest.

For several moments, the only sound in the room was Philippe gasping for breath, indicating that Athos had given him a very strenuous tutorial.

Aramis turned away from the desk in his chair. "So, how did the lesson go?" he asked, genuinely interested in the boy's progress and pleased that it had been demanding, for it suggested his willingness to work hard to make up the time he had lost to personal matters.

"It went very well," Athos replied. "We covered several important maneuvers that he will need to know. He learns quickly and responds well to instruction."

"That is hard work!" Philippe exclaimed. "I never realized just how exhausting it could be to engage in swordplay."

Aramis smiled, fondly. "I notice that you seem to be the only one breathing hard. Did you do all the work?"

Philippe glanced admiringly at Athos, who had not altered expression at all. "I don't know how he does it! He was doing everything I was doing, but I am wringing with sweat and completely exhausted, and he looks like he has simply had a walk in the garden! He has not even worked up a sweat!"

"It is the incarceration that is blame," Athos told him. "Your endurance will return in time."

"I sure hope so." He wiped his sleeve across his forehead again, then stood up. Turning to D'Artagnan, he said, "There is a secluded spot on an inlet from the river that I have been using to bathe and swim. I would like to go there now and rinse off some of this sweat."

D'Artagnan was surprised that Philippe had deferred to him as if for permission, but something in the young man's mannerisms suggested that he had little confidence in himself, and that was why he sought approval from others. Or perhaps it was him, his father, whose approval he sought.

He nodded. "All right. Just be careful. I have only just found you; I would not want to lose you."

Philippe smiled, happily. "I will be careful," he promised.

Aramis shuddered in revulsion. "That water is cold! I cannot believe anyone would have the fortitude to strip naked and go in that water."

"It is cold," Philippe agreed as he strode toward the door, "but the water is calm in the inlet, so the sun warms it a bit."

"Don't forget you and I must work on your posture later this afternoon," Aramis called after him.

"I won't forget!" Philippe said over his shoulder.

As his son hurried out the door, D'Artagnan stood up and went to the window to watch as his son hiked down the road toward the river and the secluded inlet he had spoken of.

Aramis smiled, pleased. "You are growing fond of the boy," he commented.

D'Artagnan smiled in acknowledgement, his smile saying more than words ever could. He continued to watch until the young man was out of sight. Feeling eyes upon him, he turned toward Athos, who quickly looked away.

D'Artagnan observed him for a long moment, thinking that Athos wanted to say something, something that his pride made difficult to articulate, but the words remained unspoken.

Excusing himself, D'Artagnan went to the library and browsed through the volumes on the shelves until he found one that interested him. Withdrawing it from the shelf, he settled in a chair near the window, where the light was good, and settled down to read.