Thirteen

It was mid afternoon when Athos reached a decision and began searching the residence for the man he wanted to talk to – needed to talk to. He had not seen him since they were seated at the table together during lunch, and as he looked in one room after another, it became apparent that he was not in the house.

As he walked past the library, he glanced inside, but saw only Aramis working with Philippe, so he walked on past. Then he stopped abruptly and backed up to the door again to verify what he had just seen.

Philippe was standing ramrod straight, looking extremely uncomfortable in the gilded clothing and fancy shoes of the king he would be impersonating. Aramis was attempting to balance a book on top of the young man's head.

"What are you doing?" Athos asked from the doorway.

"This will teach him poise and balance," Aramis explained, positioning the book carefully. "Shoulders back. Chin up," he instructed.

Philippe squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, an action which caused the book to slip from his head. As it fell to the floor, the edge of it glanced off the edge of Aramis's foot. The priest jerked his foot back. "Ouch! Philippe!"

"You said to lift my chin!" Philippe complained.

"Not that much and not that quickly!" Aramis retorted. He stooped to retrieve the book. Addressing Athos, who continued to stand in the doorway, he asked, irritably, "Did you want something?"

"I was wondering if you had seen D'Artagnan," he said as Aramis replaced the book on his pupil's head.

At the mention of his father's name, Philippe glanced at him quickly, upsetting the book once again, but this time Aramis caught it before it could completely fall. "I haven't seen him," the priest replied. "Stand still!"

"When we rose from the table, he told me he was going down to the river for a while," Philippe said, his head still turned toward Athos.

Aramis placed his hand on Philippe's head and forced him to look straight ahead. "Face front," he instructed.

Keeping his head in the proper position, Philippe's eyes turned toward the door as he continued, "I think something is bothering him, but he didn't want to talk to me about it. He likes it down by the river," he added. "I think he likes the peace he feels when he is there."

"Well, it is no great wonder, is it?" Aramis asked, returning the book to the top of the young man's head again. "He has known precious little peace in his life, personal or professional. He grieves for a life he can never have. All right, shoulders back and chin up, but slowly this time!"

Philippe did as instructed, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin in a dignified manner, and this time the book stayed poised atop his head.

"Excellent!" Aramis exclaimed. "Now, for the hard part. You must learn to walk without causing the book to fall off."

"That is impossible!" Philippe protested.

"It is possible, and you will do it!"

"I feel ridiculous!"

"There is nothing ridiculous about good posture and a dignified carriage."

Athos watched for a moment, shaking his head. "I agree with Philippe. Aramis, are you trying to help him learn dignity, or strip it from him?"

Philippe started to laugh, which caused the book to slip again.

Aramis caught it, and flashed an annoyed glance in Athos's direction. "Didn't you have something to do?"

With an apologetic glance at Philippe, he quietly slipped away, hoping the young man did not decline the position of king out of shear boredom with the priest's lessons. He proceeded down the corridor and walked into the drawing room, but stopped abruptly.

Porthos was there, his mouth firmly affixed to Angelina's throat. She giggled as his mustache tickled her fair skin.

"Soon, my darling, I will be able to pleasure you as you deserve," Porthos purred against her neck.

"I look forward to it," she replied, her voice husky. "Please, say it will be soon!"

"Soon, my darling; soon!"

Athos backed quietly out the door and pulled it closed, noticing as he did that both were completely unaware of his presence. He proceeded to the kitchen, where he started to pour a mug of wine, but his thoughts kept drifting back to D'Artagnan.

Philippe had given him a great deal to think about the day before during the fencing lesson, as had last night he had watched from the window while the troubled Musketeer sat on the stone fence trying to work out whatever was bothering him. And only moments before, Philippe had reiterated the obvious fact that something was troubling him. Athos understood that, metaphorically, the Musketeer had lived behind a mask as much as his younger son. It was not a physical mask, but it had been there every day of his life since the birth of the twins, as impenetrable as the iron mask that Philippe had worn.

Athos returned the jug of wine to the shelf and walked outside. Following the road out of town, he proceeded toward the river.

He found the Musketeer captain standing beside the secluded inlet that Philippe enjoyed so much, and he paused to observe him, thinking again about the words the young man had spoken to him: He loves you like a brother, and your hatred is hurting him. Shame and regret filled his heart at his cruel treatment of his dearest friend. He did not hate him; as much as he had tried, he could never hate him. Nor could he hold him responsible for Raoul's death.

Drawing back his arm, D'Artagnan tossed a pebble at the water. Impressively, it skipped and bounced along the surface toward the center of the pond-like inlet before finally sinking into the depths. There had been no indication that he was aware of Athos's presence until he took another pebble from his other hand and asked without turning around, "So, have you come to challenge me to another duel?"

The sarcasm in his voice stung, but Athos suspected he deserved the retaliatory remark. He had said and done much worse over the past few weeks. "I came in the hope that we might set things right between us once again."

The words were spoken just as D'Artagnan was preparing to throw another pebble, but in his surprise the pebble plopped in the water and sank immediately. He turned to face Athos and waited.

"I have missed the friendship we once shared," Athos continued, averting his eyes to avoid D'Artagnan's gaze.

"As have I," D'Artagnan agreed, "but I am not the one who turned his back on it." Facing the water again, he skipped another rock over the quiet surface. There was tension in the gesture, and the rock did not perform well, sinking after only a couple of bounces.

"My anger was misdirected," Athos admitted. "I wanted to blame someone for the death of my son, and I wrongly focused all that anger on you because of your loyalty to Louis. For that I am sorry. I pray that you can forgive me."

D'Artagnan turned around to face him again, startled by the older man's appearance. Athos looked unusually haggard, and completely shattered.

"Raoul was everything to me, D'Artagnan. Without him . . . " He paused, trying to calm the quaver in his voice. "Without him, I feel so empty; . . . so lost." A barely muffled sob tore from his throat, and he quickly shielded his eyes with his hand, trying to hide his grief. He had thought he was ready to speak his heart without losing control, but the tears that crowded into his eyes were evidence that his pain was as great as it had been the day he had learned of Raoul's death; the day he had declared D'Artagnan a traitor. He turned his back to his friend, his hands covering his face as he struggled to bring himself under control. It was immediately clear that he was losing the battle.

D'Artagnan observed this with surprise, realizing that Athos was experiencing the breakdown that Aramis had predicted would eventually occur. Dropping the rest of the pebbles from his hand, he approached his friend. "Athos . . . "

Athos raised one hand as if to fend him off and sidestepped away from him. "Leave me alone for a while, D'Artagnan," he said, his voice choked with emotion.

"Athos –"

"No, please . . . just leave me alone."

"I cannot do that, my friend," D'Artagnan said, softly. With hesitation, uncertain how Athos would react, he moved his hand toward his old friend and placed it on his shoulder.

Athos tried to pull away, but the hand gripped him tighter, refusing to let go.

"Please, do not shut me out!" D'Artagnan pleaded. "You shut me out at the Musketeer compound when I wanted to help you. We have seen one another through good times and bad. Allow me to see you through this, as I wanted to do from the beginning!"

"Oh, God!" Athos cried into his hands, his voice muffled. "I miss him so much!" All the emotion that had been pent up inside him for weeks burst forth in a flood of tears. His body shook uncontrollably as he released his grief in agonized sobs.

D'Artagnan's throat tightened, and he felt his own tears burning behind his eyes as he witnessed his friend's anguish, helpless to offer him comfort. "Athos, my friend," he said, softly. Moving closer to him, he placed his arm around his shoulder.

Instead of pulling away, Athos clung to him desperately, weeping uncontrollably. 'He was buried on the battlefield," he sobbed. "I don't even have a grave to visit!"

D'Artagnan could do nothing to comfort him, so he simply remained with him, offering support the only way he could.

When at last, Athos's tears subsided and the last of his sobs was choked back, he drew away, wiping his face on his sleeve. Moving to a nearby fallen log, he sank down on it wearily. "I wish you hadn't seen that," he said. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and bowed his head. His eyes were focused on the grass between his boots, as if unwilling to let D'Artagnan see his tear-streaked face.

D'Artagnan stood nearby facing him, but did not join him on the log, giving him the space he would want in the same situation. Instead, he leaned his weight against a tree and observed his friend with compassionate eyes. Now that the tears had been shed, he hoped Athos would begin to heal. "Do not feel embarrassed," he said. "I know how precious a son is to his father."

"I grieve not only for Raoul, but for you as well. You risked your life and your career to help us, yet I still did not trust you. I believed in my heart that you had betrayed me, and in thinking such thoughts I betrayed you instead. I struck you in anger, not once but twice, something I had never done before and never imagined that I was capable of doing. I could have killed you, D'Artagnan. I have called you liar, and even challenged you to a duel. And it shames me to admit it. You should hate me for the things I have done."

"I could never hate you, Athos."

"Then I must ask your forgiveness."

"And I give it, freely. But I fear I must ask yours, as well."

Athos looked up, surprised, his eyes red and swollen from his tears.

"I should have been more persuasive with Louis when I spoke to him about Raoul," D'Artagnan explained. "He assured me that he would keep Raoul at the rear and like a fool, I believed him. I clung to the hope that Louis would eventually become the king we had always hoped to serve. I did not allow myself to see the truth until it was too late. You were right about his lust for Christine all along, and I was too blind to see it." He paused, then corrected himself. "I did not want to see it."

"Raoul loved her so much. I wanted to love her as a daughter, but I felt that she had betrayed my son by becoming Louis' mistress so quickly after Raoul's death. I felt that she had been disloyal to his love and his trust."

"Do not hold it against her, Athos. Her mother and sister are ill, and he agreed to have his personal physician treat them on the condition that she become his mistress. So many lives have been affected by the selfishness of my son. I hope that you can forgive me for not facing it sooner."

"I forgive you, D'Artagnan, but why didn't you tell me about your relation with Louis?" he asked, his voice growing louder with the anger that was rising to the surface. "We were best friends. I hope that we still are! I sincerely hope that our friendship is strong enough to survive what has happened between us, but it would have been easier for me to understand your devotion to Louis if only I had known why! I asked you that very question before, why you continued to follow him! Why, D'Artagnan? Why didn't you tell me?"

D'Artagnan allowed Athos to vent his anger and frustration without interruption, and when he fell silent again, he gazed at the ground for a long time, trying to determine precisely what it was that had kept him from seeking his friend's counsel at a time when he so desperately needed it. He could feel Athos's eyes boring into him, waiting for an answer.

Finally, he said softly, "It is difficult to express what I was thinking and feeling at that time. You cannot imagine how very badly I wanted to tell you, to seek your advice, but I could not." He paused briefly, shifting his gaze to the surface of the water as his mind drifted back to another day. "I remember that day not so very long ago when Raoul withdrew his application to the Musketeers. You told me that I did not know what it was like to have a son. "

"I remember."

"I almost told you then, but I have borne this secret so long that it has totally consumed me. It had become easier to simply not speak of it. So I bore my guilt and my shame alone."

Athos was shaking his head, slowly, unable to accept the vague explanation. "How have you and I become so disconnected? Damn it, D'Artagnan! You were best man at my wedding, and you were at my side through my grief when she passed away! I was there for you when Constance died. We were always there for one another! The good times and the bad! Why did we drift apart? When did we stop unburdening our hearts to one another? Why didn't you trust me?" He slammed his fist against his own chest for emphasis. His eyes burned furiously into D'Artagnan's eyes, demanding an answer.

D'Artagnan was startled by the intensity of those eyes, made more intense by the redness and the lingering tears, and he suddenly felt defeated. He understood that Athos was feeling his own degree of betrayal that his closest comrade had not confided in him. With a heavy sigh, he left his tree and sat down on the log beside his grieving friend. "It had nothing to do with trust. When she told me that she was pregnant, you were the first person I thought of, the person I wanted to confide in. I have bared my soul to you more than once, things I would never share with anyone else, but this time there was more than myself to consider."

"The queen."

"By loving her, I had dishonored my uniform, my king, and my country. How could I possibly find the words to tell you that that the child she was carrying was not the king's . . . but was mine?"

"If you believed that I would have judged you or betrayed your secret, then you do not know me as well as I thought you did!"

There was an accusatory tone to Athos's voice, and D'Artagnan turned his face away, as if ashamed. "I know you would not have betrayed us to the king, but if our conversation had been overheard –" He glanced quickly around the open space that surrounded them, as if just that moment realizing that someone could be listening, but there was no one around. "Athos, she was the wife of the king! I knew I should have fought the love I felt for her. And I should have resisted that night . . . but she was there in the moonlight, so enchantingly beautiful that I was completely mesmerized by her presence. It would have been easier for me to stop breathing than it would have been for me not to love her."

Athos's anger slipped away, replaced by a sense of compassion, for he knew how difficult it was for his friend to speak of the experience. "You did not have to bear it alone, D'Artagnan. You should have come to me."

"I did not want to involve anyone else in my problems. Perhaps I viewed it as penance for my sin to suffer through it alone," he replied. "When we were faced with the reality of what we had done, we were forced to make a terrible decision. Whether to tell the king that I had soiled the royal line, an act which would have resulted in the deaths of Anne, myself, and our unborn child, or allow him to think that the child was his. I could have accepted my own death as punishment for my offense, but I could not bear the thought of her facing the same penalty, or of our child never being born. Perhaps it was the cowardly way, but we decided to remain silent, to let the king raise my child as his."

"That does not sound to me like the cowardly way to me," Athos said. "It sounds like you have suffered a terrible sacrifice by never being able to claim him as your own. I cannot imagine such a thing."

"I envied you those years watching Raoul grow up, watching you love him and him love you, and wishing I could experience it for myself. All those things of fatherhood that I missed, things I wanted so desperately to know. I never got to hold him, or feed him, or hear his first words, or watch him take his first steps. I was denied the opportunity to help mold his character, to help him grow into a decent and honorable man. I could only watch from a distance as he became spoiled and over-indulged. But I always loved him, in spite of his many faults, even though I had never kissed him or embraced him, or even touched him in ways that a father touches his son. Not once. There was another day . . ." His voice trailed, and fell silent.

"What?" Athos pompted.

"Another day that I came close to telling you. It had been a particularly hard day for me. Oh, I can't remember the specifics of my troubles, but I decided to go to see you and confess everything in the hopes of easing my burden. Raoul was about ten years old, and I suppose he was coming home from visiting a friend as I neared your house. It had snowed all day, and you were sweeping it from the stoop. When I saw him creeping up on you, molding a snowball in his hands, I stopped to watch. I knew by your posture that you had seen him coming and knew what he was about to do, yet you pretended to be surprised when he hit you with it. And you both began hurling snowballs at one another. And you let him win."

"I remember that!" Athos said, and the hurt in his eyes seemed to fade ever so slightly as he recalled the pleasant memory from Raoul's childhood. "But I don't remember you visiting that day."

"I didn't. I watched from the alley. And I laughed with you and your son as you played in the snow." He paused, briefly, and averted his eyes before continuing. "And then I wept."

"I am sorry, D'Artagnan. I cannot begin to imagine how it must feel to love a child, but be forced by circumstances to keep it hidden. I do not know how I could have borne it if that had happened to me."

"With Philippe, I feel as though I have been given something of a second chance. I know he is grown, that I have missed all those things of childhood that I also missed with Louis, and I know that upon reaching Paris I must give him up, but here, in this place, I can experience some of the joys of fatherhood. I can touch him, and speak to him openly as a father, I can tease him and even chastise him if he deserves it; things I could never do with Louis, memories that I can later cherish and hold on to when I am old and alone."

"It does not have to be that way," Athos pointed out. "You can still take a wife who is young enough to bear you children. You can still know all those things."

He closed his eyes and bowed his head. "I have tried to move on, Athos; to put her out of my heart, but I cannot do it. I have no interest in any other woman. It would be unfair to take a wife that I could never love."

Athos looked at him for a long moment, finally understanding the degree of affection he felt for the queen. "You love her that much."

He nodded. "I love her that much. I never thought I could love a woman as I love her. When I was young and in love with Constance, I thought she was the one. But the love I felt for her cannot compare with the love I feel for Anne. Constance was a youthful infatuation, but Anne . . . Anne is a lasting love, the love of my life. In spite of our separation these past twenty years, it remains as strong as ever. Perhaps stronger."

"She feels the same way?"

"Yes. She is the only woman I want, but the one woman I can never have." He paused briefly before continuing. "Athos, I must ask a favor. I know that your heart is still filled with grief for Raoul, but I have no one else to come to with this matter. I am in a high risk occupation, and it is possible that one day an assassin will realize that the easiest way to get to the king would be to kill me first."

Athos looked up again, startled. "We must make certain that does not happen!"

"It may never happen, but if it should, I would rest easier knowing that Philippe has you to continue to guide him, to teach him what he needs to know. And to love him as I loved Raoul. I looked upon your son as my nephew. I know you are fond of Philippe. Perhaps you will look upon him as your nephew. I want the two of you to always be close. In a way, I feel that he is almost as much your son as he is mine. He told me how you were a comfort to him when he was first freed from the mask, and when Aramis was applying pressure on him. I will always be grateful to you for that."

Athos's heart lifted ever so slightly. With the bitterness that had been between them, he had feared that D'Artagnan might resent the closeness he felt with Philippe. Now he realized how foolish he had been to even entertain such a notion. Instead, D'Artagnan was welcoming him as a part of his new family.

"He was a comfort to me as well," he said. "Though I am no longer a Musketeer, I will do whatever I can to help protect him, and if anything should happen to you, you have my word that I will always be there for him."

"Thank you, Athos. And in the meantime, I will make inquiries of the general. Perhaps we can have Raoul's remains brought back to Paris."

Athos shook his head. "No, I do not want my son disturbed. But I would like to know where he is, so that when this cursed war is over I might visit the place where he rests."

"Yes, I will see to it. You have my word."

Athos nodded his gratitude, unable to find the proper words to express his appreciation, not only for the promise to locate his son's grave, but that the Musketeer was willing to do it in spite of his past behavior. His eyes sought those of his friend, and he said simply, "Thank you for understanding."

"We will make a pact, here and now," D'Artagnan suggested. "There will be no more secrets between us, and if we have a misunderstanding, we will talk it out immediately. We will not allow it to fester."

"Agreed."

D'Artagnan extended his hand toward Athos, and after a hesitation, Athos bypassed the hand and drew his old friend into a heartfelt embrace.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I promise, it will get easier," Aramis said encouragingly when Philippe entered the kitchen. He poured a small amount of wine in cup and passed it to the younger man, who accepted it and sat down at the table in an attempt to relax.

In many ways, balancing that book had been the most difficult lesson yet because of the concentration required to keep the object balanced on his head, and he was both mentally and physically fatigued when he came back down the stairs after changing back into his more comfortable clothes.

"I apologize if I seemed abrupt with you during the lesson," Aramis said, sincerely. "I know that the things I ask of you are difficult, but in the long run they will benefit you greatly. Trust me on that. Regardless of what you decide to do in life, good posture is essential for a gentleman."

"I understand that you are just trying to help," Philippe said, choosing his words carefully for fear that he might say something he did not intend to say. "But right now, I just want to sit here and not think about it."

Aramis could not help but smile at the cautiously tactful response and the nearly dazed expression on his face. It was easy to see that Philippe's nerves had been rubbed raw. Walking with the book poised on his head had been a frustrating experience, but he had known that it would be difficult to convince the young man to submit to another such lesson, so he had kept after him until he could walk across the room without losing the book.

"Drink the wine. It will help, I assure you." He clapped Philippe heartily on the shoulder as he walked past. "You did well, Philippe. You mastered the task, and we can move on to other things."

Philippe nodded, and sipped slowly on the wine. Gradually, his taut nerves began to unwind.

Several minutes of silence passed as Aramis opened the doors to the pantry to take inventory of the vegetables and grains that were stored there, and making a mental note of the items he needed to restock.

"Athos was looking for my father," Philippe said hesitantly, breaking the silence.

Aramis gave an understanding nod. That explained why Philippe was having difficulty concentrating on the lesson after the former Musketeer had left the house. "Ah, and you are worried about his reasons?"

"Yes. Athos challenged him to a duel yesterday. What if –"

"I don't think that is the reason," Aramis interrupted. "I am of the opinion that Athos is starting to feel a little guilty about his behavior toward your father. Didn't you see the way he kept looking at D'Artagnan during lunch?"

Philippe shook his head. "I did not notice."

"Well, they were rather furtive glances. I am not even certain that D'Artagnan noticed, either, but I was facing Athos and saw it quite plainly. Athos and your father have been very close ever since the day they met. This division between them is something I never thought I would see, and it is clearly upsetting them both. They have both lost something that is precious to them, but for Athos that loss in compounded by the loss of his son." He closed the pantry doors, and joined Philippe at the table. "I wish you could have known Raoul. He was not much older than you, and I believe you would have been good friends. As your fathers once were."

"I just care so much for both of them. I do not want either of them to get hurt."

"Nor do I, but you must trust your father. He resisted the challenge before. I assure you that if the situation came up again, he would continue to resist. But Athos did not look to me like he was seeking a fight when he inquired about the whereabouts of D'Artagnan. He was not wearing a sword, so put your mind at ease."

A grateful sigh slipped from Philippe's lungs as an expression of relief passed across his face. "Thank you for telling me that. I did not notice that he was without his sword."

"Well, you were a little occupied at the time."

"So were you, but you noticed it anyway."

"I am a priest. I am supposed to notice things."

Philippe gazed into his empty cup. "What was my father like at my age?"

Aramis smiled fondly as his mind stepped into the past. "He was so brash in those days, so full of himself, like a young stallion coming of age. He came to Paris determined to be a Musketeer, and was ready to take on anyone who stood in his way."

"He told me that you were all brash in those days."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Aramis asked with an amused smile. "Well, I dare say he is probably right about that. We felt we could take on anyone, and win every battle. Those were good times. Sometimes I look back and marvel at the fact that all four of us survived. Together, we won duels against larger forces, and we served in the same unit on the field at La Rochelle. We made quite a team! Sometimes I can understand why Porthos laments for the past. There are times I wish I could go back as well to relive those days."

Feeling more relaxed, Philippe stood up and made his way to the door, but what he saw caught his rapt attention. 'They're talking!" he exclaimed.

Curiously, Aramis joined him at the door.

Athos and D'Artagnan were walking slowly toward the house, side by side, obviously engaged in conversation. As they watched, D'Artagnan placed his hand on Athos's shoulder, who nodded in agreement with something the Musketeer had just said.

"Praise God," Aramis breathed, his fingers stroking the crucifix that hung around his neck. "Perhaps they have worked through this nonsense and settled their differences. Now if we can just get Porthos back to normal, we will be as we once were."

Athos and D'Artagnan entered the house together, and Aramis and Philippe both noticed instantly that Athos appeared emotionally drained. His eyes were still somewhat red from weeping, and he kept them averted, as if to prevent the others from seeing. Aramis noticed, however, and glanced quickly at D'Artagnan, who confirmed the silent question with a slight nod.

Refusing to meet the curious eyes of his friends, Athos said quietly, "I'm going upstairs to rest for a while. Call me at supper."

"Of course," Aramis replied.

As Athos passed through the door, he bumped into Porthos, who was about to enter. Keeping his eyes averted, Athos stepped back to allow his friend to enter.

"Athos, are you all right?" Porthos asked. "You do not look so well."

"I'm all right now, Porthos," he replied as he slipped through the door.

After he had gone, Porthos turned to Aramis and D'Artagnan. "He does not look all right. Is he ill?"

"No. He's fine, Porthos," D'Artagnan replied. "He just needs to be alone for a while."

Aramis inquired, "I saw that you were talking as you approached the house. Am I to assume that everything is all right between the two of you again?"

D'Artagnan nodded. "Everything is settled." He sat down at the table and accepted the glass of wine that Aramis offered, never noticing the wistful expression that drifted across Porthos's face at the sound of the liquid pouring into the glass. "I fear I underestimated the degree of his suffering, though. Raoul was buried on the battlefield, and --"

"I thought he had been returned to Paris for burial," Philippe interrupted.

"No, the distance is too great to transport a dead body," D'Artagnan told him. "A battlefield grave is a place of honor, but it leaves a lonely place in the hearts of the loved ones who are left behind."

"I remember the battlefield graves at La Rochelle," Porthos mused. "Row upon row of brave young soldiers who lost their lives in the service of their country."

"Any one of us could have met such a fate," Aramis added. "I was just mentioning to Philippe a few minutes ago that the four of us served at La Rochelle. Interesting that you should think of it as well."

"I made a promise to Athos that I hope I can keep," D'Artagnan continued. "To locate Raoul's grave, so that he might find it when the war is over."

"There must be someone who knows where the grave is," Aramis said. "Perhaps the general who commanded his troops could tell you."

"I plan to write to him immediately, but the war is still going on and he has other matters to consider. He may not feel compelled to provide me with the information I seek on a timely basis. I fear the grave may not be permanently marked, and in time will be lost. He would respond promptly to the request if it came from the king, but I doubt that Louis will hold the matter in high priority, since Athos attempted to assassinate him."

Philippe kept silent, but he was thinking ahead to the things he might be able to accomplish should he decide to claim his brother's throne. As king, he could order the general to provide the coordinates of Raoul's grave, a gesture that would provide some relief to Athos's grieving heart. But there were still matters that the young man needed to resolve in his own mind before announcing his decision. He could not make it in haste, and he could not make it based on one matter.

Philippe turned his back to the other men and looked outside the door once again, but he was immediately distracted by a young woman who was walking just past the outskirts of town. It was Bernadette, making her nightly walk to the river.

His heart leaped excitedly. "I'm going down to the river for a while. I will try to return before supper, but if not save me something."

Before they could respond, he shot out the door and ran down the street after the girl. Aramis and D'Artagnan exchanged amused glances.

Porthos sighed, wistfully. "Oh, to be young and have that much energy again."

Aramis ignored him. To D'Artagnan, he said, "You know, if Philippe was king he could issue an order to –"

"No," D'Artagnan said, sharply. "I will not appeal to his affection for Athos as an attempt to convince him to be king. We are asking him to assume the highest office in the country. He must not be pressured into it. I mean it, Aramis. I know how much it means to you, but it is Philippe's decision. His alone."

Aramis shrugged, but backed down. "Very well. I see you are going to protect him as tenaciously as you protected Louis."

"It is what a father does. Granted, I haven't much experience at being a father to either of my sons, but sometimes it comes very easily. I just wish I could provide some kind of peace to Athos."

"Time heals all wounds," Aramis reminded him.