Twenty

Philippe turned his attention up the long road that led toward Paris, but saw nothing, not even a plume of dust to indicate a traveler was approaching. He felt a twinge of disappointment, for Athos had told him that D'Artagnan would likely return that day. His eyes moved upward toward the sun which continued its slow progression across the sky, and knew that it was early yet, only a short time after noon, far too soon to expect the coach, yet the young man allowed his eyes to wander along the curving road once again, eager to see his father.

Something hard tapped him on the backside, jolting him out of his thoughts, and he turned toward his fencing instructor with quizzical eyes. Athos had prodded him with the flat of his sword to gain his attention.

"Your mind wanders, Philippe," the older man told him in his typically quiet and precise way of speaking. "Let us complete the lesson, then you may have the rest of the day to watch the road if that is what you wish to do."

Philippe flinched inwardly at the criticism he had heard in his instructor's voice, and sighed with resignation. Concentrating on his lesson today would be difficult, but he knew it was expected of him, so he assumed the posture of a swordsman and resumed the training. The two men circled, attacked, and parried in rapid succession, then regrouped and again their swords clanged together. Each time they stepped back to regroup, Philippe cast a quick glance up the road before returning his attention to his teacher.

At last, he successfully made the offensive maneuvers necessary to push Athos backward several yards before the former Musketeer was able to rally.

"Excellent, Philippe!" he praised, lowering the sword to his side. "You are showing tremendous progress. Your father will be very proud of how hard you have been working. I am proud of you, also."

Philippe smiled, appreciatively. "Your approval means a lot to me."

Both men were breathing heavily from the exertion of the strenuous lesson. "Come, let us rest for a few moments," Athos suggested as he moved to a nearby tree, and leaned back against the trunk.

Philippe propped the sword in front of him, point down, and folded both hands on the hilt, a posture reminiscent of how D'Artagnan sometimes stood following a successful fight, bringing fond memories to Athos. Once again, the younger man's eyes strayed to the empty road that led toward Paris. It was very easy for the former Musketeer to determine the thoughts behind those youthful eyes.

"You miss him."

Philippe turned his head to look at Athos. "Very much."

"He will return, soon. In fact, he is probably on the road at this very moment, but it is a long trip, so I would not expect them to arrive until sometime after dark."

Philippe nodded his understanding, but his worried expression indicated that he had other concerns. "What if Mother is against me taking the throne from Louis? What if she does not even want me?"

Athos's expression became stern. "There will be no such talk, Philippe. Your mother wanted you very much. When she learned that you were still alive, she insisted that you be returned to the palace to take your rightful place, but your brother would not allow it. D'Artagnan told me something the other night. He said that shortly before he left Paris, he found your mother in the palace chapel, weeping. He believes it was the night word arrived from the prison that the man in the mask had died. She was crying for you, Philippe, because a mother's love is the most perfect love there is."

Philippe's eyes misted slightly as he thought of his mother's grief. During his rescue by the former Musketeers, he had not considered that he even had a mother who still lived, or that word of his "death" would be sent to her. And since learning of his heritage, he had been too busy to even think about it.

"I cannot wait to meet her. I have dreamt of her ever since I was a child, wondering who she was and what she was like, but I always assumed she had died while I was a baby. I never imagined that she would be the queen of France!"

"Properly, she is now known as the Queen Mother," Athos said. "When you marry, your wife will be the queen."

Philippe averted his eyes as his thoughts went to the former king, the man who had believed him to be his son. "I have been thinking about the former king as well. He thought Louis and I were his sons. How could a father send his own son away like that? How could he have no feelings for his child?"

Athos looked at him for a long moment, his thoughts drifting to his own son. His former social status as count placed him in closer proximity to the king's level, but he could think of nothing that could justify giving up his son. "That is not an easy question to answer," he said at last. "I can only guess that the king feared you and your brother, being so close in age, would fight over the throne. You were born only minutes apart, and you might feel that your right was as legitimate as his."

"I wouldn't have," Philippe said. "I would have been grateful simply to be part of a family."

"It is easy to say what you would or would not do, but power and wealth is a very corruptive environment, Philippe," Athos told him. "You were raised away from all of that, raised as a commoner. Had you grown up in the palace as a prince, you're attitude might have been entirely different."

"I cannot imagine such a thing," Philippe said, truthfully.

Athos smiled, indulgently. "Neither can I. However, we will never know how different your life would have been had you remained in the palace. Even if you had no designs on the throne, you still would have been regarded as a threat to the stability of the nation. So the king removed that possibility by removing you from the palace. You were never supposed to know your true identity. He paid the woman well to care for you and provide you with a good home, so there must have been some feelings in his heart for you. The alternative is that you could have been smothered with a pillow, solving his problem permanently. Instead, he sent you away to be reared by someone who would care for you."

"She was good to me," he said. He looked up again, his attention focused on something in the distance.

Noticing the intensity of his gaze, Athos inquired, "What is it?"

"Is that Aramis's coach?"

Athos turned to look, observing the black coach that was moving up the road toward the entrance to the walled town, pulled by four horses. "Yes, I believe it is."

An enthusiastic smile flashed across Philippe's face. With the lesson suddenly forgotten, he sprinted up the incline toward the town. Athos watched him with an amused smile, wishing he still had the energy of youth that enabled the younger man to move so quickly.

Philippe reached the coach just as the door opened, and D'Artagnan emerged from it. "I'm glad you're back!" he said in greeting. "You weren't expected until after dark."

"We left yesterday evening, and spent the night on the road," D'Artagnan replied.

"And I am very pleased to see that you are still working on your lessons," Aramis said cheerfully as he stepped from the coach, noticing the sword that was still clutched in the boy's hand.

Philippe grinned, sheepishly. He had forgotten all about the sword. "Athos and I were working down by the river when I saw your coach coming. Did you see my mother? Did you talk to her?"

"Yes," D'Artagnan replied. "Come with me to my room, and we will talk."

Philippe reached for D'Artagnan's luggage, but the Musketeer brushed his hand aside. "The time has come for you to start acting the part of king. From this moment forward, you must always comport yourself in the manner appropriate for your office. I know you wish to help, but you must become accustomed to behaving a certain way. A king never serves; he is served by others. There must never be any deviation from what you are. I will carry my own luggage."

Philippe backed off, his countenance becoming more serious as he began to face the reality and the consequences of the decision he had made. "It is really happening, then?"

"It is really happening." D'Artagnan noticed the contemplative expression on his son's face, and patted his shoulder affectionately. "Everything will be fine, Philippe."

D'Artagnan picked up his luggage, and they went inside the house, where Angelina had only recently cleaned up the kitchen following lunch.

The woman looked up with a pleasant smile. "Welcome back, Monsieur," she said with a quick curtsy. "Have you eaten? I could prepare something for you if you wish."

"Thank you, but we ate on the road," he replied. "Nothing as good as your fine meals, of course," he added, smiling as she beamed with pleasure in response to his praise, "but it filled us up."

"Then I will prepare a special meal for supper to honor your return," she promised.

"That would be appreciated," he said.

With Philippe walking behind him, he left the kitchen and went up the stairs to his room.

As he placed his satchel on his bed, Philippe asked, "You spoke with Mother about me?"

"Yes. She was overjoyed to learn that you are alive and well, and free of the mask." He removed his jacket, shook the travel dust from it, and hung it on the peg.

Philippe looked greatly relieved. "I fear my imagination ran away with me while you were gone. I worried that she would not want me."

D'Artagnan placed a hand on his son's shoulder in a firm grip. "Do not think that for a moment. She is so eager to see you that she wanted to come back here with me. It was only the reminders that your safety was at stake that convinced her that she must wait until our arrival in Paris."

Moving to the wash table, he poured water from the pitcher into the basin, and washed his face and hands, then reached for the towel on which to dry himself. Philippe resisted the urge to hand the towel to him, remembering that he must no longer do such things.

"I wish she could have come with you," he mused. "Then we could have been together as a family."

D'Artagnan finished drying his face, and laid the towel aside. "As do I. Nothing would give me more pleasure than for the three of us to be able to spend time together in this place, but her absence would have raised suspicion, and I fear Louis might have sent someone to follow her."

"Which would have led them directly to me," the young man completed the thought.

"Exactly."

"How does she feel about me taking Louis' place?" he asked, apprehensively, the question that had troubled him ever since his father had departed for Paris.

"She is supportive that you should replace your brother as king. She has seen firsthand the mishandling of his position."

Philippe looked both surprised and relieved. "She did not object?"

"She is as opposed to the mask as you were, but I explained that it was only temporary, and it seemed to ease her mind a bit."

"I was afraid she would hate me for taking the throne from him and forcing him to wear the mask."

"She knows that it was not your doing, and she understands that there is no other way. She asked me to tell you that she loves you, and that she looks forward to seeing you." He withdrew a folded handkerchief from his luggage, and carefully unwrapped it. Inside was a beautiful gold cross on a gold chain. "She asked me to give this to you. It is very old and very valuable. It was given to her by her mother, who in turn received it from her mother. It has been passed down from mother to child for many generations, and she wishes you to have it. Since she was a young girl, she has worn it against her heart." He placed the cross and chain in Philippe's hand.

"I will treasure it always." He fastened the chain around his neck, allowing the gold cross to rest against his chest, admiring it in the mirror on the wall. "You have given me a horse, and my mother has given me this cross, both things of value, but they mean much more to me than that. Of all the things I will have as king, none will mean more to me than those two things because they were given to me by my parents."

D'Artagnan smiled, amused. "Those are not the only gifts that you will receive from us, my son."

Philippe turned away from the mirror. "Having the two of you in my life is a gift I had never even hoped to experience. It would have been enough."

"Your humility pleases me very much, Philippe. Promise me that you will always retain your humbleness, for the environment into which you are stepping is very corruptive. Power and wealth have the ability to change people, to inspire them do things they would not ordinarily do, and no man is immune to its seductive allure."

"Athos said almost exactly the same thing only moments before you arrived."

"You must always be aware of how your position as king is affecting you, and never let it make you think that you are better than those outside the palace gate. All your subjects deserve fair treatment. As king, you will make difficult decisions that will affect the lives of those around you, but as a man, you must be greater than the title you hold."

"I will strive to live up to your expectations of me," Philippe said, softly.

"I do not say these things to place undue burden upon you. I only seek to advise you of how power, especially that which is suddenly thrust upon you, can alter the values with which you were raised. I had to stand back and watch while Louis' power consumed him." He cupped an affectionate hand against Philippe's cheek in a fatherly caress. "I will not sit quietly by and see the same thing happen to you."

Philippe smiled. "I would expect no less than for you to keep me in line."

D'Artagnan removed his hand, silently reminding himself that he must never do such a thing in public, and turned his attention to his sword, which was removed and hung by its baldric on a peg. "Are you nervous about your decision?"

"Yes. Athos and Porthos say I am ready, but I'm not sure I will ever be completely ready." He raised his hand to cut off his father's expected reply. "I know, you and the others will be there to help me, but my brother has had a lifetime of training, whilst I have only had a few weeks to prepare."

D'Artagnan smiled. "I was only going to say that I understand your concerns. In your position, I would feel the same way." He paused to rub his eyes, as if weary.

Philippe noticed. "You are tired from your trip. I will leave you to rest. We can talk later."

"Thank you. We stopped at an inn last night, but the bed was severely lacking in comfort, and I fear I did not rest well. I will rest for a few hours, and then we will speak some more."

Philippe backed out of the room, just as Aramis opened his own door, looking every bit as weary as the Musketeer captain.

"Call me for supper," the priest yawned as he stepped inside and closed the door.

With his fingers fondly gently stroking the gold cross that lay against his skin, Philippe walked slowly down the stairs.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

D'Artagnan rested for several hours in his room, and when he arose he decided that the time had come to honor another promise he had made to his son. Soon, they would be returning to Paris, and their time to open share as father and son was drawing to a close. Leaving his room, he came down the stairs and entered the drawing room where most of his friends were gathered. Porthos and Athos were both there with Philippe, but Aramis was apparently still in his room.

Turning to his son, he said, "Philippe, I propose that we see about finding a horse for me to ride, so that you and I can have a ride together."

Philippe instantly rose from his chair, eager to take a ride with his father. "I was hoping we would get a chance to ride before we go to Paris."

"We will return before supper," D'Artagnan said to his friends as he and Philippe moved toward the door.

As they stepped outside and walked toward the horse stable, Philippe asked, "Everything is about to change, isn't it? All the moments we have been able to share in this village will stop."

"Well, it will be different, but there will be moments within your private chambers that we can recapture some of what he have experienced here. But yes, everything is about to change."

They proceeded down the street, and entered the stable, looking for one of the stable hands who might direct them to someone willing to rent a horse. They quickly found a young man cleaning out one of the stalls, and approached him.

"Pardon me, but would you know of someone who might be willing to rent a horse for a few hours?" D'Artagnan asked. "I only brought the black with me when I arrived, and I wish to take a ride with –" he caught himself before speaking the words my son, and altered his sentence. "—with Philippe."

The man leaned on his pitchfork, observing the out of uniform Musketeer, recognizing him as one of the men living in the house with their Jesuit leader. He had seen him and the others giving the young man various lessons, and although everyone thought this peculiar to be training someone who should have learned these things years ago, no one questioned it, sensing somehow that this was part of Aramis's plan. "You are the friend of Father Aramis, are you not?"

D'Artagnan nodded, affirmatively.

"When he first arrived, he requested the use of the bay gelding in the corner stall at the end of the aisle. He was going to use him to give some riding instruction to Monsieur Philippe, but then never came for him. He hasn't been ridden in a few weeks, so he may be feisty, but if you wish to use him, you may. I will saddle him for you."

"Thank you."

While the stable hand fetched the bay gelding and saddled him, D'Artagnan saddled the black for Philippe. Minutes later, the stocky bay gelding was presented to the Musketeer captain, and he and Philippe led their mounts outside the stable into the courtyard to mount.

Philippe was now much stronger, and mounted with almost as much ease as his father. He settled into the saddle and waited while D'Artagnan mounted the bay. As the Musketeer gathered his reins, the unfamiliar horse pranced beneath him, snorting excitedly through dilated nostrils in anticipation of a good run. Its handsome neck was gracefully arched, and it tossed its mane impatiently and pawed at the ground.

D'Artagnan was impressed with the spirited animal, but Philippe was concerned by its behavior. "Is he wild?"

"No. He has just been kept in his stall too long, and is eager to get the kinks out of his legs. It is a cruelty to keep a horse stabled for so long. He was confined for Aramis's use, but he apparently neglected to inform the stable that he would not be needed."

"A lot has been happening, with Porthos's illness and the trip back to Paris," Philippe reminded him. "He probably just forgot."

"You are most likely correct," D'Artaganan agreed. "It has been a busy few weeks for him."

Easing back on the reins, he allowed the horse to move toward the entrance to the walled village. The animal fought the bit, struggling for its head, but was restrained by the Musketeer's firm hand.

The stable hand was watching from the doorway, impressed by the Musketeer's experience in handling the strong-willed animal, then returned to his work.

The bay gelding attempted to break into a canter, still snorting and swishing its tail impatiently.

"Not yet, my friend," D'Artagnan said to the horse, giving it a friendly pat on the neck. "We shall have a good run, but it will be at my bidding, after you are warmed up a bit."

Philippe's black horse was walking obediently, but its step was quick and smart and its head and tail were carried high, somewhat excited by the behavior of its riding partner.

The father and his son proceeded out of town at a brisk walk, following the long dirt road toward the bridge that spanned the river, and then beyond. They passed the large patches of wheat and oats and the vegetable gardens owned by the townspeople, and moved past the pasturelands into the open fields. Here, the two men gave the horses their heads, and allowed them to break into a strong canter for several miles. They were not intentionally racing, but the horses seemed to regard it as such, and each one attempted to surge ahead of the other, but was kept at even strides with its partner by the rider on its back. With manes and tails flying and hooves thudding on the hard ground, the horses enjoyed the brisk pace as much as their riders, and both steeds snorted their protest when they were finally pulled back into a walk to take a breather as they reached an intersecting crossroad. They turned onto it, and continued onward.

"This is much farther than I have ever gone before," Philippe commented as they settled down to a comfortable walk again, side by side. "Since reaching the village, I have never traveled beyond the bridge. I feared I would not be able to find my way back."

"That is a legitimate concern," D'Artagnan agreed. "You've had little instruction on how to find your way, and have been isolated your entire life. You were wise to recognize your limitations and remain close."

They fell silent again for a while, listening to the horse's hooves clopping on the hard road beneath them. The younger man gazed admiringly at his father's countenance for a moment, observing how his eyes continually darted from point to point, always aware of his surroundings. The wisdom and experience reflected on his face were clearly visible in his quiet, confident demeanor. Philippe wondered if he would ever be so self-assured. With a contented sigh, he allowed his eyes to drift over the landscape, taking notice of the tall gently waving grass and the foliage laden trees.

"This is such a beautiful area, not at all like Yvette's farm," he said, breaking the silence. "Then again, I never saw much of the surrounding areas, just the bare dirt and patches of dry yellowed grass around the house and barn, and the plowed earth of the garden. She had a couple of trees that didn't put on many leaves, even during the summer. Even the fruit trees did not produce well."

D'Artagnan smiled. "Curiously, that is how I remember my father's farm. There was a lot of dirt! The land we lived on was not very fertile. Coaxing our crops out of the ground was always a struggle, even with the barnyard litter as fertilizer."

Philippe laughed, happily. "You had to shovel manure as well?"

"It is a part of farm life, and yes, I shoveled my full share."

"I find it ironic that you and I both have such humble beginnings."

"Your beginning was not so humble, but everything that came after was."

"Aramis said that my mother was told I had died at birth. Who told her this lie? The king or her midwife?"

"A physician and a priest were both present for the delivery, as were several attendants," D'Artagnan replied. "It must have been humiliating for her to have an audience during such a vulnerable time. It was the priest who told the lie on the order of the king."

Philippe appeared surprised. "So there are others who know of my existence?"

"They knew that twins were born, but like your mother, they were informed that the younger twin had died immediately after birth. Among them, only the priest knows the truth, and he was ---" he fell abruptly silent, his attention riveted on something in the road ahead of them.

Philippe followed his father's gaze, and saw that a pair of horsemen had just appeared over the rise of earth in the road far ahead of them. He saw nothing unique about them, merely travelers on their way to a destination unknown to him, but D'Artagnan must have seen something about them that troubled him, for he instantly raised his hand to stop, and then he gestured urgently toward a nearby grove of trees.

"Come; we must get off this road. Now."

Hoping that they had not been seen by the distant strangers, D'Artagnan nudged the bay with his heel as they turned toward the trees, urging it into a brisk trot as they sought the shelter of the grove. The black followed without waiting for instruction from its rider. Once inside the protection of the dense foliage, the Musketeer dismounted, and gestured for Philippe to do the same.

Philippe felt alarmed by the urgency with which his father had reacted. "Who are they?" he asked in a worried voice as he dismounted.

"I do not know them personally," D'Artagnan answered, "but it is better that you are not seen." He placed his hand lightly on the bay's muzzle. "If your horse attempts to whinny at their horses, you must keep him silent. Place you hand on his muzzle, like this. As they draw nearer, move your hand down so that it covers his nostrils. He will be distracted by this, and will attempt to move your hand, and will be less likely to call to them."

Following his father's directive, Philippe placed his hand on the black's muzzle just above its nostrils, stroking gently, and they waited.

As the traveler's drew hearer, they were able to clearly see the fine clothes worn by the two men who rode in the lead. Behind them was an expensive looking coach, driven by a well dressed groom. A footman sat rigidly beside him, and inside the vehicle were two women.

Philippe scrutinized the strangers carefully, eager to understand why his father had regarded them as a threat. "They are wealthy."

"Yes. Most likely, they are headed for Paris to attend the ball being given by your brother. Which means that they most likely know what Louis looks like. That is why I felt it imperative to conceal you from them."

Philippe felt a chill shiver down his spine, realizing that if not for his father's alertness, he would have been noticed and reported to the king. He did not have long to dwell on it, however, for the black lifted its head and its ears pricked forward, watching the traveler's horses. He slid his hand down over the horse's nostrils, and sure enough the animal tossed its head, attempting to rid itself of the hand that it feared would block its airway. He kept the hand there, not applying enough pressure to actually prevent the horse from breathing, but enough to keep it distracted. The black fidgeted and sidestepped. Beside him, he noticed that the bay was similarly agitated by D'Artagnan's hand.

The travelers passed them and continued onward, unaware of the two men who observed them from the trees. Even after they had passed, D'Artagnan continued to wait and watch until they had completely disappeared around a bend in the road, then he cautiously observed both ends of the thoroughfare before deeming it safe to emerge from their hiding place.

They led the horses into the open again and mounted, but D'Artagnan's mood was greatly subdued by what had happened. The fact that he was as well known as the king made it doubly dangerous for he and Philippe to be seen, and this weighed heavily on his mind as he took up his reins again. "For your safety, I think we should stay on the less traveled road," he suggested. "Even better, let's cut across the countryside, where we are less likely to encounter other travelers."

"That was close, wasn't it?" Philippe asked.

"Too close."

Turning their horses around, they circled the grove of trees and rode on the grassy turf. They were in open country, owned by no one. In the distance, they saw a shepherd from the village tending his sheep as they grazed on the lush green grass, while an attentive shepherd's dog kept constant watch on the flock. Neither the man nor the dog paid any attention to the horsemen.

When they came to a narrow streambed that meandered through the hills, D'Artagnan nudged the bay's sides as they went down the bank. Its ears flicked forward, as if to assess the danger of getting its hooves wet, then splashed through it. The black, however, decided to jump it, a new experience for its young rider and one for which he was unprepared. When the gelding launched itself over the water, Philippe felt himself bounce backward over the cantle until he was on the animal's haunches, and as it scrambled up the bank, the young man, already off balance, slid ride off the back and landed on the ground with a thud and a grunt.

D'Artagnan instantly whirled around, and realized what had happened. Grinning with amusement, he leaned over to grasp the black's dangling reins. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"My pride is severely wounded, but I am all right," Philippe replied as he climbed to his feet. "I thought he would wade through the water, like your horse did, so I was not expecting him to jump over it."

"I should have warned you. He did the same thing with me as I traveled here."

"I will wager a bet and say that you did not fall off."

"You would win that bet," D'Artagnan admitted. "However, an unexpected jump can cause any man to lose his balance, even me. Next time you come to a stream, grasp a handful of mane and lean forward, just in case."

Philippe took the reins that D'Artagnan offered, and remounted.

They fell silent again, and for a long time, neither spoke as they walked their horses side by side. As he observed his father, the younger man knew that the Musketeer remained troubled. Philippe understood that encountering the noblemen could have been disastrous, but everything had turned out all right in the end and he puzzled over D'Artagnan's sudden dark mood. They were safe now, yet the older man's brow was furrowed, his eyes somber.

Soon, the walled village could be seen atop its rise of earth, and Philippe knew that his outing was almost over. D'Artagnan had not spoken of returning to the community, but the silent order was as powerful as a spoken one, and the young future king chose not to question it, trusting his father's judgment.

"I have enjoyed this ride, Father," he said. "I only wish it did not have to end so quickly."

D'Artagnan smiled, his worry easing somewhat as they neared the township. "We will have other opportunities to ride together. I am your head body guard, after all. We will ride as often as you desire. All you must do is say that you wish to, in Louis' words, 'Take the air', and request that I accompany you, and it shall be as you wish. I have ridden with Louis, so it will raise no eyebrows."

"Then we shall do it," Philippe said. "Do you think Mother will accompany us sometimes?"

"Now that would raise some eyebrows. Your mother has not ridden a horse since before you were born, and rarely leaves her apartments. With you on the throne, perhaps she will have reason to emerge more often, but I doubt that she will ever join us on our rides."

Philippe was disappointed, but understood. "I guess it would look too much like a family, wouldn't it?"

"I would be required to ride behind the two of you," D'Artagnan explained.

Philippe gave a reluctant nod. "I understand. I have not yet been told about the staff at the palace. Are there any names I need to remember?"

"Louis has a large staff to assist him with his daily activity, but I doubt if he knows the names of most of them, for he refers to them as 'You, there', much of the time. However, there are a few who are quite close to him, whose names you must know. His chief advisor is Claude. His other advisor, the one who was executed, was Pierre. The one who may pose a particular threat to you is Francois, who helps Louis bathe and dress."

Philippe looked shocked by this startling revelation. "I am to have someone assist me with bathing and dressing?"

"Yes, and he may be a serious problem, for he will likely notice any differences between you and Louis, such as blemishes, birthmarks, or skin imperfections anywhere on your body. I am thinking that he will need to be replaced."

"Will he not think it strange to be suddenly released from service if he has always done a suitable job?"

D'Artagnan nodded his head in agreement. "Yes, most likely he will. We must think of a promotion of some kind. I will ask Anne for her thoughts on this matter."

Philippe's nose was wrinkled with distaste. "I do not like the idea of this at all. I am a big boy after all, quite capable of bathing and dressing myself. Is there some rule that states I must have someone to help me do these things?"

D'Artagnan could not suppress his laughter. "No, there is no rule, but it is the way it has always been. To abruptly abandon the practice would not be wise."

Philippe sighed, heavily, and repeated, "I do not like this at all."

"It is not such an issue, Philippe. You will grow accustomed to it. Has Athos provided you with the floor plans of the palace?"

"Yes. He had a model constructed so that he could indicate important rooms I must remember."

"Good. Excellent. There will be some things which we will have to address as they occur, but I think most things of importance have been covered."

When they entered the village, they rode directly to the stable and dismounted. Philippe started to unsaddle his horse but was stopped by D'Artagnan.

"The stable hands will care for him," he said, a brusque reminder that he must alter his behavior.

Philippe stepped back. "I'm sorry. I forgot."

D'Artagnan led both horses into the stable, and turned them over to the stable workers to be untacked, groomed, and returned to their stalls.

"How did it go, Monsieur?" the stable hand asked.

"He was a pleasure to ride," D'Artagnan replied, giving the bay gelding a friendly pat on the neck. "However, he will no longer be needed, as we will soon be leaving for Paris."

"Very good, Monsieur."

Then, rejoining Philippe outside, they walked up to the house together.

Aramis had joined his friends in the drawing room, and all three looked up when D'Artagnan and Philippe entered.

"How was your ride?" the priest inquired.

"It was wonderful!" Philippe exclaimed enthusiastically. "As I was telling Father, I have never been so far away from the village before, so the change of scenery was very welcomed."

"I am glad you enjoyed yourself."

D'Artagnan drew a chair at the table and sat down. "We were nearly discovered," he said, drawing their rapt attention. "Two noblemen on horseback and their ladies in a carriage were traveling along the road toward Paris. I presume they were on their way to attend Louis' ball."

"Father spotted them, and we hid in a grove of trees until they had passed," Philippe added.

"And they did not see you?" Athos asked with concern.

"Apparently not, for they passed without so much as a glance at the trees which concealed us," D'Artagnan replied.

"That could have been disastrous." Aramis leaned back, tugging thoughtfully at the graying hairs on his chin. "It was bound to happen sooner or later, though, and will likely happen again. The ball draws nearer, and noble men and women from all over the country will be traveling to Paris. Some of them may even pass through this village. The sooner we get him to Porthos's estate, the better."

"I think the time has come," D'Artagnan said. "It is the safest place for him now."

"I agree," Athos said. Turning to the now-sober ex-Musketeer, he asked, "How much preparation will you require to ready your estate for us?"

Porthos shrugged. "I have very little staff left," he admitted. "I dare say, most of them tired of my drunken behavior these past few years and sought employment elsewhere. I have only a very loyal housekeeper, Margot, and her assistant left. My groom is discontent, but unless things have changed over the past few weeks, he is still present."

"Will any of them be a threat to us?" Aramis asked.

"No. I can assure you of that. As for preparations, Margot is most efficient and can have our rooms ready for us in a single day. I will leave for Paris in the morning, and send the coach back once I arrive."

"That would take too long,' D'Artagnan objected. "I would prefer that we all go together tomorrow. I fear for Philippe's safety, and do not want to remain here any longer than absolutely necessary. The sooner he is settled in at the estate, the better."

Aramis was shaking his head. "That is short notice. We will not arrive until late in the evening, and it is doubtful that the housekeeper, even with her assistant, can have the rooms ready for us to retire."

"I shall write to Margot and send it ahead with a courier," Porthos suggested. "He should arrive by morning, and she can have the day to prepare."

"Have you a cook who can care for so many of us?" Athos inquired.

Porthos smiled a mysterious little smile. "I do indeed, and she will be accompanying us."

The others exchanged knowing glances. It took very little effort to deduce who the cook would be.

"That is going to be a crowded coach!" Athos teased.

"Then write your letter, and I shall summon a courier," Aramis said. "Athos, while I do that, will you notify my driver to have the coach ready at five o'clock in the morning?"

Athos instantly stood up and strode from the room to seek out the driver. Porthos went to the desk and began to write out his instructions to the housekeeper. With the others making their preparations, Aramis hurried to summon the courier. Within the hour, the courier was on his way back to Paris.