Chapter Four
Du Bois' decision to sit at the table with Deveaux and his hangers-on had been duly noted. It could only bode ill – the young man hardly needed encouraging in his arrogance, or his disdain of those Musketeers in the regiment who could not lay claim to an elevated background.
'I see Du Bois has managed to find someone to listen to his troubles,' Aramis chuckled, breaking apart the loaf and dipping it in his stew.
Athos grunted as he dissected an apple and ate it in small pieces – as if to make the experience less painful – whilst his loaf and chunk of cheese lay untouched.
Porthos noted the abandoned food and eyed Aramis over the top of Athos' bent head.
'With 'is sunny personality, Deveaux is the only one who will put up with 'im,' Porthos responded. He frowned as Athos sat back in his chair. 'I take it you're not plannin' to follow your own advice,' the big man complained as he watched Athos push away the still full plate, the remaining food lying intact.
Athos gave him a stony stare. 'Please, be my guest,' he drawled, with a slight dip of his head.
'It's all very well,' Porthos continued as he helped himself to the chunk of cheese from his friend's plate, 'but you need to eat, or you really will fall off your 'orse; then Deveaux and his cronies will have a good old laugh at your expense, and I doubt they'll believe it's because you're 'alf starved.'
'I am fine, Porthos, I am simply not hungry.' He saw the concern in his friend's eyes and sighed. 'Perhaps this evening, when the assessments are over, it will be cooler.' It was a fair point, but it failed to impress either man as they watched him leave the room.
'You know 'e won't,' Porthos growled.
Aramis nodded; his dark eyes full of sadness. 'We cannot hold him down and force him to eat, mon ami. Perhaps we can tempt him with a drink at the Red Dragon, then procure a pie.'
ooOoo
Outside in the courtyard, the sky had taken on a strange violet light – the storm was imminent and the very air crackled with it. Those men walking around in the heat of the sun walked slowly as if half asleep; it was certainly not fighting weather.
Athos stood near the edge of the courtyard, pulling on the padded vest used for sparring. Du Bois still chatted to his dinner companions, now stood on the opposite side of the open space, as Porthos and Aramis took their seats at their usual bench.
'So 'ow's this going to go then?' Porthos asked, watching Du Bois waving his sword around for the men, who appeared to be hanging upon his every word.
'Athos will fight like a gentleman and attempt to show Du Bois how to improve his style – like he always does.' Aramis explained.
Porthos grinned broadly. 'You mean he will start off nice, then put the arrogant toad on his skinny backside.'
'That sums it up fairly accurately, I would say,' the marksman smirked.
'I can't wait!' The big man settled back on the seat and rested his booted feet upon the wooden plank before him, arms folded across his broad chest.
'Cannot wait for what?' Treville had moved to their side whilst they had been engrossed in the two men's preparations.
Aramis looked toward the Captain and smiled. 'Athos is about to assess the new recruit.' Treville frowned.
'And how did your assessment fare?' he enquired.
Aramis looked thoughtful. 'I am afraid he did not believe I appreciated his skill with a weapon as much as I should have.' He adopted a serious expression, but the twinkle in his dark eyes told of the humour behind the remark.
The Captain turned his attention to Porthos and raised his brow, waiting for him to give his opinion of the cadet.
'What do I know? I'm just a common street brawler, not fit to grace the uniform,' Porthos chortled, not taking the matter at all seriously.
'I see,' was all Treville said. 'So now it is Athos' turn, perhaps I will join you.' Both Musketeers smiled and Aramis poured the older man a drink.
Du Bois finally sauntered into the middle of the open space, brandishing his sword in an obvious attempt to impress his onlookers. But it was to no avail, not even Deveaux's cronies were impressed by such display – misguided though they may have been, they were still Musketeers.
Athos walked over to the younger man and passed him a vest. 'Put this on.' He held it out, but Du Bois only sneered.
'That is for cowards, I have no need of it.' Athos thrust the jerkin toward the young man.
'Put it on - or fail the assessment.' Whether it was the thought of failure, or the cold, hard stare from Athos it was hard to tell, but Du Bois took the proffered jacket and pulled it on, though making a great deal of fuss, his disdain obvious. Treville looked on in earnest, his face somewhat pensive as the two men faced off against one another.
Athos raised his sword in an honourable salute. Du Bois acknowledged the gesture, moving from foot to foot but, to his surprise, Athos merely lowered his sword and walked toward him. Du Bois was temporarily stunned. The swordsman stood behind the young man and said something the onlookers could not make out. As he had obviously been instructed to do, Du Bois took his en garde position, and Athos manoeuvred the student's elbow – repositioning his wrist slightly.
Again, he spoke, and Du Bois lunged. Athos moved to his side and nudged his pupil's feet slightly apart, again speaking quietly as he did so. Much to the surprise of the men watching the display with avid interest from the bench, DuBois appeared to be taking the information in.
Unfortunately, Deveaux chose that moment to emerge from the refectory and re-join his friends, whereupon Du Bois, noting his arrival, immediately changed his demeanour.
He pushed Athos away. 'I do not need your beginner pointers, Monsieur. I was fencing in the nursery, whilst you were still grovelling in a back alley somewhere, hanging on your mother's skirts.' He curled his lip and made to lunge at the swordsman. However, he had not taken Athos' advice, and when the Musketeer brought his sword down upon his opponent's, he hit it with enough force to knock the young man almost off his feet.
Athos raised a brow. 'That is why your feet need to be further apart. Perhaps you did not have enough room in your nursery.' Whilst his face remained impassive, Du Bois flushed with embarrassment, and he came at Athos, teeth bared and jaw rigid. Steel clashed but mostly his thrusts were wild and easily parried.
'You need to control your sword, make smaller movements – you are leaving yourself open to attack,' Athos attempted to explain over the sound of booted feet and steel upon steel.
Du Bois snorted and once again lunged toward the patient Musketeer. However, Athos had obviously had enough – it was too hot to play games. To those watching he appeared to merely tap the other man's sword, but in a blur of movement managed to embed the point of his weapon firmly in the vest of the surprised Du Bois.
'Not for cowards, but to protect those who have yet to learn how to handle a sword... and for those who have the job of showing them the error of their ways,' Athos drawled, and he prodded his sword harder into the sparring vest.
Du Bois stepped back. His eyes were wide, and fear flashed within their depths – he had not even seen the blade coming.
'I demand first blood; that is no way to end a match.' He clenched his fists and Athos dipped his head in acknowledgment of the recruit's folly.
Du Bois turned to the bench, noticing the presence of the Musketeer Captain for the first time. 'I demand satisfaction!' Treville did not encourage this sort of tantrum. He was a soldier, instructing and leading a regiment of highly-trained men, not a bunch of petulant nobles. Still, something about the young man's attitude had offended his pride, and he wanted to show him that his Musketeers were not inexperienced street thugs. So, to Athos' surprise, he locked eyes with his swordsman and nodded his head.
As the two men prepared themselves once more, the Captain spoke. 'He will not kill him, will he?' He kept his eyes upon the opponents, as two voices answered him simultaneously.
'Hopefully,' Porthos growled.
'Possibly,' Aramis intoned, far too enthusiastically. Treville groaned yet made no effort to intervene.
Athos had not expected the Captain to agree, and for a moment he held the older man's eyes, but Treville stared him out. Athos frowned. He was not in the mood for chivalry, and whatever the Captain's reasons were for agreeing with Du Bois' ridiculous request, he was inclined to think it unwise – and wrong.
Du Bois began to strip off his vest and noting Athos' expression he laughed. 'Well I would not want it to be said you did not have a reasonable amount of target area.' He threw the discarded garment toward Deveaux and his friends, who accepted the item with amusement.
Frustrated by the idiocy of the young man, for a moment Athos only glared. Finally, he shrugged and divested himself of his own vest, his jacket following. The day's heat had caused the fine linen to cling to his skin, and his dark hair still stuck to his temples from the earlier sparring. He held his arms wide to show that he, too, was providing no barrier to the draw of first blood.
'He looks exhausted,' Aramis murmured, as much to himself as to anyone else.
'Well let's 'ope 'e isn't, or else Du Bois will slit 'is throat,' Porthos growled.
'I do not think so, mon ami. I have seen him fight with his last ounce of strength and still down two men at once. I doubt Du Bois will prove to be a problem. It only remains to be seen whether Athos is tired of the fool's taunts and swagger and ends it quickly, or whether he decides to allow the young man to retain a shred of dignity and lets him put up some form of defence,' Aramis explained.
'Then I 'ope he goes for quick,' Porthos snorted. Treville stayed silent – he had an appalling feeling that he had just made a terrible mistake.
The afternoon had moved on and the heat was now stifling, a distant rumble finally heralding the long-awaited storm. As the swordsman swung his sword arm, attempting to release the knots in his shoulder, the air was so heavy it felt like a physical barrier, to be sliced and overcome like any other assailant. He felt the early throb of a headache begin to make its way from the base of his skull, and he suddenly realised just how very tired he was. He thought of that dark corner at the back of the tavern; no interference, no chatter, just him, and wine for company. It seemed to call to him as he heard the buzz of Du Bois' voice like the irritating whine of a fly in the background.
'Athos, are you wool gathering, or are you having second thoughts?' The young man's voice pierced the Musketeer's reverie, and he stood for a moment in the strange pre-storm glow, trying to remember what he was doing.
'If I did not know better I would suspect you were drunk. Or did you in fact have a little too much at luncheon?' There was a sniggering in the distance from Deveaux and his party, as the inexperienced recruit tried to rile the troubled Musketeer.
'This was a foolish error, I must stop this now,' Treville snarled, but Aramis laid a restraining hand upon his arm.
'No, Captain, you cannot. You will have to allow events to take their course now, or Du Bois will assume you are protecting Athos for some reason, and it will only make matters worse for him.' Aramis spoke with resignation in his tone, his expression miserable, but as he removed his hand Treville nodded in agreement, though his guilt was almost palpable.
By now there was a ring of spectators surrounding the two fencers. The cadets always loved to watch Athos fight, as much to enjoy the spectacle as to pick up any new tips or moves to add to their repertoire. However, this time there were several old hands amongst the audience – word had travelled quickly of Du Bois' idiotic challenge, coupled with the Captain's unusual acceptance. If one or two bets were changing hands, nobody would have admitted it afterwards.
Du Bois was moving backward and forwards, as though he were in some Parisian fencing salon. Athos simply watched. He had no intention of prolonging the event; he had an engagement with a bottle of wine and time was of the essence.
Du Bois lunged, once again ignoring Athos' advice, but as the swords clashed, he managed to remain upright this time, though he staggered backward as he tried desperately to regain his footing. Athos did not stand off as he had done before, but instead bore down upon the shocked recruit, who could do nothing but step further and further backward trying to block the relentless onslaught. It was only a matter of time before Athos would have him backed up against the pillars of the staircase, but it never went that far – one graceful lunge and Athos hit Du Bois' sword with such force it flew from his hand.
Before Athos could draw blood, something sailed through the air and Du Bois caught it, flinging it from him almost as soon as it entered his hand. Athos saw the main gauche catch the strange violet light as it hurtled toward him. Swinging his sword in an arc he caught the knife mid flight and sent it spinning to the ground. Enough was enough, he lunged and lifted Du Bois' chin with the point of his weapon.
The boy's eyes were wide with fear and anger as Athos dug a little deeper, causing a trickle of blood to run down his victim's chest, soaking into the white fabric of his shirt.
'Never, fight angry. Head over heart if you want to stay alive – on the battlefield you would now be dead.' With that, Athos withdrew and sheathed his weapon, turned, and began to walk away, not toward his waiting friends, but in the direction of the stables. However, it appeared Du Bois did not know when to stay down, and giving a furious roar he threw himself at Athos. The swordsman spun round as if he had expected such a move, and landed a heavy right hook to the young noble's jaw. Du Bois went down like a sack and lay sprawled upon his back, out cold.
All three men had stood as one when Deveaux had thrown the knife. It was against every code of honour to interfere in such a way. Treville was livid, and if Athos had not hit Du Bois, the Captain may have done it himself.
The two Musketeers at his side let out a collective sigh, and Porthos even sniggered just a little at the sound of Athos fist on the recruit's chin.
'Athos does have a powerful right hook,' Aramis remarked.
'I know,' Porthos muttered, instinctively feeling his own jaw with his hand.
Treville managed a thin smile; he was aware of Aramis' and Athos' ritual of knocking the big man out before attempting to patch him up after a particularly vicious fight.
Athos changed direction and headed over to the bench. He looked at Treville and spoke, his voice low and menacing. 'Do not ever do that to me again.' With that, he turned on his heel and strode off toward the stable, leaving the Musketeer Captain scowling after the swordsman's retreat with a mixture of anger and a large helping of guilt.
'Follow him,' the Captain barked as he rose abruptly from the table. 'You, with me now, and you, I will deal with later.' His first remark was directed at Du Bois who was beginning to come round, the second at Deveaux, who looked far less smug than he had earlier. Treville was furious, and the two men were just what he needed to assuage his roiling emotions.
ooOoo
Athos was already leading Roger out when Aramis and Porthos arrived at the stable entrance. He looked from one to the other, with an expression that clearly warned them to keep their opinions to themselves.
'Do you mind if we join you?' Aramis enquired, keeping his voice casual.
'Can I stop you?' Athos drawled, scowling.
'No,' Porthos stated, coming straight to the point as always.
The idea of company seemed to change Athos' plans; he stroked Roger's silky neck and whispered something in his ear. The horse rubbed his master's shoulder in response before Athos handed him back to Jacques, the stable lad.
Athos strode off through the gateway, Porthos and Aramis on either side. No one spoke, though Athos could almost hear Aramis' questions in his head.
Thunder rumbled, though still not close enough to dissuade the three men from venturing away from the garrison – and as if a downpour would have kept the swordsman within its walls after that farce.
'It would seem the storm is finally arriving. Perhaps the air will feel lighter when it has done its worst.' Aramis chattered away as normal but did not realise the words had held a double meaning for his friend.
'If my company is too dour, then perhaps you should have left me to my own devices,' Athos stated, his manner decidedly frosty. Porthos scowled at Aramis over the head of the brooding swordsman. Aramis rolled his eyes in apology, realising how his words had sounded to Athos.
Realising his moody friend would not be cajoled out of his mood, Aramis tried a different tack. 'I do not know what Treville was thinking, it was most unlike him to agree to such a course of action, or should I say stupidity – on Du Bois' side, I hasten to add,'
'Reckon 'e was tryin' to prove a point, not sure what point, but 'e 'ad somethin' on his mind. Reckon 'e's regrettin' it now though. Du Bois is an arrogant one and that's for sure. Didn't do 'im any 'arm to be brought down a peg or two,' Porthos stated.
Athos said nothing.
'You were right, mon ami, the Captain should not have put you in such a position. It is not the way of the garrison, but as Porthos says, he must have had his reason. Perhaps he will explain when we return.' A single snort from Athos suggested he would not be particularly receptive to any such approach.
Aramis considered making a further attempt to ease the uncomfortable atmosphere with more chatter, but for once he could think of no remarks that befitted the occasion.
Athos strode on ahead, in no mood to wait for his friends to catch up. He was so very angry – angry with Treville, angry with himself, angry with life. He should have declined the ridiculous challenge, he was better than that. He was proud of very little, but he would fight with honour, unless his life, or the lives of his friends were truly at risk.
'Wot's the plan?' Porthos asked, keeping his voice down.
'Why do you always ask me?' Aramis moaned.
'Because I would just come out with it and ask 'im why 'e's so bloody moody, and you know that wouldn't end well,' Porthos answered with a grin, slapping his frowning friend on the back.
'Well let us begin by getting him something to eat,' Aramis suggested, 'I swear he is swaying with fatigue and hunger.' He nodded to Porthos as Athos dipped his head and disappeared through the familiar doorway. The Three Cups was a well-ordered watering hole; the food was reasonable, the wine fair, and the wenches fairer. It was, however, not well-favoured by Musketeers, as it was some distance from the garrison, but Athos could have picked somewhere far worse. Aramis suspected he often did, and wanted to keep the two sides of his drinking life as far apart as possible.
The interior of the establishment was airless and smelt of bodies, beer and smoke. It was hardly unusual and elicited no reaction. In the corner, a roar of amusement went up as someone celebrated their good hand. Porthos hesitated and looked over his shoulder at Aramis.
'Oh no, you are not going to abandon me to deal with him alone,' Aramis warned.
Porthos adopted his most hurt expression. 'You know 'e'll be better without me there – just shout if you need me.' With a broad grin, he reached the corner table in two strides and was seated before Aramis could even begin to form an argument. Shaking his head, the marksman began to follow Athos, who as always had sought out the furthest table possible, the one in the darkest depths of the room.
'Why, Aramis my lovely, it 'as been too long.' A comely serving wench, with large breasts and dimpled cheeks, smiled at the Musketeer. 'It is good to see Athos, I was beginning to think... well, you know.' She drew her finger across her neck and Aramis grinned.
'No, Athos is fine, he has more lives than a cat, but I am surprised you noticed his absence Bridget,' Aramis responded.
The girl looked at the marksman from under her lashes and giggled. 'You ain't the only 'andsome Musketeer you know.' With that, she turned and hurried back to the bar, where a large, red-faced landlord was calling her name. Aramis smiled and shook his head. It never ceased to amaze him how women noticed Athos, yet his friend managed to remain completely oblivious.
By the time Aramis reached the table and sat down, Athos was already pouring his first glass of wine. Aramis followed suit and deliberated on how to go about prodding the swordsman's fragile defences. He gesticulated to Bridget and soon she approached with two steaming bowls of stew.
'Good beef stew, my lovelies. This will set you to rights, even on such a night as this. I reckon the storm will blow in tonight, and let's 'ope it's a good one.' She placed the two bowls upon the table then retreated back the way she had come. Aramis admired the spectacle of the swaying hips, whilst Athos stared at the stew.
'Eat up, mon ami, please. I know you are hungry.' The way he entreated the errant Musketeer made Athos look up. Whatever he saw in his friend's face made him give a single nod of his head and he began to ladle the fragrant smelling broth into his mouth.
For once he cleaned the bowl, finishing it off with a large chunk of bread. Aramis grinned with satisfaction. 'You have no idea how gratifying it is to watch you eat,' he intoned.
Athos looked up, giving the faintest quirk of his lip. 'I worry about you, Aramis, I really do.' He sat back and sipped from his cup, a faraway look upon his face. Aramis felt emboldened by Athos' sudden appetite and quip, and decided to take advantage of the moment.
'What is it, mon ami? Why are you so distracted of late – is it her?' He noticed Athos' jaw clench and hoped he had not said exactly the wrong thing.
'She has gone,' Athos replied, looking intently into his cup.
Aramis did not respond, trying to decide just how to interpret the remark. Did he mean she has gone my heart is broken? Or did he mean she has gone that is all there is to it? He decided to go for the latter, it seemed the far safer option.
He nodded as though he understood, but pressed on. 'You are settled now, you have your commission, the men trust you, the cadets worship you and even the King asks after you. Why then are you still tormented? Is it the tunnel?' He was so absorbed with Athos' expression he was only partially aware of the swordsman picking up the bottle and squeeze it in a vicelike grip. Just as the brittle glass exploded a man bumped into Athos' arm and spilled the contents of a jug upon the floor.
'Hey, what you doin'? You just knocked my drink everywhere,' the scrawny stranger complained. Athos gave him a cold stare, and something flickered across the unknown man's face, as he licked his dry lips. After a moment of silence, it was Aramis who spoke.
'I am afraid you are mistaken, my friend did not move.' He gave a friendly grin to show there were no ill feelings, but the man persisted, a look of hope seeming to light up his features.
'Are you callin' me a liar?' He placed the empty jug upon the table and squared his shoulders. Aramis sighed.
'Not at all my friend, I am merely suggesting you have misinterpreted the situation; this gentleman did not move, you perhaps stumbled and bumped into him.' It was a rather feeble attempt to defuse the situation, but Athos was not helping by glaring at the man with open hostility.
The swordsman sat and stared at the stranger. Aramis had stirred up his already bubbling anger, like a child poking a hornet's nest with a stick. He was in no mood to discuss his problems with his friend, and for the first time in a long while, he could feel the burning thrill of fury thrumming through his veins.
As the gangly patron continued to whine and demand recompense, Athos felt himself rise – it was as if his body was acting on impulse and he had no control over his actions. The man was now poking Aramis in the shoulder, and even the placid marksman was beginning to scowl.
'This drunken sop is a disgrace to your regiment. I thought you were supposed to be special,' the skinny fool snorted. There was a sudden flurry of movement and, for the second time that day, Athos brought his right hook into play. His fist connected with the man's chin and, so unexpected was the blow, it sent him flying backward onto the table behind, where he lay silent and unmoving. Now there really was a loud yell of complaints, as the men who had been enjoying a quiet drink watched their beverages splash into their laps and faces.
'Mon dieu, I suppose it was inevitable,' Aramis murmured. Athos made a ridiculous bow and doffed his hat, as the men stood as one and drew their weapons.
'Not in here, gentlemen, please,' Bridget pleaded. Athos gave her a nod and grinned at the four men.
'Gentlemen, shall we continue this outside?' He pushed his way through the interested onlookers and made his way toward the door, and though they appeared somewhat confused, the four men followed. Aramis shrugged his shoulders and trailed after them. As he passed Porthos, he shouted, 'I'm needing you now!' With that, he continued on his way, ignoring the eye-rolling protests of his friend. He did not need to check to know Porthos would follow.
By the time Aramis reached the street outside, Athos was already facing off against the four men. For just a second Aramis was tempted to watch. It was certainly a marvellous spectacle, but truth be told he was in the mood for some exercise and he did not see why Athos should have all the fun, so with a whelp of relish he stood side-by-side with the swordsman and joined in.
'Let us try not to kill anyone, it upsets the Captain,' Aramis grinned. Athos raised his brow in acknowledgment, but made no promises.
As Porthos made his way through the door, the air was filled with shrieks of pain– one man clutching his bleeding arm, whilst another lay prone upon the floor. Aramis was enjoying leading his opponent a merry dance between a pile of scattered barrels, whilst Athos deftly played with two more adversaries. Porthos cracked his knuckles and approached one of Athos' opponents from behind. Lifting him off his feet he held him kicking and screaming, until the very lack of air left him limp and unconscious.
As the man fell still to the floor, so Aramis' victim ran limping and screaming into the night. At the same time, Athos slid his sword along the weapon of the wide-eyed man he was fighting, and before either could untangle their blades he brought his head down upon the other's nose, feeling the satisfying crack of bone. He pushed the screaming figure away and let him stumble off into the night. Suddenly the combined rush of anger and adrenalin seemed to leech from his soul, leaving him numb and drained. He felt neither satisfaction nor remorse – he felt nothing at all. He wanted to be alone, he needed to sleep, but he knew what that meant. However, he turned his back on Aramis and Porthos and began to walk back to the garrison, just as the first raindrops began to fall.
There was a loud crack of thunder and the heavens truly opened. The deluge bounced off the dusty floor, soon turning the street into a running river of mud. Lightning split the sky and, as it illuminated the city, macabre forms appeared hovering over roof tops and dodging into bottomless alleys. It felt as though hell had broken open and the demons within were roaming free and without restraint.
Porthos had to yell to make his voice heard. 'I take it you never got around to having that chat?' Aramis shook his head, rivulets of water running down his face, despite the brim of his hat.
'I tried, but we were interrupted – though it may have been for the best, I do not think he was very receptive.' Porthos laughed despite the horrendous weather.
Lightning flashed once more, and the garrison gateway filled the street like the gates of heaven. Even Athos appeared to increase his pace, though he was already way in front of his friends.
As the three men hurried within the regiment walls, an unexpected sight met their eyes. Treville stood just inside, blocking their way. He, too, was soaked to the skin, and Aramis wondered if he had been standing there ever since they had left, awaiting their return. Perhaps he planned to apologise – though it was extremely unlikely.
'Where have you three been?' He looked Athos up and down and scowled. 'Brawling. I should have known.' Aramis was somewhat confused as to how the Captain had reached that conclusion.
'Get some sleep, you are going to need it. First thing in the morning you two…' pointing to Aramis and Porthos, '…are coming with me to the palace.' They managed to stifle their groaning responses as Treville continued. 'You, put all of the new cadets through their paces. I want a written report on each one by noon.' With that, he turned on his heel and headed back to his quarters without another word.
Before Aramis or Porthos could speak, Athos followed him and headed toward his own room.
'Well goodnight, Athos,' Porthos growled.
'I rather suspect that for once we all deserved his rejection – including the Captain – though why he assumed we had been fighting I do not know.' Porthos shrugged and placed his arm around his friend's shoulders.
'Well at least we have only to stand and watch the spectacle that is the King and Richelieu, I don't envy Athos' morning. How many recruits are there?'
'At least fifteen as far as I know,' Aramis responded. 'Let us hope he gets some sleep. At least he ate his stew.'
'Stew? Who had stew?' Porthos roared. Aramis laughed and patted his friend's shoulder, chuckling as the big Musketeer looked wide-eyed with indignation.