Chapter 10

Treville stood before the King. Tension in the room thrummed like the string of a played harp, His Majesty's greeting alone setting the tone.

'Treville, you cannot bring any negativity with you this morning, I will not hear of it.' The King looked down from his platform, thrusting out his chin and daring the Musketeer Captain to defy his orders. Treville stared at him for a moment, with a mixture of disappointment and disbelief. He hoped his sentiments were not obvious as he tried to reconcile the man pouting before him with the one who had stood by Athos' side when captured by Gaston's cronies; the very man who had toiled beside him and his men to help Athos escape from his trauma beneath the ground. How was it possible they could be one and the same man?

He mentally shook himself from such reverie. The King was, if nothing else, a very complex character; one moment he could speak like a King, the next act like a child in the midst of a tantrum – it was the way of the monarchy and all Treville could do was try and play the game. However, the King swiftly moved on, proving Treville's musings to be correct – he now beamed with joy, all thoughts of petulance forgotten, as only Louis could.

'I have dissolved my council,' the monarch announced proudly.

Treville looked to the Cardinal. The man was suddenly finding the ornate ceiling particularly fascinating, though the hands gripped in front of him, displayed knuckles white and rigid.

'Do you not think this is exciting Captain?' Louis asked, clapping his hands together in delight. Treville was at a loss. All he could envisage was the heap of potential disasters which might, and probably would, ensue, with no experienced men to inform and guide the King, tempering his most outlandish decisions.

Struggling to find the right response, he finally managed to force out a reply. 'I imagine it is, Sire.' Frantically he considered how much more he could add, aware that the Cardinal was now giving him his full attention. 'However…' Louis, who had turned toward the Cardinal to flaunt his satisfaction at Treville's response, now swivelled back toward his Captain, his mood threatening to darken yet again. '…I would be remiss in my job if I did not point out that our enemies may see this time of... change... as a potential period of weakness.' Richelieu perked up as Treville finished and turned his attention to Louis.

The King was silent, and Treville felt his heart drop to his boots as he awaited the petulant outburst his implications would surely invoke. The silence prevailed for what felt like a lifetime, then the King spoke. 'You are right, Treville, we must begin to make appointments straight away.' He turned to his First Minister. 'Cardinal, let us draw up a list, it is time to select those men of France who will help me pave our way to a stronger and more powerful presence in Europe.' With that, the King gathered a bemused Richelieu and exited the room. He paused in the doorway and turned to the stunned Captain. 'Well done, Treville, you have, as always given me sound advice. Good day.' Richelieu cast Treville a look of intense incredulity, before trailing after his King, leaving the Captain to work out how his words had been interpreted so ineptly and, more importantly, just what he had encouraged.

Richelieu paced backward and forward across the floor of his offices. He had spent several fraught hours with the King making a list of men whom the monarch considered fodder for a new council. As far as the Cardinal could discern, the eligibility for such a list consisted of how old they were – none to be over forty years of age, if they enjoyed hunting, or whether they were known associates of his brother – at least this last one had some element of logic. After what felt like a lifetime, the Cardinal's anxiety was rising exponentially with the growing list of candidates. Eventually, he had called an end to the meeting, promising the King he would make further enquiries about the men they had selected as swiftly as possible.

Now safely ensconced in his apartments, he paced back and forth around his spacious, if not bleak office. So fierce were his anger and frustration, that if he could have expelled steam from his ears and nostrils he would have done. Though he understood Treville's position, being put on the spot by the King was not an experience to be courted; it did not excuse the idiot. Surely after all of these years he might have considered his words more carefully. Deep inside, the First Minister was forced to acknowledge the Captain had made a sound point, but he also knew of long sufferance that the King heard only what he wanted to hear. Though the Musketeer Captain had believed he was warning Louis, attempting to raise the monarch's awareness of his potential vulnerability, the King had heard …You must hurry to make your new appointments, Sire – a different thing altogether. It was bad enough the King wished to make these changes at all – complete insanity – but to make them in haste was even more of a potential disaster. Richelieu needed time to find a way to thwart the King's plans.

And so it was that when his visitor arrived, his mind was elsewhere.

Even as the Baron entered the room, his appearance was one of agitation, eager for the interview to be over before it had even begun, whereas the Cardinal was still reeling from his session with the King, and his mind was consumed with calculating a variety of nefarious strategies.

'Your Grace, please forgive the intrusion.' The Baron patted his brow with a handkerchief. Though his staff would have called him a bully and a brute, in the presence of the First Minister he was reduced, like most men, to the coward that he really was. 'I have received news from my contact in the city. Unfortunately, the the man we hoped would confirm our suspicions is proving rather unco-operative.' Swallowing quickly, he continued, before the Cardinal could raise his voice in anger. 'He is old, and my associate believes that with further intervention he can obtain the information we seek. If you think it appropriate, I will instruct my man to continue.' The nervous noble swayed from foot to foot, awaiting the First Minister's reaction.

Richelieu eyed the diminutive man as though he had spied a rat. 'Whatever, Brousard, I have far more important matters of state to worry about, do what you see fit.' With that, he turned and renewed his unfocussed gaze out of the window. Brousard could not believe his luck and scurried from the room like the vermin the Cardinal had envisaged, merely glad to be out from the under the First Minister's chilling presence, and without the expected rebuke caused by his continued failure.

For his part, Richelieu hardly realised the man had withdrawn. 'Young men, for the love of God, what disaster will such associations bring down upon France. How can I be expected to avert catastrophe with men with whom I have no leverage?' He turned from the window just as the Spanish Ambassador exited the palace following his daily delivery of the diplomatic pouch. Richelieu stopped and noted the man's departure, and slowly a feral smile began to form on his scheming features. Finally, he felt the beginning of an idea creep out of the dark place from which it had formed and stretch toward the light.

'Bertrand, take an urgent message... To the Comte de Rochefort…'

ooOoo

There had been a chill in the air that morning, and the approach of autumn had hovered above the ground, swirling and dancing in excitement, and for the first time the early morning guards had seen their breath before them as they took their places by the garrison entrance.

Slowly, the day had gradually warmed, but the stifling heat appeared to have vanished in the night. Instead, dark clouds gathered, the threat of rain giving the sky a strange violet glow – a storm was coming.

Athos had slept well and, never known for being a well-behaved patient, he was now beginning to champ at the bit.

'I do not see why I cannot return to my room,' the swordsman growled, scowling at Aramis and Porthos, who stood either side of him as he sipped his broth.

Aramis eyed Porthos over Athos' head. 'Because we can't keep an eye on you properly if you are up there,' Porthos answered, his voice just as unhappy.

'Why, I am sure you will still hover over me every minute of the day wherever I am,' the swordsman muttered, glaring at Porthos, who as usual took no notice.

'You're welcome,' Porthos snapped. The argument would have gone on far longer Aramis was sure, but as Athos opened his mouth to speak, a commotion broke out in the courtyard. Angry voices echoed beyond the door and Aramis thought he heard the clashing of steel. Then the noise died away, but the two men's curiosity was peaked.

With Athos eating his broth, both men made their way over to the doorway to seek out the source of the disturbance. To their amazement, a group of Red Guards stood just inside the garrison, and facing them was a group of Musketeers. Neither party was apparently happy to see the other, with hands on the hilts of their swords, neither group wishing to break eye contact. They could hear Treville's voice, but could not see him from where they were standing.

'What are they doin' 'ere?' Porthos rumbled.

'I have no idea. They are not pulling their weapons,' Aramis replied, confused.

'Perhaps they are attempting to stare us to death,' a sarcastic voice replied over their shoulders.

The two Musketeers turned as one, staring open-mouthed at the man standing behind them, his expression superior, and daring them to reprimand him.

'That's why you're not in your room,' Porthos shouted, poking him in the shoulder. Athos shrugged his shoulders, and simply raised his brow.

'I have an injured hand, there is nothing wrong with my legs,' the swordsman pointed out. Aramis sighed – he knew when to give in.

'You may dress, but you will rest and do nothing, and I mean nothing stupid. Do you promise?' The medic eyed his friend earnestly.

Athos gave a condescending nod. 'Of course.'

'Let me 'ear you say it then,' Porthos added, only too aware of Athos' skill in obfuscation.

Athos showed no sign of annoyance, or in fact any emotion at all. 'I promise.'

Aramis smiled, but Porthos narrowed his eyes – that had been far too easy.

Athos walked back toward the bed slowly, his muscles not too happy after such a long period of inactivity. However, he was far stronger than he had expected to be, and he was determined not to show Aramis any sign of weakness that would cause him to change his mind; though the prospect of dressing one-handed proved to be slightly beyond him.

'You 'avin' problems?' Porthos grinned, unable to keep a note of satisfaction out of his voice. Athos looked up, his eyes glacial; any other man would have turned and run, but Porthos only chuckled. 'You only 'ave to ask if you want an 'and you know.' The big man was enjoying his friend's predicament far too much, and even Aramis had to give a smile as he observed the stubborn swordsman's struggle.

So taken up were they with Athos' fiery glare, that they did not hear the rapid approach of footsteps, and all three men were taken by surprised when the door to the infirmary was suddenly flung open, and even more surprised to see the old cook, Claude, standing in the entrance.

'Lie down, quick, you're unconscious, Captain's orders.' With that, he turned and fled the way he had come. The three Musketeers shared a quick glance before Athos swung his legs back upon the bed and Aramis threw the blanket over him, making sure the injured hand was on top, just in case. As the door was jerked open once more, Athos closed his eyes.

Giroux, the Red Guard Captain, entered the infirmary showing very little consideration for those within, Treville right behind him, face like thunder.

'Is this enough proof for you, Captain? Athos has been like this for the last four days, he is not the man you seek.' Treville stood next to the sleeping Musketeer, defying Giroux to doubt his words.

'So you say, Captain,' the man snarled, eyeing Aramis and Porthos with dislike. For a variety of reasons, both men were well known to him, their smug grins now acting like a red rag to a bull. 'Has he been alone at all?'

'Never. Not for a single moment,' Aramis added, arms crossed over his chest in defiance.'

Giroux stared at the three men a little longer. 'When he wakes, I am to be informed immediately, no delays, no tricks,' he sneered at the three men before turning on his heel and storming out of the room. No one spoke, but simply stared after the guard's retreating back.

'And what supposed crime have I committed now?' Athos drawled, as he opened his eyes and looked at his Captain.

Treville suddenly became aware of the conscious Athos, and frowning down at him he replied, 'Murder, apparently.'

Athos gave a snort. 'Well for once, I assume I have an alibi.' He looked from Porthos to Aramis, then back to the Captain.

'Let us hope so,' Treville answered, as he gazed once more at the exit of the guards from the garrison.

Minutes earlier.

'I want Athos, now!' the Captain of the guard had shouted, as he and his men approached the garrison gate.

Of course, it had to be Deveaux who was on duty with one of his acolytes. 'Certainly, Captain, but there might be a slight problem, he is in the infirmary ill.' He attempted to sound concerned for his fellow Musketeer, but the smirk on his face told a different story.

'We will see about that,' Giroux spat. He made to enter the garrison with his men, but even Deveaux had enough respect for his regiment to refuse the men entry without permission, and so an argument had ensued, in turn alerting the men standing around Athos' bed.

'What is going on down there?' came the angry yell from Treville. Giroux pushed past Deveaux and shouted up to his counterpart.

'I want Athos!' He stuck out his chin and dared Treville to defy him, which of course made not the slightest impression upon the Musketeer Captain.

'Do not enter my garrison and tell me what to do, Giroux.' Treville's voice was low and controlled as he came slowly down the steps from his office. 'Athos is ill, he has been in bed these last few days. Why do you want him?'

For the first time Giroux's eyes flickered with doubt. 'Days you say? Are you sure he could not have left the garrison?

'No,' was all Treville said.

'Well it matters not, there has been a murder, and I want to speak to him.' There was a sudden scuffle behind him, and the rest of his men pushed their way inside the gate.

'Stop where you are!' Treville shouted. The guards stopped in their tracks and, out of nowhere, a host of Musketeers grouped before them, barring any further advancement.

'This is my garrison, and you will not take another step!' the Captain yelled. He spotted Claude out of the corner of his eye and turned slightly to catch the elderly cook's attention. Though he spoke to Giroux he did not take his eyes away from the old Musketeer.

'Athos is asleep, he has not woken at all for several days, he is in a heavy sleep.' He emphasised the words and gave the old man the slightest nod that he knew he would understand. As Treville turned back to Giroux he saw the cook scuttle across the courtyard toward the infirmary, just as he had intended.

If you insist I will take you to him, but you must appreciate he is gravely ill and treat him accordingly.' He noted Claude emerge from the infirmary and turned to lead the way.

'It was a good thing you gave us warning,' Aramis observed, 'Athos was up and about to get dressed.'

Treville eyed Athos, who was looking thoughtful. 'Is he ready to get out of bed?' the Captain asked in surprise.

'Yes, he is,' growled Athos. Treville ignored him and turned to Aramis, but the medic merely smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

'He will be less trouble out of bed than in it,' Aramis stated trying to look serious.

'Pah!' Porthos scoffed. ''E's always trouble once he can move.' He eyed Athos, but the swordsman offered only the merest twitch of his lips.

'Well I think I may have a solution. Athos, when you are ready, my office.' With that, Treville turned abruptly and left the room.

The three remaining men looked at one another. 'Not sure I like the sound of that,' Aramis propounded.

Porthos simply chortled, spluttering as, slapping Athos on the back, he added, ''E knows you too well, my friend.'

Athos frowned. 'Well at least the Captain does not snore.' He glared at Porthos, wiping the broad grin off his friend's face.

'Guess you will be putting those boots on by yourself then,' the big man stated smugly.

Athos eyed his boots and frowned. He looked for Aramis, but the medic was suddenly off in a distant corner tidying herbs and objects away discretely. The swordsman bent down and clutched the top of the soft leather with his good hand. He managed to get his foot inside the opening, though the boot dangled annoyingly and refused to sit at the right angle. Beads of sweat sprouted upon his brow and his breathing became laboured, but still he would not ask for assistance. Porthos watched until he could take no more.

'You are the stubbornest man I 'ave ever known. Would it really kill you to ask for 'elp? As he talked, he bent down and yanked the boot on so hard he almost sent Athos reeling over backwards. With a little less force, he pulled on the other boot. Athos took a deep breath and gave a weak smile.

'Thank you,' was all he said, but the comment was rare and, even if it sounded somewhat begrudging, Porthos knew it was said in earnest.

Porthos attempted to make light of the moment. 'Must be your week to be popular anyway, what with girls and Red Guards clamourin' at the gate for you. Somethin' we should know?' The cheeky smile re-emerged, but Athos had paled.

There it was, the something he had forgotten, the voice, the woman who needed help, the woman he had failed.

'A girl?' he asked. He was standing now, no more than inches from Porthos, threatening to take hold of the big Musketeer if he did not answer him. 'Do you mean a child?'

Porthos shrugged but shook his head. 'No, not a child, about fifteen perhaps. No idea who she was, she came to the gateway two days ago, though I think that she might 'ave been before. She wanted to see you, but I told 'er you were ill.' Before he could utter another word, Athos interrupted.

'What did she say? Why did she want me?' His voice was harsh and the urgency in it unmistakeable.

Again, Porthos shook his head and threw his hands in the air. 'She wouldn't say, but she was upset. Went off mutterin' to herself, mumbled about someone called Jacques.' Athos was moving in an instant, but then he stopped. He remembered the two men watching him closely and slowed his actions. Athos knew these men well, he knew they were considering his every move. He picked up his jacket and turned to Porthos.

'Would you mind?' There was still a certain amount of sarcasm in his voice, but the expression he offered his friend gave no hint of the thoughts tumbling in his head. Porthos smiled and helped him on with his jacket and weapons belt.

'See, that didn't 'urt at all did it?' the Musketeer chuckled, happy to help.

'You have no idea,' Athos re-joined.

'Tell me, what will you two be doing whilst I am with the Captain… resting?' Athos demanded as he made for the doorway, speaking with all the haughty superiority they would have expected of him.

'I think I will take a turn with the cadets on the field, and you can come with me Porthos, now we know Treville will be baby-minding.' Aramis slapped the big man on the back and grinned up at Athos.

Athos did not bite, just quirked a brow. 'I wish you enjoyment.' Before he could exit the building Aramis called to him.

'Just one minute, this will help protect that arm and hand. It will throb mercilessly if you leave it hanging like that, and if you were to knock it …' he left the sentence unsaid, just grimaced.

Quickly and neatly, he placed Athos' arm in a black linen support and tied it off around his neck. 'Keep it in there whilst you are moving around, when you are sitting then you may remove it – and only then. Understood?' Athos nodded and smiled.

'Oh! And don't forget your promise,' Porthos added. Athos appeared puzzled for a second then recognition lit his face, and he gave a nod to Porthos too. With that, all three men exited the building and went their separate ways. Athos walked toward the stairs to the Captain's office, watching his friends take the turning that would lead them on to the Musketeer training field beyond. The sounds of shouts and clashing of steel could already be heard as the young recruits were being put through their paces. As soon as the two men were out of sight, Athos did an about-turn and marched toward the gate. Deveaux and his companion, who though relieved of their duty, were still lingering suspiciously at the entrance. The two men eyed Athos' departure with a strange expression of satisfaction, as though they had been waiting for him. Athos strode past, nodding to them as he went.

'Now that is what I call a quick recovery, I thought you were unconscious,' smirked the cocky Musketeer.

'Then I suggest you do not repeat the exercise Deveaux, you will overtire yourself.' With the retort still hanging in the air, Athos strode off into the darkening afternoon, soon to be lost from sight amongst the crowds in the market square. Deveaux spat on the floor as he watched Athos leave.

Searching the area, he found what he was looking for. 'You boy, come here.' He pulled a piece of paper and small stub of graphite from his pocket, and scribbling quickly he folded the note and thrust it at the grubby urchin. 'Take this to Captain Giroux of the Red Guard, and be quick. If you want your money, I will need proof of his receipt.' The boy scowled at the lack of immediate coin, but took the note and darted off amongst the mingling crowd. 'That will wipe that haughty smile off your face, you bastard,' Deveaux mumbled to himself, grinding his teeth together in anticipation of the mischief he had created.