Chapter 12

It is a harsh realisation for any man to discover he has no one. No one to turn to in a crisis, no one to provide a safe haven when there is nowhere left to go – no one to offer comfort when life is simply too hard to bear.

As the rain found its way into new crevasses, Athos could not become any colder or wetter; though both his clothing and boots were of good quality, they could not fend off the violence of the storm. And so it was no surprise that, as Athos pushed on through the pain and exhaustion, heading for the only place he could think of, his thoughts turned to her. As always, the memories came unbidden. Right now, they were the last images he needed parading themselves spitefully through his mind – pictures of the life he had once had, the life he had so cruelly lost.

Athos let out a low growl, anger slowly overtaking any pain or tiredness he had felt. What a fool he was, why did he allow such thoughts to torment him? He had made his decision long ago, he had abandoned all that he had, and he wanted it no more, but he knew it was neither the comfort, the privilege nor the wealth that he truly missed – it was love. Such a simple word, yet so powerful an emotion, encompassing so much; passion, lust, solace and simply companionship. Someone to care, someone to listen and someone to provide a light in the dark.

If she were still in Paris would he have succumbed? Would he have sought her out now, a place of comfort and refuge? Would she even have offered it? Or would she have spurned him, laughed in his face, and turned him away?

Athos wanted to scream, and howl at the moon in fury and frustration.

Flinging the water away from his neck, his fingers lingered over the intricate design of the pauldron upon his shoulder. The memory of Treville clipping it in place in the presence of the King, and the pride on the older man's face sent an arrow through his heart. Was he always destined to let his Captain down? He was the one man who had trusted him, taken a chance – without ties, without conditions. Then there were his brothers. He knew both Aramis and Porthos would lay down their lives for him. Right now, they were probably thinking of intricate ways to kill him, but deep down, he understood the bond they shared. His feet faltered. Should he have put his faith in them and returned to the garrison?

Yet again he envisioned the Captain, and he knew the man would have no power over Giroux if the guard came for him after what had occurred that tonight. Athos had walked right into his trap, his very presence a confession to his connection with the Beloirs. Enough proof for Giroux to get his own way.

He would contact Aramis and Porthos when the time was right. For the now, he was better, and they were safer, if he stayed on his own – a situation that was sadly all too familiar.

ooOoo

Despite the fact both men had run most of the way back to the garrison – evidenced by their shortness of breath and inability to speak – they failed to arrive much before an angry Giroux and his gang of moronic guards.

They climbed the stairs two at a time, though their legs protested at this final effort. Their knock at the door was almost unnecessary, for as the Captain called for them to enter, he was already on his feet awaiting their entrance.

Though Treville watched the two men enter, his eyes remained upon the door, awaiting a third. When Athos did not appear, there was a flicker of disappointment, but it vanished as quickly as it had begun.

'Where is he?' was all the man said.

Aramis, attempting to control his breathing, managed to gasp out a few words. 'We lost him. Giroux was there. Tried to assist but he escaped, and we came straight here.' Porthos, having had extra seconds to control himself, took up the story.

'We followed him to some 'ouse on the Rue de Pont, belonging to somebody called Jacques we think. There was a girl who came to the gate lookin' for Athos whilst 'e was ill. I'd forgotten about 'er until today, but I mentioned it to Athos as 'e was preparin' to come to you.' Porthos looked as though he wished he had cut out his tongue right now, rather than having been the one responsible for Athos' actions.

'You say Giroux was there. Did you see Athos?' Treville barked, his mood darkening by the second.

'No, we did not see him exactly. We followed a group of Red Guards who hurtled out of The Wren in front of us, we had little else to go on, so we went after them. They led us to the house, and Giroux was waiting. We had not been there more than a couple of minutes when the Captain kicked in the door and began fighting with someone; we could only hear the clash of swords.' Aramis stopped, rather hoping they could keep the following details out of the story, but knew it was unlikely.

'What did you do?' Treville asked, his voice low and even.

Porthos and Aramis exchanged a look, the latter risking a quick glance to the heavens before he began to speak. 'Well, we though it best to help defend Athos, so we approached the men waiting outside.'

'Approached?' Treville questioned, quirking his brow.

Aramis sought to find the right words, but before he could dig them into a very deep hole, heavy boots thudded up the stairs, accompanied by several shouts from below.

The Captain's door shot inward, and a red-faced Giroux stood in the entrance, breathing heavily. Eyeing the two Musketeers before him, he pointed his finger. 'You! You attacked my men tonight for no reason, now one of them is wounded and out of commission. I want your heads.'

Dismissing the two men, but hardly pausing for breath, he growled out low and menacingly: 'Where is he? Do not think you can hide him from me, Treville, I will tear this place apart until I find him. Unconscious indeed! He was not unconscious tonight when he injured one of my men and hit me...' At this point he stopped, though the rest of his words were inferred. His face darkened with increased anger. 'Where... is... he? Tell me, or I will order my men to pull this place apart until they find him.' There was silence, just the sound of the drumming rain on the wooden roof, emphasising the pregnant pause.

Treville drew himself up to his full height. He was by no means a tall man, but he cut an imposing figure when roused.

'This is my garrison, my regiment. You have no authority.' The Captain let his words sink in before continuing. 'Athos is not here, I gave him leave. He needed time to recover and he had personal business to attend to. So, if you make any move to enter any building under my control, I will instruct my men to treat you as hostile. Do I make myself clear, Captain?' Treville had not shouted, but had kept his voice low, under control, and highly effective.

'On leave? You expect me to believe that? Only a few hours ago you told me he was unconscious. Now he is fit enough to be running around Paris attacking my guards.' Giroux still did not back down, though he had lost a little of his bluster.

'Athos is a law unto himself at the best of times.' Treville stated. 'He insisted on getting out of bed – I never said he was fit enough to do so.' He stared his opponent out. Giroux held his ground for a few seconds longer then turned to leave.

'I shall be stationing my men outside the garrison. I will know the minute he returns. I will have him this time, Treville.' Wearing a smug grin, he wheeled around and stalked through the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Treville stormed past the two expectant Musketeers and stood against the balustrade of his balcony. He watched as Giroux gathered up his man and left through the gates. Satisfied, he turned back to his office and turned on the two recalcitrant soldiers.

'Approached?' was all he said, the fact he had chosen to remain on their side of the desk was a very bad sign.

'Indeed,' was all Aramis said, desperately trying to describe events in as amiable a light as possible.

'Was that with your weapons sheathed, or not?' Treville glowered.

'As I recall...' Aramis began.

'Sheathed, definitely sheathed,' Porthos interrupted. 'But then they got all edgy, so we drew ours too.'

Aramis turned to look at his friend with a mixture of admiration and pity.

'They got edgy. I wonder why that was. Could it have been something to do with the idiot inside fighting their Captain? Or the fact his two sidekicks suddenly approached out of the blue? Do you suppose they thought you were there for a friendly chat?' His voice had grown considerably louder and he was now inches from the big man's face, even if he had to look up, but somehow his stature did not diminish his impact.

Both men knew better than to answer the questions; they were well aware the Captain considered them purely rhetorical. However, being labelled as Athos' sidekicks was harsh – brothers, colleagues would have been fairer. Perhaps.

Treville let out a sigh and ran his fingers through his thinning hair, a familiar gesture when the man was stressed. The good news was that he walked over to the shelf behind him and reached for three glasses.

'Sit down,' he ordered pouring them all a drink. 'So, if Athos escaped, which I am assuming he must have done, where has he gone? Do you know for a fact he is not here?' The question startled the Musketeers and both men began to rise. 'No, stay where you are.' Treville strode from the small room and yelled from the balcony. 'Gerrard, check the infirmary, the stables and Athos' room, see if he is here.'

With that, he returned to his chair and sat down, somewhat heavily.

'Is he in any state to be loose in Paris, let alone fighting?' he asked Aramis.

The medic shook his head. 'Not at all. Apart from the infection and prolonged sleep, he has hardly eaten or drunk anything for days. The pain remedy will have worn off and if he has reopened that wound...' He could not complete the sentence, but all three men knew what he was inferring.

'Bloody fool, what would make him hare off after a girl like that? It simply isn't like him.' The Captain queried.

'I do not think it had anything to do with the girl herself, it seems she may have been delivering a message from somebody called Jacques – presumably the person who lived in that house,' Aramis clarified. At that, Gerrard knocked on the door.

'Sorry, Captain, Athos' isn't anywhere. Nobody has seen him since he left the garrison yesterday afternoon just before the storm.' The older Musketeer was a good soldier, and all three men knew he would like to have given them better news.

After the man had left, Treville stood up and looked from his window. 'Well, what are you two waiting for? As of tomorrow, you are removed from duty. Insubordination and unauthorised violence. I do not want to see either of you for two days. Then report to me. Dismissed.'

The two men grinned broadly. 'Thank you, Captain,' they replied, saluting simultaneously.

Aramis and Porthos hurried from the office and down the stairs; they had underestimated the lateness of the hour, and how tired they had become.

'First thing, Rue de Pont?' Porthos queried.

'Oh! I think so, don't you?' Aramis responded, with a spring in his step. They headed for their rooms and much needed sleep; though both men were wondering where Athos was at that precise moment.

ooOoo

If they could have seen him, they would have been both amused and worried in equal measure. After he had left the Beloirs' he had headed for the only place in Paris where he knew he would be safe and dry for the night. So, as they settled within their rooms in the garrison, Athos curled amongst warm hay in the stables behind Monsieur René's smithy.

This was not the first time he had sought refuge there, and he hoped it was still owned by the man who had shown kindness to him in the past. Athos shivered again; somehow the wound had not been torn apart from his exertion. However, the vicious headbutt had procured a magnificent headache, though somehow his nose had remained unbroken. He could not prevent the ghost of a smile as he imagined Aramis' response to this, though Athos had no doubt it would entail details of how his thick head had saved him from damage. However, it was not his ill luck that was his last thought before sleep overcame him, but images of the house on the Rue de Pont, and the horrors that had been perpetrated there.

Athos slept badly – after all, he had done nothing but sleep for several days, and how much sleep could a man possibly need? He was up and out of the warm stable before the sun had even awoken from her slumber. He dipped his head in the water butt beside the stable and shook the chilly droplets from his hair. Combing his hands through the wet locks he pulled on his gloves and walked away from the safety of the Farrier's.

Despite the early hour, he was not the only person up and about – Paris came to life before the dawn chorus. Carts rumbled along the streets and milk churns and fresh produce made its way toward the market on Rue Mouffetard. With his collar pulled up and his hat brim over his eyes, Athos strode toward his destination. As he lost himself amongst hurrying merchants, the sea of traffic increased, and above, the morning horizon began to streak with pinks and golds, heralding the coming day. Beneath the early-rising Parisians' feet, streets still ran with water following the recent storm, the rain having persisted throughout the night, along with the high winds. However, the thunder had moved off to harass other poor souls just as the swordsman had settled into his bed of hay.

Athos was renowned for eating little, but right now even he was forced to admit to the light headedness brought about by lack of sustenance – a situation he would be forced to address soon. Despite the passing of the storm, the golden hue was marred by dark clouds splitting the virgin sky like angry slashes in the soft pink dawn. The air was cold, summer already a vague memory.

The swordsman rounded the corner of Rue de Pont with far more caution than the last time he had visited. There was no evidence that the Red Guard still lingered around the entrance, but that did not mean they were not present. However, he had seen all he needed to see of the Beloirs' residence; his dealings now were with the girl who had visited the garrison asking for him. Who she was he had no idea, but he surmised that the neighbours were a good place to start.

Checking over his shoulder, he knocked upon the door to the left of the empty house. There was a pause before the door opened, and on the step was a youngish woman holding a small child on her hips.

'Forgive me, Madame, I am investigating the events that occurred at the Beloirs, in particular the whereabouts of a young girl, around sixteen years of age, who may have been a friend or relative, someone they may have trusted. She is in no trouble I assure you.' Athos gave the women his most gracious greeting, this was not the time for hauteur.

She eyed the man before her, noting the pauldron upon his shoulder. 'Those damn guards have already been, rude they are.' Looking Athos over once more, she decided she preferred dealing with the polite Musketeer.

'You mean Jeanette. She lives in the house that backs on to Jacques and Marie, poor souls.' The woman crossed herself and then continued. 'She would go to market for them, fetch and carry, you know. They were not getting any younger. 'Twas not right what happened to them, not right at all. They were God-fearing folk who never hurt anyone.' She shivered and her eyes filled with tears. 'You will get them, won't you?' She waited for Athos' response, and though he hesitated, eventually he replied, quietly, but infusing the remark with sincerity.

'If it is within my power, I promise you I will deliver justice to those responsible.' The woman smiled, satisfied with the Musketeer's reply, though when she thought about it sometime later, she might have pondered on the personal inference. Having thanked the woman for her time, Athos once again took the passageway leading onto the parallel street behind the Beloirs' house. It was easy to spot the residence he was looking for; there were pretty shutters on the outside of the upstairs windows, and it appeared the owners took care to make it look nice.

After checking he was alone in the road apart from regular morning traffic, Athos approached the door. Before he could knock, the door was yanked inward and a young girl almost fell into his arms.

'Oh Monsieur, apologies, I had no idea you were standing there, forgive me.' She took in the startled look on Athos' face as he set the girl back on her feet. A slight blush covered her cheeks, and she gave him a shy smile. She was about to ask if she could help when realisation dawned. Eyes wide, her hands flew to her cheeks. 'Monsieur Athos, is it really you?'

Athos looked over his shoulder; it felt as though the girl had announced his presence to the entire street. However, the folk around them appeared oblivious and went about their business, showing no signs they were aware of Musketeer's proximity. It was then he felt a tugging at his sleeve.

'Come, come inside. We should not be talking on the street.' Apparently, she was as wary as he was, and she dragged him inside.

The house was almost identical to the one in which the Beloirs had lived, and yet it was vastly different. A deep coloured rug covered the floor and a fire burnt low in the hearth, making the room warm after the early morning chill. The girl gestured to a comfortable chair by the fire.

'Please, Monsieur, sit. You have been ill, I was told, and you are still pale. Would you like something to eat and drink?' Normally Athos would have declined, but right now it solved several of his problems in one go.

'That would be most kind, Mademoiselle,' he replied, nobility dripping from every pore. The girl blushed again, before disappearing into the passageway Athos knew led to the kitchen.

The girl had not been absent long when she reappeared carrying a tray laden with bread, cheese, and ham, as well as a cup of something fragrant and hot judging from the steam that rose from its brim.

Noticing the suspicion upon his face, she chuckled. 'Do not fear, it is a herbal preparation that my grandmother used to make when I was younger. It seemed I was often sick, or at least I liked to let her think so. Drink, it is quite wonderful.'

Athos sipped the warm liquid and raised his brows. Indeed, it was soothing. It tasted strongly of blackcurrant, with a hint of something more interesting – brandy if he was not mistaken. Drinking deeply, he cut himself a wedge of cheese.

'Thank you for your hospitality, Mademoiselle. I must admit I neglected to eat before I started out this morning.'

'Please call me Jeanette,' she replied. Then, much to Athos' surprise, the girl leaned forward and reached for something near his face. Pulling a long length of straw from his hair she smiled. 'Indeed, you must have been in a great hurry.' She gave another throaty chuckle and sat back in the chair opposite.

Now Athos often felt ancient, but he was in fact a young man by anyone's standards. However, this girl was not much more than a child, and he was beginning to feel somewhat out of his depth.

'Are you alone Mad… Jeanette?' The girl acknowledged the familiarity of her name upon the Musketeer's lips with a shy smile.

'Indeed, my brother is an apprenticed clerk and leaves early each day. I take in sewing from a tailor in the city, so we manage together quite nicely.' Her face became solemn. 'But that is not why you are here is it, Monsieur?' Her eyes swam with tears, one eventually finding its way down her pale cheek. 'I tried to find you, Monsieur, I really did. I came twice, but they told me you were ill. Then it was all too late.' At this she buried her face in her hands.

Athos did not know if his fever was returning or if the girl's distress was the cause of his sudden warmth. He reached out to offer a reassuring pat to her shoulder, but before he knew what was happening the girl was sobbing onto his chest. Gingerly, he held the girl whilst her crying subsided. The situation was not lost on him, and he was eminently glad Aramis and Porthos were absent right now – they would never have allowed him to live it down.

Eventually, the girl's sobs began to quiet, yet she appeared in no hurry to move. Gently, Athos pushed her away and with a little reluctance she removed herself to her chair.

'Forgive me, Monsieur, it was just so horrible.' The look of sheer terror upon her face brought the reality home to Athos.

'Did you discover them – Jacques and Marie? Were you the first to arrive?' Jeanette nodded, her eyes threatening to overflow once more.

Athos produced a large square of linen, which the girl gratefully accepted. 'Thank you. Yes, it was terrible. I visited most mornings to see to Marie, she struggles, you see, to prepare herself for the day. I have a key, and I let myself in by the back door. That morning it was hot, and there was a smell. I cannot describe why I felt the way I did, but I knew something was wrong. It was too quiet,' she explained to Athos, and the swordsman nodded in understanding.

'First I went into Marie's room.' The girl stopped as she remembered the horrific scene. 'She was just hanging there, half in the bed, half out… her throat...' She was struggling to get the words out, but Athos knew what she was trying to say.

'I understand,' was all he said. She gazed at him, grey eyes luminous and wide. Then, offering a wan smile, she continued.

'I did not even scream; my voice simply would not work. I stumbled from the room and into the front parlour. Then… then I saw Jacques.' Jeanette shuddered and Athos rose from the table. Making his way into the kitchen, he fetched a glass of water and returned to the distressed girl.

'Here, drink this, take your time.' She accepted the glass readily and sipped from its contents.

'Thank you. Jacques was tied to a chair, he was… hardly recognisable. Please, Monsieur, do not ask me to describe what I saw. He had been cruelly used. He was an old man…' Once again she began to sob, only this time Athos rose to hold her close. Anger raced through him, anger for Marie, for Jacques and for this slip of a thing, who would forever see those gruesome images when she closed her eyes at night. Someone would pay, and pay dearly.

The girl clung to him as she sobbed uncontrollably, whether for the murdered couple or for herself neither of them was certain, though either sentiment would have been understandable.

Sitting the girl back down, Athos spoke softly, using a tone his brothers seldom heard, and his deep voice almost purred as he urged her to relax. She gazed up at him and seemed transfixed by his gaze.

'Jeanette, tell me, why did Jacques send you to find me in the first place?' The traumatised soul looked somewhat puzzled before managing to regain some semblance of control.

'It was several days before… well before I found them. A man had knocked upon their door, late at night. Jacques did not say who it was, just that it was ill news for someone he knew. He gave me a note and told me to deliver it to Monsieur Athos at the Musketeer garrison. He said he would know what to do.'

'What happened then?' Athos urged. Jeanette smiled a little, but a frown creased her young brow.

'The men there were not kind, they teased me and made rude comments. About you and I me – you understand?' She blushed to the roots of her blonde hair but said no more. 'They said they would pass the message on to you, and I did not know what else to say. So I left it with them. When you did not come, Jacques sent me again. I have no knowledge of any other visit from the stranger, but he was anxious, he was frightened.' She looked wide-eyed at Athos. 'So, I came again. This time I spoke to a big man, but he was kind and explained that you were indeed unwell and could not meet with me. I knew I had failed Jacques yet again, but what else could I do? Once again, I left. I should have done something more, should have insisted. You would have saved them, wouldn't you?' She looked at Athos with such reverence that he could find no reply.

What could he say? Yes I would. Yes, if I had known or understood the threat, I would have sent them away? It was too late for such pointless reassurances.

'I cannot say, for I do not know what they were afraid of.' The two of them said nothing but the girl continued to watch the Musketeer as though he would provide all the answers she sought.

'Tell me,' Athos asked gently, 'there was a chest in the front parlour which is no longer there. Do you know what happened to it?' Jeanette smiled.

'I remember it. It was a lovely piece, old and quite valuable. Marie used to polish it all the time, but I never saw them open it. I thought perhaps it had belonged to their son, they were somehow reverent around it, if you know what I mean.' She paused, thinking. 'It is odd though, because I do not remember it being there the last time I spoke with them. Yes, it had definitely been removed, because there was a small table in its place and the room looked bigger. I did not like to mention it, you understand, in case it upset them. Was it important?' Then she gasped, awe struck. 'Is that why they were killed?'

Athos immediately wanted to deny it, to say that the chest was immaterial, not the reason an old man and women were violently tortured and murdered. But he could not.

'I cannot say, Jeanette, but I intend to find out.' He rose from the table, the girl rising with him.

She walked him to the door and opened it slowly. As Athos turned to go, she reached up on tiptoe and placed a kiss to his cheek. 'You will take care will you not? But if you find them, then I want you to kill them.' Her expression hardened and there was a brief vision of the woman she would become.

Bowing low as he took his leave, Athos breathed deeply, 'I will,' his only reply. Long after the handsome figure had disappeared, Jeanette stood in the doorway for some time. Then, with a winsome sigh, she took up her basket and left the house. Despite the terror of the last few days, she walked with a renewed vigour, a small smile playing around her petite mouth – how quickly the young could vanquish their foes.