Chapter 17
Treville was sitting at his desk, watching the early morning sun rise above the rooves of the garrison. Unable to sleep further, with too many unanswered questions crowding his mind, he had set about his day early. Despite the hour, he had already sorted through the pile of paperwork upon his desk: leave requests, letters of recommendation to join the regiment and various other tedious administrative matters; yet still he could not settle.
The palace was ever a den of intrigue and plotting, but occasionally events spiralled out of control and threatened to spill over into the everyday lives of the people, and Treville feared the King's current plans would serve no good for the inhabitants of France. From his position as Captain of the Musketeers, he was well placed to observe how the whims and vagaries of the Sovereign and the nobility impacted more upon the lives of the less fortunate. Compared to any other class of the populace, it was far too often the poor and disaffected that suffered from their King's whims. A group that already considered themselves downtrodden and forgotten, the Musketeer Captain wondered what final atrocity or selfish action would provide the final catalyst for them; causing them to decide enough was enough. Not to mention what action they would take as the result of such dawning realisation.
Then there was Rochefort; the man was a self-serving parasite. He may be happy to play Richelieu's pawn for now, but the Captain suspected the man would have his own agenda, as ultimately the Comte's allegiance was only ever to himself.
However, despite the concerns of state, there was Athos. Where his recalcitrant Musketeer was, he had no idea – he was not even sure if he were alive or dead – and for reasons he did not dare analyse, he found this subject far more distressing. The very thought made his heart squeeze. Far too many times Athos had lain in a state of near death, and every time Treville reacted as if it were a personal loss.
His restless need to occupy himself was designed to steer his mind away from such a proposition, not wishing to acknowledge the loss that news of the Musketeer's demise would provoke. The Captain cared for all the men under his command, and he would never fully understand why this young man in particular managed to provoke such strong reactions. There were times when he would happily have locked Athos in the cells for insubordination or wanted to shake him for his infuriating self-effacement. But despite Athos' faults, Treville could not deny he had felt as proud as any father when he had watched the King bestow Athos' commission upon him and had placed the pauldron upon his shoulder.
Treville was still pacing the room considering this enigma when there was a timid knock upon the door.
Despite having accomplished much already, it was still early. He had failed to notice the pink hue of the dawn gradually overtaken by the mist of an autumn morning, and he had not yet even officiated over morning muster.
'Come,' he urged, expecting one of his men. The site of a young friar stopped him in his tracks.
'Brother, what brings you here at this hour?' he asked, though the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach fuelled an intuition he would rather not confirm.
'Captain Treville?' the somewhat breathless young man enquired.
Treville only nodded, breath hitching, preparing for bad news.
'I have been sent with a letter from Monsieur Athos. He was most insistent that I give it to you, and no other.' If the young Franciscan was surprised by the jubilant reaction from the Musketeer Captain, he did not alter his demeanour, but merely handed over the note.
'Athos is alive, that is good news indeed, for we had begun to fear the worst.' Treville's face spoke clearly of his relief, and as he tore open the sealed note, the brother stood silently, anticipating the Captain would wish to send a reply.
Treville read the missive with poorly concealed satisfaction. So Athos needed help – that was certainly a first. When the reality of the request dawned on the relieved Captain he turned to the young friar with a concerned frown upon his brow.
'How badly is he hurt?' The barked question had the young man wide-eyed and terrified, though in his favour he held his ground. Treville noted the boy's fear and attempted to temper his next question. 'Forgive me, we have been worried. How bad are Musketeer Athos' injuries?'
'Please excuse me, Captain,' mumbled the nervous youth. 'I have not been privy to Monsieur Athos' person, or indeed the full nature of his injuries. However, I believe he had damage to his ribs, as well as the expected lacerations and bruising resulting from a terrible beating. It would appear God ensured he came through his ordeal remarkably unscathed.' There was something in his voice that told Treville the young novice was rather glad he had not had to deal with Athos personally, and he suspected tales of the Musketeer's suspected crimes had reached the ears of those within the enclave of the monastery.
'Whatever you believe he has done, Brother, I can assure you he is wrongly accused. Athos is one of my best men, and an honourable one. Please assure him we will be with him as soon as we are able.' The young Brother appeared thoughtful, but unconvinced, though he seemed relieved to receive his awaited answer and take his leave.
Treville shook his head, he would have laughed. Talk about a cat among the pigeons! No wonder the Brother looked worried having Athos beneath their roof; they must believe the devil had truly come among them. Sounds of booted feet and comfortable banter penetrated his musings. Beneath his window the men were forming ready for muster – the timing was perfect.
When the barked order was directed at the two Musketeers, there was something in the Captain's summons to Aramis and Porthos that made them swap worried expressions.
''E don't sound angry,' Porthos offered hopefully.
'Not yet,' responded his friend, considering it too early to concede the prospect of chastisement.
Porthos looked thoughtful as he attempted to sift through their actions over the last day and consider what might have attracted Treville's attention, but as they reached the top of the stairway and approached the office, he was none the wiser.
The door was open as they approached the Captain's domain. 'Come in and close the door,' he shouted to them before they had the opportunity to announce their presence. 'Athos has contacted me.' He let the pronouncement hang in the air and watched with a degree of satisfaction as both men looked upon him with surprise.
'Athos, where is he, is he well?' Aramis spoke for both men, bombarding the Captain with their concerns.
'I cannot confirm his true condition. The young Brother who bought me news was unsure of the exact nature of Athos' injuries, but he believed they were not life threatening.'
'Where is 'e?' Porthos growled, subconsciously cracking his knuckles. Now that he knew Athos might be alive and well, he could quite happily kill him.
Treville could not help smiling as he revealed what he knew.' It appears he is being looked after by the monks at the Church of Our Lady, on the outskirts of the city.'
'Monks? Athos is being looked after by monks?' Aramis bore the expression of one struggling to believe the truth of what he had just heard. Then he began to smile, his reaction accompanied by a deep chuckling from the big Musketeer at his side.
'That must 'urt more than 'is injuries,' chuckled Porthos.
Aramis' smile faded a little. 'Are they alright?'
Treville laughed aloud for the first time. 'Who, the Brothers? I imagine they are a little nervous, but then we all know what a model of compliance Athos is when he is ill or injured. I imagine they are probably part terrified, and part affronted by his presence.' Porthos guffawed and Aramis gave a laugh mixed with humour and relief.
'He wants to talk, but I suspect a contingent of Musketeers arriving at the gate might be the last straw for the Brothers. Aramis, go and see what you can find out. Smile nicely and ooze righteousness, let them know that some members of our regiment are Godly men.' Treville looked sceptical as he made his request.
Smiling, Aramis nodded. 'Understood, I will try and temper our friend's denial.'
ooOoo
Aramis had left Porthos to accompany Treville to the palace. The weather appeared somewhat confused – though technically it was still summer, the mornings were beginning to show signs of the encroaching autumn. As in past days, there was a slight chill in the air and a haziness that was not quite mist and not quite heat haze.
Summer was losing her fight, and autumn was waiting with impatience to take its place.
As he rode toward the palace, Aramis noted several carriages and more than one well turned-out rider heading in Louvre's direction. Knowing of the King's recent edict, he was both amused and concerned. If only a few of these upstart young men were like Rochefort, then France was heading for trouble, and the sooner Athos was back amongst the regiment, the better – for he was by far the best strategist they had.
The light at this time of year was always soft, and though the air was chilled, the weakened sun shone on the spires of the church as he made his approach. Aramis was always awed by the magnificence of such houses of God, and as the towering stonework caught the dying summer rays it appeared it was stretching out its carved fingers to heaven itself.
The Musketeer was pleased to note that the outer door was open – no shutting itself away from the populace here. Ordinary men and women came and went, some supported by others having sought relief for their ailments from the infirmarian, others pulling carts delivering or receiving goods in the course of their working day.
Aramis rode inside the busy monastery courtyard and as he dismounted, he caught the eye of a passing Brother and bowed his head in acknowledgment.
'Good morning, Brother, I am Aramis of the King's Musketeers. Is it not indeed a beautiful day?' he offered, grinning widely.
'It as you say, and we thank the Lord for such gifts. How may I help you?' The round Brother had a ready smile, and he appeared to find no cause for concern at the soldier's presence.
'We have received word that you are housing one of our injured men, Monsieur Athos. He has requested our help, and so I am here to answer his call.' Aramis threw his hands wide, adopting an expression of one who had answered the call of a needy friend and was doing his duty.
'Ah yes, the injured soldier. Please come this way, Monsieur Aramis, I am sure he will be glad to see a friendly face.' Aramis turned to look at the amiable monk, not sure if there had been more to the statement than he had intended.
As they walked beneath an elaborate stone archway, another smaller courtyard opened up before them, but his one was quite different. This had been where Athos had deliberated the necessity for God with Father Joseph when he had delivered the missive from the Cardinal. The surroundings were lush and the tinkle of running water sounded from somewhere close by. Aramis smiled – sitting in the sunshine with his eyes closed and his face held up to what little warmth the orb offered, was Athos.
Even in such a relaxed pose, he appeared cross, his brow was furrowed and the twiddling of his fingers in his lap demonstrated he was not asleep. Aramis increased his pace as the extent of Athos' injuries became more apparent. His one eye was a myriad of purples and blues, though the yellow tinge indicated it was beginning to fade. There was an angry laceration above the same eye and the rest of his face bore a series of smaller bruises and cuts.
Athos must have been aware of the shadow cast above him as Aramis came to a halt beside him, but he made no immediate acknowledgment of his presence.
'You took your time,' was his only comment.
'How do you know it is me?' Aramis smirked.
'You are the only man I know who smells of lavender,' came the drawled response.
'Humph, well I may yet hold the advantage. I doubt the ladies of the court will be quite so quick to swoon in your presence for a while yet,' Aramis stated with amusement, though if Athos could have seen his expression, he would have noted his friend looked anything but amused.
For a moment Athos remained immobile, then slowly he opened his eyes and quirked a brow. It probably hurt but he did not flinch, the slight twitch of his lips the only sign he was pleased to see his friend.
'I am told an injured soldier can always count on a lady's sympathy,' came the haughty retort.
'I doubt that sympathy would last very long if you behaved as you usually do when you are unwell,' Aramis laughed. The medic edged closer, and Athos could sense his friend's desire to examine him.
'Do not worry, they have looked after me well. I am healing nicely, if rather too slowly.' He adjusted his position and Aramis could not fail but note the look of pain as his injured ribs complained.
Aramis took a seat and resisted the urge to check for himself; he was aware that the monks would have a Brother who was skilled in the art of healing, as was not unusual in a religious house of this size.
'What happened?' he asked.
Athos thought for a moment. 'It would appear the Red Guard think I am a murderer, but that beating me to death would save the people an execution. Interesting do you not think?'
Aramis frowned. 'Giroux hates you anyway, that is a long-standing feud, so perhaps he simply got carried away.'
Athos smirked. 'That is certainly possible, but it is also possible that I would make a convenient scapegoat; either because they cannot be bothered to find the real culprit, or because they already know who he is.' Athos looked at Aramis, his expression grim.
'Why? What reason could they have for covering up for the real killer?' the marksman asked with a frown.
'Because, my friend, I believe someone is looking for me, or should I say, someone is looking for the Comte de la Fère!' There was a haunted look in Athos' eyes, but it disappeared quickly, to be replaced by his usual guarded expression.
Aramis nodded. 'I suppose that would make sense, but if the Red Guard are trying to put the blame on you, does that mean they still have not made the connection, and you were just there at the wrong moment? Or does someone want him – you – dead? Because if we are blaming the Guard, then we must consider Richelieu knows who you are.' Worry snaked through him as he almost whispered his final words.
Athos quirked a brow. 'That, my friend, is a very interesting question, and one I cannot answer sitting in this den of religious zealots.' His smile faded, replaced by a petulant scowl. Aramis laughed at his friend's discomfort, though the nagging fear in his gut remained.
'Well, you cannot ride, and before you try to disagree, you cannot even sit upright in that chair without hissing, so do not argue. I suppose we could bring a wagon and make you lie in the back – I know how much you love that, all those cobbles and ruts. Then, of course, you could stay here in this house of serenity, being coddled and spoilt for a few more days, whilst Porthos and I run ourselves ragged at your service, trying to find out whatever is going on.' Aramis gave the scowling Athos his best grin and waited for the scathing response he knew would follow.
Athos looked disgusted by all of the proffered options, but Aramis had no intention of giving in. He decided to take advantage of the loud silence before Athos began his opposing argument.
'Rochefort is back.' He quirked a brow and was rewarded by a glint in Athos' eye, signalling his interest had been diverted and an angry discussion avoided – if only temporarily.
'Hm, and how was he received? Let me guess – with open arms.' Aramis noted Athos' hand straying to the glass by his side but noting the water within thinking better of it. Aramis made no comment but continued.
'I suspect Richelieu sent for him to ensure he had a mouthpiece within the King's "new council". However, I do not doubt that he will have his own agenda, as we have seen before. The Cardinal might be the devil, but I wonder if it is better to work with the devil you know. How I would love to have a fly on the wall inside the palace to apprise us of his movements.' Aramis smiled as he uttered the remark, but almost before he had finished speaking, he realised the implications of his comment. Athos stiffened and once again instinctively reached for the glass at his side, though this time, despite the slight hesitation, he took the cup and drank deeply.
Aramis tried to think of something to consign the spectre back into the darkness where it belonged, but he suspected that as far as Athos was concerned, she was only ever hovering in the shadows.
Though she had helped them in the past, Aramis was not the only one relieved that Milady now resided well out of reach in England.
It was Athos who broke the awkward pause. 'Is he the first?'
Aramis grabbed the question with fervour. 'No, I think not. On my way here I noted several well-appointed carriages and riders headed for the palace. It would seem no one wants to miss out on such an unexpected opportunity.'
'Two days,' Athos growled. 'If Roger is not waiting here for me by then I will have to shoot someone for his horse.' Aramis would have laughed, but the expression upon his friend's face suggested he was not joking. Still, he smiled.
'Very well, Porthos and I will bring your black brute here in two days' time – without fail. After all, you are already wanted for one murder, without deliberating on another.' He rose as if to leave, but suddenly stopped. 'How did you end up here?'
Athos considered the question, frowning as he relived his rescue. 'I was enjoying a moment with our friends of the Red Guard when a carriage approached. I was not able to note its arrival with any accuracy, but I recognised the voice from within. It was the same man to whom I had delivered the Cardinal's letter previously – to this very place. Apparently, like me, he took umbrage with Giroux's thugs and insisted they place me in the carriage.'
'Interesting. What do you know about this man?' Aramis proffered.
'He knows the Cardinal, that is obvious, but how involved he is I am not sure. I am inclined to believe he is a man who takes care to keep abreast of current events, but whether to his own end, or as part of another's machinations, I cannot say. But if I had to, I would declare him to be his own man – and a very clever one.'
'How long were you out?' Aramis' voice was quiet, his voice filled with concern.
When Athos replied, his pained expression gave voice to his answer, which Athos merely confirmed. 'Long enough.'
Who knew what a man would say when his was in pain and gripped in the embrace of fever and medication? They could only hope the Brothers were reclusive enough to be ignorant of the absent noble – but if Athos' perception of Father Joseph was correct, then they may have a problem.