Chapter 20
The palace was busy once more; it appeared the sense of time suspended, and whispering factions at every turn of a corridor had ceased. Now people scurried this way and that once more, eyes darting right and left, as if assessing each passer-by for evidence of friend or foe. When the doors opened into the King's receiving room, it was full of men, both young and old, but it could not, however, be interpreted as a sign of joining forces, for the atmosphere was certainly not harmonious.
Louis was arguing with Richelieu, whilst Rochefort was animatedly holding court with a group of younger men, and everywhere there was shouting, arm-waving and, in Louis' case, stamping of feet.
'What on earth, is happening now?' Treville muttered to his men. They all four stood in a line, trying to make out just what topic had the men so infuriated.
'...outrageous, roads simply not safe to travel.'
'Hired escorts. Hmph, trade is expensive enough as it is...'
'He cannot be serious – watchtowers? …who is going to pay for it, that is what I want to know.'
The snippets of conversation were bizarre, but there did appear to be a consistent thread.
The four Musketeers frowned at each other in confusion, just at the point that Louis spotted his Captain in the crowd.
The King's voice rose over the cacophony, silence filtering across the room in a wave, all voices rapidly falling quiet.
'Captain Treville, just the man we need.' It was always at this point when Treville questioned how much he really loved his job. He was a soldier, not a diplomat, and the King's statement always bode ill.
'Your Majesty, how can I be of assistance?' He spoke the words with a smile, though inside he wanted to turn and flee back to the safety of the garrison. Men armed with muskets and swords he could deal with, men armed with words and politics scared him to death.
'It would appear our roads are becoming extremely dangerous. Twice this week merchants and dignitaries have been attacked and robbed on route to Paris, and now, this morning, a baron arriving from his estates was knocked from his horse and robbed by yet another vicious gang. I will not have it, Treville, I will not.' Again the stamping of feet, his dark curls bouncing like a spoilt girl.
'Indeed sire, this is most disturbing news. I am shocked to be hearing this for the first time, as I would have sent men to investigate had I known.' The irritation showed in the Captain's voice. Normally he would be kept abreast of such matters, but he had heard nothing of such activities.
'Yes, yes, I know, Captain, but it appears I was not to be informed either.' At this he glared at both Richelieu and Rochefort. 'However, Captain Giroux sent some of his men, but they found absolutely nothing. So we have been considering what choices we have to make the routes safer.' Under different circumstances, Treville would have smiled at the suggestion that Louis would hold any such discussion. The King usually had his own ideas or was happy to leave things to his First Minister, but apparently not this time. 'I was happy to send out my Musketeers to deal with the problem,' continued Louis, 'but of course the Cardinal believes his Red Guard would have found the evidence had there been any to be found. I – on the other hand – do not agree.'
He gave the Musketeers one of his wide smiles and presuming he wished this to be considered some form of flattery, the men gave the slightest nod of their heads in acknowledgment, though not completely comfortable such an action was required. It was always a very fine line interpreting Louis' intentions; they could so easily lead to cross communication, and in so doing, anger the young monarch beyond reason.
'My old council and my young advisors cannot agree on anything. Some say we should create a new escort service to ensure the safety of merchants from port to the city, whilst others say this would be nothing short of an army of mercenaries – swords for hire.' He paused to see how Treville would react.
With very little time to formulate a response, Treville did his best to remain as non-committal as possible whilst still make his feelings known, without annoying the king. 'I, too, believe this would be difficult to control. Without strict rules and trustworthy men in charge, it would leave the merchants open to additional expense that could vary from man to man, with no standard leverage. Even then, they could never to be sure the escorts would prove to be honest.'
Louis frowned, but then nodded sagely. 'I believe you are correct, Captain. I, too, dislike the idea of another armed force in France – one that I do not control.' The young monarch raised his dark brows. 'The next suggestion was to create a series of toll roads. Those passing through would pay a fee – depending on their reason for travel – and along these sections of the route would be a series of watchtowers to oversee their safety. Each of these sectors would be sold by the crown to raise revenue and those holding their licences would provide the men to carry out the service.'
Treville frowned. He thought this idea may be even worse than the last one, but he failed to read the King's opinion and struggled to formulate his reply. He realised he had been silent too long and the King was beginning to fidget, his smile just a little too fixed. Suddenly movement at his side heralded a grateful reprieve.
'If I may speak, Your Highness?' Athos asked, his voice low and self-assured.
'Why, Athos, it is good to see you again, your absence has been noted for too long. Please, what is your opinion?' Louis asked smiling.
'I, too, am greatly disturbed to hear travellers have been accosted in this way on route to the city. However, I believe the people need to see that the solution is coming from their King, that you have the power to keep them safe. By selling off this right to the highest bidder, you lose control of sections of your own highways, and in so doing the possible glory of being seen to solve the problem yourself.'
Treville listened to his man and not for the first time marvelled at the way Athos addressed the King; no trace of humility, yet Louis never appeared to notice. He suspected Athos was so successful because despite the Musketeer's often surly arrogance, he knew exactly how to mask what he needed to say in words the King wanted to hear – a rare and great talent in Louis' court.
Louis' face told its own story. The King clapped his hands together with glee and grinned broadly. 'As always, you have the right of it, Athos.' Richelieu rolled his eyes and looked heavenward for patience, and probably for religious anger to strike down the interfering Musketeer.
'It is for me to solve, you are correct. What do you suggest?' Louis urged. Treville stiffened, but Athos had obviously expected this question, for he wasted no time offering a proposal.
'Do we know whereabouts these attacks have occurred? Is there anything in common with the areas affected?'
'Cardinal?' Louis turned to his First Minister to provide Athos with the details he had requested. By the look on the Cardinal's face, he did not delight in having to give information to a mere Musketeer, and the fact it was Athos only exacerbated his irritation. Why he took such interest, and such equal dislike to the man, Treville was never quite sure, but Richelieu's reaction to Athos always made him uneasy.
'Monsieur Athos, in answer to your question, the attacks have all occurred around the main route from La Havre, and all of the caravans were making their way either to Paris, or to their homes after docking at the port. The first incident happened outside Gournay, near Rouen; the second in Eureaux and the last one near Anet – not far from Benoir.' Richelieu could not help dropping in the name of the Baron's estate to see if Athos would react, but the Musketeer was far too used to maintaining his own subterfuge to show any sign of recollection.
In reality, Athos was glad to discover none of the attacks were on his land – that would indeed have been awkward. But they were not too far away either; in fact they were just close enough, and it would seem the excuse he had been waiting for had just landed rather neatly in his lap.
'Might I suggest, Your Majesty, a small group of Musketeers reconnoitre the area and see what we might discover. Being the King's own regiment, it is possible we may have more success with the villagers.' Even for Athos, this sounded a little too flowery, and both Porthos and Aramis shared a glance behind the swordsman's back – just what was he up to now?
'You see? A simple suggestion,' the King appraised his audience. Aramis could not help noticing the sour expression on Richelieu's face, along with the sly if not slightly sour smile upon Rochefort's, as both men glared at the Musketeer.
'Thank you, Athos. Please undertake the task yourself, along with Aramis and Porthos. I look forward to your return.' With that, the King considered the subject closed and sat back in his chair to sup his wine. The surrounding factions, now released to their own devices once more, resumed their muttered conversations, though Treville guessed they now had a whole new source of gossip to chew over.
They had hardly made it through the door before Porthos spoke.
'Did you just volunteer us to hunt down a bunch of brigands?' He glared at Athos who in turn said nothing.
'I think he did. After all, we are the King's own regiment,' Aramis smirked.
'It's bloody cold in La Havre at this time of year,' Porthos grumbled.
'But if we catch them, we will be showering our King in glory,' Aramis replied, continuing to poke fun at Athos' words.
Treville said nothing. He knew the Musketeer had stepped in to save him from saying something he would regret, but despite that, he could not shake off the impression his Musketeer had had his own agenda.
'Well, perhaps since you have the ear of the King, you could ask him to give us a raise?' Porthos muttered.
'Or increase our wine allocation,' Aramis added.
As he mounted his horse Athos looked across at the two men. 'I thought it a much simpler solution than those being offered,' was his only response.
'Well next time make it even simpler and suggest you go on your own,' Porthos hmphed.
'We will not need to leave until tomorrow,' Athos responded, showing his usual lack of emotion, with only the small quirk of his lips suggesting he was extending a peace offering to his friend.
Porthos' scowl instantly disappeared, and he beamed at Athos. 'Excellent, so I can still make my game tonight.' He reached across and slapped Athos on the back, almost sending him to the ground. The big man received nothing but one of his friend's scathing looks for his actions, whilst Aramis, and even Treville, simply laughed.
When they had dismounted inside the garrison, Treville called to Athos. 'A moment, Athos, please.' He headed to the staircase, indicating that the man should accompany him. Aramis and Porthos glanced at one other, but Athos said nothing and simply followed.
When the door was closed behind them Treville turned on his swordsman and growled. 'Just what in God's name was that all about?'
Athos had been prepared for this reaction from the moment he had chosen to speak up in front of the King. He could lie, or he could be honest and explain his reasoning. He decided on a mixture of the two.
'The King put you on the spot, and he appeared to be in no mood for further argument.' Athos tried this approach first, to see if it would be enough to appease his Captain.
Treville ran his hand through his hair and sighed. 'And I appreciate that, Athos, I do. I am a soldier, I don't have the way with words you do. However, it is not your place to decide where my men are sent.' He leant on his desk and stared the young Musketeer down.
Athos had the grace to lower his head. He had the greatest respect for Treville, even affection, though he would never admit it, and right now he was not enjoying having to manipulate his mentor and friend. He looked up at the Captain and held his questioning gaze.
'I may have turned my back upon my obligations, but that does not mean I want those who live on my land to live in fear. Nor do I want others asking questions near Pinot, and Benoir is almost next door.'
Of all the excuses, Treville had not been expecting this one. Athos had foreseen his surprise and hoped it would prove sufficient to quell the Captain's curiosity. By the relaxing of the man's shoulders, it appeared Athos had guessed right.
'Of course. It is easy to forget who you really are Athos – apart from when I have to listen to you address the King. You should take care though, one day someone is going to question who the arrogant young Musketeer is – the one who speaks to the King like an equal.'
Athos shrugged his shoulders. 'Most of the regiment are younger sons of the nobility.'
'Yes, but they do not dare to address the King unless it is first requested of them,' Treville pointed out.
The office was silent, and Athos' mind went back to a party at the palace, so long ago he almost questioned whether it had been a dream. If it had not been for the fact Treville had once recalled a shared remembrance of the event, Athos would have dismissed it as yet another delusion.
It had been a warm day for September, a little over a year since the old King, Louis' father had been assassinated. The child King had been celebrating his tenth birthday and most of the nobility were present, especially those with children. Athos, being the same age as the King, had attended with his father.
Athos was looking for somewhere quiet to sit and read his new book. His own birthday had been fairly recent, though he had not enjoyed a lavish party – in fact there had been no party at all. His father had said he was too old for such frippery and merely presented him with the book he now held close to his chest. Athos had slipped the book inside his jacket, where his father would not see it, for though the book on military strategy had been his gift, it was not something you bought to read at the King's birthday party. Now all he needed was a quiet spot, somewhere the Comte would not find him.
It was, in fact, only the beginning of September, and the King's birthday was not for another three weeks. Rumour had it that Louis had demanded the party early, so they could hold it outside in the sunshine; others suggested the spoilt child simply could not – or would not – wait. Of course, his mother had acquiesced, and so the party was being held upon the first of the month, a hot, late summer day.
As Athos worked his way slowly through the maze, the bees' constant droning lulled him into a mesmerized state of blissful ignorance, only aroused from his tranquillity by the sun beating steadily down upon his dark head. How he longed to take off his jacket and simply sit in his shirt sleeves like the workers on his estate. He often watched the men and women laughing and relaxing with their food and ale while they paused in their work. There were times when he would have given up all the privileges his father's title afforded him for the freedom those workers had.
The tall hedges around the maze provided some shadow from the sun's glare, and the boy had realised if he kept to the sides he could stay much cooler. However, as the sun had risen to its zenith, the day had grown hotter, the towering green walls no longer offering any respite from its wrath. One of the nobles had told the solemn Athos there was a fountain in the centre of the maze, and he longed to dip his fingers into the cool water and, if he was truly alone, maybe even his toes.
Athos feared he had been far longer finding his goal than he had anticipated, and was beginning to dread his father's inevitable wrath, when he eventually emerged from the maze. So far, he had encountered no one else, apart from the occasional couples giggling in secluded alcoves, unaware of the silent child passing by.
Then, just as he reached yet another tight corner, Athos came to a sudden stop. It was very faint, but he could definitely hear the sound of a child crying. He trod with care, realising he must be near the centre of the maze, for beside the child's sounds of misery, he could also make out the tinkling of falling water. As he hesitated, unsure what to do, the boy was gently reminded there were others present as the chatter from distant courtiers mixed with a backdrop of gentle music. These sounds were now occasionally interspersed with the noise of clashing metal – soldiers displaying an array of combat skills to amuse the guests. Despite this, Athos felt truly alone, the party something happening in another place entirely, and even the bees seemed to have deserted him and gone about their business somewhere else, the dense yew hedges creating an island of refuge away from the expectations of privilege.
All Athos could hear was the sound of a child's tears, echoed by the sympathetic, falling water.
With a deep breath Athos turned the corner. The beautiful stone fountain shot high up into the air, and had he been but a little taller, he might have used the tumbling diamonds to help guide his way. However, his attention was not on the cool lure of the clear pool, but on the, small, elaborately dressed child, sitting curled upon a bench amidst the yew hedge, obviously in a state of deep distress.
'What is wrong?' he asked, his manner direct as only a child could be.
The boy looked up from under a fringe of dark hair. 'Who are you?' he demanded, no sign of surprise, though he attempted to hide his tears, passing an over-frilled sleeve across his mottled face.
Athos gave a small but stately bow. 'I am Olivier.' Athos moved a little closer. The large, dark eyes of the crying child watched him approach but made no indication he should halt.
The small child lifted his chin in the air. 'I am King Louis, but you may call me Louis.'
'I am honoured,' Athos replied, taking a seat at the child's side whilst they both continued to stare at the fountain. The bright blue of the sky made the water look magical, brilliant droplets producing concentric ripples that shattered the surface of the pool, creating a mosaic of blues and greens.
Athos pulled at the collar of his jacket for the hundredth time that day. 'It is very hot, is it not?' Louis murmured.
Athos smiled a timid smile, as if about to impart a secret. 'I was looking for the fountain to cool down.' He checked over his shoulder and all around, to ensure they were unobserved before revealing his guilty wish. 'I thought I might paddle in it if I were alone.' He gave the young King a twitch of his lips, an expression that would come to be synonymous with the man Athos would eventually become.
The young King's eyes grew wide. 'Really? Could we?' All trace of his tears were now gone, and he let out a small giggle.
Both boys laughed and began pulling off their boots and stockings. They were soon splashing around in the cool water attempting to dodge the fountain raining down from above. Off came their jackets, and soon their shirts and hair were wet through. But oh, what fun they were having. Eventually both boys began to shiver and climbed out of the magnificent pool, to lie panting upon the grass.
'That was the most wonderful thing I have ever done,' Louis whispered in awe.
'Me too,' Athos replied. 'Apart from riding my first pony, that was awfully good too.' Louis laughed.
They lay with their eyes closed, eager now for the warmth of the sun to dry their wet clothes.
'Why were you sad?' Athos eventually asked.
Louis did not answer straight away, but then said: 'I wanted my father, but he isn't here. He will never come to my party ever again.' Athos heard the catch in the boy's voice.
'I am sorry,' was all he could think of to say.
'I know, everyone is sorry, but it will never bring him back. My mother says I am to be brave, that kings do not cry. But surely kings get sad too, do you not think?'
Athos gave the question the consideration it deserved before he replied. 'I think they must do. They have to tell people to do all sorts of things, like go to war. That must make them sad.'
Louis sat up and looked at the boy beside him. 'Do you cry?' he asked in earnest.
Athos nodded. 'Yes, sometimes.'
'Why, your father is not dead?' the young King asked puzzled.
Athos looked at the falling water and considered his own father. Would he cry if his father was gone? The man hardly spoke to him, not really, so Athos doubted he would miss him. He looked at the King's intense expression and searched for a suitable reply.
'No, I have both my parents, but I am not sure they love me.' He was as surprised by his words as Louis. He had never spoken his thoughts out loud, but now that he had, he felt somehow lighter. He expected the King to argue, but he did not. Instead little Louis nodded his head sagely.
'My father loved me very much I think, but I am not sure about my mother. She worries about what people think of me, whether I have said the right thing, whether I have been nice to the right people. But she never worries about me. She would never have allowed me to play in a fountain.' His little face was so sincere.
'No, neither would mine,' Athos admitted sadly. Both boys stayed motionless for some time, laying on the grass in silence, just listening to the falling water and the hum of distant music. The sun was beginning its graceful descent into afternoon when they finally began to move, and now dry and having enjoyed a little sleep in the sun, both boys began to pull on their clothes.
Louis took one last look at the fountain before he said, 'I will probably never do that again.' Both boys looked at each other with an understanding only they would ever share. The King held out his hand. 'Come on, I will show you the quickest way out.' Now laughing, both boys ran through the maze, and before Athos knew it they were hurtling into view of the other guests.
'There you are!' Athos halted. He recognised that voice, and he had known his father would be angry. But he had not factored in Louis. A superior rather high-pitched voice spoke at his side.
'You must be Olivier's father?' Athos' father bowed low at the small King's statement.
'Indeed, Sire, I am.' He looked from Athos to the King somewhat bewildered.
'Then I must thank you for loaning me your son, he has proven most entertaining.' With that he leaned close to Athos and whispered in his ear.
'Thank you, I will never forget this afternoon.' With that the young monarch lifted his head and walked off amongst his subjects, all traces of the boy who played in the fountain long gone.
As Athos stared at the wall in Treville's office, eyes unfocussed, he wondered if the King still remembered playing with that little boy in the fountain, or whether he had long since replaced it with other more important memories.