Chapter 23
Athos had indeed been dreaming, which was no surprise after the chaos of the last few hours. He lay on his back drenched in sweat. He was used to nightmares – very few nights passed in dreamless sleep – but tonight's torment had been unusually cruel.
The day promised to be hot, a typical late summer's day. The breeze was still cool, the haze of dawn only just dissipating in the distant valley. All was silent, only the slow creak of tired cartwheels disturbing the gentle twitter of fledgling birds and the early hum of busy bees. Athos sat atop his horse, not too close, not too far, and viewed the approaching spectacle with grim fascination, just as he had before, too many times to count. Nothing changed, it was always the same, the ending was prewritten, no way to stop it, no way to prevent it.
This time was no different – despite the impending horror, he could never tear his gaze away, did not have the right to ignore it. This was his doing, his decision, he had to see it through.
The cart moved into position beneath the old oak and rocked to an awkward halt. Still the rabbits played in the meadow, whilst the soft grass bowed its head to the deathly foxglove. From somewhere the heady smell of coconut from the gradually warming gorse mingled with the wild honeysuckle growing rampant in the hedgerows, yet still no human voice broke the perfect morning.
Then she spoke. Sometimes she yelled his name, sometimes she pleaded, on occasion she cursed him, but the look on her face never varied – venomous, accusing, betrayed... disappointed.
He watched as always, not daring to look away for a second, fixated as the rope was placed around the white skin of her throat. Not this time, not like he had on that fateful day when the whinny of the horse and the creaking tension of the rope signalled it was over, too much of a coward to see what he had set in motion to the end. Curiously, in his dreams, he always saw the horse bolt, the cart lurch and the rope snap taut – but never her; that part even his imagination could either not conjure up or refused to acknowledge.
Tonight it was different. She spoke as always, but this time she was smiling, her eyes were sad, she exuded regret. 'You should have listened, you should have believed I loved you. You will come to curse your lack of faith in the woman you professed to love Athos, for I do love you. But I will not forgive you husband – never.' Then she deliberately turned her head within the confines of the noose and looked at the man holding the head of the horse.
Sensing the imminent danger, the poor animal snorted and pawed at the soft grass whilst his bridle was held firmly in place. Athos followed her gaze to look upon the man he had employed to carry out his judgement, but instead of Bernard the blacksmith, there stood Thomas – his murdered brother.
Thomas looked up at his sibling – the one who should have protected him – his life blood still staining the front of his white linen shirt as it had been that fateful day, that day that had set the beginning of the end in motion.
Then he, too, spoke.
'You should have listened to her, brother. You should have believed.' Then he slapped the horse's rump and the animal bolted. This time Athos heard the snap of the rope as it pulled taut, he heard the last gasp of breath, and he saw her fall – still smiling, still his wife, still disappointed.
The words tore from his throat as he bolted upright. 'Noooo! Stop!' But as always it was too late. Despite the fact he now knew it had all been a lie, the image and the judgement always felt real. As things had turned out, in a way it had been, he had killed his wife, or at least the woman he had taken as his wife. Had he created the cold-blooded Milady de Winter? Or perhaps she always existed, hovering in the shadows behind words of love and devotion.
He would never know.
Yet somewhere deep in his subconscious, a tiny part of him remembered her at her best, how she had made him laugh, made him a warmer man. He could not forget her role in the last year; she had been there for him at some of his worse moments, and yet had created some of them too. Could a woman who lied, cheated and hated so strongly still wish to protect him?
He had no answer, he never did. Just when he thought perhaps the memory was becoming almost bearable, she turned up, just as she had tonight. Perhaps she had cursed him. He certainly felt like a man cursed.
Athos knew the time for sleep had passed. Climbing out of bed, he slowly stretched his body in an attempt to ease his stiffened limbs. He grasped his sword and moved it in a series of graceful manoeuvres like an extension of his own arm. Satisfied, he pulled on his jacket and strapped on his weapons, finally checking and packing what he needed for the journey.
He glanced at the elegant blade hanging above the bed. A family legacy, the only one he allowed himself to keep, that and his brother's much smaller blade. He pulled a bottle of brandy from under the bed – that was going to be essential. If he were lucky, he could find out what he wanted and never reveal himself; there were plenty of places on the estate where their party could sleep, he need never enter the house itself. If he were lucky – yet so far he and luck had never been introduced.
The garrison was still quiet, only the mumbled sounds of activity in the refectory indicated Serge was moving around, preparing breakfast. Athos crossed the empty courtyard, surveying the churned-up aftermath of the previous night's chaos. In the darkened stables the smell of smoke had been replaced by the scent of horses and fresh straw. The animals within snorted gently, sensing his approach.
Athos reached into Roger's stall and the horse trotted eagerly toward him. He hung his large dark head so his master could rub his nose and ears. 'We're going back, old friend.' The horse gave a snort and nuzzled Athos' hand. 'You will enjoy the run at least, you need a chance to stretch your legs, and then we will return home.' As he said the words, he realised the garrison was his home now. Pinot was simply the place he had once lived – another man, another life. He was no longer that man, and he no longer wanted that life.
ooOoo
Beau had ridden hard all day. He had wanted to arrive at the Baron's estate before the storm hit, just managing to hurtle down the driveway at Benoir as the first heavy drops fell.
'What are you doing here? How dare you come to my front door like a visitor.' The Baron blustered.
Beau could tell the noble had been drinking and noted the older man's flushed countenance. 'Do you want my news or not, I don't rightly care. I can finish what I set out to do with or without your help,' Beau sneered.
Broussard attempted to straighten himself up, but being a rather short, rotund man, it proved a somewhat futile act and made little impression on the hardened ruffian. 'You are working for me…' Beau cut him off before he could finish whatever statement he had intended.
'I am taking your money, and for that you get information. What, and how I intend to act upon it, is my business. If it pleases you too, then so be it, but don't think you can tell me what to do. You want him gone, just admit it, and this can be over with quickly.'
Broussard frowned but Beau could see he was considering how to proceed with the conversation. The Baron conceded, indicating his confederate should sit. He walked over to the desk and poured himself another drink, and one for the man he knew as Voisin, his given name long before he had earned his soubriquet.
He handed Beau the cup and sat opposite him. 'Yes, I need him dead, but I need him dead as the Comte de la Fère, not as some look-alike Musketeer. I need proof the current Comte is dead, or I will never inherit.' Beau watched as the man grew redder. He doubted he would be Comte for long if he continued to eat and drink the way he obviously did. Still, that was not his problem, he simply wanted the man's money and the satisfaction of revenge.
There was silence, just the crackling and hissing of the fire in the grate, and Beau examined his surroundings. He was no expert on the finer things of life, or the ways of the nobility, but even he could tell the furniture had seen better days and noted the paler marks upon the walls where pictures had once hung. Even the fire in the grate was meagre and the burning wood spoke more of wood fall than large logs. The Baron was definitely in need of money, which made Beau wonder if he would ever get paid. Perhaps it was time to request a little up front.
'I have news and I think you will like it, perhaps it is even worth a little payment for the work done so far.' He smiled at the sweating noble, though there was little amusement on his scarred features.
The Baron spluttered over his wine. 'Payment? We agreed payment at the end.' He narrowed his eyes and considered the rascal over the rim of his glass.
Beau was in no way intimidated by his scrutiny. 'Yes, but it has taken a great deal longer than we originally planned, and a man has to eat.' He smoothed down the threadbare arm of the chair and smiled as if to bring the Baron's attention to its fragility.
'That was your own fault, all you had to do was befriend the old folk and find out where my pompous cousin was. But no, you had to make a spectacle of it and then alert him that something was wrong. He might be an arrogant bastard, but he was never stupid.'
Beau began to snigger. 'Well perhaps not as bright as you think. Tomorrow he is heading out to look for a group of highway robbers on the roads around Pinot. Now do you think he is heading out to do his regimental duty, or to check his lands?'
Broussard spat. 'Probably the former, if he cared about his lands and title he would still be there, not scrubbing around in the mud playing soldiers. He always was odd, always silent, watching, condescending.' The Baron drifted away for a moment, then stiffened. 'What if he is killed by these bandits, what if he never makes it to Pinot?'
Beau grinned. 'Oh he will, they don't exist, never did. I am not even sure he believed they did either. Still it doesn't matter, he is coming. When he arrives, all we need is for him to be recognised and then I can finish him off.'
The Baron rose and began to pace the room. 'Does the Cardinal know of this?' Beau shrugged.
'As far as I know, he and his pet Red Guards set it up. Giroux even sent men out to look for the non-existent criminals, though from what I've seen of the Cardinal's puppets, I doubt they would have been successful even if a gang of villains had thrown them a welcome party. Still, hearing they had arrived home with their tails between their legs was the perfect carrot for the Musketeers. Couldn't pass on the opportunity to crow they could do the job right.
The Baron appeared to relax just a little. 'How will we stay abreast of what is happening? They will know if you follow them too closely, and you may be recognised in Pinot.'
Again Beau sneered. 'Because I have the perfect mole in their little trio.'
Broussard smiled for the first time. 'Really, who?'
'Your son.' Beau guffawed, but the Baron went pale and fell back into his chair.
'He was only supposed to give us information.'
Beau shrugged. 'Needs must, and I needed him to travel with them. Stop moaning. Now give me some of my money and a bed, I'm tired.'
ooOoo
As the regiment formed for morning muster, the storm from the night before was a distant memory. It had blown itself out sometime before dawn and now the sky was a pale blue. Only the strong wind still remained, causing small white clouds to scuttle along at a rapid pace. Athos pushed his hat down upon his head to keep it in position as he lined up beside Aramis and Porthos.
'Sleep well?' Aramis whispered.
Athos didn't answer and Aramis noted the silent response with a sad smile. It was as he thought, Athos had not slept well.
Treville handed out the day's chores and then indicated that the three of them should join him in his office. Athos frowned and glanced over at the stables, where his and the others' horses were being prepared for departure.
'P'raps 'e's changed 'is mind,' Porthos mused.
Athos said nothing, but his mood was dark as the distant storm.
'I am sure he simply wants to bid us au revoir,' Aramis smiled.
'Yeah, and maybe 'e wants to know why someone took so long to appear last night, especially someone who normally wakes at the creak of a floorboard.' Both men looked at Athos, but the swordsman did not rise to the bait.
'I was tired.' If his silence had been suspicious, the admission to fatigue was like a red rag to a bull.
'Tired? You never say you're tired,' Porthos retorted, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.
'Must have been the fight with Giroux,' Athos muttered.
'You had a fight with Giroux? When?' Aramis gasped.
'Twasn't a fight – Athos was just playin' with 'im. If 'e 'ad wanted to kill 'im, 'e could of. Not that 'e 'ad time, more drunken guards appeared just as it was gettin' interestin'. Not like Giroux to back down so easy.' Porthos' expression reflected his disappointment.
'I think that was probably for the best,' Aramis commented. They were outside Treville's door. 'I expect you to tell me every detail when we are done here.' Athos ignored him and Porthos grinned.
'Are you cross 'e did it or cross you missed it?' the big man laughed.
'Both,' the marksman grinned.
Athos knocked on the door and they entered at the Captain's command. They had not expected company, especially in the form of Du Bois.
'Good morning, gentlemen. I will not labour the point, Troussou as you know was injured last night and has a broken arm.' He flashed a look at Athos but did not pause. 'Du Bois has offered to take his place. I see no reason to deny his request, so he will accompany you on your... mission.' He glanced from one face to another.
Aramis looked merely intrigued, whilst Porthos appeared slightly put out, but it was Athos' face that for once registered the most emotion.
'I am not sure that is wise,' Athos growled. It was a tone that would have made even his friends reconsider their position, but Treville stared him down.
'I do not remember asking for your opinion, Athos. However, I do remember our conversation only yesterday, when I informed you of my orders regarding this matter. Or have you forgotten already?'
Athos held Trevilles' glare with a scowl of his own. 'No, Captain,' was his only response.
'Excellent. Du Bois is ready and there is no need for you to delay. Three days, Athos, then I expect you back.' The two men continued to glare at each other until Aramis interrupted.
'Three days should be sufficient time to garner the information we need, Captain. After you, Du Bois.' The young cadet had watched the entire encounter wide-eyed, awaiting the moment when the three men refused to allow him to accompany them. He moved with a mixture of relief and reluctance as he watched the stand-off between Athos and the Captain. It was only when he heard the door shut behind them that he dared to look round and noted that Athos was with them, Aramis bringing up the rear. What he had not heard was Treville's parting shot to the marksman.
'Do not let him kill anyone he shouldn't, and do not let him get killed.' With that he had dismissed a rattled Aramis with a huff of frustration.
'What did he say?' Porthos questioned.
'You do not want to know. If I tell you, then you will have to share the responsibility,' Aramis scowled.
'In that case you are right, I don't,' Porthos muttered.
Athos had obviously heard the Captain's less than subtle parting remark. 'I am neither yours, nor anyone else's responsibility.'
'Oh, I agree, but tell that to the Captain, and then make sure you remind me, when you decide to do something stupid, and we have to come and save your arse,' Aramis retorted with a raised brow. Porthos snorted and even Du Bois hid a smile behind his hand.
As they left the city behind and cantered over the hills that separated Paris from the outlying countryside, Aramis sighed. It may be cold, but it was a beautiful day. The trees lined the edge of the approaching woodland with a fringe of gold rich enough for any court. The sky above was as blue as it could be for early autumn and the horses enjoyed the opportunity to stretch their legs, their trauma from the night before already forgotten.
'Where exactly are we going?' It was the first time Du Bois had spoken, and all three Musketeers regarded him with surprise, as though they had forgotten he was present.
ooOoo
Treville arrived at the palace later that morning as he was apt to do several times a week. Since the King had decided upon his ridiculous plans for a delegation, with the intention to create a new council, the Queen had luckily stepped in and urged her husband to reconsider his time scale. She had encouraged him to get to know the young men who had turned up at the palace in their droves, and listen to what they had to say.
At first Louis had seen the advantage of such caution, but lately the tedium of the scheme was beginning to tell. As the Musketeer Captain entered the room, Louis was sitting next to one such animated young man; obviously purporting some ideal or proposal destined to move France into the next stage of its greatness. However, the King looked more like he was listening to a diatribe about the lifecycle of a mollusc – so much so, that the arrival of the Musketeers bought a look of sheer joy to his bored countenance.
'Treville, how splendid it is to see you. What news from the regiment?' The Captain bowed low and approached Louis' chair.
'Athos, Porthos and Aramis have set off this morning to look into the problem of highway robbery on the road from La Havre, Your Majesty.'
Louis clapped his hands together and grinned broadly. 'Excellent, excellent, I am sure Athos will bring the culprits to justice and make our roads safe once more,' he gushed.
Richelieu cleared his throat. 'Do you think three men will be enough to deal with a rabble of villains?' Treville turned his attention to the First Minister and narrowed his eyes.
'They are the most accomplished men in my regiment, and I have every faith in them. However, they are not alone, they have taken Cadet Du Bois with them for experience.' For a moment the Cardinal appeared confused.
'Baron de Benoir's son? Is he not a little green?'
'He is a Musketeer cadet,' Treville remarked. 'He will have to earn his pauldron someday, and he could not be in better company. They will return him unharmed.'
Rochefort strolled out of the crowd and moved into the arena of the conversation. A ripple of silence seemed to spread out from his manoeuvre as though the crowd sensed a shift in the dynamic.
'This man, Athos, is he the same man who threw himself out of the window with a cake?' The air of incredulity, laced with no small dose of sarcasm, induced a few brave titters from the courtiers.
'Along with a bomb meant to kill our King and Queen,' Treville pointed out, in a tone of voice dripping with ice.
'Indeed. Is this also the same man who was accused of killing a member of the Red Guard and subsequently flogged? I must say I find this his rise to Musketeer rather confusing. Is he a criminal or a hero?' Once again, he played up to the audience in the room and there was a general consent of interest.
Treville clenched and unclenched his fist. He was a soldier, not a man who naturally sought out violence, but right now he wanted nothing more than to hit Rochefort in his smug face and knock his teeth right down his sarcastic throat.
The Cardinal smiled his feline smile and stood back from the debate to see what followed.
Louis looked rather taken aback, as though the question was perplexing.
'Athos is one of the most honourable men I know,' Treville growled. He could have said much more, but he was beginning to question where this conversation was headed, and just how much the King might reveal in order to appease the Comte's curiosity. Though the monarch had promised his silence, he was the King and he was Louis, and he answered to no one, least of all a Musketeer, and his reputation was paramount.
As the silence stretched out, finally the King intervened. 'I am convinced of Athos' loyalty to France and to its King. You need not concern yourself, Rochefort.'
'I am glad to hear it, Sire. I simply worry when I hear of such missions taken in your name, led by a man of such diverse behaviour. For despite having only recently arrived in France, one of the first scandals to reach my ears was of a Musketeer accused of murder, and then to discover that it was no other than Athos – again. Whereas I can only be accused of wanting the best for my King and for France, Sire. It is perplexing for me to appreciate how a man with such an unknown past can have such control in your regiment. You must forgive my anxiety.'
'Rochefort does have a point, Your Majesty,' said Richelieu. We have never truly discovered where Athos came from. The Musketeer regiment is mostly composed of sons of nobility, and to encourage criminals within its ranks must not be a decision taken lightly.'
Treville watched Louis' face as the monarch struggled with the information he was trusted to keep hidden. The King locked eyes with the Captain and seemed to read his anxiety. Unfortunately, Rochefort was not about to let the matter drop.
'I have made some enquiries since my arrival, on behalf of your safety of course. It would seem the Musketeer Athos has yet to be officially acquitted of the elderly couple's murder, yet he walks free, and, despite his recent commission, leads this search. Who knows, he may even be in league with these villains.'
Treville groaned, he had heard quite enough. 'I have no idea why you have latched on to Athos, my Lord. He is a good, hard-working soldier, and more importantly, one I would trust with my life. He has saved the life of the King twice now, and I declare you have no grounds to question his loyalty.'
Rochefort merely smiled and attempted an air of contrition.
It was the First Minister who continued the attack upon Athos.
'It is as I feared, Your Majesty – people will talk of your decision to elevate him to your chosen regiment. For after all, what do we truly know of this man?'
It appeared Louis had heard enough, too. He was a fickle King but not an ungrateful man. 'I know all I need to know about Athos thank you, Cardinal.'
'Then I am glad, Sire, for I know little, and I worry sometimes that your generosity may have been taken advantage of.'
'I do not hand out Musketeer commissions because I am feeling generous, Cardinal. I hand them out because they have been deserved, and saving your King's life is worthy of a commission, do you not agree?'
'Indeed, Sire, it is. Certainly, we have much to be grateful for that you were brought home safe to us. It is just I know nothing about Monsieur Athos.'
'It is not for you to know, Cardinal. The Musketeer regiment is mine, the men are mine. You may find out every detail of your own guard, if you so wish, but the background of my men is for me alone.'
Treville listened to the heated discussion and inwardly smiled. How he wished Louis would always show such backbone against the Cardinal. Not only was he aware of Athos' background, but he was not about to betray him to satisfy his First Minister.
'Now let us consider a deadline for the choosing of my new council.' The matter was officially closed, but unless Treville was mistaken, there was a look of mutual satisfaction that passed from Rochefort to the Cardinal, a look that made Treville distinctly uneasy.
The Queen had managed to delay the King's plans until after the festive period. That would give them a few months to try and change his mind – if there was one thing they could rely on with their Monarch it was his erratic behaviour. Treville, for once, was happy to leave the problem of trying to change the King's mind to Richelieu, as long as it did not involve killing anyone. He could not concentrate on matters in hand, something was bothering him, and he could not put his finger on the distant echo of warning. Eventually the King began to tire and indicated he wished to rest. Treville bowed as the entourage left and took his leave.
He strode down the corridor, his men keeping pace behind him. As he turned the corner, he halted to allow a group of older men to pass. 'Of course, I am not surprised there are villains running loose on the roads around there – the Comte has not been seen or heard of for several years. Probably dead or daft, but he is certainly showing no sign of authority in dealing with these robberies.' The man's voice died away as they entered a room and closed the door behind them. Treville stood rooted to the spot. He groaned out loud and took off at great speed. His men exchanged concerned glances but said nothing. Together they raced through the streets of Paris garnering looks of surprise and concern as they hurtled through markets, scattering unsuspecting merchants selling their wares.
Treville had hardly drawn to a halt before sliding from his horse, tossing the reins to the ostler. He ran for his office, taking the stairs two at a time. Once inside, he began to mutter under his breath, pulling rolls of parchment from his shelves in his haste. He gave a grunt as he finally found the document he needed and spread it out across the desk. His fingers traced the roads and place names until he found what he sought, and like Milady, only hours before, he found what he had hoped he would not.
'Damn you, Athos. Of course you would not renege on your responsibility. Why did I not see it before? But that is not all you are up to is it? Bloody idiot.' He threw open his door and bellowed: 'Gerrard! Here, now!'
He waited for the older man to arrive and indicated for him to sit. 'I need you to take over for me for a day or two; something has happened, and I need to leave Paris. There are no outstanding missions to oversee and hopefully the King will not require me for a day or two. It is my intention to be back by the day after tomorrow. If neither I, nor Athos and his party have arrived by the day after, I want you to open this envelope and take appropriate action, but not before. Do you understand?' Gerrard looked slightly taken aback, but he had filled Treville's shoes before and was not concerned by the request, though he was somewhat unsettled by the terms. Luckily, he was a good man, and if the Captain said that was how it was to be, then that was all he needed to know, and he nodded his agreement.
Treville packed what he needed and left Gerrard at the foot of the stairs. Remounting his horse he exited the garrison and headed back through the streets he had just traversed.
'I do not know what your intentions are, Athos, but I think there is more to it than you know. Why did we ever believe your past would remain just that? Why do you have to ruffle so many dammed feathers?' He continued to mutter to himself, cursing Athos and in turn Aramis and Porthos, until he had left the outskirts of the city behind. He would have preferred to have taken a couple of men with him, but Athos had taken that choice out of his hands when he had pledged him to secrecy. Now all he could do was hope to catch him and his equally idiot friends before it was too late.
He urged his horse into a gallop and prayed, completely unaware of the others, who like him were hot on the errant Musketeers' trail.