Chapter 26
The conversation may have been over, but all three participants were still no wiser as to the best way of moving forward. Instead, they carried out the task of tidying away their belongings in silence, moving automatically through the familiar procedure; leaving the cave safe and ready for the next travellers to make use of. Though deep in thought, the three Musketeers were no nearer a resolution to their dilemma.
Treading carefully, the four horses steadily navigated their way along the steep path to the roadway below. Dubois – who sensing the tension between the three men had barely spoken other than to growl good morning – suddenly flinched as Aramis' voice split the heavy atmosphere. 'What a beautiful morning,' the marksman declared, smiling as he inhaled the chilly air dramatically.
'It's cold,' Porthos growled, pulling his cloak closer.
'But just look at that sky, as if it were aflame.'
Both Porthos and Athos were used to the marksman's enthusiastic proclamations concerning God's creation, just as they knew his admiration could wane with equal passion if the reality of the creation in question did not agree with him.
'Bad sign,' Porthos muttered, eyeing his surroundings warily.
'What is?' Aramis asked, somewhat disconcerted as he gazed up at the offending dawn in confusion.
'Red sky in the mornin'.'
'Why?' Aramis persisted.
The big man shrugged. 'No idea.'
Athos snorted with ill-concealed amusement, whereas Aramis could only scowl in amazement.
'You are wary of a beautiful dawn just because of an old wives' tale?' the marksman demanded perplexed.
'Them old wives knew stuff,' Porthos nodded sagely.
'Well let us hope they were wrong,' Dubois commented, causing the other three to mark his reply with all the gravity of their combined experience. Dubois closed his mouth wishing yet again that he had stayed at home.
'Anet is not far away, no more than an hour,' Athos murmured. Aramis and Porthos wondered if the swordsman had been talking to them or muttering to himself, but as he was not one to waste conversation, even on himself, they assumed he had been addressing them. Yet it was Dubois who answered.
'Why are we beginning with Anet? Are not the other two towns both bigger and the first to experience… problems?' Athos remained rigid upon his horse. Porthos and Aramis exchanged a swift expression of concern, but the swordsman offered his usual laconic reply.
'Because it is the first of the three locations we will reach. Why ride all the way to Gourniér when Anet may provide the answers we need?'
Dubois had the grace to look sheepish. 'Of course.' Until a few months ago, Reynard Dubois had thought his life perfect, or certainly comfortable. His father was wealthy and the old man's estate and title would one day be his. Dubois had idled his days away riding, hunting or gambling with his friends, and yes, he would have said it was perfect. So why, oh why, had he let himself be talked into this travesty? Circumstances were beginning to suggest he may actually be expected to fight, and then what? He may even be killed, and for what? All for a cause he was beginning to think had been flawed from the very beginning.
As the dawn hue began to recede, the sky lost its brilliance, bringing a host of low grey clouds to settle above the riders. 'That's all we need now, rain,' Porthos grumbled, glaring at the offending objects as if his anger might possibly scare them away. 'Told yer red sky was trouble.' He sat up straighter on his horse and nodded to his fellow travellers, wearing a smug expression of I told you so.
Aramis was about to point out the lack of substance to his reasoning when Athos interrupted. 'We are coming upon the outskirts of Anet.' The two Musketeers and Dubois now gave the emerging town their full attention. Concentrating on the road ahead they studied the few straggling houses which now sprung from the dwindling trees, marking the beginning of the settlement. As the buildings became more substantial, so did the number of inhabitants abroad.
In the midst of what was essentially a town square, stood a small market selling fresh produce – probably far fresher than that which was regularly presented for sale by the stall holders in Paris. Carts and horses travelled to and fro – at this time of year it was even more important to rise early and make the most of the dwindling daylight. Many trades and craftsmen would be unable to ply their trade when it grew dark, so it was no surprise to find the town as busy as it was, and the Musketeers were glad. As always, they attracted a certain amount of attention. It was not every day Musketeers presented themselves at towns like Anet, and for the inhabitants it usually heralded trouble, so at least if the town was busy, word of their presence may take a little longer to spread.
The streets were not wide, and with the passing of local transport and workers the men could only ride single file. When Porthos dropped back to take the rear, Dubois was infinitely grateful, as at least he did not feel he had to glance over his shoulder every second. But then again, did that mean the usually jovial Musketeer was anticipating trouble? Perhaps his gratitude would be short-lived.
Athos led the column, steering them toward the largest of the town's taverns. Sliding off his horse he spoke to the ostler who hurried to meet them. He gave the impression of being a little older than the Musketeers, but then many of the working populace appeared aged before their time, due to poor nourishment and a life of drudgery. At least in towns and villages outside the city, the food was generally fresher, along with the air itself.
The ostler eyed the three men and smiled, though his expression lacked any true warmth.
'Musketeers, bin a while since we 'ad any of you in the town.' He studied the four men, not seeming to notice Dubois did not bare the uniform of the other three. If he had hoped Athos would divulge any information surrounding their presence, he was destined to be disappointed.
'Look after the horses, we will stay the night – I will come by later to check.' The haughty tone of Athos' voice dispelled any thoughts the man may have had regarding the level of care he'd intended to provide these men's horses; however, the icy stare that accompanied the lightly veiled threat ensured their mounts would be treated liked beloved children.
The automatic smile soon vanished, and his mood became instantly guarded, but he led the horses to the stables with genuine sounds of encouragement. Perhaps he preferred the company of horses to their owners.
As Athos pushed open the tavern door, his heart was beating so hard he had to take care to keep breathing. Though he had visited Anet often with his brother, he still remembered the time Thomas had stolen Roger, or rather one of Roger's forbearers. The boy had thought to punish his older brother but had not been able to control the large animal and had fallen. He had been taken to this very tavern and looked after, until Athos had eventually found him. The boy had been ten to Athos' ancient sixteen.
As the swordsman entered the room it felt as though the last ten years had suddenly melted away. He was striding through the door once more, anxiously looking for his younger brother. The room was busy but not full, very like it had been that day. A young woman came towards them, all rosy cheeks and curls, but Athos never even noticed her.
'Good mornin' gentlemen, what can I get you?' She cast an eye over Athos, but when he showed no sign of answering her attention swiftly passed to Aramis.
The marksman was about to answer, when Porthos intervened. Smiling with all the charm he possessed he addressed the girl with a cheeky wink. 'Breakfast.' She chuckled and motioned for them to follow her.
'Would you like the private parlour or are you happy to sit in the main bar?' she called over her shoulder.
Both men looked to Athos, but he showed no sign of having heard the question. In fact the ghostly pallor of his face was most alarming.
'No, the main room is perfectly fine,' Aramis replied, never taking his eyes from his friend's pale features.
'I suppose I should not be surprised that our first call is to a tavern,' Dubois scoffed, staring at the back of Athos head with disdain.
Neither man spoke, they were far too focussed on their leader's far away expression, though that did not prevent them from stowing the snide remark away to deal with at a more pertinent moment.
Dubois, oblivious to the two Musketeers' preoccupation, surveyed the room with a superior demeanour; gone was his fear of attack and back was his cocky manner.
The fact that none of the inhabitants of the tavern would hold eye contact with the young man only served to inflate his self-importance; it never occurred to him that they might simply not care or may even have noticed his lack of official insignia. He continued to forge a path through the room – the fact that it was a path Athos had forged before him not even entering his mind.
Athos broke his cardinal rule and chose a central table where they were visible to all, and where they in turn could examine those already present, as well as anyone entering after them. There was a solid piece of furniture behind the seat Athos chose, and though it left little room it suited the Musketeer perfectly.
Again Dubois sneered. 'At least he will not fall off his chair.' This time Porthos had heard enough. It was obvious Athos was not himself, but it was time to put the impudent youngster in his place. The temptation to plaster the wall with his noble face was incredibly strong, but so was the big man's awareness of their surroundings and their mission. Drawing attention to themselves was not something Musketeers favoured. Instead he pulled his pistol from his belt and whilst Athos was talking to the inn keeper he stuck it in Dubois' side, not turning to look at the young man as he did so. Only the quirk of a brow from Aramis showed that he was aware of his friend's actions.
Dubois hissed in discomfort as the barrel of Porthos' pistol dug into the flesh just below his rib cage. For one short second he considered protesting, but then remembered who would hold the most power in the town. Without a member of the nobility living in close proximity, the Musketeers would be the highest law within miles. He had no idea what lord held this manor (and if he had, he would have been stupefied) but he doubted anyone would ask too many questions. So he simply stared ahead and waited to see what would happen next, and hopefully this mad, mountain of a man would not shoot him.
Porthos' voice was low, and exceedingly menacing. 'Now I suggest you listen very, very carefully, because right now the only thing savin' your miserable life is this mission. Nod if you understand.' Dubois risked a quick glance at his tormentor, but noting the furious expression on the Musketeer's face, looked away just as quickly. However, he managed a swift nod of his head.
'Good. Now the reason we 'eaded for the tavern first, is twofold. One: this is the place where most information is shared in a town, and what the landlord does not know is probably not worth knowin'. Secondly: after a few tankards of ale, a man will tell you practically anythin', and if 'e is reluctant, 'e is probably hidin' somethin'. Now the reason Athos chose this table, is because we can clearly be seen and we can clearly see everyone else, includin' those enterin' after us. If anyone wants to tell us somethin' 'e knows where to find us, either now or later. Finally, the reason Athos chose that chair is simple. With a large piece of furniture wedged at 'is back, nobody can sneak up behind 'im. Strategy, that's what 'e's brilliant at, and you would do well to learn from 'im. Oh, and one last thing – if I 'ear one more snide comment concerning Athos, I will take you somewhere they will never find you, and I promise you, Treville will believe whatever tale we choose to tell 'im. Now, do I make myself very, very clear, because you and I will not be 'avin' this conversation again?'
Aramis made a slightly strangled sound, indicating that he had heard the entire dialogue – despite the fact he had not once taken his eyes from Athos – and was trying very hard not to laugh.
Dubois attempted to hold on to his final strand of dignity, but the increasing level of pink tingeing his cheeks told a different story. However, he gave a jerky nod of his head, exhaling deeply, as Porthos retracted his weapon. With that out of the way, both Musketeers now turned their complete attention to Athos, with no clue as to how to proceed.
Aramis decided to fall back on procedure for now; perhaps distraction may yield its own reward. 'What did the landlord tell you?' The noise in the room was not deafening, but the conversation between the elderly man and Athos had been too quiet for him to make out clearly, and in addition, he had at the same time been desperately trying to overhear Porthos' conversation with Dubois. In Aramis' opinion, the young man had gotten off lightly, but if the arrogant cadet chose to ignore Porthos' warning, he would not be so lucky the next time he bad-mouthed Athos.
ooOoo
With Beau, Jobin and Peloir all heading for Pinot, only Treville and Milady de Winter were still following the Musketeers' trail. In fact, the only thing that had prevented them from riding into each other, was Milady's decision to take a comfortable bed for the night, as opposed to camping out beneath the stars as a hardened soldier like Treville adopted to do.
As the dawn crept over the treetops, the Musketeer Captain groaned. He was getting too old to be sleeping on the cold hard ground – that was a job for much younger men. He moved his stiffened limbs and built up the embers of the fire to heat some water, and whilst the flames began to spring into life, he considered his impetuous actions.
He still berated himself for not seeing Athos' intentions earlier. The connection between the three supposed highway attacks and Pinot had simply never occurred to him. He should have realised when Athos took such an interest before the King, instead of staying in the shadows as he usually did. It had been just one more lure back to his home, a pull he had not been able to deny. Treville had half expected the young man to bolt back to his manor after his recovery, to further the investigation into the deaths of Marie and Jaques Beloir. He could see now that as was his wont Athos had indeed been planning just such an event and was simply awaiting an excuse to cover his real plans with an official cover.
Treville packed up his belongings and swung himself on to the back of his horse. Despite the young Musketeer's actions, it still did not explain why the Captain of the regiment felt he needed to rush off after him, to aid his men in whatever plot was afoot. He could always have sent some of his men to assist him, but of course he could not – if Athos and the others were heading for Pinot, then Athos would have been mortified to have a troupe of Musketeers turn up on his doorstep.
At least that was the excuse Treville chose to acknowledge, but the truth was rather different; the conversation between Rochefort, Richelieu and the King had left him distinctly uneasy. He had never really understood the First Minister's fascination with and obvious dislike for Athos. He had put it down to the fact Athos posed a mystery to the man who liked to know everything about a person – even details the person in question may not necessarily know about themselves. The added complication of his employment of Milady de Winter as his creature, had only intensified his compulsion, no doubt sensing a connection between her and the Musketeer – yet another mystery. Thank God she was safely out of the way in England.
Treville kept his speed sensible. He was some miles behind his men, and he could not decide whether to catch them up and divulge what he knew, or maintain a discreet distance and see how matters unfolded; an ally on the outside might prove more useful in the long run. There was a silence as he rode on along the road, the wind was chill and he still had some distance to go, but with luck he may make Anet by nightfall. He hoped nothing untoward would befall the Musketeers before then, but somehow he sensed Pinot was the location Athos' enemies planned to show themselves and reveal whatever motivation was driving them.
It felt as though the continued steady beat of his horse's hooves, instead of providing a soothing rhythm, only aggravated his mood. Even if he could explain the Cardinal's curiosity away, he had no idea why Rochefort should be making such a fuss about Athos' presence. As Treville tossed the conundrum over and over in his mind, something was niggling away at him, something he had dismissed before but for some reason felt important now. He went over and over the facts in his head, but the irritatingly obscure information simply could not be retrieved. Instead he fell back to cursing Athos and his subterfuge, as well as planning a suitable punishment for the two men who had followed him. Though Treville knew Aramis and Porthos would happily follow Athos into hell – whether he asked them to or not – still how could he berate them? Was not that exactly what he was doing too?
ooOoo
Milady sat in the private parlour and sipped her drink. Like Treville, she was convinced Pinot would be the centre of any future developments. Someone wanted Athos back home, and the very thought made her shudder. She had vowed long ago never to set foot back on the de la Fère manor, but she had no choice. Pinot held as much danger for her as it did her self- destructive husband, probably more so. After all, in Pinot she was still a convicted murderess.
At least that thought sent a fire of anger through her veins, a sensation she was used to, and which she much preferred to the emotions Athos had managed to provoke on their last few meetings. She wanted to hate him, needed to hate him, for anything else would destroy what was left her armour completely. Her husband had made his feelings clear; whatever he had once thought of her or felt for her – may perhaps even still – it would always be overridden by the death of his brother. He would never forgive, or forget, and that was an obstacle and a burden they both shared.
It was a sudden jolt of realisation seconds after opening her eyes each morning; the stab in her chest when she saw other couples happily together, the sickening feeling when the memories intruded upon her waking hours unbidden, but most of all the heart wrenching loneliness when she lay in the dark – even when she was not alone. Effects of the dreams which left her crying out at the shadows of the night, she did not even wish to contemplate. She had become accustomed to her fate, perhaps even resigned – there was no hope now.
Milady mounted her horse and considered her options. Unbeknownst even to Athos, she had grown up not far from here, and had even been aware of the de la Fère name. She tried not to think back to those days, and how her life might have been different if her father had not died. She would probably have still lived in the small town today, married a tradesman, or even a passing merchant – her looks would have attracted attention from those passing through on business, of that she was certain.
Would she have been happy? Before she had been forced to do whatever was needed to provide for herself, would a simple life have sufficed? She could not say. Could the darkness within her have existed even then? Was she always destined to seek for more than she had, to never be satisfied? But she had been satisfied, in more ways than one, and even then it had come crashing down around her head. Maybe futures were prewritten, and all you could decide for yourself was where, when, and with whom the details would play out.
Such a possibility bought a twisted smile to her beautiful face, what a travesty. If only she had known then what the fates had in mind for her.
The positive side was she remembered the area fairly well; she was not far from Anet and though she had left when she had been little more than a child, she was familiar with the road well enough.
However, even if Athos did ride to Anet first – and she was convinced that, with duty to his mission ever present on his mind, it was inevitable - Pinot would undoubtably be his next destination, of that, she was sure. She, after all, was painfully aware of his sense of duty. With the matter resolved in her mind, the decision was made. She would ride on to Pinot and attempt to decipher what information she could before Athos arrived, possibly even tie up a few loose ends if necessary – after all, you could not give up a secret if you were dead!
ooOoo
Aramis' question jolted Athos back to the present. The memory of his brother vanished shrank into the dark recesses of his mind, where it dwelt until sleep urged it to creep from its lair, to tease and torment the swordsman's dreams.
'Athos?' Porthos boomed.
Athos glared at the big man before answering Aramis' question. 'He said he knew nothing of any attacks on travellers in the area, that he has a brother who lives and works in Gournay, and as far as he knows his brother has not mentioned any such occurrences either.' The two Musketeers did not appear surprised; it was as they had expected. Athos continued. 'He also said, a group of Red Guards did stop by, but only long enough to get very drunk, ask one or two stupid questions, then take all of his rooms to sleep it off before leaving after breakfast the very next day.'
'No surprise there then,' Porthos scoffed.
'What now?' Aramis asked, still not happy with the pallor of his friend's complexion. Athos frowned, lost again for a moment somewhere they could not follow.
'I think we should split up and see what else we can discover.' The plan was sensible, but it was Athos' next statement that took them by surprise. 'You and Porthos go together, and I will go with Dubois.' Even the young cadet appeared dumbstruck at the unexpected suggestion.
Aramis and Porthos exchanged concerned expressions; neither could decide the reasoning behind Athos' statement, but more than that they were both opposed to the idea of Athos going off by himself, for they knew he could lose Dubois in the blink of an eye. After that, God alone knew what mischief he would get up to. It would be just like Athos to head off to Pinot on his own – and they would render him unconscious before they let him do that.