Chapter 29

The town of Anet was large enough to boast several inns, and there was enough trade to keep them all busy. Treville had arrived around midday, whilst the Musketeers were busy interviewing the local businesses.

As a precaution, he had removed his regimental cloak and replaced it with a regular travelling variety, hoping to avoid immediate identification as a Musketeer. Removing his pauldron was out of the question, but as long as it was covered, there would be no need for anyone to know.

The Captain frowned. Loitering at the edge of town he watched carefully as Aramis and Porthos slowly made their way in his direction. From the farthest point in the main street, they disappeared into various establishments, only to reappear a few moments later. Both men were soaked to the skin and looking somewhat dejected. He noted them duck into the doorway of a large, far more genteel inn and hoped he had not made an error in judgement. After studying the various taverns available, he had surmised The Bell and Anchor was where they were staying. The establishment was not too unsavoury, nor too salubrious – just right for gathering gossip.

As afternoon turned to evening, he had witnessed no sign of either Athos or Dubois. He liked to think Aramis and Porthos would not be so relaxed if misfortune had befallen their brother, but he understood Athos, and he knew far more about his background than the two Musketeers. For that reason alone, he was expecting the swordsman to be less than honest with his friends. Of course, Athos would consider it was for their own good, despite the fact it was likely to be entirely detrimental to himself – and as for Dubois, God knows what the three men might have done with him.

Eventually, the cold and the rain overruled his common sense and punctured his spirit, causing him to fear the worst. Not sure who he was really annoyed with, himself or his men, Treville made his way toward The Bell and Anchor. Slipping inside, he chose a seat in the far corner of the tavern, where he waited somewhat impatiently to see what would transpire. When the swordsman and a bedraggled Dubois finally entered, he breathed a sigh of relief. He was not too late; Athos had not slipped away, and Dubois was still intact!

Despite his caution, the Captain had not sat idly by as he waited. Treville had bought drinks for several grateful merchants and passed the time conversing with the inn keeper. It had been easy to discover that no one was aware of any robberies or attacks committed upon the highways in or around Anet – or any other town – in recent months. It was as they had thought, nothing more than a subterfuge. He maintained his position just long enough to see Aramis and Porthos arrive, observing their confused expressions give way to enthusiasm as they bounded up the stairs. The Captain gave a wry grin and reached for his hat as he rose, trying to imagine what the inn keeper could have said to make them bolt, though he had no doubt who had left them the message.

Chuckling, he had made a passing joke about travelling with the Musketeers for protection - if they were leaving – in order to allay the cynical inn keeper. The man had been eying Treville's sudden amusement with a certain amount of suspicion. His conclusions were confirmed, his men had made arrangements to stay for the night. It was sound thinking – he knew how they worked together, and suspected the men would have much to discuss, for he had seen no evidence they had met up during the day. They would rest up and travel at first light – and their Captain would be ready.

ooOoo

Forgeron and Tunnelier waited beneath the trees. Dawn was only just breaking, the sky streaked with an array of pinks and orange. Tunnelier gazed up at the approaching sunrise with fear, his face glowing in the river of gold. He crossed himself and muttered underneath his breath.

'What's the matter with you?' Forgeron scoffed. 'Worried about an old wives' tale?' He spat on the floor in a flagrant show of contempt for his friend's superstitions.

'Never 'urts to show respect. These tales come from somewhere,' the other man whispered, totally unaware of the Musketeer's same recommendations only a day earlier.

'Yeah, bedtime stories for children,' Forgeron laughed, mocking the older man. 'Suppose you tell me exactly how you managed to talk these other three into helping out?' he growled, turning his attention to the three younger men who moved restlessly amongst the damp, overhanging branches.

'Ah, that was easy, I told 'em 'e 'ad taken advantage of Mary and we was going to give 'im 'is come uppance.' Forgeron eyed his friend with a new respect.

'Not a bad ruse. It obviously worked. Now remember, only him, kill only him. We don't need to start a war.' Tunnelier nodded and smiled, all thoughts of ill omens forgotten.

ooOoo

Treville had risen early after taking a room in an inn on the edge of the town. He knew his men would not travel in the dark and had requested he be woken at the first sign of light. Now wrapped in his dark cloak, he lurked on the edge of the road leading away from the town and waited for the first signs of the Musketeers.

ooOoo

Athos slept badly. As usual, his troubled thoughts had mixed with the age-old angst of his past. Waking in a sweat of confusion, he was almost surprised to see the bare amenities of the inn room, and not the far more opulent surroundings of home – though he had to admit there was also an element of relief. Staring blindly at the bare walls in the darkness, Athos attempted to piece together what they knew.

It had all begun with the murder of the Benoirs, a tragedy that had occurred well over two months ago. He tried to remember their faces, the way they had smiled and served him without question. He eventually screwed his eyes shut, angry and frustrated, for the only image he could invoke was the bloodied remnants of their torture upon the walls and floor of their home.

He ground his teeth in a mixture of fury and guilt, just as a sudden thought occurred to him. Dubois had arrived at the garrison weeks before the elderly couple were murdered. Strange it had never occurred to him before. The Cardinal had requested the young man be taken into the regiment as a favour, but since when had Richelieu done favours for anyone? Athos' eyes flew open, and he glowered at the ceiling as though it were responsible for a thousand crimes, before finally flinging the covers from his body in disgust.

Athos swung his legs out of bed and buried his face in his hands. He was angry with himself for not placing the cadet's arrival on the timeline of events sooner; so damn much had happened in such a short span of time he had allowed himself to lose track of the essentials. He began to examine what he knew of Dubois. The boy who slept at the end of the corridor had certainly reined in his haughty temper compared to the cocky lad who had insisted upon a room of his own on his first day. His disappointment had been obvious when he realised he had been given his own room tonight and would not be sharing with the three Musketeers. This change of heart had not gone unnoticed - something else to bear in mind.

Athos could find no other solution other than to conclude Dubois had been purposely placed inside the regiment, presumably as an observer or informer. If it had been the boy that Anne had seen talking to Giroux – and they had to assume it was – then it would certainly support the theory.

So why kill and torture Marie and her husband? What did they know that Dubois could not discover? The answer was so obvious it almost slapped him in the face. They knew he was the Comte de la Fère, and Dubois could only observe and report on Athos the Musketeer. He rose and walked to the window, dragging his hand through his already tousled hair. But why? Why should the identification of the Comte de la Fère, be so important that they would torture and murder to discover his whereabouts? For if Dubois was in place within in the regiment by then, they must already have had their suspicions. But still they were not sure. Why?

Someone had seen him. Of course, someone had recognised the likeness, but could not be sure. He had always known it was a possibility, but he had permitted himself to become complacent, allowed himself to become settled. He punched the wall in anger, only stopping at the last minute, aware his friends still slept in the darkened room.

It was beginning to come together, though the purpose behind what was going on still alluded him. The whole mess certainly ruled out the Cardinal, he was far too subtle to make such an obvious trail of confusion. He had no idea who had taken his wife's place at the Cardinal's side, but could only suppose they were as deadly. The image provoked an unbidden memory, her sudden appearance at the garrison. All day, he had been so consumed with memories of Thomas that he had managed to block out the unexpected encounter, but despite the complexity of his current situation, he could no longer ignore her warning.

Where had she come from? As far as Athos had been able to ascertain she had fled to England. Though he could understand her dissatisfaction with such a destination, surely she had risked her life to return to France. For what? He knew it was not just to see him.

The recollection of her honeysuckle scent teased and inflamed his memory. Why had she warned him? He ignored the obvious answer this time but could not help flinching at the memory of her face the night they had parted company after his underground ordeal. They had come so close to revealing their souls that night, and only the part of them that was still broken, still hurting and betrayed, had forced them to hold their tongues. However, the expression on her beautiful face still haunted him. Had she wanted to try again? Had she believed they could? He groaned at the possibility; how could they even contemplate such insanity? Though much worse than that, deep down, Athos was aware how close he had been that night, so close to asking her to do just that.

ooOoo

Perhaps due to his hours of inactivity, Athos was anxious to be on the road when his fellow travellers awoke. He had to make good on the pretence that they were headed for Gournay and Eureaux, both fairly long journeys. To support the deception, he allowed them all to break their fast before setting off – much to Porthos' delight. The big man was in an ebullient mood, having been informed of the new plan the previous night.

'So, young Dubois, remember, if there is trouble on the road shoot first, ask questions later. Or just stand behind Athos.' He laughed at his joke causing the object of his mirth to give him a quelling side-long stare.

'I very much doubt we will encounter any problems, though I am sure Aramis will be happy to take your advice. Without question he will undoubtedly shoot first, whatever happens, and if that fails you will provide much better cover.' Aramis grinned happily as his two friends bantered.

'You make me sound trigger happy,' the marksman pouted in mock sorrow.

'Mm, shooting at birds, is rather extreme, do you not think?' Athos drawled.

Aramis frowned, giving an elegant shrug of his shoulders. 'They were annoying.'

'As I said. Be thankful you are coming with me,' Athos informed a wary Dubois. 'If being annoying is Aramis' main criteria, then the only person who will be in any danger is Porthos.' Athos gave the tiniest twitch of his lips and drained his cup.

'Are you sayin' I'm annoyin'?' the big Musketeer growled. Before Athos could answer, a young boy scampered past and banged into Aramis, knocking his full tumbler to the floor and all over the three men. All eyes fell on the poor boy, who attempted to right his wrong by patting at the disgruntled Musketeers, whilst the maid, Mary, tried to rub Aramis dry. When another of the tavern's staff joined in the debacle, all attention was on the table, and nobody noticed the man giving far too much attention to Athos' pistol.

When the trio were eventually waved away, the four rather bemused men rose and made their way toward the door.

Placing his hat on his head Porthos moaned, 'I've only just got dry from yesterday.'

'It was only a splash. And luckily for you it was my cup not yours,' Aramis added smiling as he patted his friend on the shoulder. 'We will say au revoir, my friends, and meet back here tomorrow night as planned.' He patted Athos' shoulder and nodded to Dubois. 'Remember what Porthos' said, shoot first.' Laughing, the two Musketeers mounted their horses and the separate pairs rode toward the edge of town together.

When they reached the crossroads on the outskirts of Anet, Aramis, as befitting the ploy, made a great deal of drama of their parting.

'Farewell my friends, until we meet again. Au revoir.' Athos rolled his eyes and quirked his brow. The flamboyant Musketeer merely laughed, and spurred his horse into a canter, Porthos close behind.

They rode for several minutes before Dubois finally spoke. He had been silent throughout breakfast and Athos suspected the boy had something on his mind.

'Why have we split up?' He gazed at Athos with a mix of awe and confusion, jarring the thoughtful Athos from his musings.

'I have very little expectation of finding anything amiss in either town, so by taking a destination each we will be able to gain proof of this deceit without wasting any more time.'

'You believe it was a deliberate lie?' the young man stuttered.

'Do you not?' Athos all but demanded, his steady gaze freezing the cadet in his saddle.

'I … I…' Whatever the boy was about to say was lost in the sudden sound of approaching hooves. Five horsemen galloped toward them, pistols drawn, and they did not look friendly. 'I thought you said there would not be any trouble,' a terrified Dubois cried.

'I thought you would prefer a lie,' Athos shouted as he jumped down from his horse, preparing to stand and fight.

Dubois watched Athos dismount and stared in disbelief. He eyed his own horse and the open landscape which spread out before them. He debated making a break for safety, almost spurring his horse on, but he simply could not do it. Muttering to himself, he slid from his own mount and did exactly what Porthos had told him to do. He fired.

ooOoo

Treville heard the gentle thud of cantering hooves as he lingered beneath the frosty canopy. His wait had thankfully been short, for the morning was freezing cold, the ground covered in a sparkling blanket of white that glowed with a pink hue in the encroaching dawn. Treville allowed his men to pass, patiently observing their progress. There were trees to hide his passage for a short way, then the road divided at a crossroads. If his memory served him correctly, and it usually did, straight on would eventually lead to Pinon, right back to Paris, and left to Gournay and eventually Le Havre. It would be interesting to see what his men did at that point. Staying safely amongst the trees, where the thick fall of decaying leaves dampened the sound of his hooves, Treville followed with caution.

As the men reached the crossroads, they parted ways, each taking the appointed route decided upon the evening before. Treville had to admit he had not seen this coming. He had expected them either to turn left to Gournay, or to carry straight on to Pinon. For them to part company was both surprising and unnerving.

'What are you up to Athos?' the Captain murmured, watching the horses draw further in front. Aramis and Porthos disappeared around the bend in the road, while Athos and Dubois entered into a long swathe of open countryside. There was no doubt in his mind which pair he should follow, though he was frustrated at the plan which saw Aramis and Porthos leave Athos behind. That it had been Athos' suggestion was a given. Just like others in the regiment, he had been astonished to watch how the unknown stranger had somehow taken charge of his brothers – with them happily bowing to his leadership – even before he had been granted his commission. Unfortunately, at times like this he wished they would not be so accepting of his wishes.

When Athos and Dubois were reduced to small figures in the distance, he decided it was safe to follow. Treville was thunderstruck when a pack of horsemen flew out of the large, decrepit barn to Athos' right and rode the two men down. Still he wasted no time and raced without hesitation toward the burgeoning battle.

ooOoo

Aramis and Porthos rode along the road as the horizon began to cloud over, the golden dawn turning dark and threatening.

'Not more rain! I'm still so wet, I think any more water might just run off me,' Porthos moaned.

Both men were quieter than usual. Despite preferring this plan of action to the previous suggestion, they were both aware Athos was now totally exposed, and if Dubois should show himself to mean Athos harm, then they might just have handed him the opportunity.

Aramis was unused to travelling in silence. 'When do you think we should turn and take up their trail?' As the question died upon his lips, a distant shot rang out in the crisp, still air.

'Now!' Porthos bellowed as he turned his horse and galloped back along the road like a charging bull.

ooOoo

Athos drew his own weapon as the men thundered towards them. The gap was closing rapidly, but Dubois' ball flew wide and his bullet had little effect other than to make the attackers discharge their own weapons; luckily, they their aim was no better than the cadet's.

Athos fired, but nothing happened. Stunned, he looked down at the weapon in consternation. Dubois, seeing the pistol seize, did the only thing he could think of and passed him his second gun before Athos could even reach for his spare. Athos scowled at the ridiculous gesture but snatched it and fired both guns simultaneously, bringing down the man closest to them. One down, only four to go – much better odds.

Dubois drew his sword and took a stance next to Athos as the remaining men jumped from their mounts.

'Remember, just stay calm,' Athos drawled as he thrust his sword at the first man to come within his reach.

'Calm, of course. I am perfectly calm,' the boy managed to hiss between gritted teeth.

Athos parried and lunged, blatantly aware of the flustered cadet fighting at his side. A sudden cry of pain made him curse. Lunging forward he took one of his opponents by surprise. With a grunt of irritation Athos head butted him hard, pushing the shocked villain back against his fellow fighters. The three men stumbled together just long enough for Athos to turn and observe Dubois fight.

To his horror the young man was simply waving his sword around wildly in his left hand, his right arm hanging uselessly at his side. How he was still alive was a miracle, and obviously down to the lack of skill from the man who attacked him. Athos nudged the boy aside and with two swift thrusts sent the man to his maker. By now the other three were on their feet once more and ready to re-enter the fray.

'Get behind me and stay there, only fight if you have to,' Athos commanded.

Dubois stumbled behind the swordsman. 'What if they get past you?'

'They won't,' Athos growled.

The play was dirty and disorganised, but Athos was lusting for a good fight. All the supressed annoyance of the last few days was channelled down that length of steel, though his expression remained as cold as ice. The clash of metal echoed around the frosted fields, flashing occasionally in the diminishing dawn glow. Gunpowder smoke mingled with hot breath in the frozen air. They made no attempt to reach Dubois, which was interesting, but left Athos with his hands more than full,

With a quick lunge he pierced Tunnelier's heart, though even as he withdrew his weapon, he felt a sharp pain in his thigh. Turning quickly he glared at Forgeron, who had delivered the strike. Athos gave the slightest smile, which said it all – it was a lucky scratch, nothing more. The sound of galloping hooves caught his attention. A lone rider, he gave it no more thought, for closing rapidly on the solitary figure were the billowing blue cloaks signifying his fellow musketeers.

'Athos, I think I am dying.' A muted moan followed the weak statement, and Athos damned Treville for sending a cadet on the fraudulent mission. With two men still to fight, Athos could do nothing more for the boy but keep him from further harm. Though the horses were now within hailing distance, Athos had no time to waste. Pulling his dagger from the band of his breeches he thrust it with his left hand, whilst parrying with his right. It flew through the frosty air with deadly accuracy, the sick gurgle that followed confirming his success. As the man hit the ground a shot rang out and Athos' final adversary slumped to the ground, his face rigid with shock. Forgeron had not even had time to explain why he had wanted Athos dead – which was probably for the best.

Without waiting to thank the shooter, the swordsman turned to address Dubois.

'Let me see,' he demanded, pulling at the young man's jacket. The bullet had entered the boy's body at an awkward angle – though the entry was on the right-hand side of his chest, the exit hole was bloody and large on the left – and what damage it had done on its way through was anybody's guess.

Dubois reached out his hand and grabbed one of Athos'. 'You fought them all, you did not let them pass,' he whispered, his bloodshot eyes filled with awe.

'That is what we do, we protect our own,' Athos replied, only this time his tone was slightly less formal.

'I am sorry,' was all the cadet managed to stammer before passing out.

Suddenly Athos was joined by another person crouching at the boy's side. 'Good to see you Aramis,' he drawled. 'Perfect timing.'

As he stood someone placed a hand on his shoulder. 'Nice work.' Athos quirked a brow at the grinning man at his side.

'I aim to please.'

When a second voice interrupted, Porthos' smile instantly vanished. He straightened his shoulders and waggled his brows at his friend.

'Would somebody like to explain what just happened here?' the curt tone of their Captain demanded. Treville's presence was no surprise to Porthos and Aramis – though there had been no time for niceties, they had both seen him as they dismounted.

Athos turned to his commanding officer, his response cold and emotionless once more. 'I have absolutely no idea.'

Porthos poked around at the bodies all conveniently lying together. 'Excellent groupin',' he chortled.

'Glad you approve. Any indication as to their identity?'

'Well I know this one, 'e's the ostler from The Bell and Anchor. Did you forget to tip 'im?'

Athos glanced at Roger, who was standing patiently waiting for his master to remount. 'I never spoke to him again after we arrived yesterday morning, in fact I never saw him again,' the swordsman mused.

'Well you must 'ave pissed 'im off big time.'

'I take it these men are not responsible for the rumoured attacks?' Treville insisted.

'No, I believe they were just chancing their luck,' Athos responded, staring off into the distance.

'Well I am as interested in their reasons as you, but right now I need to get my patient off this freezing ground and into the warm.' They all turned to Aramis and the unconscious cadet.

'We should go back to Anet,' Treville commanded.

'No!' Athos practically shouted. Aware his Captain was eying him with displeasure, he began to explain. 'He stays with us. I have no idea who those men were, or what role the boy is playing in this debacle. However, I will not leave him in Anet and we have somewhere to be. He goes to Pinon.' The tone of his voice, bolstered by his expression of noble superiority, closed down any argument, even from the Captain – though Treville still scowled at Athos with obvious disapproval.

'What does he need?' barked the Captain.

'Mostly rest. I have closed the entry wound, but the exit…' He let the words hang in the air. The exit wound was large and ragged, and stitching such a hole was almost impossible. 'I need him still and that wound packed.'

Athos leapt upon Roger's back. 'Give him to me.'

The three men looked at him with evident surprise. However, Porthos lifted the boy onto Roger's back and Athos settled the unconscious form in front of him. The look he gave the Musketeers spoke volumes – say not one word. 'Well, what are we waiting for? Pinon is less than an hour away. Without further conversation he took off as fast as he was able with his wounded burden.

'I take it I have missed much,' Treville stated as he scowled after the galloping horse.

'Apparently so have we,' Aramis replied, shaking his head. 'I think the boy was beginning to change his mind about our surly swordsman; any doubts he may have had were rapidly changing into hero worship.'

'Followed 'im round like a lap dog,' Porthos grunted.

'Well we had better pray he does not die then, or I suspect Athos will take his death personally,' Treville sighed. The other two men stared at their Captain, appalled at the suggestion.

Porthos groaned and Aramis smote his brow. Staring at his friend's back, he spoke almost to himself, his voice filled with melancholy. 'I am not sure those shoulders can carry any more guilt.'

'Then we had better keep 'im alive,' Porthos growled, urging his horse to catch up with Athos and Dubois.

ooOoo

Milady had found a secluded shepherds hut on the outskirts of the estate. At this time of year there were no sheep in the vicinity, and so the shed remained empty and unused. Despite her desire for the finer things in life, she was no stranger to living rough; in fact, the shepherds hut was a step up from some of the places she had laid her head. The sky was growing dark, and the threat of more rain pressed in upon the grimy windows. Deciding it was worth the risk, she lit a fire in the small hearth and warmed her freezing fingers. Inactivity did not suit her, if she had wanted to sit idly by, she could have achieved such a thing in the comfort of her Paris apartment.

Staring into the leaping flames she heard the faint hiss of steam, as one by one raindrops fell upon the fire. Soon the rain descended, and the deluge lashed at the windows, soon clearing away the mud and grime. A strong wind appeared to have risen out of nowhere, and strange noised emitted from the chimney and the ill fitted joins in the wood. The blaze struggled against the draft, shrinking and spinning in a frenzied attempt to stay alight. With a frustrated sigh, Milady accepted that there was nothing further she could do whilst the storm lashed the surrounding fields; she would have to wait it out.

Settling in front of the sizzling logs, she thought through her next move. Could she risk riding into the village? She would find out nothing skulking here in the middle of nowhere. Apart from the night she and Athos had first met, she had rarely been into the town. She had spent every waking hour from that moment on with Athos. Only the priest who had married them, Thomas and that witch Catherine, had interacted with her after that. If you could call cold disdain interaction.

It had been obvious from the very first that Thomas had hated her. He and Athos were close as boys, but since the passing of their parents they had grown even closer, and now Thomas had no intention of sharing. As for Catherine, he despised the new Countess. The title and the man should have been hers, but it was left to Thomas to make right the rebuke by offering for her instead. The woman was beyond hatred, even bordering on the slightly insane. Since Athos had fled, she had no idea what had become of the château or the estate, though despite his abandonment she doubted he would have left it without someone to oversee the running – too much damned honour, too many generations of noblesse oblige.

In this weather no one would question a woman wearing a hood. Though Pinon was not the obvious stop for a traveller, there may be questions, but she had managed those once before, and without a doubt she could do it again. With a plan laid out, she allowed herself to rest with a lighter mood. If her heart beat just a little too fast, or her eyes glowed a little too much, she dismissed it completely.