Chapter 2
The rider pulled the bay mare to a sliding stop. Mud ran up her back legs and foamed sweat dripped from her mouth, her neck, and her flanks. She breathed heavily as her rider dismounted, dropped the reins to the ground, and then ran toward the group of soldiers standing in a field behind the large tent near the barn. The man's cloak flapped against the back of his calves as he pumped his arms, and the brim of his hat fluttered against the breeze.
It had been a long night. Men who had fought with their remaining strength had lost their fight for survival and succumbed to their injuries. They were buried in the graves that continued to multiply in number in the field west of the barn. The field was surrounded by trees, wildflowers that come spring would bloom, and hedges that would turn a dark shade of green. Their final resting places were covered, the mounded dirt surrounded with stones, and their swords were placed like headstones. It was quiet, serene, but morose. Several soldiers stood on the outskirts of the field and watched as their brothers were buried. Their silence was overwhelming. Musketeers rested alongside cavalry, infantry, and foot soldiers whom they never met, but whom they had fought alongside. Those who had dedicated their lives in service to their king under the commands of captains from all walks of life, would lay in common ground together.
Aramis offered prayers for the departed. Friends spoke of memories, while others stood guard and continued to monitor the actions of the Spanish as they worked to extinguish the fires. Porthos stood from a kneeling position after placing a pendant in the hands of one of his soldiers. He wiped the mud from his knees and looked up as the stranger ran toward them. Porthos listened as the shovels struck stones and dirt and the hollowed thumps as mud hit the blanket his soldier was wrapped in.
"Aramis, d'Artagnan?" Porthos said, and pointed to the runner. Porthos stepped forward, squared his shoulders, and placed his fisted hands on his belt.
Levi turned, looked at Marc, who stood with his arm close to his chest, and shrugged. Aramis cleared his throat and then looked at those behind him.
D'Artagnan looked toward Athos' tent in the distance. "Do you want me to find Athos?"
"Not yet," Porthos said. "He probably spent most of the night writin' condolence letters — let 'im sleep."
D'Artagnan watched the runner come to a stop, remove his hat, and catch his breath. He was young, with light brown hair that covered his ears and his eyebrows. A full beard and mustache hid his recessed jaw. He was thinly built, with long legs and sloping shoulders.
"I'm sorry, sirs," the young man said and took a deep breath. "My name is Charles Mion, I'm a cavalry officer with General Thorell's second company. The general has sent me to deliver a message to Captain Athos." He looked past Porthos and swallowed when he realized he was standing in a graveyard. "My apologies…."
Porthos nodded to d'Artagnan, who turned and walked to Athos' tent.
"He'll be here shortly," Porthos said, and then quickly introduced himself and the other lieutenants. "Where is Musketeer James Legros — the rider who delivered the message from Captain Athos?"
Charles shook his head and said, "He was injured on the journey to our camp — Once General Thorell was given the Musketeer's message, he ordered me to deliver a response, and Musketeer Legros will accompany General Thorell."
Aramis quirked his mouth into a subtle smile. "Thorell is on his way here?"
Charles swallowed and turned to look at d'Artagnan, who was returning toward them at a run. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. My orders were to —"
"He's not there," d'Artagnan said, and then exhaled as he pulled himself to a stop. He held up the letters. "I found these abandoned by the front of his tent." He looked concerned. "Athos wouldn't leave these."
"Find Ninon." Aramis flared his nostrils and said, "Maybe he's with her."
"I'll go," Levi said and then ran toward the refugee camp.
"Show me," Aramis said, and then pursued d'Artagnan.
"Thorell's message?" Porthos asked. He looked at the young messenger and motioned for him to follow. "What is it?" He could feel his heart race, and a sense of uncertainty crept up his spine.
Charles swallowed again and said, "He's on his way here, Lieutenant. The southern boundary is secured. General Thorell wanted me to let Captain Athos know he was only a few days away. Most of the general's army had already packed up by the time Musketeer Legros arrived. General Thorell grew concerned when he saw his injuries and read your captain's message." Charles shrugged his shoulders in question. "Your man looked to have been attacked on his journey."
Aramis suddenly stuck his arm out to keep everyone back, and then looked carefully at the ground. He squatted, studied the grooves and impressions of what was left of a struggle. He could see the footprints, the moisture that filled the ruts, and then he noticed a left handprint near a section that looked like a shoulder or a hip. Aramis hung his head and then aggressively rubbed the back of his neck. He felt his thigh muscles burn, his chest ache, and then he looked toward the chateau. He frowned, lowered himself to a knee, and then pressed his hand to a patch of discolored mud. Aramis pulled his hand away and turned to look at the others.
"Blood," Aramis said, and stood. He rubbed the muddied blood between his fingers to make sure he was seeing it correctly, and then wiped his fingers on his britches. He pressed his wrist to his mouth and shook his head. "Raboin will kill him… if he hasn't already."
"Are you sure?" d'Artagnan said and looked at the chateau. "Maybe Athos just fell…"
"And what? Got confused, maybe dizzy, and wandered off?" Marc said from behind them all. He shook his head. "Athos organized the recovery of the supplies that were stolen. He made a mockery of Raboin and his leadership…" He raised his eyebrows to emphasize his point. "We need to inform the other captains. We need to let them know what has happened?"
"If Raboin has Athos —"
Aramis licked his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue and looked at Porthos. "What do you want to do?"
Porthos swallowed.
"How would they even know where to find him?" d'Artagnan said. "We were all in the tent last night. Men were outside listening. Surely he would have been seen by someone?"
"It was late and the men were exhausted," Aramis said.
Mion nervously chewed on a hangnail on his right thumb. He looked at the chateau, the tent, and then at the men around him. "I'm sorry, Lieutenants, but why would General Raboin take your captain?"
Porthos didn't answer, instead tightened his hands into fists, and asked, "Can you get a message back to General Thorell?"
Charles nodded but looked at his horse, that still stood ground-tied at the far end of the camp. "Yes, but I'll need a fresh mount."
"That can be arranged." Porthos turned and watched Levi pull himself to a stop.
Out of breath, Levi paused and placed his hands on his hips, and shook his head. "Ninon said she last saw Athos right after he left the medical tent — she hasn't seen him since."
Porthos clinched his jaw and looked at Aramis and then d'Artagnan. "Raboin… I would wager my commission on it."
Marc rubbed his forehead and said, "We need to let the other captains know."
Porthos walked toward his tent and said over his shoulder, "Find Charles a fresh mount. I'll write a message to General Thorell." He paused and snapped his fingers. "Levi, find the other captains. Let them know I need to see them. We'll assemble in ten minutes!"
D'Artagnan looked toward the chateau. "Follow me," he said and looked at Charles. "I'll get you a fresh horse."
Aramis watched them walk hastily to the corrals. He gripped the hilt of his sword as Levi once again was on the run to find the captains.
"They'll kill him," Marc said.
Aramis nodded and tightened his fingers into fists. "Musketeer Laury?" He said and looked at Marc. "The short one —"
Marc nodded. "The one who can ride a goat… allegedly?"
Aramis pointed toward a large oak tree. The hardwood had spread its branches wide and overlooked the chateau. Its size, position, and range of branches offered a perfect hiding place for anyone willing and able to climb. Its rough bark and curled branches offered summer shade from the sun and winter protection from the winds and the rains. "Send him up there with a spyglass. Tell him to stay out of sight, but report on anything he can see. Tell him to focus on the library."
"What are you thinking?" Marc asked.
Aramis clinched his jaw. "I'm thinking that the moment Raboin takes a look out of one of those windows…" He tilted his chin in the chateau's direction. "I'll take the shot I should have taken weeks ago."
"Aramis," Marc said. "He's surrounded by Captain Randieu's company. That will put us between Raboin and the Spanish."
"He's your captain too, Marc. What would you have me do?"
Marc swallowed, looked at his wrapped arm, and then looked at the men as they slowly departed the field where dead soldiers rested. "The same thing."
Aramis nodded. "Find Laury, and get him up that tree — I don't care how."