Chapter 6

Winter's winds howled as they passed through the windows. Athos remained seated on the floor. Exhausted, he swallowed and tried to ignore the bitter cold as it nipped at his skin. His nose was cold, his fingers felt stiff, and his calves cramped when he moved. His blouse fluttered against his neck, his arms, and sides. Athos britches were damp because of the early morning mist, and the dampness of the floor, a combination of sand and old travertine tiles. Frost teased the surface of the water in the bucket to his left. At least they had been kind enough to supply him that. He had become fully aware of the resources of food that continued to be tapped as military staff collected it during the morning and evening hours. He was not a heavy eater, but after two days without food, his stomach growled, and his mouth watered when the scent of roasted chicken wafted throughout the hall when the door to the chateau opened.

He could picture in his mind the hen cooking, surrounded with vegetables, hot broth that steamed when stirred, and the cuts of meat as it pulled from the bone. It wasn't just the food he craved, but the heat of the fire, the warmth of a heavy cloak, and the knowledge of a warm bed just waiting for him.

They were all luxuries he was accustomed to. He had been hungry before, when food was scarce during times of war, but never at home and never as a boy growing up on the estate. What he felt now wasn't comparable to what others had gone through, he knew that, and he would never assume to compare his pains with others. Instead, Athos tried to focus on Raboin and the complexities that surrounded him: a Spanish family, fond memories of King Henri, and the ultimate desire to put himself above all else.

The chain attached to his shackles was just long enough for Athos to stand and walk a few lengths from the pillar. His wrists were raw and blood and dirt had imbedded into the crevasses of the metal cuffs and the creases of his knuckles.

His conversation with Raboin had been informative, but immensely disappointing. The general may have loved his family, and their future weighed heavily on his heart, but his devotion to them did not affect his devotion to himself. His need to prove himself correct outweighed his love for his family, for his king, or his country. Athos sighed, rested his head against the stone pillar, and closed his eyes. It was becoming more difficult to think. His mind felt sluggish, and his attention was easily diverted. He could feel his exhaustion manifest. His lack of sleep over the course of the past weeks, the rush of panic seeing the fields on fire, the rush of the battle, and then finally the acknowledgment of loss when he spoke to his men.

And now this…

Athos sighed and swallowed. A sparrow landed on the sill of the window to his right. It fluttered its wings, hopped a few steps, and then flew across the room and exited out another window. Athos shivered, slid back to the floor and raised his knees, and then looked at the cuffs around his wrists. Dark shadows grew darker throughout the space as the early morning sun slowly rose and the clouds shifted to hide its glow.

Suddenly, Athos looked toward the door when it once again squeaked open. A lantern glowed, and the rusty handle creaked as the man who carried it approached. Several others walked behind him in a parallel formation. Their powder tins clanged, their swords swung with each step, and their faces glowed by the light of the flame. The casting of light and shadows exaggerated the harshness of their features.

"Captain Athos of the King's Musketeers," the man carrying the lantern said as he lifted his hand. The flame flickered and reflected off the metal of his armor. He was older. Wavy, silver hair hung past his square jaw and clean-shaven face. Crow's feet and laugh lines marred his features, and his eyes looked black in the shadows. "Stand." His deep voice echoed, and the men behind him fanned out as though wings were spread.

Athos slowly stood. He shivered and felt a cold chill run down his neck and back. He looked at the men who looked past him, and then at the one who stood before him. "Where am I being taken?"

"You're being charged with crimes against the king and treason." The words fell flat, meaningless, as though spoken from a script rather than a soldier who understood the ramifications of such a statement. The man released the chain that was attached to Athos' shackles. It fell to the floor in a clamoring of iron. "You're to be brought before General Raboin, who will hear your plea."

Athos clinched his jaw and watched the guards surround him. "Any accusations against me are to be presented before the king."

The main guard quirked a smile and said, "We're in the middle of a war, Captain. General Raboin — the leader of the northeastern military — will do what is necessary to protect France."

Athos twitched his eyebrows and looked more closely at the man's armor, and then at the hilt of his sword. The hand guard had been shaped into the form of a shield that narrowed upward and connected to the egg-shaped pommel at the end of the grip. "Orden del Rey?" He asked and looked carefully at the engraving across the guard.

The guard chuckled and casually said, "I got it off a Spanish soldier." He glanced at the sword and then motioned for Athos to follow. "I do not know what it means."

Athos frowned, looked at the men to his right and then his left before he returned his gaze to the main guard. "It means Order of the King."

The guard lost his grin and clinched his jaw.

"Spanish soldiers don't carry weapons like that," Athos said and looked the man in the eyes.

The guard stepped closer to Athos and stood chin to chin with him. "They do when the king requests them to fight for their country."

"And how is King Philip?"

"Polo, don't," a guard said from behind when he reached for the hilt of his weapon.

Polo flared his nostrils, looked Athos in the eyes, and his knuckles turned white as his grip increased in strength. "You are moments from losing your life, Captain."

Athos nodded, and then looked at Polo and his men. "I have no doubt that my life is forfeited. What I question, Polo, is whether or not you understand how close to death you are?"

Polo turned and hushed his men when he heard them chuckle. "The general wants to see you. You can either walk out of here, or we'll drag you."

Athos nodded and said, "Lead the way."