Treville had graciously declined King Louis' invitation for him to take Cardinal Richelieu's office. Instead, his new office was sparsely furnished and had been rarely used since Richelieu's death. While Rochefort had used the space occasionally, he had spent most of his time in the smaller office Richelieu had used because of its location next to his quarters. Neither room had appealed to Treville. Instead, he had opted for a room with large windows, a fireplace, a few bookshelves filled with books and remnants of his old life as a soldier, and a Musketeer. It was located across from the council chambers, which had appealed to him. Two leather bound chairs rested on the opposite side of his desk, a rich mahogany with carved legs and drawers, and two large paintings of scenes of war with King Henri leading the charge.
Treville stood behind his desk, hands on his hips, a medallion around his neck and clothed in ornate blue silks and leathers. His position had indeed changed. Treville looked at each of the musketeers. While their doublets were clean, cloaks hung neatly over their left shoulders and tied beneath their right arms, their hats were removed and clutched before them. However, where Treville focused his attention, was on Porthos' swollen nose, split lip, and black eye; d'Artagnan's right eye and bottom lip that was swollen; there was a cut across Aramis' left eyebrow that was stitched and bruising marred the right side of his jaw despite his beard; and Athos, despite his look of determination, could not disguise the bruising at his right temple that stretched across his cheek and below his eye. His bangs hid the cut along his hairline.
Treville took a deep breath and looked at his men. He then ran a cupped hand over his mouth and then exhaled through his nose.
Athos stood before Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan and looked at Treville, who shook his head and then motioned for the three to depart.
"Wait outside," Treville said, and then crossed his arms over his chest.
Porthos clinched his jaw, swallowed and glanced at Athos, who did not meet his eyes, before he turned and walked toward the door with the others. He paused a moment, nodded to Treville, and then shut the door behind him. Porthos leaned against the wall, took a deep breath, and then looked at Aramis when he heard the shouting begin.
"You're the Captain of the Musketeers, Athos!" Treville slammed his hand on his desk and then tightened his fist as the pain radiated. "You are to oversee them! Your men look to you for guidance!" He looked at Athos. "They look to you for leadership and captains DO NOT spend time in taverns getting into fights." He placed his hands on his hips and paced behind his desk.
"You represent the king!" Treville suddenly shouted and stopped his pacing.
Athos flexed his jaw muscles, kept his eyes focused forward, and tightened his hands into fists.
"If you're not able to fulfill the duties as captain of this regiment, then I will have no choice but to replace you," Treville said and then with a shake of his head he flared his nostrils. "Should the king hear of this —"
"I accept responsibility for the men, Minister Treville," Athos said. He swallowed, kept his shoulders back, and watched Treville shift uncomfortably behind his desk. "The unfortunate event at the Wren was the result of a cheat and a swindler. With or without our presence, the event would have occurred."
"You should have stopped it," Treville said in a kinder tone. "It took three Red Guards to remove Monsieur Pritzl from the ceiling hook… that, I assume, Porthos had a hand in hooking him to?" He raised his eyebrows and looked at him.
"I will apologize to Monsieur Pritzl —"
"This isn't about him, Athos, this is about you and your men. You are the captain — you cannot be their friends." Treville looked at Athos and shook his head and he spoke with familiarity and the pain of understanding what was ahead. "You have to see the difference… you have to understand that you will be deciding their fate — some of these men," he pointed toward the doors and those who stood outside them, "will not survive the coming war, Athos, and the closer you are to them, the more compromised your decisions will be…
"My only concern about promoting you to captain," Treville said, "was this."
"Your only concern?"
Treville took a seat, rested his elbows on the armrests of the chair, and rested his hands on his thighs. He looked toward the painting on the wall above the narrow table that held a lantern and a short stack of books.
"While I understand and appreciate your concerns," Athos said, "I know the risks and I'm uncomfortably familiar with the actions of men who for far too long kept themselves separated from their fighting men… those who found it easy to make decisions about the lives of their soldiers. While I respect your perception…" Athos took a long pause and looked at Treville in the eyes, "your perception is not how I want to lead the Musketeers. These these men have given and will continue to give everything for their king and for France, and if my decisions on the battlefield result in their deaths then it is I who must carry that burden and I would rather know who these men are and what they stand for than sentence them to death in hopes that it saves me the pain of having to make the choice —"
"Athos —"
"We have seen eye to eye on a great many things, Minister, but I would rather die with my friends than stand apart from them and witness their demise —"
"You say that now —"
"I say that, Sir, because I've experienced it. Demote me if you wish, but as the captain of the Musketeers I will fight and die alongside them."
Treville flashed his eyes toward Athos and saw the captain of the Musketeers. He saw the young man who had bested Aramis in a sword fight, who reluctantly joined them, who made a stand that few others would be willing to make. The family Athos surrounded himself with would fight until the death for what they believed was right, and Treville admired them for it. He admired Athos for helping to create it. He admired Athos for his tenacity, his drive to duty, and his honor.
Treville ran his hand along the surface of his desk and nodded. "One day Athos… men will read about the Musketeers, they will admire them." He leaned forward and rested his elbow on the surface. "We are months, if not weeks away from war." He took a deep breath and looked out the window as the sun made an appearance through a cluster of black clouds.
"We are heading into a war we are not ready for," Treville said, and exhaled slowly. He looked up, met Athos' eyes, and then cleared his throat. "King Louis has agreed to increase the size of the Musketeer regiment to 300 men. If…" he paused, "when… you're called to serve on the battlefield, I hope and pray that your men will admire you as much as you admire them." He quirked a knowing smile. "You're an outstanding soldier… and, from what I can tell," he paused, "you'll make an even better commanding officer." He tapped the surface of his desk with his knuckles and stood. "Go, Athos… your duties await you."
Athos turned. His cloak flared and then rested against him as he looked to his side at Treville. "You helped create this —"
"The king had a vision, Athos. I simply followed it. The men, men like yourself and the others, are what make it special. Now go," he said. "And stay out of the taverns."
Athos placed his hat on his head, nodded, and then quickly departed.
Treville took a deep breath, relaxed his shoulders, and leaned back against his seat.
War was coming, and France was unprepared.
Coming Next: The Honor of Horses
