Authors note: Thanks for all the great comments and kudos. 😊
Aramis hated leaving d'Artagnan with Carlos and Boivin. They were the two that were the most vicious of the gang. The boy that they kept to do the cleaning would cower every time either of them was nearby. D'Artagnan was unlikely to simply be put in the room that had been prepared for the kidnap victim and left. Aramis was sure the men would beat his friend.
He disliked the direction the mission had taken. It had not gone to plan from the start. Some adaptation was inevitable but what they were doing now was difficult for Aramis to accept. Despite d'Artagnan volunteering, Aramis was still hesitant to go along with the suggestion. D'Artagnan had effectively volunteered to be hurt. And if Aramis could not get to the bottom of their principle purpose of the mission fast, there was the very real possibility d'Artagnan could be hurt badly or even killed.
As Madame Dupre led him to her private room all he could think about was d'Artagnan.
'You seem distracted, my Musketeer,' said Dupre. 'You don't need to worry. Carlos will make sure our noble is still well enough for us to have some fun with him.'
Aramis looked at her and smiled, he hoped his smile looked genuine, 'I look forward to it. I look forward to seeing your work. I've spoken to some of the men and they are in awe of your work...'
Madame Dupre smiled, she ran her tongue over her lips before speaking softly, 'I have been told I am very good at what I do. And getting to stretch my muscles with that young man will be delectable.'
Aramis could well imagine the cruel things the objectionable woman could do to a prisoner. She was good with a gun and when he had seen her spar with the younger men, she had beaten each one soundly. If she was able to beat a man that could defend himself, she was likely to be monstrous towards a vulnerable captive.
'Before I stretch my muscles on our noble,' continued Dupre. 'I would like to warm up, with something much more pleasant.'
Aramis smiled again. His most charming, seductive smile. He knew where they were heading. And he hated the thought of it. But he knew he would have to do it. For d'Artagnan's sake. Now, more than at any other point in the mission, Aramis had to stay in character.
'Boy,' she called along the corridor.
The young boy appeared; his tear-streaked face sported a bruise across the cheek. Aramis wanted to know what had happened but knew he could not break character to find out.
'I've ordered food to be delivered here. It should be arriving at any moment. Wait by the door and see that it is brought to my room straight away.'
The boy nodded and scampered off. Madame Dupre did not mention the bruise on the boy's face. Madame Dupre did not care. Aramis felt sick.
They entered her room. The windows were large, allowing plenty of light into the airy room. It was the largest of the rooms. Even the men that shared had smaller rooms. The four-poster bed dominated the centre of the room, it had deep green velvet drapes tied at each corner. A dressing table with an ornate mirror was positioned by the window to catch the most light. Aramis wondered how much of an effort Dupre put into her appearance. She was often the first one of the gang members to be awake in the morning. On the occasions he had stayed the night he had tried to be up before the rest of the men but almost always found her in the main room, pouring over a map, or writing a missive to the unknown man with the money.
A table was set for two to dine at opposite the bed. An expensive bottle of wine was waiting. Aramis knew Madame Dupre wanted to impress him; she had planned their liaison. As she unbuttoned her cloak she nodded towards the bottle.
'Pour us some wine,' she said. 'And please take your weapons off... you will not be needing those...'
Aramis smiled his fake smile and moved to the table, pulling his weapons belts off as he went. He shrugged out of his doublet and draped it over a cushioned chair. Dupre was sitting at her dressing table pulling pins from her hair, which had been elegantly swept up on top of her head. If Aramis did not detest the woman as much as he did, he knew he would find her attractive. But all that she stood for was abhorrent to him. Her attitude about the younger gang members and the blind eye she turned to the treatment of the boy made Aramis hate her.
A knock at the door distracted him from his thoughts. He opened the door, revealing the boy and Samuel, whose shooting he had been helping to improve. They were carrying trays of food.
'Put it on the table,' said Dupre with a wave of her hands.
Aramis stood back to allow the boy and the young man in. He could see them both looking enviably at the food. It was better than what was prepared for the gang members and probably more than they were allowed to eat in a sitting. They quickly retreated, closing the door behind them.
Madame Dupre appeared in front of him. She slipped her hand into his raising it so that she could examine the marks on his knuckles.
'Did our noble put up much of a fight?' she asked, a wicked smile on her lips.
'He did not want to go quietly,' replied Aramis, thinking about the shocked look on d'Artagnan's face when he hit him the second time. 'But I did not struggle to subdue him.'
She lifted his bruised hand to her lips and kissed each knuckle. Aramis wanted to pull his hand away. Instead, he pushed his other hand through her hair and pulled her closer to him. They kissed. As they parted, he could tell Dupre was hungry for more. Aramis was not. She regarded him for a few seconds before her eyes flicked to the cooling food.
'Now, my Musketeer,' she said. 'Let us eat, before we turn to more enjoyable pastimes.'
MMMM
Earlier...
Athos acknowledged Porthos with a nod as he joined him.
'How were they both?' he asked.
'D'Artagnan got confused and we had to explain to him in simple terms why Aramis had to punch him,' said Porthos with a wry smile. 'It eased the tension for a few seconds.'
'He's still learning,' mused Athos as he watched Aramis guiding d'Artagnan towards the side gate.
They watched as Aramis, who was talking to d'Artagnan as they walked, reached the gate and pulled it open. The supposedly disillusioned Musketeer glanced around before forcing his captive from the Palace grounds.
The observing soldiers moved closer but kept themselves well hidden. The last thing Aramis and d'Artagnan needed was for their undercover mission to be discovered because Athos and Porthos were seen watching them.
'You're still worried about d'Artagnan, aren't you?' asked Porthos.
'You cannot tell me that you are completely at ease with this,' replied Athos with a vague gesture towards the man in question.
Athos glanced at Porthos when he did not reply. His friend was trying to come up with something that would make everything alright. That would ease his worries. In the end, Porthos shook his head.
'I'm worried about them both,' he admitted. 'I'm worried Aramis will give them both away if he reacts to whatever they do to d'Artagnan.'
'I trust him,' said Athos, 'but I agree, sometimes... it is impossible not to react.'
He felt Porthos' hand on his shoulder, offering reassurance. He knew Porthos was as worried, despite his best efforts to hide it.
Aramis made a sudden move, shoving into d'Artagnan. They knew that was d'Artagnan's cue to start to struggle. Athos nodded his approval as d'Artagnan made it difficult for Aramis to keep him moving in a straight line. The pair reached the corner where Aramis had agreed to meet the gang. They knew there would be no one else around. Two men helped Aramis to pin d'Artagnan to the wall. They could not hear the conversation that went on between the gang, but Athos got the impression Aramis was replying curtly to the scarred man. The woman, Madame Dupre, was every inch as Aramis had described her. Athos was reminded of his wife. The scheming woman looked on with approval. She congratulated Aramis as they moved off towards the waiting carriage. D'Artagnan was pushed roughly into the carriage. The others followed.
They watched the carriage drive off.
'All we can do now is wait,' muttered Porthos.
'The hardest part,' said Athos. 'Let us hope, again, that Aramis can get the name of the mastermind... before d'Artagnan suffers too much.'
Reluctantly, Athos and Porthos turned away. They knew where the gangs base was, there was no need to follow the carriage. If more of them were involved in the mission a watch would have been put on the house. It would have been odd for Athos and Porthos to keep disappearing to watch the house.
They strolled towards the garrison; each man lost in thought. Athos knew it would be a tense couple of hours waiting for Treville to return from the Palace. With luck, the noble, who in reality had agreed to leave the city for a couple of weeks, would not be missed for several hours.
The garrison was busy. Some of the cadets were being given basic medical training. Barbotin and Luc were demonstrating assorted methods for dealing with injuries and wounds. Athos nudged Porthos to stop him chuckling as they watched the cadets getting tangled in bandages and confused with where to place tourniquets.
Serge was busy laying food on the table. He looked up as they approached.
'You seen that no-good Aramis today?' asked Serge. 'He took apples again. Tell him they're for everyone.'
'We ain't seen him,' said Porthos.
Athos could feel the tension from his friend. They had been joining in with the increasingly belligerent remarks regarding Aramis during the weeks of the mission. Serge made a dismissive grunt and walked away. Porthos watched him go before speaking quietly.
'He is going to feel betrayed when this is all over. He loves Aramis, he's watched Aramis go from new soldier to seasoned Musketeer.'
Athos nodded grimly, 'he will not be the only one. I know they will understand, but it could still be awkward for Aramis when he's back with us.'
'I hate this mission,' sighed Porthos.
Their mutual dislike of the current situation could not be openly shown. They had to continue to keep their own facade of a change of relationship with Aramis. They were joining in with the general grumbled dislike of Aramis but not encouraging it. Several of the other men had invited them to dine with them and tried to get them to join their little groups. Athos wondered if it was pity. The inseparables were not the best of the best anymore. One of their number had fallen from grace.
'You two,' said Treville, who had marched with purpose into the garrison. 'My office, now.'
The activity in the yard stopped as the Captain walked past. He looked angry. Athos could not work out if it was part of the facade of the mission, or if he was genuinely angry about something. He followed Porthos up the stairs as the Musketeers, cadets, and stable boys went back to their work. They could hear the reassuring clash of swords resuming. The yard always seemed wrong without that symphony of sound. Treville was waiting for them by the door to his office. His angry expression was now one of worry. Athos' heart sank. He would have preferred the Captain to be angry about something rather than worried. Athos did not need to ask; he knew the worry was for the mission and Aramis and d'Artagnan's precarious situation.
'What's happened?' asked Porthos, who was thinking the same as Athos. 'We watched them take d'Artagnan, it went smoothly.'
'You were not the only ones to see,' said Treville.
Athos huffed and shook his head, 'it was always a possibility,' he said. 'The area is usually quiet, but the Palace as a whole is busy. Has the King been informed? Do we need to get them out?'
Treville shook his head, 'Aramis was not recognised. We may still be able to salvage the mission, although it will mean another change to the plan. An acceleration this time.'
'Who saw them?' asked Porthos.
Treville, who had been standing by the door, moved passed them and perched on the edge of his desk. He looked at them each in turn.
'One of the Queen's ladies saw a man in a dark cloak bundling Comte Reis away. Thankfully, the lady is a bit...' Treville paused, as he tried to think of a polite word, 'dithery?'
Athos and Porthos nodded their understanding. Some of the ladies were very bold, practical, women who could stand up for themselves. Others could only be described as simpering, pandering women, who were likely to make easy pickings to some of the men who merely wanted a wife to give them sons.
'She could not describe the kidnapper at all. She only knew it was Comte Reis because, like a lot of the ladies, she fawns around him and recognised the clothes.'
'But...' said Athos.
'But the King wanted to know who was supposed to be watching the side gate.'
'Aramis,' supplied Porthos.
'Exactly,' said Treville. 'The King was furious that the kidnapping occurred. He has hidden away in his rooms and will only talk to a select few courtiers. One of which I am sure is the elusive man with the money. The King is not talking to myself or the Cardinal, he blames us and has told me that something must be done.'
Athos sighed, 'you are going to have to take Aramis' commission. Which will make him not as useful to the gang. Which will put him and d'Artagnan in danger... more danger.'
Treville nodded.
'I know we were planning on doing this at some point. But it should have been when Aramis felt it was necessary. I don't think I will be able to get away with having a quiet word with him beforehand. The King wants it done as soon as possible. Aramis is not to be given a chance to defend himself. The King essentially gave me an ultimatum. I either take Aramis' commission or the Musketeers will no longer be allowed to act as the King's elite guard. The man who is financing this will have won by default.'
They all looked at each other for a few seconds.
'You're not going to be able to tell him what's happened, are you?' said Porthos. 'You need to do this publicly, to appease the King.'
Treville nodded.
'It's a disaster. They were already in danger... but this will make it worse. Once he's lost his commission, he'll only have a short time to get the name of the man before that mastermind gives the order that Aramis is of no use anymore.'
'There's a chance that with the King being... upset with you at the moment, the man with the money might give himself away?'
'But none of us will be there to see it,' reflected Athos.
Porthos shrugged and nodded.
'When will you talk to Aramis?' asked Athos, turning to Treville.
'The next time I see him. Publicly. I need you two to spread the word, quietly, that you think I will take his commission. The last thing we need is to make the gang suspicious that this is a setup.'
The Captain looked down for a few seconds.
'He'll know it's just part of the plan, Captain. He'll be a bit confused that the timing was not his choice, but he'll go with it,' said Porthos.
Treville looked up and nodded. Athos could see the regret in his Captain's eyes. They knew it was all an act, but that did not make it any easier.
MMMM
Madame Dupre allowed Aramis to lace her shoes, he smoothed her stocking and looked up at her. She smiled, the hungry look in her eyes had not diminished. Aramis hoped his performance was everything she had wanted. She had certainly behaved in the manner of a woman whose sexual desire had been sated. Aramis wondered if, now that she had taken him to her bed, she might lose interest in him. He was undecided if he wanted that or not. He had no interest in her, but as long as she had an interest in him, he held some use within the gang, even if it were only as her plaything. Aramis knew Carlos saw him as nothing more than a distraction for her.
'Now,' she said, leaning forward and lifting his chin with her finger, 'let's have a different kind of fun. I'm sure, as a lowly soldier you will enjoy seeing one of the elites being put in their place.'
Aramis nodded, before leaning in to kiss her. She returned the kiss passionately before pushing away from him and giving him an admonishing look.
'Anyone would think you wanted more time with me,' she said as she coquettishly tilted her head.
'Anyone would be right,' lied Aramis with a smile.
He despised himself. His friend had been taken away by Carlos and Boivin, he had no idea what the men had done with him. And Aramis was pretending he wanted to go back to bed with Dupre. All he wanted was to end the hideous mission. To get d'Artagnan out of there and wash the stench of the place from his skin with water as hot as he could put up with.
Dupre rose and took his hand. She led him along the corridor to the far end. One of the dirtier thugs was sitting outside the last door. He was leaning back on the chair, his gun resting on his lap. As Dupre approached he hauled himself to his feet and attempted to look respectful. Dupre gave him a withering look before pushing the door open.
The room they had put d'Artagnan in would have been a smaller bedroom. A small hearth lay empty in the middle of one wall. Two windows were sufficient to see the room well lit. The afternoon sun was throwing interesting deep shadows across the bare floor. A narrow table stood in the corner and a couple of chairs were against the wall next to it.
Aramis wanted to move closer to his friend but knew he could not show any kind of interest. Comte Reis was not someone Aramis cared about. He was not someone Aramis would associate with. He was not someone Aramis would gladly die for.
D'Artagnan was all of those things. But it was not d'Artagnan who was standing against the wall, his arms pulled above his head. Rusty manacles cutting into his skin, head bowed, face bruised. It was Comte Reis. And Aramis had to keep telling himself he did not care.
They had stripped his friend of his jerkin and boots. His shirt was ripped in places revealing bruising across his chest. Aramis watched d'Artagnan's breathing, he could not discern any difficulties each time the beaten man took a breath.
'I do hope he is not already too badly... damaged... for you,' said Aramis idly, with a glance at Dupre.
He tried to gauge her thoughts. Her expression had switched from evil temptress to evil torturess. Aramis saw only a hint of a change.
She licked her lips before replying, 'no, my Musketeer, there is far, far more I can do.'
Aramis looked towards his friend, who made eye contact with him. D'Artagnan stared for a few seconds before lowering his head. Aramis realised his friend did not need to worry about keeping his charade going. He only had to take what was given to him. And Aramis had to watch and not react. The beating he had taken was already enough. The fear was already real. Aramis cursed inwardly. The newly commissioned man was not ready for the role.
Carlos appeared behind him, shoving him a few steps out of the way, Aramis glared at the smug-looking man.
'You wait 'til you see her at work,' he said. 'You'll learn to appreciate the skill.'
He looked at her longingly, she ignored him. Aramis wondered if Carlos loved her for her looks or the evil that oozed from her.
She walked up to d'Artagnan and roughly grabbed his loose hair, pulling his head back. He looked at her.
'Please,' he said, his voice pitiful. 'What have I done to you?'
Aramis was impressed and proud. He had been completely taken in by d'Artagnan's broken look, his slumped shoulders and fearful expression. The young man was every bit the Musketeer, truly deserving of the pauldron he had removed so that he could take his part in the horrific play. Aramis should not have doubted his friend.
'You have done nothing, my dear,' said Dupre, her voice cold. 'You were just unlucky.'
'I won't say anything,' d'Artagnan said, looking at Aramis. 'Let me go and I won't tell them you were involved.'
'Poor little boy, begging to be let go,' chuckled Carlos, nudging Boivin in the side as he spoke.
'What shall we do to you?' mused Madame Dupre, her head tilted her index finger on her lower lip as she pretended to ponder the question.
A smile spread across her face. She turned and looked at the table in the corner of the room. Aramis followed her gaze. Arranged on the table were a collection of instruments of torture, thin metal pokers with vicious hooks, slim switches and whips, an assortment of daggers, and a few small torture devices. Aramis imagined each item being put to use and willed the images away.
Dupre sauntered across the room, deliberately swaying her hips so that each of the men would look at her. She stopped in front of the table and let her hand hover over each item for a second before moving on. She made her choice and turned back to d'Artagnan. Aramis glanced at the device she had picked before looking at d'Artagnan. His friend's act had been dropped. His eyes were wide with genuine fear.
Madame Dupre nodded to Carlos who pointed at Boivin and the dirty man that had been watching the door. The two thugs grabbed d'Artagnan and forced his chin up. The Musketeer tried to struggle free. The reaction natural.
'The Heretics Fork,' said Madame Dupre, as she held the horrific device up for d'Artagnan to see closely. 'If we had wanted to gain a confession from you it would have been particularly useful. But we do not need a confession from you. We just need you to suffer.'
D'Artagnan was still trying to pull away, but the men holding him were strong. Aramis was glad all eyes were on the captured Comte. He was sure he would have given himself away if any of the gang had glanced at him. All he could do was watch and try to contain his disgusted, horrified expression as Dupre stepped closer to d'Artagnan.
The double-ended fork had two prongs at each end. A leather strap was attached to its shaft. The prongs were placed in such a way that one set touched d'Artagnan's chin and the other his breastbone. The leather strap was looped around his neck and buckled firmly enough that the device would not move.
The thugs stepped back. D'Artagnan was left with his head tilted back if he tried to lower his head the sharp prongs would pierce his skin. He shifted awkwardly, he tried to pull his arms down, but they were too high above his head, the chain taught. D'Artagnan was not going anywhere.
'I've known people last for hours,' said Dupre as she returned to Aramis' side.
He managed an appreciative smile.
'Simple, but effective,' Dupre continued with a grin. 'Now, my Musketeer, you must not be late for your evening muster. I fear you may already have been missed. Even if our time has been gainfully employed.'
She led him from the room followed by the thugs.
He managed to look back as Boivin closed the door, the last sight he caught of d'Artagnan would haunt him for a long time. His friend was looking back at him, through narrow eyelids. His vision compromised by the fork keeping his head back. Aramis had rarely seen his friend scared for himself. It was not an image he wanted to remember.
MMMM
Authors note: If you would like to read about the Heretics Fork, you can find information on Google with the search 'Heretics Fork' and look at 'The Torture Museum' link (I would put the link here but it won't let me!)