CHAPTER SIX
The Infirmary:
While Aramis was lost in their shared past, Olivier had been dreaming.
He was walking down the long passageway.
Looking down, he saw his boots on the marble floor. Ahead, the tall windows to his right let in wide shafts of sunlight.
It was eerily quiet but there were people ahead. Guards, servants. He was alone and striding down the passageway with a purpose, but he did not know what that purpose was.
Ahead of him, through the doors, there was much activity and the people he saw were dressed in fine clothing. He did not recognise the building.
As he approached, he slowed his pace, unsure of his motivation.
His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword; an automatic response.
The doors remained open as he approached them silently, for his footsteps did not register, despite the hard surface beneath his boots.
He stepped into the room.
Ahead of him there was a woman in a green gown.
She turned.
He could only see her eyes. They held him still as she stared at him, her face slowly coming into focus. Before he could see her properly, suddenly her red mouth twisted and she cried out three desperate words;
"I love you!"
He woke with a jolt, staring into the unfamiliar room.
Chilled, he threw back the covers and gasped as he levered himself up, before staggering toward the window.
Clamping his arm to his side, he stared out at the bare courtyard. For a moment, he did not know where he was, or what the strange dream meant. The dream quickly faded, but it had left him exhausted and confused, a sick dizziness beginning to envelop him.
Before his knees could buckle, the door opened and Aramis quickly crossed the room and manhandled him back to bed.
"If I cannot trust you to stay in your bed, I will set a guard on you," Aramis had ground out.
His anger was misplaced for a patient, but justified toward his friend, who from old, had little patience with illness or injury.
"Do as you wish," the Comte replied, tightly, before waving a hand for the bowl.
Aramis barely got it in front of him before he threw up.
Later:
"You don't have to keep me company," he said tetchily.
"I know," d'Artagnan said, lightly, sitting at the table and whittling a piece of wood.
"Aramis's orders," the young man added, with a knowing smile.
Ah. Aramis. He was beginning to learn that he was in the man's domain.
"Have you no work to do?" he tried, watching as the young man once more bent over his task. "Your Captain can't be happy that you are spending all this time in here."
"Captain's orders," d'Artagnan replied, giving him the same cocky smile.
The Comte closed his eyes with a weary sigh.
"Not that I am complaining," he finally said, aware he was being rude. "I have nothing better to do."
The sound of d'Artagnan's knife scraping along the strip of willow lulled him into quiet contemplation.
He was, he knew, beginning to feel out of his depth.
Trained from childhood to give direction and instruction, here, he found himself in a world of soldiers, who took their direction from the King himself.
He had learned from his brief discussion with Captain Treville that they were trained to follow orders, but were also highly trained free thinkers who were tasked with missions of great importance, having leeway to act. He had nothing to offer, he could only learn. He had always enjoyed learning though and this was another opportunity.
He had little free time in Pinon. Here was an opportunity. Reluctant as he was to leave Thomas in charge, the tenants knew how to farm the land, the bills were paid, the house would be looked after by the staff. Pinon was but an hour away, but he realised he had no immediate desire to return. The sights, sounds and smells of the Garrison made him feel alive, his blood hot in his veins. His was a lonely life. These men were brothers. He wanted to learn, to experience this life.
Just for a short while, one glorious moment, to experience a life he could never have.
oOo
Meanwhile, in the courtyard:
"Why don't you take him some food?" Aramis said gently, as Porthos sat at the table.
Porthos's mood had not improved since this began.
"Why?" he grunted, throwing a cup of wine down his throat and banging it down on the table.
"Because he is your friend," Aramis replied, softly.
"But he doesn't know that!" Porthos hissed angrily.
"Why are you so angry?"
Porthos did not reply, merely staring down at the table, his hand tight round the empty cup.
"It was never a problem to 'im," he finally replied.
"What wasn't?" Aramis frowned, before realisation came in a flash and his eyes widened.
Leaning forward, he grabbed Porthos's arm and squeezed.
"You think he will judge you?" he asked, incredulously.
"Why wouldn't he?" Porthos replied, shaking Aramis off and standing. "You've seen how the nobles look at me at Court, watchin' to make sure I don't put anythin' in my pockets."
Aramis leapt to his feet.
"That's Athos in there!" he hissed.
"It's not, though, is it?" Porthos replied, pushing him back. "You said so yourself. You are the first Musketeer he's met. So what will he think when I walk in?"
"Porthos, you know Athos!" Aramis said, fervently. "The man you know has never shown prejudice or judgement to anyone who did not deserve it! That is not suddenly lost. Athos's values are those formed throughout his life, however privileged that life may have been."
When Porthos still looked hesitant, Aramis could see what was at the root of it.
"We are all afraid, mon ami. d'Artagnan has lost his mentor. The Captain has lost his second, and you and I, have lost our brother. But we have not lost the man of honour. I have seen glimpses of it. Go and see for yourself."
"What do I say to him?" Porthos finally said, his voice small.
Aramis threw his arm around him.
"Be yourself, my friend. Just, be yourself."
"Maybe later," Porthos grunted, before turning away.
As he watched Porthos's retreating back, he thought he had never had such a sad conversation in his life. He sat heavily back down on the bench, his eyes straying to the stable, where he could see d'Artagnan furiously brushing his horse through the open door.
What on earth was happening to their world?
oOo
When Aramis walked quietly into the Laundry a few hours later, Madame Crecy* was sewing.
When the washing was done, it was time for mending.
She looked up as he approached and eyed him quizzically.
"I am glad you are keeping up with your skills, Madame," Aramis said, hat in his hand.
"What's wrong?" she asked, peering at Aramis over her sewing.
He sat down with a weary sigh.
Of course, she knew about the accident in the yard. They all did. Seeing Aramis coming into the Laundry had made her heart lurch. She held all The Inseparables in high regard. Indeed, they held a special place in her heart; so like her own sons, only one of whom still lived.
"It is Athos," he said, before hurriedly explaining as much as he could, when he saw her face.
While he was talking, Madame Crecy dropped her hands into her lap and listened in silence.
"So, we need a sling for his arm, until the bone heals," he concluded.
"And the rest?" she asked, tentatively.
"He is the Comte de la Fere," Aramis said. "If we refer to him as Athos, he will want to know why we call him that. I cannot imagine his reaction if he learns that several years have passed and he is now a Musketeer."
"Or that he has forsworn his title and lands," he added, "And no longer has a home, apart from a soldier's garrison."
"So you wish to leave him as he is?" she said, quietly.
"I cannot see what else we can do," Aramis replied. "He is not well enough to leave us but if he wanted to, where would he go? What would he do?"
"You are hoping he will come back quickly," she stated.
"He must," Aramis said.
Madame sighed. "Don't worry, I will play my part, and I will ensure the women know the situation."
"My thanks, Madame," Aramis smiled. "Marthe," her corrected, when he saw her look.
"The Captain, Porthos, d'Artagnan and myself have all spoken to the men. We will refer to Athos as the Comte, although I think most of the men will not know how to talk to him and may avoid it."
"It may be for the best," she said. "I am sure nobles are used to such barriers."
"I am not sure Athos was that kind of noble," Aramis sighed. "He may not understand why the men are aloof."
"They are soldiers," Madame said. Her husband Matty and sons had all been military men. "They will know how to behave. Have faith."
"Thank you, Marthe," Aramis said, standing, ready to leave.
"Aramis," she said as he opened the door.
Turning, he looked at her expectantly. "Call back this afternoon, I will have the sling ready."
"You take it to him," he said, leaning forward with a smile, as he turned to leave.
"But he is a Comte!" she cried, suddenly uncertain.
The Captain had taken her to the Palace after he had appointed her Laundress, but she had not been introduced to anyone of importance. Recently widowed and a little lost, that would have been too much for her at the time, Treville knew. She had worked for minor nobles in the past, but this was different.
"Have faith," he said, quietly, mimicking her previous response. And then he was gone, leaving her head spinning and her heart in her mouth.
oOo
That afternoon found Madame Crecy more nervous than she had been in many years.
Athos himself had been quite daunting, when she had first met him. As time passed, she had some dealings with him and a corner had been turned when, sick in the Infirmary, he had mistaken her for his mother. She had held his hand that night, and, although he had no memory of it, she no longer felt intimidated by him. Indeed, she had become very fond of him and his three brothers.
Now though, it was not Athos who she would fit with the newly sewn sling, but the Comte de la Fere. Athos's previous life was still a well guarded secret to most of the Garrison, but Aramis had confided in her on their return from Pinon after helping him defend his lands from the Baron Renard. This was mainly because of the state of his clothes on his return. His shirt could not be saved, and her muttered complaints about it had caused Aramis to relate the tale. He had sworn her to secrecy, of course, but her heart had swelled at the news that he had given his land to his tenants.
He was not to learn of that now though. Whatever was going on, they had all made a pact to keep his past where it belonged. And with that thought in mind, she squared her shoulders and pushed open the outer door to the Infirmary, walking down the short corridor and into the main room.
Aramis was in the main room, resting on a spare bed. He jumped up as she entered and took her hand in his.
"Have faith," he whispered and pointed her to the door at the end of the room.
Her shoes echoed on the flagtones as she approached and she made a conscious effort to lighten her steps. Turning, she gave Aramis one last look, before reaching for the handle and opening the door as quietly as she could.
She stood stock still in the doorway.
The Lieutenant was laid against a mound of pillows, his left hand tucked under his right elbow, supporting the injured shoulder. His eyes were closed. His simple move to the window earlier had cost him dearly.
"Monsieur?" she said, tentatively.
Athos rolled his head toward her and opened his eyes.
"I am Madame Marthe Crecy," she said, feeling somewhat foolish, as of course; he knew who she was.
He only stared at her, green eyes wide, a slight frown on his face. He didn't know who she was.
"Madame?" he murmured.
"I am the Laundress," she said, stepping forward. "I have brought you a support for your arm."
And he smiled.
She swallowed.
"Thank you," he said. "I had no idea there was a laundry here. Though, of course, there would be."
"We are very busy," she smiled. "An army marches on its stomach, and sleeps on clean sheets. Well, they do if I have anything to do with it," she added, her confidence growing.
"I am sorely in need of your services," he replied, eyeing the sling, which made her laugh.
"Then, let us get it sorted," she said, business-like now, stepping forward.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, the sling across her lap.
He raised a lazy eyebrow at her and carefully withdrew his supporting hand, hissing at the pain from his elbow lanced up his arm into his shoulder.
"Be still now," she said. "Let me do the work."
She leaned forward and deftly passed one end of the sling behind his neck, tying it at his good shoulder. Gently, she took his wrist and passed the linen along the arm, until it was supported.
Athos hissed out a breath as she finished.
"How is that L … Monsieur le Comte?" she asked, almost forgetting and calling him "Lieutenant."
"Much better," he sighed, closing his eyes once more, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead.
She smoothed her hand over his pillow and stood.
"I will bring you a clean pillow case," she said, gently. It wouldn't be scented. She knew the Lieutenant didn't favour scented pillowcases. It would be one of her linen pillow cases, plain but of excellent quality.
"Thank you, Madame Crecy," he said, opening his eyes and looking up at her.
The boy in him made her heart lurch. He was so much like her own son, lost in battle these many years.
"You are welcome," she said, softly, as she straightened his sheet.
Having now met the Comte, she turned, smiling to herself.
"Don't forget the pillow case," he murmured, half asleep now.
"Rest assured, I will not," she replied.
To be continued…
oOo
A/N: We first met Madame Crecy in Chapter 40 of my "Infirmary Talks."