Morning, all. and a very Happy Thanksgiving to those of you in the US. Grrr, I hate jetlag! 4.5 hours' sleep last night and very erratic the first night!

Slightly longer chapter this time as I really wanted to get to a certain point and did not want to rush it. Thank you for comments and reading. I look forward to seeing what you think of this chapter …!

CHAPTER 35

The sun had fully risen by the time the three friends left the outskirts of Paris behind them and were on the road south. Conversation was at a minimum, each lost in their own thoughts as they anticipated seeing a familiar figure riding around each bed towards them.

They stopped at every group of dwellings and taverns on route to ask if anyone answering Athos' description had passed through there in the previous twenty-four hours, but the response was always firmly in the negative. If a village deviated a little from the main road, they took turns to stay in plain sight whilst the other two went off to make their inquiries. They were fearful that if they all left the route, Athos might ride past without any of them knowing.

Just before noon, they paused by a stream from which they had a clear view of the road and shared some of the provisions Serge had prepared for them. They had all wanted to press on regardless, eating in the saddle as they travelled but it was Porthos who prevailed upon them to let the horses have a rest.

As the horses drank from the stream and grazed, the men picked at their food.

"If he left when he was supposed to, we should have seen him by now," Porthos said gloomily.

"You know he could have been delayed by anything," Aramis said in an attempt to reassure him. "His horse could have thrown a shoe and he was a distance from the nearest village with a blacksmith. That would have resulted in a long walk."

Even so, they cut short their break and soon resumed their journey, repeating the process of the morning but, as the afternoon wore on, the weather turned against them and they could not ignore it. Dark clouds accumulated, piling high into the sky as the wind grew stronger. They spurred their horses on, but temperatures dropped, forcing them to don their cloaks just as the first raindrops started to fall.

Within minutes, the rain was torrential so that they were soon soaked, their cloaks rendered ineffective. Heads down, Aramis and Porthos rammed hats on more securely, the broad brims creating waterfalls that cascaded before them. D'Artagnan, who was still without any form of head covering, swiped at the saturated hair plastered around his face.

When lightning split the sky above them and a deep rumble of thunder immediately followed, Aramis rode his horse ahead of them, turned and halted in their path.

"This is ridiculous!" he shouted above the elements. "We have to get shelter and wait this out. Athos would be doing the same."

"Even if he's carrying information of such importance?" d'Artagnan asked. "He wouldn't attempt to get back to Paris as soon as he could?"

"Especially because 'e's carryin' such valuable information. 'E knows he 'as to get it back an' he must stay safe. Accidents can 'appen in these conditions."

They fell silent, the same idea crossing all their minds that an accident might be the very reason that they had not met up with Athos yet.

"When I looked at the map before all this started, I saw some habitation which should not be too far ahead of us now. There should be somewhere there where we could take shelter," Aramis insisted.

Seeing an end in sight to their collective misery, they travelled on at a steady pace, not pushing the horses too hard for fear of them slipping as the ground beneath their hooves deteriorated into a treacherous morass. Being so careful meant that nearly another hour passed before they saw the cluster of buildings that made up the place that Aramis had recalled seeing on the map the Captain had given to him.

They were cold, dispirited, exhausted and shivering in their wet clothing when they stopped before a low, one-storey building that passed as a tavern according to the only person they encountered who was prepared to brave the weather.

Slipping from his saddle, d'Artagnan landed in a puddle and muttered a curse under his breath. He glanced in the direction of the other two, hoping that they had not witnessed what he had just done. They were oblivious to his discomfort, concentrating instead upon unfastening the bags from behind their saddles.

He stood still, watching them as they worked. Their mouths were set into grim lines whilst fatigue and worry were clearly etched into their faces. As much as he was concerned about Athos' absence, these men must feel it all the more keenly given their years of service together and their deep bond of friendship. He had certainly seen that first-hand when they had doggedly resolved to prove Athos' innocence when he was awaiting execution.

D'Artagnan felt another stab of guilt for believing so readily that his father had been murdered by Athos. He had given it plenty of thought in the time since then and he realised he should have questioned the readiness with which the murderer had identified himself. It was a preposterous act on the part of someone hell-bent on a serious crime spree and now was so obviously a ploy to incriminate the Musketeer.

"You two go inside and sort out a room and food for us; I'll take care of the horses," he volunteered as he began gathering up the reins.

"Hardly seems fair," Porthos growled," one of you and three sodden mounts."

D'Artagnan was already leading the horses round to the stable he had seen. "I'm a farm boy, remember? It won't take me long. Save me a place near a fire so I can dry out too."

Managing smiles at the young man's generosity, the two Musketeers entered the tavern. They found themselves in a low-ceilinged taproom, smoky from the fire at one end. There were only four or five patrons and they turned as one to stare at the Musketeers.

"Gentlemen, can I help you?" the tavern-keeper asked. "I'm always pleased to see the King's Musketeers."

"I'm glad to hear it," Aramis said jovially as he shrugged off his cloak and shook out a stream of water droplets onto the floor. "There are three of us and we require a room for the night but, before that, we need hot food and wine."

"It would be my pleasure. Seat yourselves by the fire. Robert, move yourself and let these good gentlemen get to the warmth," he shouted at an old man who was as comfortable as he could be on one of the settles beside the fireplace.

Aramis made to object, not wanting to disturb the old man, but the tavern keeper would hear none of it and Robert scuttled away to another table as quickly as his aged bones would allow.

Porthos and Aramis had barely begun to make themselves comfortable when the door to the tavern opened and d'Artagnan entered, his eyes swiftly sweeping the room to locate them.

"That was quick," Aramis quipped. "We've saved you a place by the fire," he added as the young man approached them.

But d'Artagnan's face was serious.

"I need you both to come with me now," and he turned on his heels and headed back to the door.

Porthos and Aramis exchanged quizzical glances even as they got to their feet and followed. There was something in the young man's demeanour that alarmed them so that they did not waste time picking up their cloaks again but headed straight out into the rain.

D'Artagnan led them to the stable. He had lit a lantern to give him some light as he worked on their mounts, rubbing them down and giving them food and water but he had not yet begun his task. Picking up the lantern, he moved into the depth of the stables and stood still, raising the lantern so that they could see into the end stall.

"Tell me you see what I see," he stated, his voice expressionless.

Flanking him, they looked where he told them.

A magnificent stallion stood there and whinnied softly as it recognised the men just as they knew the animal immediately.

It was Athos' horse.