Dear all, thank you so much to all the readers and those leaving comments. I love reading your speculation on what might happen next. Sometimes I wonder how you got to see my planning notes and occasionally, I confess, I think 'Ooh, that's an interesting possibility …'
This week has been quite overwhelming, and I apologise for the delay in responding individually to folk. I'm juggling time writing this with other writing projects, researching for the latter, still working on the house, enjoying time in the now-not-so-new kitchen trying loads of new recipes, crafting, and a plethora of cinema and theatre trips. Plus I have just picked up the director's mantle again for a short play.
Beeblegirl, another slightly longer chapter for you! (I know you want them longer still and I will get back to writing like that in other stories, promise!) If I've let any errors slip through, my apologies.
It's been a long time coming but, if you're still here at the end of this chapter, there's a little historical author's note at the end. You know me and etymology!
CHAPTER 51
I
"Your father? What do you mean, Athos? Athos?" Tréville gently shook the arm he was still holding but there was no response. Emotion and exhaustion combined forces to win the battle over Athos as he slipped further away into another deep sleep.
Tréville had learned much of what he wanted, although he was still lacking the finer points that the younger Musketeer would no doubt elaborate upon when he next awoke.
But it was this last, startling revelation that was of major concern to the Captain. On one level, it was an unfortunate complication that they did not need when they had so much else to occupy them and it crossed his mind that Athos' concentration would be divided in the days ahead, always assuming that he recovered sufficiently to leave for the King's hunting lodge.
No Musketeer should allow the personal to distract him from his duty. Tréville shook his head, refusing to accept that this latest difficulty might cause any shortcomings in Athos' duty to the King. Problems, not of Athos' making, might ensue if this L'Hernault were present at Versailles and realised that not only was Athos still very much alive despite efforts to the contrary, but that he was also one of the King's Musketeers.
Could there have been any occasion for L'Hernault or his men to discover this already? Was Tréville wrong in his earlier supposition and Athos had been questioned by Gaston's man? Had he suffered his injury at their hands then and somehow managed to escape, desperate to regain his freedom and fulfil his mission? Or had the men merely been sent in pursuit of the errant Comte de la Fère against whom L'Hernault bore a frightening grudge? And what had happened to any or all of these men? Athos would have put up a fierce fight even if he were outnumbered. Had any of them survived to give L'Hernault some kind of report? They must have thought Athos was dead so how had he managed to make his way to the lay brothers?
More to the point, did Gaston have any knowledge of this? The Captain and Richelieu had been so careful to feign ignorance of the nobles' meeting and not divulge that they had sent their own man there, whilst Athos had left behind any clothing that would proclaim his military link at the garrison; his pauldron still lay in a drawer in Tréville's office.
The Captain held his head in his hands and groaned. There was so much subterfuge going on that he was beginning to find it difficult to keep things straight in his head regarding who knew what and just what had to be concealed from someone else, and now there was this additional incident with Athos. How much would he be willing to reveal to his brothers? He needed their support to help maintain his safety. Would his hand be forced so that he had to explain the details of his true identity?
Somehow, Tréville doubted it. Athos would find a way to maintain another secret. He would shut down, retreat into himself, determined to sort out the problem on his own. The Captain could only hope that his recovery, the political tensions and the trip to Versailles would be enough to divert him, rather than resorting to the temporary solace of a bottle of wine or two. Perhaps, just perhaps, Athos might confide in him because he was aware of the young man's title. He knew precious little else, such as what had caused him to abandon his birth-right and estate. Whatever it was had left Athos seriously damaged and it had taken five years of dogged determination and friendship by Aramis and Porthos – yes, and himself - to get him this far.
Very occasionally, Athos had said something that hinted at the type of relationship between him and his father. It seemed the previous comte had been a hard taskmaster who demanded much of his son and heir and gave him little room to make and learn from his own errors. Tréville wondered if he might appeal to Athos to disclose more to him because of his position as the Captain's second. It was worth the effort.
"Anything I should know about?"
Tréville visibly jumped at the soft voice at his shoulder.
"I didn't mean to startle you," Aramis added.
The Captain wiped a hand over his face. He suddenly felt very tired – and old!
"I am fine. I was just thinking about what Athos told me."
"He's been awake?" Aramis' face lit up at the news.
"Yes. He took water but I didn't give him any broth. My apologies," and Tréville went on to describe the brief interlude when Athos had been awake and repeated the information the swordsman had given him. Disappointed as he was that he had missed Athos' first lucid moments, Aramis could not ignore the overwhelming relief and, despite Carveau's previous reassurances, he finally began to believe that his brother was recovering.
II
Gaston paced the room, moments of tense silence interspersed with violent outbursts of uncontrollable rage, shouted threats and an impressive range of expletives. The floor was littered with the contents of drawers and cupboards, interspersed with broken pieces of glass and pottery, thrown in a fit of petulant fury and irrespective of any value they might have held for his brother.
L'Hernault stood quietly in the farthest corner, watching the Duc's desperate search and dabbing at the open cut on his cheek with a handkerchief. When he had knocked at the door, Gaston had thrown it open, his anger already bordering on the unmanageable, and screamed at him.
"What are you doing here?" Gaston pulled him into the untidy room and slammed the door shut, but not before he had glanced wildly up and down the corridor. He rounded on his visitor, standing so close in his tirade that his spittle flecked L'Hernault's face.
"I told you that you were not to come here again; that I would send word to you. I have lied to my brother, the Cardinal and the Musketeer captain, telling them that you have returned to your estate. Why are you still here? I ordered you to head for Versailles." With that, he caught L'Hernault a severe blow with the back of his hand, laying open the cheek with the heavily jewelled ring he was wearing.
L'Hernault's eyes widened at the sudden pain and, annoyed, raised his own hand to his bleeding face. He took a deep breath, a desire to retaliate swiftly quashed.
"I am bound there shortly, but you were to give me details of the men's encampments. Also, I postponed my departure for as long as I dared because I was waiting for my three men to report to me but there has been no sign of them as yet."
"Oh, worried that they might not have sorted your little 'problem'?" Gaston goaded him. "What is this man who goes by another name? Is he not a mere mortal like you and me? Cannot three men contain him?"
L'Hernault flinched at the slight.
"I have more important things to concern me," Gaston yelled, crossing the room and kicking at the disorderly piles of clothing strewn across the floor.
"Can I assist you in your search for whatever it is?" L'Hernault offered from the corner where he had retreated.
"No you may not," Gaston snarled.
"Then, if you could spare a moment to tell me about the encampments, I shall be on my way."
"That's just it, you imbecile!" Gaston shrieked. When roused to this state, he was unpredictable and dangerous, which conflicted with the ridiculous sound he made that resembled the noise of a hysterical woman. "The map showing their whereabouts has been stolen from this very room. No-one was with me when I found a place of perfect concealment and yet it has gone!"
"But who …" L'Hernault did not get the chance to finish as he had to duck the bowl that was hurled in his direction. It smashed against the wall behind him, showering him in jagged pieces. He tentatively felt for new injuries.
"If I knew that, you idiot, I would be sending you after him right now!"
As quickly as his temper had erupted, so it drained away and Gaston slumped into a chair, staring at the floor before him.
"If it has fallen into the Cardinal's hands, I am finished. He has waited long for just such an opportunity."
"But," L'Hernault ventured quietly, "if he and Tréville were in possession of the map, they would have informed the King and you would have been summoned for questioning." He hesitated. "Possibly even arrested."
Gaston sighed heavily. "Perhaps whoever took it does not yet realise the significance of what they have."
"An odd trophy from a break-in," L'Hernault commented, "when the room contains many things of monetary value. Are you missing anything else?"
Gaston shook his head and paled as something else occurred to him. "There was no break-in. The lock was not forced. Someone had their own key or another means of access. Perhaps they are biding their time to betray me to my brother."
"Or a third party may make contact to blackmail you and can be dealt with then."
The Duc brightened. "We will be creative in the punishment that will be meted out to one who dares to blackmail me. Well done, L'Hernault. Your words encourage me that we may yet expedite our plans successfully."
L'Hernault let out the long breath he had been holding. He did not dare add what he was thinking - that the Duc was naïve and easily placated. With the map missing and in unknown hands, it was as if the very sword of Damocles hung above their heads and, if that map were to be passed to Richelieu, it was very likely that a similar weapon would be employed to cleave heads from shoulders.
A/N
So yesterday, when Tréville was interpreting what Athos was telling him, I wanted to write that he 'read between the lines'. Not possible. It's an expression from the 19th century and although it suggested spying (like Athos was doing) it was not appropriate. It stemmed from people writing a communication to someone and adding another message in invisible ink so that, when said message was revealed, the recipient literally 'read between the lines.' Fascinating!
Today I wanted to use the word 'blackmail' and wondered about its origins. It stems from the chieftains in the border regions between Scotland and England in the 16th and early 17th centuries (so I am using some historical licence that the idea/term had spread to France by 1630!) They ordered landowners to pay them to avoid being pillaged! The word means 'payment' or 'rent' and is thought to have come to the Old English from an Old Norse word 'māl' meaning 'speech, agreement.'
You learn something new every day! Love it!