Thank you to all the readers and to those who left comments for the last chapter.
Apologies for the break in updates but birthday celebrations interrupted proceedings and there are more adventures tomorrow so the next chapter will be Monday.
CHAPTER 52
I
Early evening and Tréville opened his door. He was about to step onto the balcony that ran past his office when d'Artagnan, lounging against the balustrade, snapped to attention and startled him.
"D'Artagnan," he began, swiftly recovering his composure, "can I help you?"
"Er, no. That is …" He at least had the decency to look embarrassed, not having been with the other three long enough to learn their ability to bluff their way out of a situation when confronted by the Captain. No doubt he would acquire that skill over time but for now, his painful honesty was like a breath of fresh air.
Not that the other three would tell him an outright lie. At least that's what Tréville told himself, for he – and they – knew they would be in serious trouble when he caught them out in the falsehood. He always liked to think of 'when' but was not such a fool as to think they never got the better of him. They could be economical with their version of the truth and were not averse to twisting it a little or eventually divulging it at a much later date. He suspected that they withheld details more often than he would like but trusted them not to jeopardise a mission with their silence; they were, after all, his best men.
"Then why are you here?" he pressed.
D'Artagnan sighed. "Aramis told me to wait here whilst you rested and to stop people from pestering you unless it was an emergency," he floundered. He had been averse to the idea of 'standing guard' outside the Captain's room to keep other Musketeers at bay and thought to provide some hasty examples to demonstrate that he could, indeed, determine what constituted an emergency. "Like a summons from the King, an attack against him or news that Gaston was causing more trouble."
"I thank you all for your concern," Tréville declared, passing the young man and heading for the stairs.
The clatter of feet on the wooden steps behind him told him that d'Artagnan followed closely in his wake.
"Did anyone try to see me?" he inquired.
"No, Captain."
"Good. There was, apparently, no need to go to such lengths then."
"Did you sleep at all, Sir?" d'Artagnan asked, changing the subject. That had, after all, been the reason behind his vigil on the balcony.
"For about an hour," Tréville reluctantly admitted. The very thought of sleeping during a working day when there was so much to be done was anathema to him but his erratic and insufficient sleeping patterns of late and the concern regarding Athos had taken their toll. Aramis had recognised the signs in the Captain – the narrowed eyes against the light, the furrowed brow and the subconscious rubbing of the temples – and had ordered him to take more rest to stave off the worst of the burgeoning headache. No doubt the usual herbal infusion Aramis insisted that he swallow had done much to facilitate sleep and disperse the pain.
"I shall have something to eat and then come to the infirmary," he announced.
Having discharged his duties, D'Artagnan looked relieved at being able to return to his mentor's side and eagerly peeled off from Tréville to go in another direction.
II
Less than an hour later, the Captain entered the infirmary and could not conceal his smile at the sight that met him.
Athos was awake again and propped up against a pile of pillows that had been claimed from the nearby cots. D'Artagnan and Porthos sat on chairs to Athos' left. The big Musketeer was in the middle of a story about one of their past adventures, elaborating upon its finer points to add the humour that had been missing from the group for far too long.
Aramis perched on the bed to Athos' right and was spoon-feeding broth to the injured Musketeer. It spoke volumes as to the limited progress Athos had made in a few hours. He remained too weak to sit unsupported and his hands lay limply on the blanket, unable to bear the weight of holding a spoon to his own lips.
"Captain!" d'Artagnan leaped to his feet and surrendered his seat to the officer as the other men also greeted him. Even Athos acknowledged him with a nod between spoonsful.
"You look much better than when I last saw you awake," Tréville stated, meaning every word.
"This is the second time he has woken since then," Aramis explained. "He took some water and a little of the broth but now," he announced as Athos obediently opened his mouth again for the approaching spoon, " he has finished this bowlful." He held out the empty receptacle for the others to see and make impressed noises. Athos raised an eyebrow, not appreciating being the subject of so much attention.
Ignoring his reaction, Aramis smiled warmly. "You have done well. You must have been hungry. It has to have been at least five or six days since you last ate properly. Go on, at least admit that you were hungry."
Now Athos rolled his eyes, a mannerism they all recognised and had sorely missed.
"I was hungry," he said grudgingly, feigning a mild annoyance. Tréville noted that his voice sounded stronger, clearer than when they had exchanged words only a few hours before. Fluid, food and more sleep had obviously been beneficial to him.
There followed a few more minutes of inconsequential chatter with Athos mostly listening and then Aramis quietly asked the question that had been uppermost in their thoughts.
His fingers brushed the back of Athos' hand in a sign of brotherly support. "What happened to you?"
Athos sat still and silent for so long that his friends wondered if he was actually going to respond. "I was attacked on the road. Three men," he said eventually.
"Why?" Porthos pressed. "Were they trying to rob you?"
Athos frowned. "I don't think so." He had not been carrying anything of value except for the list he had compiled, and they had certainly not found that, even if they had been searching for anything.
"Were they associated with the meeting you attended?" Aramis queried, desperately seeking a link as to why such a vicious attempt on Athos' life had been made.
"I had never seen them before," Athos answered.
It was an evasive answer; he knew it and so did the Captain, but it was no lie.
"Did someone recognise you as a Musketeer?" This was from d'Artagnan.
"I don't think so."
It was another honest response. L'Hernault avoided the Paris court and consequently knew nothing of Athos' new life as a soldier.
"Some of them I knew from their appearances at the palace, but I had had nothing to do with any of them. They would not have taken notice of me, of us. We are only Musketeers and expected to fade into the background after all. At best, I might have resembled a lowly soldier they had seen somewhere in passing."
It was the longest speech Athos had uttered since waking the first time and the effort depleted his hard-won strength so that he seemed to shrink into the pillows, his eyes heavy.
"It doesn't make sense," Aramis insisted. "Someone must have recognised you."
"Or at least as someone who wasn't a noble," Porthos added. "You sure you didn't give yourself away somehow?"
"That's hard to believe," d'Artagnan said in defence of his mentor and unwilling to hear any criticism of him.
"Whoever it was knew you for a Musketeer, saw you as a spy – which, of course, you were – and wanted to stop you getting back to Paris and making your report to the King," Aramis continued.
"That must be it," Athos conceded; his weariness was audible now.
"But what of the three men? What 'appened to 'em? How did you get away?" Porthos wanted to know.
Athos slowly fixed his eyes on his friend and whispered, "I don't remember."