Many thanks to all the readers and to those of you leaving comments. Apologies for any errors/typos that might have crept through. Also, one of the characters has a limited vocabulary and repeatedly swears so I hope no-one is offended!
More trouble on the horizon!
CHAPTER 79
I
Athos looked around him wildly.
"Is there another way out of here? I can hardly walk out of the door if Menier is waiting somewhere beyond it. Where does that lead?" and he pointed towards a narrow door in the corner of the room that he had not noticed before. He hoped that it was not a cupboard.
"To the next room. Are you not staying to hear what he has to say for himself?"
"Not if you want to keep our knowledge of their plot concealed for as long as possible. He will remember me from the meeting."
"You are right of course," Richelieu agreed. "Wait in there with the door ajar and mark our conversation."
Nodding, Athos rapidly gathered together papers, maps and diagrams from the table-top and straightened the quill pens and ink bottle which he had been using. There must be no sign that someone else having been in the room. With all the documents tucked under his arm – for Menier must not see anything that might alert him – and snatching up his hat, Athos disappeared through the door into the adjoining room.
Richelieu waited until the door had almost closed behind the Musketeer and then went rang a small handbell that sat on the corner of his desk. The servant immediately appeared.
"Show Menier in. I will receive him now," the Cardinal ordered.
II
"Bloody insult, that's what it is!"
There was a loud murmur of assent from the group of Red Guard, some fifteen in number.
"We're the poor relations in all this; that's what we are. If I'd wanted to be a bloody Musketeer, I'd 've joined 'em but I chose to be a Red Guard an' I'm proud of it."
Louder support this time.
"So what I want to know is this. What makes that bloody Tréville so all-fired important that 'e's givin' our Captain orders an' passin' 'em on to us? Look at the jobs they're givin' to us an' compare 'em with the ones the Musketeers are doin'. Why aren't any of us huntin' with the King? I'll tell you why! We're not thought bloody good enough, that's what."
There were angry jeers at the perceived injustice.
"Look at our camp! We drew the short straw here. The bloody Musketeers 've got the better spot for themselves!"
It was not true, of course, because Tréville and Athos had deliberated long and hard over the positioning of the two camps. There needed to be clear delineation between the regiments because of their history of disagreements and to facilitate the clear orders that had been given to stay away from each other. Positioned as they were in a long arc behind the hunting lodge, they did not mar the King's view of the countryside but made a reassuring barrier between the lodge and the rebels gathering to the north-west. Although a vast open space suitable for an encampment, it was not entirely flat and the Captain, anticipating grumbles from the Red Guard, had allocated them the more level terrain to the south west. They were also closer to the stream that was the natural water supply for all the men.
"Then they stick their bloody cook next to us, tauntin' us with the smell. D'you see 'em all linin' up last night? They're so bloody precious they don't even cook their own food. 'E should be cookin' for us too. If we're all 'ere for the same reason, we ought to be treated the same." The tirade continued.
Serge's tent, supplies and cooking area were set up in an open space between the two camps. If, heaven forbid, there were to be a fire, the makeshift kitchen was the most likely place for it to start. It would spread quickly through the tents if too close to them, hence its current position. It could have been sited on the northern side of the Musketeer camp but that would have put Serge too far away from the stream and, consequently, a great inconvenience. His tent was erected so that he was at right angles to the Musketeers, facing them with the Red Guard behind him. It was Athos who had thought of that arrangement so that Serge was masked by his tent and supply carts so that the Cardinal's men could not see him working, nor would the Musketeer queue for their meals too close to the other regiment to minimise the opportunity for goading from either side.
Unfortunately, what Tréville and Athos had not made allowances for was the smell of the food as it cooked. It could not be helped and neither had seen it as a potential source of trouble.
But Grenouille, Planque's second-in-command, was so irate and so determined to find fault with everything that he was beyond all reason. The more he bellowed his grievances to his willing audience, the more he believed himself, and the greater his outrage became, the more his listeners agreed with and encouraged him.
"Bet they've got more food than us," a different voice sounded now.
"An' better food at that!" Another joined the mix.
"Maybe we'd better take a look!" Grenouille shouted.
"An' 'elp ourselves!"
An outburst of raucous laughter followed, but there was no mirth in it.
"Don't like the sound o' this," Serge muttered. He was standing at the improvised preparation table where he was packing up bread and cheese to be taken to Athos. He could not be seen by the Red Guard, but the raised, angry voices drifted towards him, aided by the wind direction.
"Neither do I," Claude agreed. "I'll warn some of the boys to be on alert just in case the Red Guard try anythin'."
"Did you get a look at the ringleader?" Serge asked.
Claude had crept around behind the tent and had crouched by the carts, briefly watching as events unfolded in the next camp.
"Yeah, ugly beggar with eyes that stick out. Man mountain, he is; probably bigger than Porthos. I'll tell Athos what's goin' on when I take 'im this," and he picked up the small sack of food for the Lieutenant.
Left alone, Serge collected together all of his knives and laid them in a line on the table in front of him. Licking his thumb, he tested the edge of one broad blade and nodded his approval. Then he disappeared into his tent and emerged moments later carrying an old musket, his faithful Cleopatra, that had been with him on every campaign. He lovingly maintained her every day, as was expected of every Musketeer in the regiment, but he could not recall the last time he had fired her in anger.
He prayed that was not about to change.