Good afternoon, all. It's a beautiful day; these strange times cannot detract from that.
Thank you for reading and reviewing. So what is going on at the hunt?
CHAPTER 80
I
"Weren't you ever told it's rude to stare?" Porthos said lightly as he opened up a sack and shared out the bread and hard cheese it contained into three portions.
"What?" Aramis suddenly realised he was being spoken to but had no idea what had been said.
"You've been distracted since we started the hunt," d'Artagnan commented, tearing open a chunk of bread. "Are you even with us now? We're supposed to be relaxing for a little while and eating."
They were in the first group of musketeers to have a rest period after the morning's hunt. The men had been divided into four teams, three of them on duty throughout the King's picnic lunch. The resting team had fifteen minutes to water and feed their horses and swallow some food themselves. The unavoidable mix of Musketeers and Red Guard who comprised the Queen's escort were now ranged in the widely protective circle around the monarch and his guests, but the extensive security measures did not end there.
Louis had decreed one hour for the lavish picnic lunch, but the Musketeers knew it was going to take considerably longer than that if everything arrayed on the laden tables was to be sampled.
Some half a dozen Musketeers stood discreetly at intervals behind the tables, eyes fixed upon the servants to ensure that nothing detrimental could be added to the food. Four others remained at the cart that had brought the feast to ensure that no intruders could do something similar. Another group of the King's regiment had been on watch back at the lodge during the preparation and cooking of the food, insisting that the final check be made before all was packed to be transported.
The King's head cook had been given the responsibility of tasting every dish prior to it leaving his kitchen. He had done so diligently but sweat beaded his brow and it was not clear whether this was from the heat of the vast room with its multiple ovens or from fear that one of his staff was not as loyal as he initially believed. Nothing was left to chance and Richelieu had employed someone else to specifically be the King's official food taster whilst at Versailles; the pitiful individual concerned was only partially appeased by the role of the head cook back at the lodge.
"Sorry," Aramis attempted a weak smile. "You have my undivided attention."
"Now why don't I believe that?" Porthos frowned.
D'Artagnan provided the answer. "Could it be because Aramis did not even look at us as he said that?"
"You goin' to tear your eyes away from the King's guests an' tell us what's goin' on in that head o' yours?"
Aramis sighed and picked up a piece of cheese; he began chewing on it. "Tréville pointed out the man behind the attack on Athos. Don't make it so obvious," he added hastily as the other two craned their necks to see past him.
"They're so busy stuffin' their faces, they won't notice us lookin'. Besides, they know we're all watchin' their hides now. Which one is 'e?" he glowered.
"You see where Gaston is standing, just beyond the King's pavilion? He's talking to the man, one L'Hernault. Light-haired, wearing green."
"From here, it looks a bit more heated than just talking," d'Artagnan observed quietly.
II
"So what is it now, L'Hernault?" Gaston demanded, his head turned away from the man who was trying to talk to him. Instead, he smiled ingratiatingly at two men walking past at that moment, men who outranked the lowly L'Hernault. Their heads dipped in acknowledgement, but their stern expressions spoke volumes of their continued distrust as far as the Duc was concerned.
"Before we left Paris, I told you of a problem." L'Hernault wrung his hands nervously.
"What of it? You said you had reliable men who would take care of it."
"They should have made contact with me by now, but I have heard nothing."
"And? They are either a little slow in finding their man, or they have done their job and are celebrating in a tavern somewhere."
"No. I think he's killed them."
Only now was L'Hernault rewarded by Gaston's attention.
"Why would you think that?"
L'Hernault could not hide the mounting panic. "He's here."
"Where?" and Gaston's eyes swept the gathered guests.
"Not here on the hunt, but he's at Versailles. He's still alive."
The Duc frowned, trying to identify which of the Kings guests had not joined the hunt that day.
"It's worse," L'Hernault swallowed hard. "He's one of Tréville's men."
"A Musketeer!" Gaston was incredulous. "You said he was a nobleman who attended the meeting under an assumed name."
"And so he was. I know him from the past. He was an aristocrat who mysteriously disappeared a few years ago."
"And who has now turned up in Paris as one of the King's Musketeers!"
"So what was he doing at the meeting?"
"What do you think, you fool!" Gaston hissed, his face darkening. "He was there as a spy!" He glared in Louis' direction. "And my loving brother continues to stand there, pretending that nothing is wrong."
"But the King knew of the plot because you had already warned him!"
"I did not tell him that I had men camped beyond Versailles nor how many there were. You provided that information." His eyes glinted dangerously.
"I was following your instructions. I had to provide some numbers to encourage the nobles to state how many men they would send."
"And your Musketeer heard all of it. He really is a problem, isn't he?"
"But the King can't be taking it seriously otherwise we wouldn't be here, would we? He would have cancelled the trip to Versailles." L'Hernault was becoming more frantic by the minute.
"Of course he is taking it seriously! This is a trap for those who dared to attend the meeting. I thought it was strange when there was an increased protective detail made up of Musketeers and the Cardinal's guard. They do not normally have this many on a hunting trip. They are expecting trouble."
"What are we going to do?" L'Hernault whispered. "Shouldn't we warn the men who have already arrived?"
Gaston studied him carefully … and then he smiled. It was a cruel smile, his expression scheming.
"No, there is time yet. Menier wants to present his petition. Let him and then let us see how my dear brother reacts. Fortunately, I have informed him of the plot, but I will have to confess to bringing armed men across France and convince him that they are there to help protect him."
"Will he believe you?" L'Hernault snatched at the vain hope.
"I will make sure that he believes me," Gaston boasted.
"What should I do?" L'Hernault offered.
Gaston's eyes hardened. "It's simple; a matter of principle. You will finish what you started."
"What?" L'Hernault did not realise that he was holding his breath, fearing that he knew only too well the meaning behind Gaston's words.
"Kill your Musketeer!"