Greetings, and happy Bank Holiday! It was difficult enough before knowing which day was which but to have a Bank Holiday moved from Monday to Friday when, because of lockdown, it doesn't seem any different from all the other days, really does not help. Especially when, a few minutes ago, I thought it was Saturday! Oh help! I think I'll just give up. I'll go to bed, sleep, get up in the morning and just go with the flow. The only time it'll matter is when I want to go to the supermarket and have to have the right day to access my 'protected hour' from 8.00 am! Keep smiling, lovely people!

This chapter has a little more reflection before all hell breaks loose! Thank you for reading and commenting yesterday.

CHAPTER 114

I

"Is it always like this ?" d'Artagnan asked quietly as he sat on the ground and leaned against the large table that he and Porthos had carried from the kitchens and turned on its side to afford them some cover.

"Like what?" Porthos asked, not fully paying attention as he peered around the side of the table to where the Red Guard had taken up their positions. He could see Grenouille but, so far, there was no sign of Athos and Tréville.

It was his intention to be as near his brother as possible for he really did not think that Athos was fit enough to fight. Under normal circumstances, the man was such a skilled and agile swordsman that he was a joy to watch in training – as long as Porthos was a spectator and not his opponent. He was a master, an artist with a blade in his hand, so tactical and intuitive in anticipating what his adversary might do but none of this stood him in good stead if his own body hindered him. The wound to his side was healing well according to Aramis but he still held himself stiffly when he walked so that would impede his fluid movement on the battlefield.

Porthos was also concerned that Athos had not yet regained sufficient strength or stamina that such a fight would demand. He still could not erase from his mind the image of the swordsman when they found him in the horrendously named 'dying room'. In fact, although he did not admit it to anyone, he had subsequently experienced bad dreams about that moment. How could he ever forget the sight of his brother brought so low as he burned with fever and infection, his body soiled with vomit and watery excrement?

"You know, immediately before a battle."

The voice was so quiet and imbued with an uncharacteristic nervousness, that Porthos hung his head and sighed. How could he have been so thoughtless that he had forgotten d'Artagnan's lack of experience?

He turned back to the young Gascon and made himself comfortable. D'Artagnan watched, his eyes wide with anxiety, indecisiveness and … what? Fear?

"The waitin's always the difficult bit. We're all ready an' wantin' to be about the business. I suppose we're like Louis' huntin' dogs, straining at the leash until we're let loose."

D'Artagnan managed a weak chuckle. "Never saw myself as a hunting dog before."

"Same principle really. They hunt on instinct an' we fight; with our own instinct an' a bit of trainin' thrown in as well. We're huntin' out the enemy, bringin' 'im down before 'e does it to us first. Once the fight starts, our job begins. We don't 'ave time for worryin' then; it's all about doin' what's necessary to stay alive."

He glanced sideways at the young man who was hanging on his every word. "It didn't seem to bother you when you took off after Gaudet an' the other Red Guard when we were wantin' to prove Athos' innocence."

D'Artagnan's expression was suddenly haunted. "Don't remind me. That action could have got Athos killed had we not found the stolen Musketeer uniforms. I wasn't thinking at all. All I wanted was revenge for my father's murder."

"You 'ad a purpose an' it drove you onwards. It was all that mattered."

"And what drives you now?"

Porthos looked surprised at the question. "Defendin' the King, no matter what an' no questions asked. I swore an oath when I became a Musketeer an' that was to protect Louis, whatever it took, even if it was layin' down my life. Course," he grinned, "I try 'ard not to go quite that far. Makes me a better fighter for a start."

"Do you think about dying though?"

Porthos looked straight ahead of him. "It's always there, when you get to a moment like this. You can't 'elp but wonder if this is your time, but if you keep thinkin' like that, it will be an' no mistake. You can't dwell on it."

D'Artagnan was thoughtful, mulling over what Porthos was saying to him.

"We do a dangerous job; we're soldiers but we know we're good at it, otherwise we wouldn't be Musketeers. Tréville doesn't take any old rubbish; you should know that by now."

The young Gascon cast him a withering glance. "Do you need reminding that I am not a Musketeer yet."

"Maybe not officially," Porthos grinned. "Not yet, but Tréville lets you 'ang around with us so 'e must think you've got somethin' about you."

"A death wish?" d'Artagnan asked flippantly.

Porthos grew serious once more. "Every day we're on the streets of Paris an' about the King's business could be our last. The criminal lot don't like us, they're frightened of us an' they'll take us out any way they can. We go after bandits in the countryside because they're terrifyin' innocent travellers; they're desperate an' dangerous. We get it wrong or we underestimate 'em an' that could be it.

"Let's face it, Vadim could've killed you. 'E 'ad an interestin' way of tryin' when 'e tied you to all those barrels of gunpowder. Just before that, all those lies against Athos nearly got 'im executed."

"And a few weeks later he nearly gets himself killed on a spying mission," d'Artagnan added softly.

"But 'e didn't, did he? He's still 'ere with us. We can't think like that, d'Artagnan, otherwise we couldn't get our job done. All I know is when I'm goin' into a fight, I've got two good brothers who I trust to 'ave my back the same way as I 'ave theirs." He looked meaningfully at the young Gascon and reached out to grip his shoulder tightly. "An' now I 'ave you too."

D'Artagnan gazed at him and smiled warmly. "Thank you."

II

Athos and Tréville left Richelieu's office and walked in step towards the nearest exit out of the rear of the lodge. Neither spoke and anyone watching the two men would have noticed something interesting. Although Athos was the taller, the Musketeer Captain matched his stride and both of them looked surreptitiously through open doorways and down adjoining corridors.

Leaving the building, they paused, each surveying their men's positions and the general state of readiness. They left unspoken the fact that they were both looking for any glimpse of L'Hernault. Out in the open, Athos was dangerously exposed. The rebels would be approaching from the front, but a more sinister nemesis could be lurking behind them within the lodge, poised at one of the multitudinous windows and planning on repeating the murderous attempt of the previous day.

"All set?" Tréville asked, relying on the business in hand and unable to put into words what he really wanted to say to the young man beside him.

Athos nodded and said, somewhat obviously. "The men are all in place." Something caught his attention. "Incoming."

The men nearby had also seen the horse and its rider approaching at speed and raised their firearms to take aim.

"Hold your fire," he called to the line of Red Guard who had probably not identified the newcomer as a Musketeer.

"Hold!" Tréville shouted towards the concealed Musketeers.

The rider reined in so hard that the horse nearly sat back on its hind legs. Another Musketeer broke from concealment to run forward and seize the animal's reins, trotting it round to the stables as the messenger headed along the line to Tréville.

"Report!" the Captain ordered, even though he knew what he was about to hear for he had sent the man out to scout the countryside for the first movement of the rebels.

"They're on their way," the man said, breathing hard. "Probably ten minutes out, no more."

Tréville nodded grimly. "Let them come. We're ready."