Thank you again for reading and leaving comments and private messages.
Here is the penultimate chapter.
CHAPTER 122
I
Tréville was setting out two cups and the brandy bottle on the table when the light tap came at the door.
"Enter!" he called out, unbuttoning his coat. He was just in the process of throwing it on the bed when Athos walked in.
The Musketeer Captain smiled in welcome and gestured towards a chair.
"Sit yourself down," he invited, indicating a seat as he poured them both a drink.
Athos slipped off his doublet and hooked it over the back of the chair before he settled himself.
Tréville noted how slowly Athos lowered himself and took pains to school his own features for he did not want the young man to see his concern. There were no two ways about it - Athos looked terrible.
His face was grey, his eyes – heavy with exhaustion – were darkly circled and he looked gaunt.
"It seems an age since I last encountered two days as manic as yesterday and today," Tréville said, picking up his drink. "Let us make a toast to a few peaceful days at least. I have learned from bitter experience that it is unlikely to last much longer than that."
They gestured with their cups and let them collide lightly. As they drank, a heavy silence settled between them.
"Thank you," Athos said abruptly. "You saved my life today."
"You would have done the same for me. I am only sorry that I did not come to your aid sooner but as I said, I had already discharged my pistols and had to reload as quickly as I could. I moved closer and was attempting to get a clear shot, but I was forced to wait until you went down."
"You made the shot count though," Athos said softly.
"Porthos was running up behind L'Hernault and had almost got to him." Tréville's voice dropped to little more than a murmur. How could he convey the fear he felt on witnessing the bitter fight? "I never thought to see you struggle so."
"I confess I thought it was my time and without your intervention, it would have been. My mind was telling my body what to do but nothing happened; I had no strength left and he fought as a man possessed."
Tréville reached across the table and poured another large measure into Athos' cup before refilling his own. It gave him time to process the young man's admission for he had never expected to hear the like.
"And here I was, concerned that you might be angry with me," he said eventually.
"Why on earth would you think that?" Athos was surprised.
Tréville swallowed a large mouthful of brandy and stared at the cup nestled in his two hands.
"What was between you and L'Hernault was personal and you sought to resolve your family's feud. I was concerned that you would resent my intervention."
"Never!" Athos interrupted. "He was about to kill me! I was helpless and you stopped him. I had already given up all hope of a peaceful resolution to the feud after we interviewed him yesterday. There was no reasoning with him."
"I had to stop him. One of my best men - and my lieutenant – was in trouble."
"You saved my life," Athos repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.
"It was too close this time, son. You gave me the fright of my life."
"I think I frightened myself," the young man admitted. "I still do not know how I managed to roll out of his way when he fell."
Tréville sat back in his chair and downed his drink in one go. He refilled his cup and pushed the bottle across to Athos before he spoke again. "I blame myself, you know."
"Blame yourself for what?" Athos was confused.
"For letting you come to Versailles. I knew you were not fully recovered. I was a fool to think I could keep you back out of harm's way."
"Captain, we both know I made life very difficult for you in Paris."
"I won't deny that," Tréville cut in.
"I was so determined to be here. Besides, neither of us could have foreseen how things developed with Planque, the Red Guard … all of it."
"Your overwhelming sense of loyalty, duty and honour are to your credit, but they will get you killed if you are not careful and I am not just talking about in a battle. Damn it, Athos, it is only two weeks since you were at death's door!* I should never have permitted you to come; in doing so, you were nearly killed."
"I did not become a Musketeer for an easy life," Athos declared.
Tréville looked at him astonishment and then laughed. "If that's your way of telling me that being a soldier is a dangerous occupation, then don't proceed to tell me what I already know! I became a soldier before you were born!"
Athos frowned. "I don't think …"
"Before you try to work it out, I'll tell you. It was shortly before my fifteenth birthday."
"I would not have thought it," Athos said, his eyes widening, "but you were a soldier before I was born! No offence meant," he quickly added.
"None taken," Tréville raised his cup to his lips and eyed the younger man over the rim. Before he drank again, he decided to see if the enigmatic, former aristocrat might be in the mood to reveal anything more of his past. "What were you doing at fifteen?"
Athos' eyes narrowed and the Captain feared that he had pushed him too far, that he would close in on himself, categorically refuse to answer, change the subject or make excuses to leave.
He did not do any of those, much to Tréville's surprise.
"As Vicomte, the son and heir to a large estate, I was reminded daily of my good fortune, my privileged position and huge responsibilities. I was not afforded the same freedom as my fun-loving younger brother. Each morning, my tutor worked me hard in my numbers, literature, Latin and military history. Two hours or more in the afternoon were divided between a master swordsman and the head groom in developing my riding and hunting skills. More time was spent with my father's steward, pouring over ledgers and maps of the estate. 'Learning the business', my father called it. I was instructed in land use, maintaining the forests, the work of the estate tenants and the King's laws. And to ensure that my education was well-rounded, that I had some understanding of the finer things in life, my mother taught me about art, music and how to dance."
Tréville listened, unwilling to break the precious moment that presented him with a rare, valuable insight into his lieutenant's upbringing. He had certainly been kept busy and it went a long way to explaining his sense of duty and honour. But in the midst of all this, had he had the chance to be a boy?
Athos' lips twitched at a fond memory. "And by night I dreamed of becoming a soldier."
"Your dream came true," Tréville said gently and, as Athos' face clouded over, he wondered again at the event or events that had been so traumatic that the young man before him had walked away from his birth-right to begin a new life in the Musketeers.
"Tell me, were you an officer in your dreams?"
Athos shook his head sadly. "No, I was happy with being anonymous, the one following the orders. Expectations were …," he hesitated, "less."
"But why a soldier? Ah, don't tell me, I remember now. Your uncle, the Captain."
Athos nodded. "When he visited, he had such stories to tell. I was mesmerised by them and him. I adored him and so it was inevitable that the boy in me wanted to be like him."
"He sounds as if he had a great influence on you," said Tréville, as Athos' gaze held his.
"You and he are very much alike," Athos quietly admitted.
II
Tréville had just stretched out on his bed when he heard the sound of soft, insistent tapping at the door of the adjacent room. Padding across the floor in bare feet, he opened his own door and peered out into the corridor.
"Aramis, what are you doing?" he whispered.
"Sorry, Captain. I was trying not to disturb you, but I wanted to see how Athos was. I have not seen him for a few hours." He gestured towards the door. "He is not answering though so he is possibly still out doing his rounds."
"We did our rounds ages ago," Tréville said, stepping out into the corridor. "He is in there," he added, as he joined the Musketeer and opened the door with minimal noise. "See for yourself."
Aramis walked into the room and, by the light of a candle burning low on the table, approached the bed.
Athos lay curled on his right side, his hand close to the hilt of a dagger just emerging from beneath the pillow. His face was relaxed, his breathing deep and even as he slept.
Aramis exhaled slowly, his relief tangible. Wary of the concealed weapon, he took the blanket and pulled it up over Athos' shoulders.
"Sleep well, my friend," he whispered, extinguishing the candle before following the Captain out into the corridor again and softly closing the door once more.
"He is exhausted; he didn't even stir," Aramis said.
"The brandy might have helped," Tréville admitted and, when Aramis looked at him quizzically, he continued sheepishly. "He and I just drank a bottle."
III
When Athos opened his eyes, he felt better and more rested than he had done in days. He washed quickly in cold water, dressed, and was tightening his weapons belt at his waist as he left his room. Perhaps he would have time to eat before the prisoners left for Paris under guard.
First, he visited the makeshift infirmaries, glancing through the open doorways as he searched for Aramis. Grenouille was sitting up and waved. Some other beds were empty.
"They've gone back to the camp," Grenouille explained.
"As will you, soon," Athos reassured him before moving on.
Aramis was rolling clean bandages in the third room and grinned on seeing him.
"You slept well then." It was a statement rather than a question.
"Best sleep I have had for a good while," Athos replied.
Aramis chuckled. "No headache?"
Athos frowned. "No. Should I have?"
"According to Tréville, you and he hit the brandy quite hard last night."
"If it helped me sleep, I am not complaining and if you are not too busy, can you spare the time to break your fast with me? I would appreciate the company."
Now it was Aramis' turn to frown. "What time do you think it is?"
Athos sighed. "From your question, later than I thought. A little midday something then?"
Aramis laughed aloud. "You have no idea, have you?"
Athos was confused. Setting down the bandage, Aramis walked to his friend, slid an arm around his shoulders and walked him outside. He chuckled again as Athos' stomach rumbled noisily.
"I was going to suggest that you let me take out those stitches but that can wait until later. First, we'd better see if Serge has something to take the edge off your hunger before dinner."
"Dinner!" Athos was shocked.
"Yes, you have slept the night and most of the day away. Tréville gave strict orders that you were to be left alone."
"But the Red Guard?" Athos objected.
"He has been to see them and give orders; they are fine."
"Any other news?"
"Porthos, d'Artagnan and Claude led a large escort to Paris taking the nobles to the Châtelet. Many other prisoners were released and led from Versailles by the Red Guard but the thing that has caused most gossip and speculation today is Gaston's hurried departure." Aramis was enjoying sharing the news.
"He's gone?"
Aramis nodded. "Before most people were up and about this morning. He just slipped away. Tréville sent some Musketeers out to the camps where his men were but they had gone too."
"I wonder how he got word to them," Athos wondered aloud.
"Richelieu didn't send some of the Red Guard?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Gaston must have sent some of his servants as he was short of friends and messengers after yesterday," Aramis speculated.
"Or Richelieu has some other messengers or agents here that we do not know about."
"It's possible, I suppose," Aramis agreed. "We'll probably never know."
"Where's Tréville now?" Athos asked.
"Still out on the hunt with the King. They're due back any time now."
Athos tutted. "I have missed that as well! When I awoke, I was feeling so much better, I was going to suggest that I join the hunt."
Aramis laughed at his disappointment. "Next time, Athos. Next time!"
Today's little gems:
'death's door' – the expression dates from the mid-1500s.
The story of Athos' Uncle Raoul is told in 'Retribution.'