XVII. The Three Musketeers

Porthos was shaking. He had lost count of how long it had been, but the days they had spent exposed to the harsh wind had left their mark. Mathis to his right had developed a cough, and Captain Méchant on his other side hadn't stopped shivering since the day before yesterday.

The General's troops had returned, and by the looks of it, they had not been victorious. Porthos could tell because most of the soldiers seemed angry; others were tired and defeated, and many hadn't returned at all.

Porthos just hoped that his friends had survived the ordeal. Somewhere deep inside, he felt disappointment, because over a week had passed and there was no sign of his friends trying to mount a rescue yet. On the other hand, he knew that they probably had their reasons. But he hoped they had not given him up as dead.

Heavy footsteps now caught his attention and he slowly lifted his head to see Lord Eadmund and his scribe, a man called Dunhall, stamping through the sand towards them. Dunhall was clutching a letter between his fingers, and Eadmund just followed him at a short distance, observing them like a predator trying to catch its prey.

"Can you read, musketeer?" the scribe asked as soon as he had come to a halt in front of them and looked down at Porthos.

Porthos huffed. "Letters aren't my strongest suit, but yes, I can read"

Dunhall waved the letter, while Lord Eadmund just stood and watched. Since Porthos' hands were bound, the scribe unfolded the piece of paper and held it in front of the musketeer as if asking him to read it out loud.

Porthos just threw his head back and raised both eyebrows.

"I might be able to read, but in case you haven't noticed, I don't speak English. Which means I also can't read it." Idiot, he added internally and stared right into the General's dark and unreadable face.

Dunhall's expression remained unchanged. "Give it a try."

The musketeer sighed and leaned forward as much as the ropes allowed, squinting his eyes in an attempt to decipher anything. Porthos' eyes quickly roamed over the piece of paper. The handwriting was small, and the letter was very long. As predicted, Porthos could not read it due to his lack of English skills, but there were a few words that caught his eye where he did not need to know English.

Frédéric. Then a few English words followed he did not recognize. Then another: Théo Leroy.

A list, Porthos thought. This was a list of names. Names of the musketeer regiment.

He rapidly read over the next few passages, and with a heavy heart, he recognized they were all there. A few cadets were missing, but that was it. Some with their full name, others only with the names they were called.

Gino. Eric Boucher. Mathis Fabre. Guillaume. Arthur. Philippe Roux.

Panic, subtle and bitter, seized Porthos' heart as he realized what this meant. He frantically searched the letter for any more words, names, he knew. And then, somewhere in the middle:

Porthos.

Aramis.

Athos.

Lord Eadmund seemed to have a contact in Paris, and by the looks of it, he had requested information about the musketeer regiment as soon as he had battled them in Cévry. Porthos had to admit, whoever that contact was, he was fast. They had only been here for a few weeks.

Porthos' slowly lifted his gaze and tilted his head to the side to glare past Dunhall right into the Butcher's eyes. He arched an eyebrow. "What do you want from me?"

Dunhall opened his mouth to translate, but Eadmund just put a hand on the man's shoulder to shut him up and push him aside. He took the letter out of his scribe's hands and looked down at Porthos and the other prisoners.

"I was hoping you could help me identify the leading forces of your regiment," the General replied in French, with an accent, but quite fluently.

While Mathis at his side gasped in astonishment, Porthos was hardly surprised. He had already guessed it. It was a common move, to pretend to not understand another one's language in order to gain information when the prisoners were caught off guard. Hell, he had seen Aramis do it more times than he could count. And knowing that the General was of the English nobility, there had been a good chance he knew some French.

Therefore, he had been careful with what he exchanged with Captain Méchant and Mathis when the General could possibly hear him. He made sure not to show any reaction to the General's statement. Instead, he merely leaned forward as much as the shackles allowed him.

"And I thought you were familiar with General Suard. He is in charge of our regiment." This was the first and only time Porthos was willing to share information, mostly because he knew that Lord Eadmund already knew about Suard. And, on a different note, Porthos did not care much about the General.

"I know about him," Eadmund said, almost annoyed. He seemed to enjoy Mathis' surprised reaction. Even Méchant looked a bit shocked. "I know about Suard. But that was not my question. I asked who is leading them. Who is leading the musketeers?"

Porthos slowly shook his head, as if he did not understand the Englishman.

Eadmund continued slowly, choosing his words with care. "You see, I attacked the musketeers' hideout this morning. And my men took Suard out early. Still, there were leaders among you musketeers. Men who have the trust of the others. Whose orders everyone followed. And this," and he held up the letter between his fingers, "this is all the information my spy was able to gather about each member of the musketeer regiment sent to Ré Island. And I want you to tell me who among them could be one of the men in question."

He knelt down in front of Porthos, finally on eye-level with him. He lowered his voice. "Or perhaps you are one of them."

Porthos couldn't help but laugh. "Perhaps, but in case you haven't noticed, I've been here for the last few days and not in the musketeers' fortress. Unless you think I led the men from here, which would be quite impressive I imagine. I wash my hands in innocence." Porthos looked down to his dirty and muddy clothes. "Figuratively speaking."

Lord Eadmund eyed him skeptically for a few moments, then his gaze wandered back towards the mysterious letter. "My man was under time-pressure, so he only gathered the most basic information. Dunhall and I, we narrowed the number of possible candidates for the leading force down to seven."

"Under what criteria?" Captain Méchant threw in from the side.

The General didn't so much as glance at him. "I highly doubt that…," and he now read a passage from the letter, "…Frédéric, nephew of the Count Bellard, an arrogant young man with a dislike for authority could be a possible candidate for such a position."

He made a short pause, apparently waiting for any kind of reaction from Porthos. A hint of curiosity passed over his face when he realized he wouldn't get one.

"You wish to hear more?" he asked with an indifferent tone in his voice, but this time, he did not wait for an answer. He took the letter in both hands and began reading and translating.

"Théo Leroy. Joined the regiment three years ago, lives with his wife and daughter outside the city. Eager to fight for justice, but torn between his life as a soldier and his family." Eadmund's eyes briefly found Porthos, as if to evaluate whether he could possibly be Théo or not.

Porthos guessed that the General's spy must have had connections to taverns, merchants and blacksmiths to get that kind of information. Friends of the musketeer regiment. He highly doubted that this information was given by Tréville himself.

"It continues with very little information about a medic, Gino, who was assigned to support the musketeers a few years ago, but I doubt that a medic would occupy such a position of leadership," Eadmund explained further.

Mathis at Porthos' side coughed. "Or your medics are merely incompetent," he observed.

Lord Eadmund granted him a short moment of attention and turned towards him. "Bold statement, Mathis Fabre. The youngest musketeer in the regiment, it says here. You have three sisters taking care of you, correct? And … a few cousins in the King's army?"

Mathis murdered the General with his eyes, but he said nothing. Porthos just sighed. Eadmund was trying to intimidate him with the newly gathered information, to show his prisoners he had the upper hand – both in this particular situation and in the siege in general.

The English General turned back towards Porthos. "Then I can give you a man called Arthur. Served in the regiment for a long time, and even longer in the army. Apparently, he and the Captain do get into arguments at times because Arthur likes to speak his mind openly." The general paused. "Hmmm. Could be one of the men in question."

Again, Porthos said nothing.

"He has quite the reputation for drunken violence in public, so it seems." Lord Eadmund's eyes scanned Porthos, and the musketeer couldn't help but wonder if the General assumed him to be Arthur. He did not know whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

Porthos had to use all of his self-control not to show any physical or emotional reaction to the words that followed, as Lord Eadmund worked his way down the list.

"Then there are three more men. My spy says they have a reputation of getting into trouble together. Where one goes, the others aren't far." He cleared his throat and began to read. "There is a man called Porthos. Born and raised in Paris, a feared name among the cardinal's guard, and apparently, he once made the Comte d'Ivard believe he was Porthos, a legendary pirate."

Lord Eadmund made a face. "Sounds like a story worth telling." He again tried to elicit a reaction out of Porthos, before he monotonously continued to read from the letter. "Then there's Aramis. Long term soldier, in the regiment since its foundation. A marksman. Said to speak fluent Spanish." The General's eyes widened and he diverted his gaze from the letter and eyed Porthos. "Well, and then there are some … unnecessary details given to my spy by various women all over Paris. He seems to have quite a reputation there."

Eadmund shook his head and read the final lines of the list. "The third man goes under the name of Athos. Full name and heritage unknown, appeared out of nowhere two years ago. Received a commission rather quickly. No information, except that he talks and behaves as if he has received an extensive education."

With that, Eadmund folded the letter again and thrust it into Dunhall's waiting hands. He then bent down on one knee again, facing Porthos straight away.

"So? Anything to say?"

Porthos had prepared his words in advance and just laughed it off. "Well, you can guess I sure as hell ain't Athos."

The General's lips formed a thin smile. "No, I suspect your manners of speaking preclude the possibility of you being this Athos."

Porthos snorted in annoyance. "I am not going to give you what you want, 'Lord Eadmund'" and he made sure to express his disgust in the tone of his voice.

The General frowned. "Not yet, musketeer," he answered carefully and got up on his feet, taking the letter back and putting it inside his jacket. "But my time for coming up with a proper strategy is running out. The Duke is not a patient man." He lowered his voice, and a dangerous expression crossed his face. "And I fear even you have tested my patience to its limits."

It was early evening. The fortress was only lit by two campfires, and most of the musketeers had retreated to their patrols or their sleeping spots. Aramis and Athos, after Aramis had fixed his friend's arm as best as he could, had continued to check on the men, both the injured musketeers and the three prisoners they had been able to take.

Two of the English prisoners were still unconscious, and the third one had contented himself with showering the musketeers in all the French swear words he knew. Athos hadn't even tried to get any information out of him.

Both he and Aramis were beyond tired, but they also were quite determined to go through with their plan for the evening. They owed it to Porthos. And, in a way, also to each other.

"Athos, Aramis!" Guillaume's call drew the attention of both of them, and their tired gazed met the nervous one of Guillaume.

The two of them sighed simultaneously and followed Guillaume, without asking any more questions. It was obvious. Guillaume had been assigned to watch the General, so their commanding officer must have regained consciousness.

Aramis entered the commander's tent and Athos followed him closely. Suard was indeed awake, and he was leaning against the chair, pressing a cloth tightly against the sluggishly bleeding wound on his temple.

"What did I miss?" the General got straight to the point and wasted no time. "Given that I am still alive I suppose we either won or surrendered?"

Athos couldn't help but feel a bit insulted that Suard considered surrender a possibility. He exchanged a quick look with Aramis, and while the marksman wordlessly started to clean the wound on their their Commander's head, Athos was left to furnish the right answers.

"We won, Sir." He cleared his throat. "Barely, but we won."

Athos had never seen Suard smile before, and it was a frightening sight. His thin-lipped mouth trembled and formed a smile, resembling more a snake waiting to kill its prey than a General who just learned of their victory.

"That's good, that's good."

Athos didn't move one muscle before he spoke. "We are all enjoying being alive, Sir."

For a second, Suard just looked straight into Athos' eyes before he chuckled dryly. "I Always enjoy your truthfulness, Athos." His eyes wandered over Athos' blood-stained clothes and all the dried blood on Aramis' hands.

Athos noticed how his friend's hands were shaking, and the treatment of the wound must be painful for Suard due to Aramis' exhaustion. But if that were the case, Suard did not show it.

"If we won, then why are you looking like we all just met Buckingham himself?" the General eyed them all curiously.

Aramis' stopped abruptly in his treatment and merely used a bit of alcohol to finish cleaning off the edges of the gash.

"We lost a man today. Two others are severely injured." Aramis huffed. "Forgive me if I don't feel like celebrating." His tone lacked any of the respect that would have been appropriate considering he was speaking to his commanding officer, but Suard ignored it.

"Given that we are fortunate enough to be still breathing, it is an acceptable price to pay."

Athos clenched his jaw shut and bit down the remark he had on his tongue. Before he could come up with a proper and respectful answer, the marksman intervened.

"You should follow me, Sir." Aramis made a wide gesture and without waiting for his superior's reply, he left the commander's tent. Athos bit down a warning hiss, but surprisingly, Suard did not look angry. He just shrugged and followed Aramis towards the medic's tent, not knowing what would await him there.

On their way towards the medic's tent, Athos noticed how Suard soaked in all the details he could gather. He noticed the civilians gathered near the campfire, and he also saw the thin line of smoke that mounted up in the sky from when Athos and Aramis had created their explosive distraction.

Aramis now reached the entrance and pulled the curtains aside. Gino was still on the table, as they hadn't had the time yet to bury him next to the others. His body was covered with a sheet up to his chin.

As soon as the General laid eyes on the body, he froze on the spot, which led to Athos almost crashing into him. Athos took a step back and rounded the table, taking his place on Gino's other side.

"He was wounded again during the attack," Athos explained. "We were not able to save him this time."

Suard's expression was unreadable. "We lost our medic?" His voice sounded hollow.

Aramis made a step forward. "And a friend." He eyed Suard carefully before he grabbed Athos' good arm.

"Come on, Athos," Aramis suggested with a bitter tone in his voice. "Perhaps we should give the family a bit of private time."

Athos' attention snapped towards Aramis, and he observed the same reaction in Suard. The General's eyes widened slightly, and his facial expression derailed for just a split second.

Aramis acted as if he hadn't noticed and bowed his head. "We'll grant you your privacy, Sir."

Athos slowly followed Aramis out of the tent and then he clasped his friend's arm and continued to drag him far enough so that Suard could not hear them. They came to a stop near the campfire.

Athos did not loosen the grip he had on Aramis' arm. "His family?" was all Athos brought out between clenched teeth.

The marksman nodded. "Gino told me. Suard's father is a … well, was a comte. The title is now held by Suard's older brother. Gino is…" and once again, Aramis swallowed hard and corrected himself, "…was the old comte's bastard son. Which made him Suard's half-brother."

For a moment, Athos said nothing and let the information sink in. Then, he finally let go of Aramis' arm and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. "That did not look like a family bond in there," he evaluated. "Gino hated the man, and did not hesitate to say it openly."

"Apparently, the old comte and his sons had different opinions on how to treat the surprise addition to the family," Aramis spoke hastily, making sure nobody heard them. "Suard especially saw Gino as a disgrace, unworthy of the attention his father granted him. When the comte died and the older brother took his place, Suard persuaded him to expel Gino from the estate. Gino fled to Paris, where he became a soldier."

Athos exhaled slowly. "Is that all you know?"

Aramis shook his head, and he kept throwing nervous glances towards the medic's tent, fearing that the General could come out any second. "Athos, do you know about the battle of Ponts-de-Ce?"

Athos furrowed his brow. "Yes, I do." He vaguely remembered a few men from Pinon who had participated in that battle. He himself had been at the estate at the time, but it was not a battle anyone spoke gladly about. "The one after which the King made peace with his mother? 1620, I believe?"

Aramis nodded fiercely. "It was one of the first battles I participated in. The regiment wasn't even founded, and Tréville was not yet a Captain. But according to Gino, both the old comte and his three sons, supported Marie de Medici in her attempt to replace Louis with his brother. Not only with troops, but with supplies. Connections. Skilled infiltration and military traps."

Athos' frown grew even deeper. "So you are saying that they fought for de Medici?

Aramis cleared his throat nervously. "No, what I'm saying is that the youngest brother was killed in that battle and to me Suard gives the impression of a man holding a grudge. And should it still be against the King…" His words died down and he just stared at Athos blankly.

"…should he still support a revolt of the King's mother, it makes him a traitor," Athos concluded. "But Louis and his mother made peace years ago." He made a short pause and let the information sink in. He didn't have a high opinion of Suard to begin with, but he had to agree with Aramis. All of this did not present their commanding officer in the best light.

"I know that technically, his treason was pardoned and erased," Aramis added, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But does he give the impression he is now a loyal servant of the King?"

Athos huffed. He remembered Suard's reaction when Athos had reminded him of their duties towards the King. "But we cannot accuse him of anything, Aramis," Athos stated mildly. "He isn't guilty of anything that we know of. He may have fought against the King seven years ago, but after Marie's and Louis' reconciliation, all possible charges against her noble supporters were dropped."

Aramis looked seriously worried. "Gino wouldn't have told me if he didn't think it would matter. Perhaps de Medici never really wanted the peace. Or perhaps, Suard and his brother never really meant the loyalty they swore to the King."

"You think we can believe him?" Athos asked, and only received a confused look from Aramis. "Gino," he added.

Aramis' expression turned desperate. "He's dead, so there's no way to ask again." He gulped and his gaze wandered towards his boots. "I don't know, Athos. I really don't know."

Athos carefully chose his next words, and he became very aware of his surroundings. "Should Suard prove to be working against the King, we cannot stand idly by. But until we have proof, we should concentrate on surviving this island." He lowered his head. "Surviving his orders."

Aramis just growled in agreement. "I'll ask Arthur to help me with Gino. You should get a bit of rest." He made a short pause, eyeing his friend curiously. "What do you say? Midnight, outside near the rocks where you found the boy and his father?"

Athos nodded. "I will meet you there."

Aramis merely tilted his hat and turned on his heel to look for Arthur.

"Oh, and Aramis?"

The marksman turned his head and stopped, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Thank you," Athos stated calmly. "For confiding in me."

The hint of a smile passed Aramis' face and he shook his head, as if Athos' statement was ridiculous.

"Always, brother."

I have no more chapters on reserve, which means from now on they will probably take a bit longer. I promise to try my best, but keep in mind that my chapters are usually between 2,5k and 4,5k words. It'll take some time. But I won't keep you waiting for too long, I try to keep it somewhat regularly! I expect this story to end at about 25ish chapters. We'll see.

Thank you to everybody who is still reading!