Chapter 2

It had not been a conscious decision, at least not that he was aware, but then perhaps somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind he had allowed his heart to rule his head for once. As the light began to fade, he was again on that same grassy mound, transfixed by Paris in the distance. Where before it had been an anonymous city in which to lose oneself, this time it was not the same. No longer beneath those distant roofs were people without faces, without names; now there were those he cared for and, for reasons he could not quite fathom, cared for him.

He allowed his mind to wander back to the garrison – he would not return. Treville had given him his chance and, despite what had occurred, it had not been enough. He should have known when the Captain offered him the lifeline, that it was not to be. His horse stamped on the ground, eager to move. He, too, was tired and, unlike his master, was ready for food and rest.

Feeling the impatience of his mount beneath him, he gently moved off toward the fading skyline. Though the days were drawing out now, the cloudy afternoon promised an early twilight. Small buds clung to the stark boughs, hoping a sudden frost would not burn them before they could feel the warmth from the spring sunshine. By the time horse and rider reached the first scattering of houses, candles had already begun to burn in the windows. Though not yet dark outside, the small rooms would be dim and depressing without the glow of a lamp at this hour. The amount of people out on the street increased as he rode further into the city; traders making the most of the increased daylight hours, attempting to make that final sale of the day, struggling to sell wares that would be of no use tomorrow.

He was not sure if it was Roger, or he himself, who steered their way towards Monsieur René's; the farrier had looked after Roger well the last time Athos had been alone in the city. Once again, he found himself watching the man busy about his work in the diminishing light. He wasn't sure he could do this again, somehow it was a bitter reminder of all he had lost. Roger sensed the familiar surroundings and tossed his fine head, blowing steam into the cooling air. Yes, it was the best place for his horse.

'Monsieur René.' A cool, confident tone broke the concentration of the older man. Looking up, his face broke into a beam of recognition.

'Monsieur Athos, it is good to see you. Yes, you too, my fine sir,' he addressed Roger, as he stroked the stallion's black nose, the horse recognising the familiar voice.

'May I impose on your hospitality once again?' The farrier gave a sad smile and nodded.

'I did think of letting the stable after you left, it was a good way to earn a little more coin. But I wasn't sure… if you might need it again.' He frowned and gave Athos a searching look. 'I am sorry if things did not work out, son.' He looked genuinely grieved, and Athos nodded.

'I am not sure how long I will stay, but this should cover all you need for a while. The same conditions will apply.' He held out a purse of coins and captured the farrier's gaze until the old man reluctantly nodded his agreement. When René spoke again, he sounded weary.

'Then as last time, your horse will be ready for you when you need him.' The two men shook hands and Athos walked off into the thinning crowd. At least he knew where he was headed for the moment.

oOo

Following their unsettling audience with the King, the three soldiers rode back to the garrison, the King's declaration weighing heavy on their minds.

''E will be a sittin' duck,' Porthos offered, as they rode side-by-side down the busy thoroughfare. Treville nodded.

'Not only that, he will have given them warning this time. His Majesty will expect a certain level of preparation, failing to see that he is also giving his enemies time to prepare rather more than a decent menu,' the Captain added, still furious.

'What can we do?' Aramis asked, Treville shook his head, settling his gaze on the two men beside him.

'Plan, check, and double-check each route. Find out whatever we can about the inhabitants and make sure we are prepared. We can do nothing more.' The three men arrived back at the garrison and Treville marched up to his office, slamming the door behind him.

'Guess he is not happy,' Aramis offered, as he watched the Captain retreat inside his office.

'You're dam right 'e's not. Don't blame 'im either,' Porthos agreed. 'Guess there's no chance of being left behind?' He looked at Aramis with a wry expression.

'Now why would you want to do that?' The marksman grinned. 'Think of all the excitement you would be missing. And if you are really lucky you might get to knock Gaston on his royal, conniving backside, like Ath….' He stopped in mid-sentence, seeing his friend's face darken. Aramis' mood instantly deflated, and his smile vanished. 'I am sorry, mon ami, I did not think.' Porthos continued to scowl, but he accepted Aramis' apology with a nod of his head.

'It doesn't have to be this way you know,' Aramis offered quietly. 'He isn't dead!' Porthos scowled at his friend.

''E may as well be,' he growled, and began to walk away. Aramis grabbed his arm, tired of avoiding Athos' name.

'Why? Why does it have to be like this? Can't you see it from his point of view?' Porthos wheeled round.

'No, I can't. I keep seein' 'im all those times we had to carry 'im back here, bloodied and broken. All those times we sat by 'is bed, waitin', prayin' 'e would live. Then 'e just upped and left, no goodbye, no nothin'. That's why it has to be this way. I thought we were getting somewhere with 'im, but I was wrong. 'E didn't care at all.' With that, he pulled his arm from his friend's grasp and strode off toward the refectory.

Aramis understood that Athos had not left because he did not care, he had left because he had begun to care too much. After Porthos had gone, he remained in the garrison courtyard, suddenly tired. The light was beginning to fade, and it felt like the end of a taxing day. No longer did an evening at The Wren hold any appeal – he would retire and read the book his friend had left him.

Porthos sat alone playing with his stew, it was almost unheard of for the big Musketeer not to spoon it down, as though afraid someone was waiting to spirit it away; he had suffered too many years of uncertainty, not knowing where, or when his next meal would be coming from.

'Sumthin up with my stew?' Serge asked, tidying the table. Porthos lifted his head and smiled at the old cook.

'Nah, it's just fine Serge, just got things on my mind, that's all.' The old man nodded.

'Must be bad if you aint eatin',' the cook added sagely. Porthos nodded, but still played with his food.

'Seems to me, things haven't been quite the same around here since your young friend left. I never got a chance to know him well, but he made quite an impression on Treville, and the young cadets still talk about him like he was pretty special. He had a way with 'em, made 'em feel important – unlike that toad Deveaux!' He spat out the man's name, never one to mince his words. Porthos clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to speak what was on his mind.

''E never said goodbye, Serge, why did 'e do that?' He looked over at the old man, who now took a seat by his side.

'Perhaps he couldn't. Perhaps he knew you wouldn't let him go.' He watched as the big man struggled with his emotions.

'We wouldn't 'av. There was no need for 'im to go. 'E had a place here, 'e knew that.' Serge shook his head.

'He may have been a good sword master, but you and I both know it would not have been enough. We all saw the way he fought that last time. Treville wanted that boy with a pauldron on his arm. He saw something in him, something more than a swordsman, more than a soldier. But the boy came from a dark place. Whatever haunted him, and you can be sure something did, he wasn't going to sit back and watch you and Aramis ride out side-by-side, whilst he adjusted footwork and swordplay all day. It would have slowly killed him. Now you need to stop being angry with him, because wherever he is, he probably feels a lot worse than you. You have Treville, Aramis and the rest of the regiment, but what has he got now, without you?' Porthos looked at the old man as his wise words sunk in, realising the validity of his opinion.

oOo

It had been a complete coincidence, seeing him ride into the city as the day drew to a close. About the Cardinal's business, she moved through the crowd, cold and invisible. The cart pulled to one side in order to allow horse and rider to pass. As she stood in the doorway, she observed the lone rider, up straight on the black horse as he rode by. Her heartbeat increased. So, he had returned.

When she had learnt of his departure, she had been disappointed. She told herself she had lost the opportunity for revenge she had sought for so long, but in reality, it had been more than that. As she had gone about her life in the underbelly of the city, she no longer turned at the sound of a horse's steady rhythm, and she no longer caught her breath in her throat at the sight of man she thought was him.

Her feet hurried through the crowd, hood pulled over her features. He was easy to follow, as he rode slowly along the road, no sign of urgency in his demeanour. She was surprised when he stopped before the farrier's but, as she observed the transaction from a distance, it became obvious it was not the first time they had met. Waiting until they had finished whatever business had been transacted, she watched Athos head for The Red Barrell and smiled. No need to worry where he would be for the next few hours. Pulling down her hood, and rearranging her features into a smile. She approached Monsieur René as he began to lead Athos' horse away.

'Forgive me, Monsieur, for interrupting your work, but I could not help but observe this fine horse. I do not suppose he is for sale?' Roger pawed at the ground, as if aware of the closeness of his master's nemesis. The farrier smiled at the beautiful woman standing before him. Chuckling, he shook his head and replied:

'I am afraid not, Madame. My fine friend here stays with me whilst his master has business in town. We are old friends, are we not, Roger?' She smiled and gave a tinkling laugh.

'Roger, what a strange name for a horse.' She attempted to stroke the animal's soft nose, but the horse whinnied and shied away. Her eyes narrowed. 'A spirited animal, perhaps he would not have been suitable for me after all.' If there were more behind the comment, it was lost on the old man. He smiled and led the tired horse away. Turning to look at the tavern, a wicked gleam shone in her eyes, a plan forming in her scheming mind as she walked away.

Inside the dark tavern it was already busy. Athos had adopted his usual table and sat in the shadows, deep in thought. He had drunk the first bottle without much hesitation, but now on the second, he found he could not consume it with as much enthusiasm. He stared at the empty cup as though, by thought alone, he could refill it without disturbing his tired limbs. A sudden shattering of glass caught his attention and he noted two men with scarves around their faces, one of whom was gripping the landlord by the throat, whilst a young woman, presumably his daughter, handed over a small pouch. The man who was throttling the landlord let him go, and he staggered back to the ministrations of the young girl, the two aggressors leaving without further ado. Athos watched with only mild interest. Two disgruntled customers, not surprising if they had ordered this wine, he had forgotten how disgusting it was. But it was wine and if he drank enough, he would not longer notice, and with that thought alone, he poured the last of the bottle and signalled for another.

At some point during the night, he presumed he must have either fallen asleep, or become senseless. He had no recollection of dreaming, so he must indeed have passed out, rather than having made a conscious decision to settle. He awoke in a cold, empty tavern. It was barely light, and his limbs were stiff and uncomfortable. In addition, his eyes were refusing to focus – in fact, they were reluctant to open at all. He felt around for his hat and pulled it firmly in place. He could not remember whether or not he had paid his bill, so laid several coins on the table, judging the amount to be sufficient. With some difficulty, he managed to stand, at which point, his head decided to join with his aching body in proclaiming its refusal to function following such wilful abuse. For a moment, he swayed, his gait unsteady, until he could regain some measure of equilibrium. Eventually, he managed to make his way toward the door, where he slid the bolt across and let himself out into the pre-dawn.

The street glittered, a spring frost covering the ground. He shivered in the frigid air, but it helped somewhat to clear his throbbing head. He hesitated, not sure of his destination. He needed to find rooms. He had money from his work at the garrison and his incapacitation had meant he had not yet spent it all on wine, but for now, he would make do with sharing the hay with Roger.

Sitting in the doorway, patiently waiting not far from where Athos stood, was a small boy. It had been a long, cold night, but at least the woman had given him something warm to eat and a blanket with which to cover himself. It could have been worse, and the reward she had offered had helped keep him awake – he could not afford to lose that much coin. He had begun to think the mark had drunk himself to death, but no, here he was though, to the boy's eyes, he appeared only slightly better than dead. The street child crept out from beneath the warmth of the rug and threw it around his shoulders. Why not? She had not specified its return. He watched the man stagger slightly before managing to walk upright, and in a relatively straight line. He continued to watch as he walked straight through the farrier's workshop, entering the small stable at the back, and the boy wondered whether he might be about to steal the horse. Instead, he was shocked to see the man stroke the black stallion, before sliding down into the straw, curling up like a child and settling to sleep. Well, he had done what she had paid him to do, now perhaps he could get a couple hours rest too.

oOo

The garrison began to busy itself with the orders of the day; there was now much to do in preparation for the King's tour. Treville had laid out the necessary maps, which now covered every available surface – including the floor. Having sent for Aramis and Porthos, he stood hovering over them frowning, as he considered the best route. A knock on the door heralded the arrival of the two men.

'Come,' the familiar call answered, though the tone was distracted and not as forceful as normal.

The Captain straightened, rubbing his aching back before turning to face the two Musketeers as they entered. He gestured toward the maps, and they stood on either side of their Captain as he began to explain.

The three men studied them for over an hour, discussing the best routes, the worst roads for an entourage that big, and the likeliest places for an ambush. By the time they had finished, they had identified far more negatives than positives. Treville walked over to the cupboard, taking a bottle and three glasses from the shelf and, indicating that the two men should take a seat, poured each of them a drink.

'It would appear, gentleman, that the route we choose will be fraught with danger whatever we do. In this scenario there is no such thing as a safe road, not when one is escorting the King of France, let alone the Queen and the First Minister.' He drank deeply from his cup as though saying the names out loud had made the reality even more painful.

'Athos was good at this stuff.' The statement, though not surprising in its accuracy, made the others raise their eyebrows in amazement. The fact that it had been made by Porthos stunned the two men. Treville had not been party to the discussions between the two Musketeers, but he had observed the tension and the fact that Athos' name was conspicuously absent from their conversations. Porthos noted the reaction of the two men and shrugged his wide shoulders.

'Just sayin',' he scowled, but Aramis smiled and slapped him on the shoulder, sensing something had changed.

'Perhaps we should conduct some reconnaissance,' Aramis suggested. Treville appeared thoughtful.

'Go on,' he encouraged.

'Well, you could send men to check out the routes, see who is in residence. At least those involved would be aware of our presence. We would also know if anyone new had been invited or was visiting at the same time as the King, who had not been there previously.' Treville smiled.

'Good thinking. It is better than sitting here staring at maps. I will dispatch men in pairs to carry out your suggestion.' Aramis added:

'We could revisit the first two on the route, we have been before so will have a slight advantage – Château d'Ambois and Château D'Ramboullet.' Aramis was aware of Porthos, who simply frowned and shrugged his shoulders. Treville agreed.

'You leave in the morning, take what you need. I will send out further pairs to scout the other destinations. At least this way we will have a better idea of what we face. Thank you, gentleman. Safe journey.' The two men turned and left the office.

'Why'd you do that?' Porthos asked. ''E won't be there, you know that don't ya?' Aramis attempted to look surprised.

'I do not know what you mean, I simply thought it would make sense. We have been to both houses before and would know if anything appeared out of place.' Porthos humphed and gave his friend a side-long glance.'

'You must think I'm stupid. You want to go back to the Château D'Ambois because you know 'e went to see the old girl. That was weeks ago, 'e's hardly likely to be there now. And if 'e is, what then?' Aramis' shoulders slumped, and he sank down on to the bench. Hesitating for a moment he answered:

'I do not know what I expected. It was just a chance, he might have told her something.' His dark eyes pleaded silently with Porthos to understand. 'I thought perhaps you'd had a change of heart, after what you said in the Captain's office.' He watched as Porthos scowled, gazing off into the distance.

'Perhaps I've been doin' some thinkin'. Maybe you were right, 'e would have found it hard, me and you carrying on, in and out of the garrison, whilst 'e was stuck here working with the cadets. 'E deserved better than that. I understand why 'e went. I just wish 'e had said goodbye.' Aramis smiled softly.

'So do I, but I believe he thought it was better for all of us that way.' He raised his hand as Porthos began to interrupt. 'It would have been harder still to have watched him leave.' The big man gave a single nod.

'Don't go gettin' your hopes up though, 'e will be long gone.' Aramis simply patted his friend's arm.

'We have a journey to prepare for, and I shall not wait for you if you are late.' Porthos chuckled.

'Right, like I'm the one who keeps everyone waitin'!' The two men went their separate ways to gather what they would need for the trip.

oOo

It was the second night Athos had spent absorbed in a tavern – the day between had passed in a blur. He had spent the morning working off a mild hangover and, in the afternoon, he had collected his horse and ridden long and hard. But as the afternoon wore on toward evening, he found himself retracing a familiar path back to Paris, as if pulled by some invisible thread.

Now, in the dark shadows of the tavern, he embarked on his second bottle. He had not returned to the Red Barrell; his standard of living may have taken a downward turn, but their wine was almost undrinkable. And so, he was quietly nursing his cup of slightly improved wine, when he noted a scuffle at the bar. He squinted, focusing tired eyes on the perpetrators. There was something familiar about the entire scenario. Two men, faces hidden, were haranguing the landlord, this time – unlike the night before – he passed a hefty purse across to the two men without the need for further violence, but Athos noted the expression of fear and hatred in the man's eyes.

Could they be the same pair that he had seen the previous night? Athos did not favour coincidence. Draining his cup, he rose giving the serving girl some coin and, taking his bottle with him, casually followed the men outside.

It was not late, but the night was cloudy and little moonlight lit the street, which was no longer busy. Athos looked left and right. The odd horse and cart trundled by and men, already drunk, staggered home after a long day; windows showed fleeting images of family life, and flickering lamps threw the occasional glimmer of light on to the damp cobbles.

A shout of anger, further on, showed him what he was seeking. One man was helping another to his feet, two others having pushed him to the floor, out of their way. The two culprits hurried ahead turning into the next tavern. Athos followed.

This inn, like most of the others in the city, was busy. A girl was wending her way between tables, balancing a tray of ale on her ample hips, giving Athos a cheeky grin and a wink as she brushed against him. His attention, though, was focused on the events unfolding at the far end of the bar.

The two men whom he had followed were pinning the landlord against the wall, and when his wife intervened, brandishing what appeared to be a large rolling pin, one of them lashed out, knocking the shocked woman to the floor. Several nearby customers made to intervene, but the sudden appearance of a pistol persuaded them it was none of their business.

The landlord raised both his hands in supplication and, moving to a box at the rear of the bar, he took out a small object and practically threw it at the man holding the knife. The recipient merely laughed and grabbed the purse, giving the man a hard shove that sent him staggering into a stack of barrels, as they pushed their way through the crowd, and disappeared into the night.

Athos considered following, but decided against it. The landlord may prove more informative. He approached the bar, patiently waiting for the man to finish restacking the fallen barrels.

'Wine,' Athos requested. The man grunted and reached for a cup and bottle.

'Trouble?' Athos asked, supping from the vessel. The man peered closer at his customer.

'Nothing I can't deal with,' he replied, appraising the man posing the question.

'How long?' Athos continued. The man's eyes widened then narrowed. Scowling, he growled:

'I don't know what you mean.' He gulped, his eyes darting toward his wife.

'How long have you been paying them?' Athos persisted. Now the man was visibly scared.

'I'm not paying anyone, it was just business – mine not yours.' He gave Athos one final glare then moved off to serve someone else.

Athos took his drink and found a spot suited to his mood. Those who drowned their troubles usually migrated to the rear, where it remained generally darker and proved less conducive to socialising. He sat in silence, finishing the bottle he had carried from the last establishment.

The serving girl from earlier caught his eye and, checking to see she wasn't needed elsewhere, approached Athos' table, hips swaying as she walked.

'Anything I can do for you, handsome?' she purred, tracing his jaw with her fingers. Athos was about to decline when he changed his mind. Producing a coin, he held it aloft. Her eyes gleamed, and with a sultry smirk she told him:

'You might have to wait a while if you want to spend that, I'm working until late. Though for you, I might get off early.' She licked her lips, like a cat anticipating the cream.

'What I want will only take a few minutes. Why not take a seat, Mademoiselle?' The girl's smile faded, her expression becoming guarded.

'The landlord appears to be having trouble from two of his customers.' The girl pouted, this was not how she had hoped the conversation would progress. The man was not like most of her regulars, having an air of aloof authority which she found attractive.

'I'm not sure what you mean,' she responded. Perhaps the longer she kept him talking, the better her chances might be. Athos was tired, and though his interest was piqued, he did not possess the flattery necessary to finesse the girl – that was Aramis' forte.

'Mademoiselle, I suspect he is being forced to pay, my guess is for protection. One of these days they will come, and he may not be able to pay. Then someone will be hurt. What can you tell me?' He held the coin in front of her again and she grabbed at it, placing it between her small breasts. Pouting, she began to talk:

'It started a couple of months ago, they came and asked for money, Luc just laughed at them. When he came down the next morning, someone had broken in and let the ale out of the barrels, it was a shocking mess. The next night they came back, and he paid up. They've been coming regular ever since, always at the beginning of the month, and getting nastier too.' She looked scared, and Athos frowned.

'Do you know who they are?' She shook her head.

'Are you sure I can't do anything else for you?' She leant forward and moved the hair from over his eyes. 'Such beautiful eyes, you shouldn't hide them so.' Athos was at a loss how to respond, when a voice shouted above the noise.

'Paulette, get over here, you're supposed to be working!' The landlord's wife had obviously overcome her upset and was scowling across the room at the young woman. The girl stood, rolled her eyes and blew Athos a kiss.

'Another time, then.' With that, she made her way back across the room, ensuring she made the most of her retreating figure.

Athos sat back and poured himself another glass of wine. So, somebody was running a protection racket in Paris. Not good, not good at all. The question was, what to do? He could pass the information on to the garrison, though it was not really within their remit. No, for now he would watch and wait – it wasn't as if he had anything better to do. Until then, there was wine to drink and a long night to get through.