Chapter 18

Sometime earlier, Aramis had returned to the room, finding Athos now alone. Before entering fully, he glanced around to ensure the woman had indeed left. He made no comment as to her earlier presence, simply holding out the plan as requested.

'Duval gave me this – apparently there are several around the lodge. All new staff are presented with one, as the passages are complicated, and one can easily become lost. You were right to prevent me from following.' Aramis was nothing if not pragmatic; he did not bear a grudge for long against those he loved, and already he was beginning to feel guilt over his earlier behaviour – though he was still frustrated over Athos' tolerance of Milady's interference. 'Once inside, I, or anyone else in there, could easily be picked off by anyone more familiar with the twists and turns,' he continued. 'Apparently, there are many changes in levels and stairways – a nightmare.'

Athos was aware that Aramis was attempting to hold out an olive branch, and he fought to accept the gesture with the good grace it deserved. However, Athos could be stubborn, and his departing conversation with her had left him in a dark place, so instead of smiling and thanking the Musketeer, he merely grunted.

Aramis watched the emotions play upon his friend's face. It never ceased to amaze him how Athos' face could one moment be an unreadable mask – his emotions impenetrable – then at other times he allowed his heart to show upon his features as clear as day – and this was one of those times. Anger, frustration, uncertainty and pain was what Aramis could see before him.

Part of him wanted to reach out and hug the foolish man, but another part wanted to thump him. He had chosen to put himself in harm's way, and there had been nothing Porthos or he could do about it. He dreaded to think what Porthos would have to say, as diplomacy was not one of the big man's strengths.

Athos frowned. 'We should report to Treville.' With that, he gripped the map Aramis had given him and strode past the surprised Musketeer. The two men headed toward the royal apartments, neither saying a word. Aramis' earlier guilt was rapidly being replaced by annoyance and, by the time they reached the doorway, the tension was evident in both men's faces.

Athos pushed open the door to find a somewhat disturbed scene. Many of the women were quietly sniffling into handkerchiefs, the Queen was seated and talking quietly to the Cardinal, whilst the King was pacing the floor and complaining loudly.

'This is completely unacceptable, Treville. I cannot have innocent women being slain in their bedchambers. What if it had been my apartment, what then? I expected more from you, Captain.' Treville stood silently, taking all the King threw at him. His face was as blank as the man was able to maintain, but he did not have Athos' talent, and his anger was fairly obvious. Normally, it was up to the Queen to provide the voice of reason, but today she was preoccupied and Treville did not have her support.

The entire situation had gone from bad to worse. Athos, in his distracted state, had not anticipated that by sending Porthos with the instruction to bar the passageway doors he would be the first person to break the news of Angeline's passing and, in any case, Porthos would not have been the first choice for that job. Treville had not been pleased when Porthos blurted out Athos' instructions as diplomatically as he was able, and all hell had broken loose. Treville's mood had darkened even further when Milady flounced into the room some minutes later, murder in her eyes. Treville had challenged her as to her whereabouts.

'Milady, may I ask where you have been?' He eyed the woman with obvious distaste, and that alone made her already seething anger boil over.

'No, you may not!' Then her eyes narrowed, and a sly smile spread across her beautiful features. 'But if you must know, I have been assisting Monsieur Athos with his duties.' She revelled in the thunderous expression her news elicited from the Musketeer Captain, as well as noting Suzanne toss her curls in annoyance. All in all, a serious victory.

So, by the time Athos and Aramis entered the room, Treville badly needed someone, or something, to vent his anger upon, and it was unfortunate that several other Musketeers were now present, adding to the ferocity of Treville's reaction.

Athos bowed before the King and turned to Treville. 'I have a plan of the tunnels, and I suggest we guard each opening. Entering would be folly.' Only then did he take in the Musketeer Captain's expression and realised the mood he had walked into.

'Oh do you? Forgive me, Your Highness, I must secure the lodge and take my men. I suggest you retire to your rooms, the passageways in the apartments have been blocked.' With that, he turned and left, not waiting for Louis' permission.

Outside in the corridor, he rounded on Athos. 'Just what do you think you were doing ordering Aramis not to follow the assassins? Who gave you the authority to make that decision?' Treville did not give the subdued man time to answer before continuing his diatribe. 'And what were you doing allowing a woman to interfere? Of all the stupid, ill-considered things to do.' At this point, he lowered his voice so only Athos could hear.

'After the considerable effort we have taken to protect you, you choose to ignore all of that and invite her to offer her assistance. You must be mad.' Now raising his voice once more, he completed his tirade. 'Get back to the stables, see to the horses and weapons and stay there until I send for you. I do not want to see you until I no longer the need to shoot you.' That said, Treville turned on his heel and indicated that the rest of the Musketeers should follow him. None of them held Athos' eye; Aramis and Porthos tried to attract his attention, but he deliberately stared straight ahead, face blank, but very pale. Only Deveaux, addressed the man directly.

'Oh dear, stepped out of line have we? Upset the Captain? How does it feel to be a failure? Not the golden boy now, are we? Not even a Musketeer – just nothing!' The last two words he spat out in hatred, enjoying every minute of Athos' fall from grace. As the sound of booted footsteps died away, Athos was left standing in the corridor, alone and stunned.

He had not asked for any of this. He had not asked his ex-wife to shadow his every move; he had not asked to be forced to reveal more of his sordid past to his friends; he had not asked those friends to prevent his past from catching up with him. Still, it had all happened anyway, and decisions made that fateful summer's day were still crying out to be acknowledged. When the sound of female voices began to grow closer, only then did Athos manage to force his body to move.

He was not concerned with the humiliation, nor was he concerned that he may have made an error of judgement – though he did not believe he had – no, he was devastated to have let his Captain down. He knew the man had gone out of his way to keep him out of trouble, to keep her as far away as possible, and Athos had flung that effort back in his face. As for his friends, he did not even know how to begin to apologise.

oOo

It was many hours later when Aramis and Porthos were finally relieved of their duty and had the opportunity to discuss Athos' fate.

'Have you seen him?' Aramis asked, his face filled with concern.

Porthos shook his head. 'Not since we left him stood in the corridor.' Both men were agitated; knowing how Athos could react to such circumstances, and the mood Treville was in, a drunken Athos would be the last straw.

'Does he have anything with him?' Aramis asked in desperation. Porthos simply rolled his eyes, not even bothering to answer. 'We need to find him,' Aramis stated, as though the decision was some form of revelation.

'Well he shouldn't be too difficult to track down, Treville told 'im to stay outside. The mood the Captain was in, I doubt even Athos would have disobeyed.' The two men exchanged glances, noting that neither was truly convinced by Porthos' remark.

As they exited the main building, the wind was still strong, but the rain had finally diminished to a gentle drizzle. Considering the rain that had lashed the area all day, leaving in the morning would be unthinkable, but they prayed perhaps one dry day and the river may be passable.

oOo

As the two Musketeers made their way over to the stables, somewhere in the woods four men huddled inside a small wooden structure amongst the trees.

'It's no good sulking, Renard. You try finding your way around those passages in the dark – even with a candle it is almost impossible. And anyway, we didn't get caught.' The man accused of sulking brooded in the corner. The words finally galvanised him into action and he gave the man who spoke a sudden glare.

'All of that aside, Bertrand, did you have to kill the girl?' Renard growled, scowling at the man who had spoken.

'Does it matter?' a hoarse voice interrupted. 'Either way – right room, wrong room – they would have known we had been there. At least they are nervous now, and nervous people make mistakes.' The brooding man eyed the speaker cautiously. They did not like him; he was crazy – obsessed with the object of his hatred. Frustration with inequality was one thing, and to wish to provoke a revolution was understandable, but this man's fixation was unnatural.

Renard watched the man with calculating eyes. 'We have lost the element of surprise, those two fools who jumped them saw to that. Now we will have to wait. There will be little point trying to re-enter the house when they are watching for us. No, we will wait until they are on the move, then they will be vulnerable.' The man with the husky voice spoke up in anger.

'Why wait? They are not heavily guarded, we could take them.' His feverish expression flashed with something akin to madness, and Renard began to question the wisdom of their partnership.

'Do not be so stupid, we are only four men, the river has cut us off from the rest. We cannot hope to succeed against twelve Musketeers, and that is not including the Guard. We must wait until we can regroup, then we will have a stronger chance. Do not do something stupid – if you choose to act, then you will be on your own.

The man he addressed glared in anger, his face mirroring the red glow of the fire they sat beside. Somehow, the flames that reflected in his eyes only emphasised the man's frail semblance of sanity. Reynard shuddered. He was a ruthless man, but this obsession was going to get them all killed.

oOo

Aramis and Porthos hunched their shoulders against the wind, which still raged with force, though they were relieved to see the stars now filled the sky, the clouds blown clear, promising a night without rain. A faint gleam came from the large barn where those Musketeers not on duty were sleeping, the braziers burning steadily, keeping the large space comfortably warm. There was not a sound apart from the occasional snore or grunt from a sleeping soldier. Aramis and Porthos quickly scanned the room, but could see no sign of their friend, though neither were surprised. Aramis ran his hands through his hair, a sure sign of frustration or concern.

'Roger,' Porthos declared with a sly smile. Aramis grinned and slapped the big man on the shoulder. Together they crossed the cobbled yard and entered the warmth of the stable. Over twenty horses in close proximity did not need a brazier to keep it warm, and the gentle shuffling of hooves and the soft snickering of the horses always created a comfortable atmosphere. Both men knew it was a place of refuge for Athos, somewhere he could come and talk, without really giving away his secrets. However, they were not expecting the sight that greeted them. Athos was sitting on the floor of the stable amongst the straw, his back to the wall and legs outstretched. In his hands was a bottle, and on his face an expression of raw torment. The two men exchanged glances then, without a word, took up positions on either side of the silent man.

'Were you going to share that?' Aramis asked, giving Athos a nudge on the shoulder. Athos did not answer.

'Nah, he was going to drink it all himself and give Deveaux another reason to gloat,' Porthos scoffed, unable to keep the anger from his voice. Still, the approach worked, and Athos handed the bottle to Porthos. The big man took it but, to his surprise, the bottle was much heavier than he had expected; holding it up to the light from the wall sconce, he discovered the brandy bottle was still full. Without taking a swig, he passed it to Aramis, with a simple twitch of his brow to express his apprehension.

Aramis felt the weight of the bottle and gave a responding expression of surprise.

'I know you two are talking over my head,' Athos announced quietly.

Aramis grinned. 'I do not know what you mean, though I am pleased you did not start the party without us, my friend. A fine brandy is just what we need after the events of the day.' Athos gave the Musketeer the faintest twitch of his brow – if only Aramis knew.

The three men sat in silence, drinking from the bottle. There was so much Athos wanted to say, but it was simply too complicated, and this time he really did not know where to begin. He was relieved when Aramis suddenly spoke and, though the question sent a chill of fear throughout his body, it was still better than the topic he had been expecting.

'Why did you not wish to go into the tunnel?' There it was, the enquiry that had fallen to the back of everyone's minds. What with Angeline and Milady, Athos had hoped his reaction to the dark passageways had gone unnoticed; he should have known better of the medic.

'I thought I had made it clear. We did not know what we would come across once inside, and we had no idea where the passageways would lead.' Athos took a swig from the bottle, hoping it would be enough.

'I've seen you 'ead off after armed men without a thought for your own safety – I don't believe you.' Porthos' remark, took Athos by surprise. It was unusual for the Musketeer to be so confrontational; he usually left this kind of thing to Aramis and simply bided his time, and that he had been so blunt was a measure of how cross he was with Athos' earlier behaviour. Athos breathed deeply, but still said nothing.

'Treville wants us to go in tomorrow if there has been no sign of the assailants. He needs to know if they are empty or whether there are any more unpleasant surprises.'

Athos' head came up in alarm. 'Has he asked for me?' The look on his face told Aramis all he needed to know, and he placed a hand upon his friend's arm to reassure him.

'No, he made no mention of names. At the time, you were the last person he wished to discuss.' Athos nodded his understanding.

A strong gust of wind caused the sconce to gutter and die, plunging the three men into darkness. Aramis paused to see how Athos would react; if it was the dark that the swordsman disliked then surely now would be the time to tell. He listened carefully, but Athos' breathing remained regular and steady, no sign of stress or panic. Not the dark then. Porthos made to stand to relight the torch, but Athos placed a restraining hand upon his arm.

'Leave it.' Porthos hesitated, then regained his seat, sensing there was more to come. Whatever Athos wished to tell them, he preferred to do it in the dark. Both men waited in anticipation, hearts pounding, both experiencing the same sense of dread that whatever Athos was about to reveal, it was not going to be good. They felt as though they had waited interminably when in reality it was merely seconds. Athos cleared his throat and began to speak.

His voice was cold, and low, he sounded as though he was talking to himself, or perhaps he was simply confessing to the dark.

'When I was eight, we had a cat that lived in the kitchens; it killed the mice and slept on the hearth at night. Sometimes, when nobody noticed, I would sneak in for a cup of milk and play with the cat for a short while. It was a sleek black cat with green eyes.' He could almost feel the two men exchange glances over his head, but he ignored the sensation and continued. 'One evening, I went to the kitchen as usual and found one of the young maids crying, the cat asleep on her lap, or so I believed. Apparently, it had ingested some poison or other, put down for the rats on the estate, and he was dead. I had never seen a dead creature before, apart from rabbits and birds my father had hunted. I remember stroking it – it was still warm and soft. The maid said they were going to bury it in the kitchen garden, and I became upset. It still felt so alive; I could not bear to think of it being placed in a hole in the ground. I must have hurried back up to the house, and I ran into my father.' Athos stopped and paused for a moment, as though the memory was still painful.

'Of course, he was angry; for so many reasons: that I had visited the kitchen, played with the cat but, most of all, that I was upset over its burial. Once again, I had disappointed him, not showing the backbone that a… a son of his was supposed to.' You are pathetic. How can you be the future Comte, a De la Fère? Ha, sometimes I wonder if you are my son at all. If you did not have the features of your forebears, I would be convinced of your mother's perfidy. He could hear his father's tongue lashing in his head, remembering how he had stared up at him, still crying over the fate of the kitchen cat.

'He took me by the hand and, for a moment, I thought he meant to console me. I can remember it was rare for him to do that, hold my hand, and it was good, it felt strong and safe. Then he took me from the house and into the grounds. We walked some way; I wanted to enjoy it, though I sensed he was still angry, but he was still holding my hand – and I liked it.'

Again he paused, and the two men heard him take another swig from the bottle. Neither man wanted to breathe in case Athos ceased his story.

'It felt as though we had walked miles, but it must have been less than one. He had brought me to the family mausoleum, which was surrounded by trees in a dark and gloomy spot. It was cold, and despite it being early summer, with the sun unable to break through the boughs of the trees I felt chilled and began to shiver.'

'Stop snivelling boy. Do you know what this is? Do you?'

'Yes sir, it is where grandpapa lies and his grandpapa before him.'

'Precisely – and where I, too, will lie, and then your mother, then you and Thomas.'

'He produced a large key from high up on a ledge and unlocked the iron gates. They creaked, and the sound echoed around the glade, making the birds take flight from the trees. I wanted to go home, but my father still held my hand and, it being a rare event, I did not want him to stop. We went inside and he began to light the sconces around the walls. As they illuminated the gloom, I could see a wall of narrow shelves with boxes slid inside each one.' Now Aramis could hear the change in the swordsman's breathing; his voice sounded ragged, and it was clear that he was struggling with the memory and, for the first time, he began to suspect what it was that Athos was afraid of.

'He walked me around the huge room, telling me who lay where and how long ago it had been since they had been put there. I hardly heard a word he said – I could only see the narrow slots, and the boxes that filled the space. They seemed so small, even to me as a boy, and I began to panic. I could feel the wood pressing on my arms, the roof of the shelf above my nose, the whole space trapping my body, preventing me from moving.' Athos' breathing was becoming rapid, and Aramis did not know whether to stop him or allow him to let it all out into the open. Athos made the decision for him.

'I began to scream, to panic, I tried to run but my father caught me; he shouted and yelled but I fought. I was terrified of the small space, of not being able to move my arms, of having the roof so close to my face. In the end he slapped me; I suppose he had no choice, as I was hysterical by then.'

'You will learn to be a noble, you will learn to hide your fears. You will thank me, Olivier, when you are older.'

He took me to the far side of the room and made me sit. He told me to stay still until he told me to move. I watched him blow out the sconces, one by one, until he stood at the door. He told me to think about my folly and he would be back when I had calmed down and learnt to control my childish emotions. Then he shut the door.' Athos' voice cracked slightly, and Aramis felt his shoulders slump, but he didn't drink more of the brandy.

'I ran to the door and I banged and thumped until my fingers bled. I promised I would not cry over the cat, that I would never cry again if he would let me out.' Athos fell silent.

At last, Aramis could contain himself no longer. 'Did he let you out?'

'Yes,' Athos whispered.

'When?' Porthos asked, his voice filled with emotion.

'In the morning,' Athos admitted. 'I was in there all night.'

The two men said nothing. What could you say to such torment of a small child? But Porthos had to know.

'Did you? Did you cry again?'

'Not until my mother died; I kept my promise,' came Athos' almost inaudible whisper.

'How old were you?' he asked in horror.

'Seventeen.' Both men groaned simultaneously. Nine years, the boy had not shed a tear for another nine years.

'Your father was a monster,' Aramis offered gently. 'That is no way to treat a child. I am sorry, mon ami, I understand your fear.'

'I cannot go into those tunnels, Aramis,' Athos admitted.

'Do not fear, you will not, Porthos and I will make sure of it.' Aramis slid his arm around Athos' shoulders, smiling when he felt the big arm of Porthos had beaten him to it. Athos did not shrink from their support, he was too tired, and when Porthos eventually stood to re-light the torches, he saw that Athos was fast asleep upon Aramis' shoulder.