Chapter 20
The Musketeers slept well for the few hours remaining before they were due to relieve the men on duty inside the lodge. Athos had tossed and turned for a short while, whilst Aramis braced himself, ready in case he should be needed. However, the medicine did what was required of it and the swordsman fell into a deep and untroubled sleep, allowing the medic to relax and get the rest he needed.
Athos awoke suddenly to an odd silence. It was not the middle of the night; it was not quiet enough for that. It was as if someone had muted the normal noise of the day – apart from the loud snoring from the bunk next to his. Realisation hit and he allowed a twitch of his lips, realising the invasive racket was, of course, Porthos. Darkness had barely descended, people were still going about their range of tasks outside, yet the three men were ensconced in the furthest part of the barn, allowing them to sleep undisturbed. Athos swung his legs over the edge of the bed as a dull ache began behind his eyes, reminding him why he had been lying down in the first place. He reached for the wound above his eye and winced. It could have been much worse; it could have been fatal. As he pulled on his boots, Aramis and Porthos began to stir.
'Is it mornin'?' grumbled Porthos, running his hands though his thick curls.
Aramis chuckled. 'Afraid not, mon ami. It is more like evening; darkness still comes early at this time of year.' He slapped his friend on the shoulder, splashing cold water over his face and raking his fingers through his long hair.
'Early? It never bloody goes away,' Porthos complained. 'It ain't even light when it's daytime.' He scowled at the laughing Musketeer, before remembering Athos, and he turned to address the silent man.
'Ow's yer 'ead?' Athos raised a brow, but frowned when he realised it hurt, but so did frowning. Porthos began to laugh. 'Ha, looks like our friend is going to 'ave to change 'is ways. Looks like cynical and moody ain't goin' to work for 'im just at the moment!' He continued to laugh and, despite the discomfort, Athos tried his best to smoulder. Aramis took a moment to work out what the big man was talking about and then he, too, began to chuckle. He put his arm around Athos' shoulders and attempted to look sympathetic, but the swordsman shrugged the arm away.
'Never mind, perhaps this is the perfect moment to try smiling a little more.' Despite the wincing pain, the remark earned him a fierce glare from an annoyed Athos. Porthos merely guffawed all the more at his friend's irritation.
'Are we not required to be elsewhere?' Athos growled, turning to walk away. Aramis, though, was much quicker, neatly blocking his escape.
'Not so quick, my friend, let me just check that scratch before we leave. After all, we do not want it to become infected.' He knew Athos had had enough experience of wounds to hesitate slightly at the remark; just long enough for the medic to whip away the bandage and examine the flesh wound.
'Excellent, we will leave it to the air now, it is healing nicely. You will soon have more scars than a seasoned pauldron.' As the words came out of his mouth Aramis wished he could have taken them back. Both he and Porthos could not help but look to the empty spot where a Musketeer's pauldron would sit – had the King seen fit to grant Athos one. Porthos shuffled slightly but Athos' face showed no reaction, just giving an almost imperceptible huff, before turning on his heel and stalking out of the barn. Aramis turned to Porthos with a look of sorrow. Porthos sensed his friend's regret and shook his head.
'Don't worry, 'e won't take it amiss, it ain't your fault the King is an ass.' Aramis looked at Porthos with surprise.
'Better not let the Red Guard hear you say that.' Porthos grinned, as though the thought almost appealed to him. 'And do not get that look in your eye, we do not have enough men for you to put any out of commission.' Porthos chuckled, but strode on after Athos.
Outside, the air was milder than it had been of late; the floor was still wet underfoot, but it did not look as if there had been much further rainfall. Above, the sky was clear, and the first sight of the moon was bright and unhindered by cloud. A good sign – perhaps the weather was beginning to turn.
Athos entered the lodge and was forced to acknowledge that his feelings were mixed. He could not deny it was much warmer and more comfortable than the draughty barn, but still he suspected that for him there was as much danger within the confines of the building as without, and he would far rather face a horde of unknown adversaries than the foe that dwelt beneath this roof. Bullets and swords held less harm than perfume and velvet; the latter could do so much more damage.
The staff had at last settled down for the night and, having checked all doors and windows were secure, the three men eventually also settled down to the long night ahead. If Athos noticed the other two men manipulate him to remain on the lower floors, he showed no sign. Aramis was about to descend from the level that housed most of the bedrooms, when the sound of rustling silk halted his step. Turning cautiously, he saw Milady de Winter standing beneath the light of the flickering candles. Her skin seemed to glow with an unearthly quality, her coal black hair glinting as the dancing flame played upon her curls.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Aramis could not deny she was a very beautiful woman, but there was something about her that put him on edge. Was it the fact that he knew she was not what she seemed? Or was it something more primeval, some inner sense, that told him she was dangerous?
'Milady.' He bowed graciously. 'Was there something you needed?' She began to walk toward him, slowly and deliberately, her cat-like eyes narrowing as she smiled.
'I could not sleep and thought I would take a walk; maybe choose a book from the library. Perhaps you would accompany me?' She was now level with the marksman, and he inhaled the sweet smell of jasmine. He wondered if he would ever smell the fragrance again without it causing him the urge to shudder.
'I am afraid I must insist you return to your room, Madame. Though the lodge has been secured for the night, with so many secret ways within these walls it is inadvisable to roam the building at night, just in case there is yet another undiscovered way into the building.' The comment would surely have sent any of the other women scurrying back to the safety of her apartment without further ado, but not her.
Instead of turning and bidding him goodnight, she slipped her arm through his and looked at him from beneath her lashes. 'Surely I am safe with a Musketeer to guard me?' she purred. Aramis had the feeling that, despite his caution, he was being sucked into her game.
'I think not, Milady, but I will escort you back to your room.' She pulled her arm from his and the smile died upon her full lips. Aramis almost expected her to arch her back and hiss, but for now she chose to withdraw her claws and adopted an air of nonchalance.
'That will not be necessary. I feel suddenly fatigued, it must be the company. I thank you, Monsieur Aramis, and bid you goodnight.' Leaving the marksman momentarily stunned, she tossed her hair over her smooth white shoulder and turned, walking slowly along the corridor, hips swaying as she went. She paused as she reached her door, but did not look back; she had no need, she knew he still watched as she closed the door behind her – they always did.
Aramis indeed watched the woman retreat inside her room, before letting out the breath he had been holding. He shook his head, muttering to himself as he walked toward the staircase. Oddly, his thoughts echoed those of his friend; that woman was deadly, and he still had no idea what her game was. However, whatever it was, she would have to get past him and Porthos before she got anywhere near Athos again – providing, of course, he did not invite her.
The rest of the night passed without incident. The men checked and double-checked the myriad of unused rooms and passageways, testing windows for loose or tampered latches, but discovered nothing. Dawn began to rise over the landscape, pink and golden hues running like rainbow waves on the horizon, and mist hovering above the wet ground – it promised to be a grand day, and indeed it was.
For two further days, the sun shone brightly, and the mood inside the lodge began to lift as thoughts of freedom flickered to life within the gilded prison. Each day, Athos, Aramis and Porthos rode out to check the rapidly diminishing flood; no more talk of not having enough men to allow a lone rider to survey the area alone. So it was, on the third day after the shooting, Athos and the two Musketeers sat on their horses and studied the swift-flowing river as it gurgled and jostled over the debris left behind by the flood.
'Can we pass, do ya think?' Porthos asked, watching the brown water as it tossed out more broken branches and saplings, victims of the water's wrath.
'It is possible, though another day would be better still,' Athos answered, as he dropped down from his horse. He walked out into the uninviting water testing the depth and, though he could not go far without filling his boots with water from the muddy river, it was obvious a horse and carriage would have no difficulty. 'As long as it does not decide to throw a tree or carcass at us as we cross, it is possible. Instinct tells me it is time we moved on.' The other two nodded, though Aramis continued to stare upstream, as if he half expected to see a oak or dead cow suddenly come hurtling toward them. 'We had better return and let Treville make a decision.' Athos remounted, and the three men galloped back the way they had come. Unobserved, a small child, who had been hidden in the undergrowth, scurried off to the hut in the woods where the ugly codger was staying – the one who was paying him to keep watch over the ford.
The day was wearing on; they had not ridden out to check the river's flow until they had rested from their nightly watch. Treville had kept them on night duty hoping that it would keep his errant, would-be Musketeer out of trouble. So far, his ploy had been highly successful. Since the first night, there had been no further sightings of Milady de Winter, allowing Athos to relax – or at least, as much as he ever did.
They rode in companiable silence across the open space surrounding the lodge. The sky was golden after another lovely, spring day; the air had been warm and even the leaves on the trees appeared to have unfurled beneath its delayed caress. The three men slid from their mounts and handed them over to the stable lad.
'Treville will be glad of our news. 'E's goin' stir crazy stuck in 'ere with 'is Majesty and all 'is moanin'.' Porthos grinned widely; the warmth of the sun and the idea of leaving at last had put him in good humour. Aramis readily nodded in agreement. Servants were scurrying to and fro – the change in the weather had bought about rumours of the King's imminent departure and, to be honest, the staff would not be sad to see him go. The Musketeers hurried up the grand staircase and along the ornate corridors. Not so long ago, these same passageways had appeared dark and brooding, but now light streamed through the long, graceful windows, making the gold paint-work glow like the dying sun that was now sinking in the sky.
A young woman in the garb of a serving girl hurried toward them. Her eyes were red and, as she became aware of the three men, she hung her head and tried hard to melt into the wall.
'Don't worry, my lovely, we don't bite,' Porthos chortled as the girl scurried away and down the stairs. Athos frowned and looked over his shoulder. She had not been wearing the clothing of the upstairs staff; she looked as though she belonged in the kitchens. He dismissed thoughts of the girl, aware Aramis was muttering something about the hard life of serving staff, especially ones attached to the royal household; though he was not really listening. They reached the end of the corridor and entered the apartments set aside for the King and his immediate entourage and, as Athos and the two Musketeers bowed low to his Majesty, everything happened at once.
A figure rushed to the centre of the space dropping the silver tray he had been bearing; he was yelling, but the three men were not listening to his frantic ranting. Athos leapt forward, blocking his access to the shocked and fozen King, drawing his sword as he did so. Aramis, not quite sure what was happening, headed for the royal couple, leaving Porthos to employ his large frame to block the doorway, in case any more trouble erupted through it. The young man in the livery of a footman was screaming something but, over the clashing of steel, it was still not clear what. He was no match for Athos, and the skirmish was brief. The servant lay on the floor of the room clutching a hand to his shoulder as blood seeped out upon the expensive carpet. There was a strange silence, then suddenly everyone moved and began talking at the same time.
'Get the King out of here!' Treville shouted to Aramis as he and Athos yanked the now sobbing man to his feet. 'Porthos, nobody comes in or out of this room without my say-so.' The big musketeer gave a curt nod and stood beside the door like a watchful colossus. When the room had been emptied of everyone else, only the silent Porthos, Treville, Athos, and the young man they held in grip remained.
'What the bloody hell was that about?' Treville growled, turning to Athos. 'Did you know?' He looked angry, and ready to knock the swordsman's head from his shoulders, should he discover that Athos had been holding something back. Porthos took a step forward, and though the look on his face suggested he was ready to leap to Athos' defence should he need it, a glare from his Captain halted any further movement.
'I had no idea,' Athos responded, looking Treville in the eye. His face registered a flicker of disappointment at the Captain's accusation, but it vanished as quickly as it had flared. 'I saw a girl in the corridor, not dressed as an upstairs maid. She was upset and frightened and I was wary.' He held the older man's gaze and Treville nodded, relaxing his features just a little. He turned to Porthos, 'Fetch the girl.' The Musketeer slipped through the doorway with an unexpected grace – a man who was constantly underestimated, though not by those who knew him well.
'Don't hurt Gemma, she had nothing to do with this, no one else is involved, she tried to stop me, that's why she was crying. It was all my idea. I thought you would soon be leaving, and I would not get another chance.' The words all tumbled out together, leaving the youth to fall into a faint, as emotion and blood loss finally got the better of him. Luckily, Aramis arrived just at that moment, along with several Musketeers who had been sent by Porthos, just in case they were needed. Treville handed the assailant over to them, with Aramis leaving to attend to his wound. No matter what a man's crime, the medic would not see him suffer.
'What a bloody mess,' Treville muttered, just as the Cardinal flounced into the room. The Musketeer Captain rolled his eyes – the First Minister's gloating was the last thing he needed right now.
'Ah, Treville, the King awaits your attention. He is a little put out, but then I cannot blame him. An attack from one of the staff right under your nose – tut tut, Treville, you must be losing your touch.' The Cardinal's smirk was almost too much for Treville's patience to stand. Athos twitched beside him and the Captain reached out to stay the young man's hand; any retaliation against Richelieu was exactly what the slimy, treacherous bastard wanted. No, he would take his dressing down from the King and hope that at least it would be short.
He entered the monarch's room with his head held high, aware Athos was a step behind him. He had not told him to accompany him, but he had to admit that for once he was glad of the support. Both men bowed low before the King, and stood silently awaiting the berating that was surely forthcoming. Louis was sitting unusually still, his chin rested on his hand as he leant on the arm of his chair, Anne standing just to his side.
'So, Captain, what have you got to say for yourself? Who was that maniac and where did he come from? Was he really wearing a livery of my household?' The King's voice had risen in pitch with each query he had put to his Musketeer Captain and, for a moment, Treville was not sure which question to answer first.
Treville bowed his head before he spoke. 'Your Majesty, it appears the young man was acting alone. We do not know what drove him to take such action, but I can assure you we perceive the threat to be over.' He hoped he sounded more sincere than he felt, but there had certainly been something about the sudden attack and the young man's demeanour that suggested this was a lone complaint and not the result of anything more complex.
'So, this man has been under my roof for all this time, and nobody suspected him of anything? Murdering, and God knows what else he has been up to. We could all have been slaughtered in our beds.' The King stood abruptly and walked toward the penitent Captain. 'We leave tomorrow, I hope I never lay eyes on this place again. We go straight to Rambouilet…' He paused once before he left and gave Athos the merest of acknowledgment; a surprise, just a small token in response to the man's quick reaction. The Queen gave the two men the briefest of smiles, though she, too, looked a trifle disappointed.
Treville breathed deeply and lifted his eyes to the ceiling, grateful he had been let off so lightly. Unfortunately, Richelieu was not finished.
'Tomorrow, the Red Guard will lead the travelling party. They will be responsible for the King's carriage and his personal safety. Do not bother to argue Treville. You have had more than enough time to realise we had a traitor under our roof, and yet you let him get within a hairsbreadth of the King.' He gave Athos a grudging nod. 'And it was not even one of your Musketeers who bought him down. No, do not bother to argue.' And before Treville had even opened him mouth to disagree, the First Minister had flounced from the room.
Treville bought his fist down hard upon a small side table, sending its contents flying to the floor. Athos took a step back and waited for the Captain to erupt.
'I would not be surprised to discover he has been encouraging the young man's sedition on purpose to furnish just such a change in plans. The Red Guard are a mockery – peacocks pretending to be soldiers. Summon the men, it is time to make our plans.' With that, Treville turned on his heel and left the room. As Athos made to follow, a voice halted his step.
'So, Monsieur Athos, it seems I should thank you. God alone knows what terror that misguided man had in mind for us.' Suzanne came drifting into the room, her honeyed hair shining golden, caught in the final rays of the afternoon light.
'I can assure you, Madame, I doubt you were in any danger. As you say, he was simply misguided, and it is doubtful he meant you any harm,' Athos drawled, impatient to carry out Treville's orders. Suzanne continued to walk toward him until she stopped with hardly a handspan between them.
'Still, it is so very reassuring to know we can rely on your bravery to keep us safe,' she purred, reaching out and placing a hand over his heart. Without turning her head, the woman sensed movement from the room behind her and, before Athos could respond, she stood on her toes, curled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him toward her, placing a warm and enthusiastic kiss on his lips.
'My lady, the Queen is asking after you.' The scathing statement was delivered in sugared tones, but its intention was clear. Suzanne reluctantly pulled away and sighed with disappointment. Looking up at Athos, she gave him a wanton smile and, whilst he remained impassive, the owner of the voice was not lost on either of them. She stroked his cheek and turned slowly away. Athos delayed no longer, not waiting to see what transpired. Let them tear each other to pieces, he had his orders.
Milady stood on the far side of the room but, even from there, it seemed as though sparks darted from her very being, so furious was her expression.
'Are you sure, Milady, I thought she was taking her rest?' Suzanne murmured, as she walked toward her adversary.
'Quite sure,' was the curt reply, as both women stood face-to-face. 'It is not wise to be alone in the building. Who knows what other dangers are lurking in the shadows,' Milady whispered, venom dripping from her red lips.
'Oh, I do not believe I was in any danger. Quite the opposite, I believe I was in the safest place in the lodge. Such strong arms, yet such soft lips. When we arrive at Rambouillet I shall know just where to go to ensure my safety. As you say, the nights can be long and fraught with danger, and who knows what else.' She pushed past the seething woman and smirked at her small victory.
'Carry on,' muttered Milady. 'Enjoy the moment; I think it is about time to ensure it is your last.'