Chapter 23
Despite Treville's instruction to get plenty of rest, Athos had hardly closed his eyes. News of Bisset's involvement had revived old memories, ones he would have rather had stayed banished forever. He was not a man who tolerated ill-health well, and infirmity even worse; his days and weeks spent lying immobile and in pain were not ones he wished to revisit.
He let his mind dwell on the man who now sought out such determined revenge. He had been the leader of a band of brigands, hired to prevent them from delivering the invitation to the Queen's birthday party from the King to his brother Gaston. Upon reflection, it would probably have been for the best if Bisset had in some way succeeded, as the affair had been an unmitigated disaster.
Still, he, Porthos and Aramis had decimated his group, leaving only Bissett and one other alive – Bisset scarred for life after Porthos had set fire to their barn headquarters. The other man had been killed during the attack on Athos in the infirmary, leaving a bitter and twisted Bissett promising retribution for the wrongs he perceived had been done to him. Athos suspected such emotions could only have grown and festered into something distorted and monstrous in the months that had passed, as evidenced by the actions of the last few days.
Yet, despite all of that, Athos still doubted the man was acting alone, and he could not believe such hatred would have been allowed to remain so patient. After all, he had been a sitting duck for most of the journey from Paris, even suspecting they were being watched the day he had led the horses to be watered. He had given them the perfect opportunity on a plate if killing him was their only purpose – no, something more was afoot, and for once he believed the Cardinal was ignorant of the plot.
The Musketeers arose with the sun, even though they realised their departure would be dependent upon the King's timetable. So, it was with some surprise that they received Treville as the hour approached ten, a chill still evident in the morning air.
'The King has announced he will be ready to depart as soon as he has finished breaking his fast. Be prepared to leave within the hour.' The Captain did not look at all happy, but Athos could hardly blame him.
'Captain…' The swordsman felt he needed to say something. After all, if evidence were to be believed, he was responsible for the whole debacle of the last few days. Treville halted and looked at Athos, waiting for him to continue. He searched the young man's face and watched him struggle to find the words.
'Perhaps it would be better if I lead the column…' He failed to reach the end of his sentence before Aramis, Porthos and Treville all began talking at once.
'There 'e bloody goes again, I knew 'e was plotting something,' Porthos growled.
'No, mon ami, that is suicide and you know it.' Aramis placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, his pained expression evidence of his distress at the suggestion.
But it was Treville's voice that overruled them all.
'Athos, not everything in life is your fault. Bisset was a hired thug who simply did not know when to stop. He may harbour warped plans of revenge, but I believe you had the right of it when you said this was a deeper plot than some festering, ill-perceived slight done to you. You will do as I say and protect the King. I do not need a martyr.' His voice calmed slightly. 'Especially you.' Having issued his orders, the Captain stalked away, leaving Athos to deal with his two friends' response.
He pre-empted their complaining. 'I am sorry, I simply thought I could draw them away from the King.' He looked at the other two men, aiming to deflect their protestations with his dark scowl. When there was no rebuke, Athos turned to walk away, thankful he appeared to have gotten off lightly, but Porthos' deep rumble, and the heavy hand that fell upon his arm, dispelled any such belief.
'So yer think that is enough of an excuse to offer yerself up like a sacrificial lamb?' Porthos' eyes blazed, but Athos stared him out, shrugging off the big man's hand with a violent hitch of his shoulder. Athos squared up to the big Musketeer, obviously in no mood for either of their protective complaints. Aramis, sensing the beginning of an argument – or worse, Athos defying Treville and doing exactly what he pleased – decided it was time to step in.
'Come now, my friends.' Turning to Athos, he continued: 'Porthos and I understand how you feel, but Bisset's actions are not your fault. It was not even you who killed most of his men, or caused the scarring on his face. Both those feats were down to Porthos and me, you were simply the captive who escaped him; that is what he resents, and he blames you. Men like him accept the consequences when they take the money. His job was to delay our journey, and the blame does not lie with you.' He tried to make eye contact with Athos, but the swordsman was staring off into the distance. Aramis was not even sure he had heard a word that had been said, but at last he turned and looked from one man to the other. Still his response was brief.
'I am sorry.' With that, he turned and walked away, leaving his friends staring after him in frustration.
'We should have bloody well left 'im at the garrison,' Porthos spat out angrily, cracking his knuckles in frustration.
'Really?' Aramis replied in annoyance. 'So every time we go on a mission you plan to leave Athos behind? How do you think that would work when he finally becomes a Musketeer? He is a grown man, Porthos, and despite what you and I think, he is more than capable of looking after himself.' Even as he spoke the words, he knew that this last point had a rather ironic ring to it, so Porthos' reply was no surprise.
'Look after 'imself? You are joking, aren't you? The man might be a demon with a sword, and fabulous with a plan, but when it comes to looking after 'imself, 'e is oblivious to danger – or worse, courts it deliberately. And yes, he should stay at 'ome, until he promises to take as much care for 'imself, as he does for everyone else… even 'er.' He spat the last words out like poison.
'Is that what this is about? Milady? You do not seriously think he is worried about her? If anyone is capable of looking after herself, it is that woman. I doubt Athos is concerned for her safety.' Aramis said the words, but he had to admit the possibility was a worrying one.
'Well let us 'ope that somewhere between the King, Queen, his wife and us, Athos thinks he is also important enough to protect, but I wouldn't hold my breath.' With that, Porthos strode away in the direction Athos had taken, leaving a worried Aramis running his hands through his hair. Between the two of them, and the royal party, he had plenty to occupy his thoughts.
As the coaches finally rolled away from the lodge, there was almost a collective sigh of relief, not only from those leaving, but even more so from the staff left behind. Aramis did not know whether to laugh or cry at the fact that Athos and Porthos had stationed themselves on opposing sides of the King's coach. He decided he would begin the journey next to Athos; it was not that he did not trust him, just that it might prove to be sensible. Treville led the party, with the Red Guard bringing up the rear.
Aramis had noted with interest that this time the Cardinal had played no part in who rode where, but what had been more worrying was Milady riding in the carriage with the Queen.
Earlier in the lodge, there had been much fuss and wailing when it was discovered that Suzanne d'Angou lay gravely ill with some unknown stomach disorder. The fact that she was the second lady-in-waiting to be struck down had played beautifully into Milady's hands. The Cardinal had taken over, and decided the two women who had shown symptoms would stay behind, with the addition of Antonia to offer any needed assistance. Of the original six, that left only Milady and a young girl of merely seventeen, and when the Queen insisted that she, being so young, should remain safely at the lodge, then Milady's place in the royal coach was a fait accompli.
So the three coaches became two. Treville had rather hoped the courtiers may have been persuaded to prolong their stay at the lodge, but they included men of high rank and he remembered Athos' words. They would make suitable hostages, whereas the King would not be too troubled about sacrificing a couple of women, were he forced to choose between them or saving his own skin.
The sun was rising high in the sky, and the air finally delivered a much-anticipated warm glow which felt good upon their faces. Even so, the men rode with an air of suspicion, watchful and prepared for anything and everything. They were mostly seasoned soldiers, apart from the two young recruits, and this morning Athos regretted their presence among the party, fearing their inexperience would tell in an ambush. If he had known just how much, he would have had no hesitation in leaving them behind at the lodge instead of the two Red Guard.
'If we are to be attacked, I would rather it be sooner rather than later.' Aramis spoke softly, watching the two young men who occupied Athos' concerns. He, too, understood the strains on untried men in such circumstances.
Athos grunted. 'The longer we wait, the jumpier they will become…' he drawled. '…and the itchier their trigger fingers will get,' added Aramis completing the sentence with understanding. Athos nodded, and once again scanned the surrounding tree line for any sign of movement. They had managed to cross the river without issue, the water having dropped dramatically, leaving only mud and debris on the banks as a lasting sign of its devastation.
The morning wore on, and as the sun reached its zenith, the party stopped beside a small stream to take a rest and water the horses; with only two coaches and less luggage, they were making good time. Thankfully, the King had been dissuaded from setting out a table and chairs beneath the trees to enjoy refreshments, and though he still sulked slightly, he was now smiling as he handed the Queen and Milady back inside the coach. Laughter rang out across the grass as the dark memory of the lodge was finally banished, and the warmth of the spring day eased their stiff limbs.
What happened next was long after dissected and deliberated over, but nobody could quite sequence the events precisely. A shout went up, and a shot rang out across the glade. Suddenly, smoke appeared as one of the young Musketeers discharged his gun, and as it fell discarded to the floor, the young man appeared as surprised by the shot as everyone else. The second coach, containing the courtiers, suddenly careened out of control, the coachman falling from his perch. The young soldier could only watch the results of his folly, standing mouth agape, when a bullet hit him in the shoulder, spinning him around before he fell to the ground.
It was nothing short of chaos. 'Bloody young idiot has hit one of the horses,' Porthos yelled, as he attempted to hold the animals attached to the King's coach that had also bolted in fright – these were not battle-ready Musketeer horses, and it showed. Both Porthos and Athos were busy desperately trying to keep the coach upright, and bring the terrified horses under control, as more shots filled the air. As the horse finally halted, more men appeared out of the tree line, and with the whole party now split into isolated factions, it was almost impossible to keep track of events.
Athos heard the Captain's voice carry across the clash of steel and gunfire. 'Athos, the King!' Athos did not need to be told twice. Now that the horses had bolted, only he and Porthos were anywhere near the royal coach. He glanced inside to ascertain the situation within before making a decision. Richelieu had a bloodied forehead, and appeared to be unconscious. Milady had dragged the Queen to the floor of the coach, and was holding her down; the monarch appeared stunned, holding a hand to her head.
Milady quickly recounted their welfare to Athos. 'He is alive but unconscious. The Queen, too, has suffered a blow to the head, but she is safe.' The swordsman nodded, but had very little time, as the new arrivals were almost upon them.
'Your Majesty?' Athos queried.
'I am well, Athos. I am armed and will stay within the coach. Go.' Again, Athos did not need telling twice, and he turned just in time to deflect the sword of the rider closest to him. There were at least six men to their two, but neither Porthos nor Athos were particularly worried about such odds. Luckily, they remained unaware of the drama unfolding further back along the road as the rest of the party dealt with the aftermath of the young man's error.
Ducas and Renier had managed to jump onto the stampeding horses pulling the second coach, and so it was a disaster when the wheel hit a rut and the whole thing tipped over on to its side. For those watching, it was as if the entire event happened in slow motion; the screams from those within, and the whinnies from the terrified horses as the momentum of the plummeting coach pulled them along with it. Ducas managed to free two of the animals nearest him, and he held on tight as they bolted, heads down, toward the trees.
The others were not so lucky. When the dust settled, there was silence from within the coach, whilst the horses made a pitiful noise as they struggled against their restraints. Though it felt as though the whole affair had taken minutes, it was hardly more than a matter of seconds. With their numbers reduced and scattered, the Red Guard were left surrounding the fallen coach, whilst Renier lay with his leg beneath one of the fallen horses, unable to do anything to defend himself, or those within.
Treville, Aramis and the rest of the Musketeers were busy fighting off the men, who were still firing as they rode from the forest. There were at least twenty or more, and apart from a shout to Athos, the Captain did not have time to deal with the fiasco, hoping his men would do what was necessary.
The two young cadets stood back-to-back. Though one of them was injured, luckily it was not his sword arm, and the two young men were putting up a good show of defending themselves – had Athos been able to see them, he would have been proud. However, at that moment, Athos had no thought other than to dispatch the two men in front of him. One already lay at his feet, his blood pooling beneath his body. The two adversaries, determined to add him to their dearly departed, were fairly able with a sword, which was an added irritant to Athos, but nothing more.
Side-stepping the corpse, he lunged at one of the men and left a jagged gash along his torso; not life-threatening, but enough for him to cry out in surprise. As his friend risked a glance in his direction, Athos was ready, and brought his sword down upon the man's weapon knocking it from his hand, as the tip of his own blade slashed across the man's neck. He managed to step back, avoiding the arterial spray which followed as the man fell gargling to the ground. This seem to enrage the already injured assailant, and he lunged toward Athos with renewed vigour. He frowned briefly as Athos gave him a deadly smile, and shook his head in mock annoyance as the swordsman's blade ran the shocked man through; his last memory was of the whispered words – head over heart.
At the same time, Porthos was pushing the final man off the blade of his own sword, and wiping the blade upon the corpse. With six lying dead upon the ground, the two men now turned their attention toward their colleagues, just as another shot rang out. Both men took shelter behind the coach. The King was crouched upon the floor, Milady and the Queen did not appear to be anywhere in sight, and Richelieu was still unconscious.
'Where is the Queen?' barked Athos, fearing some devilish plot of the Cardinal's.
'I do not know. Milady de Winter encouraged her to leave – they headed for the trees. I told them to stay but they would not listen. My wife was not herself.' Waving the gun around as he spoke, his tone swung from angry to frightened.
'Sire,' Athos hissed, as he pushed the loaded weapon away from his face. The King lowered the gun, nodding his understanding. 'Stay down, and do not leave the coach unless I tell you to.' Athos spoke with authority, and the King did not bristle at the man's instruction, but lowered himself down out of sight, ignoring the prostrate form of the Cardinal completely.
More shots rang out, and then there was an unnerving silence.
'Gentlemen, gentlemen, enough of this pointless killing. Give us what we want, and we will leave you alone.' The sole voice rang out across the clearing. Athos frowned at Porthos, and risked a look around the edge of the coach. When no lead ball whizzed passed his head, he risked a better look. He was astounded at the sight that greeted him.
The second coach lay overturned upon the ground, and the horses that had not been freed were now lying still upon the ground, either hit by flying bullets, or simply resigned to their fate. Bodies littered the ground – to Athos' horror, blue and red capes amongst them. But far worse was the sight of the two men sat upon their horses. Before them stood two more of their gang, each holding a gun to two men's heads. Aramis and Treville.
'Bastards,' Porthos growled, and Athos felt him stir.
'Do not move. We need to get the King away from the coach and into the trees,' Athos urged. Porthos looked toward the swordsman with hate-filled eyes, but managed to nod. 'Keep them talking,' Athos implored.
Carefully, he opened the door, as Porthos yelled across the open space.
'Let them go and we will talk.' He knew it was not going to happen, but he needed to gain time.
'Your Majesty, we need to run for the trees, and we need to go now.' Athos whispered, reaching for the frightened king.
'I cannot leave the Cardinal,' Louis whimpered. 'He is injured, they will kill him.' Athos hissed through gritted teeth.
'He will be left alone once you are gone Sire.' He doubted the validity of his own words, but if it meant the King would leave with him, then it was worth the lie.
He tugged at the royal arm, but the stubborn man would not budge. Athos was just deliberating what would happen if he knocked his King out and put him over his shoulder, when one of the men on horseback shouted out.
'You do not appear to be taking me seriously, Musketeer!' He looked over his shoulder and nodded to one of his men. The man pointed his gun at the figure lying on the ground. Athos could not make him out clearly, but the man appeared to be trapped beneath the horse. The crack of the weapon discharging sounded unnaturally loud, and there was a loud female scream from inside the coach. The man who had shot Renier walked around the upturned wreckage, wrenched open the broken door, and pointed his second gun inside.
'STOP!' shouted Treville. 'There is no need to kill innocent people. What do you want?'
Athos paused, waiting to hear the man make his demands, though he was in little doubt what they would be; but he was completely taken aback when the man replied.
'It is quite simple, I want the King and Athos.' The Monarch and Athos exchanged a look of puzzlement.
'You know I cannot let that happen,' Treville replied. His words were followed by the sound of a trigger being pulled back, as the man holding Aramis prepared to fire.
'They will just keep on shooting people, will they not, Athos?' the King asked, suddenly appearing to find a backbone somewhere beneath all that elaborate silk.
Athos nodded. 'Which is why we need to leave, Your Majesty,' he hissed. But to his horror, the King stood, and pushed open the coach door. 'Your Majesty, get down,' Athos insisted, but the King had other ideas.
'You! How dare you demand such a thing of your King?' Porthos made a grab for the naive Louis, but the man could be as slippery as an eel, and he stood in front of the coach, leaving Athos and Porthos no choice but to stand at his side.
'Your Majesty.' The man on horseback gave the King a mocking bow from atop his horse. 'Forgive my uncouth ways, but I am afraid I must insist, or I will have to kill everyone in the coach, and every Musketeer, and then I will start on those inside your conveyance, until only you and Athos are left. I must say, I am glad to see you are unhurt, Athos. It would have disappointed my colleague intently had you been killed.'
Athos glanced at the second man, seated upon the other horse. He had not spoken at all, but by the way his scarf was wrapped around his face, Athos was fairly sure he knew who it was.
'Now what do we do?' the King asked under his breath of the two men at his side.
Porthos looked across to Athos, who returned his questioning look with a face devoid of emotion. 'Don't you dare,' Porthos growled.
Athos stepped forward. 'I will gladly come with you, but you must let the King remain here.' He adopted a leisurely pose, but those that knew him, knew he was ready to pounce if needed.
The man on the horse laughed. 'How very accommodating of you, Monsieur Athos, but I am afraid the only way the King is remaining here is as a corpse with all the rest. For the last time, you and His Majesty come with us and everyone else will remain alive. I give you my word.'
Porthos let out a string of curses that Athos could not make out, but he understood the inference.
'Very well, you give us no choice,' the King spoke up, and stepped forward. 'I hope that if we go with them you will be able to get me out of this, Athos,' Louis whispered, as though his decision were somehow the swordsman's responsibility.
The King began to walk forward, head held high, and Athos could do nothing but walk alongside him. 'I will do my utmost, Your Majesty,' Athos whispered back through gritted teeth.
'I am depending upon it,' replied the King.
Eventually, Louis and Athos stood directly in front of the restrained Treville and Aramis.
'Sire…' Treville attempted to say, but the harsh press of the pistol barrel to his temple stalled whatever he was about to say.
'Shut up, Captain, the King has made his decision,' the man who held him snarled.
At last the one man who had remained silent throughout now removed the scarf from his disfigured face.
'I have waited a long time for this Athos – you and I are going to have so much fun,' Bisset sneered as he let the scarf drop to the floor.
'Enjoy it, Bisset, for it will be the last fun you ever have,' Athos drawled, as he looked the hideous man in the eye. Bisset bristled, but his colleague seated beside him laid a hand upon his arm. However, Athos was not finished. 'And if I am not mistaken, you and I have met before.' This time, he addressed the man who had made all the demands. The apparent leader wore clothes of a better cut, but with signs of recent harsh living upon them. 'Cake-making not in demand just at the moment, I take it? Or was it your habit of secreting bombs within that put your customers off?' His voice dripped sarcasm, but his words were delivered in Athos' most superior tone.
Upon Athos' recognition, the man no longer appeared amused by the banter. His face began to turn purple as the King picked up on the implication of Athos' words.
'You! It was you who tried to blow me up in my own palace! You are in league with my brother?' All eyes were now upon the angry man astride the horse.
'Your brother is a fool, but I will not let it be said I took money and then ran away leaving a job undone. I will finish what I started, but not here. Deal with them Giscard. Bring Athos and the King.' He turned his horse, not waiting to see his demands executed, as Treville and Aramis were both given sharp blows to the head, leaving the men unconscious upon the ground. Luckily, nobody gave a thought to Porthos, who had removed himself from sight as the Cardinal had begun to regain consciousness. He was now inside the coach with his hand over the Richelieu's mouth, restraining the man as he had attempted to wade into the conversation. If Athos and the King could not handle the situation, he was not going to let the snake of a First Minister interfere – who knew what part he had played in the disaster?
Porthos watched in fury as both the King and Athos were forced to mount horses and have their hands secured to the saddles with rope. Those men who were left of the original attackers then mounted and the band rode off into the trees, leaving soldiers injured, dying or rendered unconscious upon the ground.
When Porthos was sure they had left, he dragged the moaning Cardinal out of the coach and left him standing as he ran toward the bodies of Aramis and Treville. Both men were out cold, but apart from a headache, he doubted either man would sustain any lasting damage. He looked at the tree line where the men had disappeared and debated what to do. He desperately wanted to follow them, but he did not want to leave the Cardinal unprotected; even if he was an evil bastard, he was still the First Minister, and if anything happened to the King... He was just deliberating with himself, when he heard footsteps approach. He swung around, sword ready for battle.
'Put your weapon away, Porthos. Just give me a good horse.' Milady stood a little way off, her arm around a very pale Queen, with Richelieu standing to one side.
'What for?' Porthos demanded. Looking frustrated, Milady handed the Queen over to the spluttering First Minister.
'So I can follow Athos and the King, you fool. Someone needs to find out where they are taking him, and you cannot leave. Someone has to take care of the Queen, and until these two sleeping beauties wake up, that someone is you. Now find me a horse and hurry up.' As if that were not bad enough, she ran to the nearest corpse and examined their clothes, pulling a pair of breeches off the smallest. She pulled off her boots, which were secreted under her long skirts, and pulled the soft buckskin pants up under her gown. Her boots followed, and then she unfastened the long skirts, letting them fall to the floor, finally secreting her small dagger into her belt. The Queen and Richelieu watched the entire episode, but only the Queen appeared surprised.
'Milady, what are you doing? Porthos, you must go after the King.' She still sounded fragile and not quite herself, and traces of blood smeared her pale skin.
'I will, Your Majesty, but I need the Captain to come round. There are wounded people and courtiers trapped inside that coach. I need someone to protect you and the Cardinal before I can leave.'
'Oh stop talking and give me a leg up before their trail goes cold,' Milady interrupted.
Porthos helped her onto the Musketeer horse, face like thunder. 'Find them, then report back,' he growled at her.
'Do not worry, I will not let him die.' She kneed the horse and galloped after the long-gone brigands, leaving Porthos in no doubt to whom she referred, despite her ambiguity.