Chapter 24

Athos gripped the horse tightly with his knees, as his hands were of little use, bound together as they were, with only his fingers able grip the pommel of his saddle. He glanced across at the King. Louis was white-faced but, other than that, he seemed to be holding up. Athos allowed himself to go over the events that had led to this – it had been an unmitigated disaster, of that there was no denying. He had done his best to prepare the two young recruits, but there was no way to simulate the adrenalin and fear of a real attack.

Still, it was done now, and he had more important things to consider, like how to keep himself and the King alive, at least until Treville came for them; though judging by the chaos they had left behind, how long that would be, lord only knew.

Athos managed to move his horse closer to the King by nudging the animal with his knees. The other men were concentrating too hard on putting miles between themselves and the remaining Musketeers to notice.

'Are you well, Your Majesty?' Athos asked, though he doubted the response would be polite. However, the King surprised him.

'I am not hurt, Athos, though I have felt better, I must say. Do you have a plan to get us out of this?' The King stared straight ahead, realising that their conversation should remain unnoticed.

'For now, it is best we keep quiet and listen. If we know what they intend, then we can formulate a plan of escape. All I ask, Your Majesty, is that you allow me to converse with them, and simply follow my lead.' He eyed the monarch, prepared for Louis to argue, but again the King confounded him.

'I will submit to your expertise,' he replied, and with that, the two men fell silent, concentrating on the road ahead.

ooOoo

Milady had ridden like the wind to catch up with the kidnappers. Though she could only see them as moving dots in the distance, she knew it was them by their sheer number. They were headed toward another forest. Why did France have so many damned forests? It would slow down their pace, but in turn it would impede her progress too. However, the good news was that she could get closer and still remain unseen.

Beneath the dark tree canopy, she watched as they picked their way slowly through the scrub. They had removed themselves from the more trodden path, which was odd, and again it meant she had been forced to drop back, as anyone following this unchartered route would stand out far too easily.

She held back, watching as a narrow river came into view. One-by-one, the horses stepped into the burbling water and began to retrace their route, following the flow downstream. One man returned on foot and began to muss the undergrowth, making their route impossible to track.

'Clever,' she murmured under her breath. She now had a difficult choice, though really it was no choice at all. If she followed along the river, she would be spotted straight away – she would have to find a way to follow closely from the bank. Still, she could undo the man's devious work, and at least give Treville the chance to spot their plan; she had no intention of returning yet. Quickly, Milady followed the route they had taken to the river, then reversed and trod the path again – surely the Musketeers would spot that; they would have to be blind to miss it. Once she was sure the route was obvious, she took off along the riverbank, until she had them in her sights once more.

ooOoo

'Do you think they will follow?' Bisset asked the man whom Athos had recognised from the party. He snorted in reply.

'Of course they will, but not until they have sorted out the mess we left behind. Who would have thought one of their own would be so helpful?' Both men laughed at the memory of the startled young Musketeer dropping his own weapon, and its subsequent discharge causing so much disaster.

'They will not be able to follow our trail into the river. That was a good plan,' Bisset chortled, giving the man riding next to him a sidelong glance, but he offered little response, merely a huff. Bisset did not like, nor understand him. Still they had a mutual enemy, and though their end goals may be different, they had needed each other. And so far, it had worked well, but that did not mean he trusted him.

Riding along a river had negated the need to make a prolonged stop in order to water the horses. Athos had tried to keep track of their position, but it made little sense, though he was fairly certain they were heading back to where they had started. An interesting ploy, but not one that would confuse Treville for long – he hoped. Once or twice, Athos had felt they were being watched. He had studied the tree line on both sides of the river, but had seen nothing apart from a flash of blue, perhaps a kingfisher, for he had not seen it again since.

ooOoo

Milady had taken a sudden breath; Athos had looked straight at her, had he known? He could not have done, but the way he had scoured the tree line on both sides suggested he was aware of company. She had melted back into the shade of the forest a little after that, but she was concerned that the bank was getting higher and higher and, if it continued to rise, she would be at the top of a ravine, with no way of reaching him. She had to make a decision: either keep along the path she was on, or make her way down to the river. Sadly, she knew the latter would be pointless – she would have to continue on her current track and hope for the best.

ooOoo

Athos had not been able to shake the feeling of being observed. It was slightly reassuring, as so dubious did his present company appear, he doubted that another set of bandits would bother to attack, though it was not impossible. No, he suspected this was a lone rider; it was too quiet and too well hidden to be more than one. Aramis or Porthos? Or perhaps even both? They would be capable of such subterfuge. The idea gave him hope. Perhaps this would not last long, though he realised the odds of a sudden rescue were not great, at least whilst he was bound and the King so obvious a hostage.

They rode on, the sun now sinking in the sky. They had ridden for hours and way past the point of the ambush – they would not ride for much longer surely? The King was beginning to look fatigued; they had not eaten since they had left the lodge and not even the kidnappers had stopped for sustenance. After travelling for some time through a deep gulley, the right-hand bank had now become soft fields, filled with the first signs of crop, with another forest seemingly silhouetted in the distance, whilst the high cliff towered over the right-hand side of the water. Athos watched as the skyline changed from yellow to orange; soon they would not be able to find their way clearly; they would stop soon.

Indeed, as he was considering their options, the lead rider rode for the bank. One-by-one, the horses climbed out of the water and made for the road – now they would pick up speed.

Milady watched in horror from her high vantage point. She could do nothing but sit helplessly as she watched the party leave the river behind, mounting the opposite bank, disappearing into the twilight along the road at speed, toward the forest in the distance.

As the light faded, the riders began to slow. They had reached the trees and now wound their way along a somewhat neglected path, which suggested it had once led to some form of dwelling. This premise was supported as they passed a once well-made gate, now hanging from one remaining hinge, and buried beneath a tangle of brambles.

Suddenly, Athos was aware of a rider alongside him, 'Perhaps it is time I introduced myself, my name is Timot – this was once my family home.' Athos watched the forest open up before him and set in the large glade appeared a once substantial house, though now it was as lonely and neglected as the gate.

'My grandfather was unfortunate in his choices. He was known to have rather radical tendencies, as well as a dislike for the late King, making him and his associates an easy scapegoat when Henry was assassinated. Marie needed to be seen to be successful in finding someone to blame, and my grandfather, among many, was an obvious choice; ironically, he was not guilty. However, it did not save him from being beheaded. All of his lands and money were forfeit to the Crown, and my father and grandmother left to starve. Only the goodwill of a few remaining friends saw that did not happen. No one of consequence wanted to be seen to help the family of a traitor. The tale was unfortunately not an unfamiliar one. Marie de Medici had her family's tendency to watch blood run and worry about evidence later, if at all.

Athos did not turn to look at the man when he spoke. 'So you thought you might as well finish what your grandfather was accused of starting.' The man actually laughed.

'I suppose you could say that. But I was paid to do this, and I will not take money for a job I did not do. Not that I was paid in full, someone got in my way.' This time he growled at Athos, but still the swordsman refused to take the bait, keeping his eyes on the building now in front of him. For once, goading his captors did not seem like a good idea.

ooOoo

Milady had ridden hard along the tree-lined cliff and, as the daylight began to diminish, blood ran down her pale cheeks where the branches had lashed her face in the oncoming gloom. Still she pushed her nervous horse on, the drop at their side causing him to champ on his bit with fear.

At last the river grew closer, and the bank began to descend. She almost sobbed with joy as her horse stepped into the river, and she began to urge the tired animal against the current. It was not strong, but he was tired, and the force of the water did not help. The light was almost gone, and she panicked, fearing the sign she had left for herself would be invisible in the approaching dark of night. She rode on, studying the high cliff and, just as she began to fear the worst, a flash of blue caught her eye, just the merest flutter on the night breeze. The cold blast made her pull her cloak a little tighter, but she beamed anyway. There was the mark she had left, a torn piece of silk from what remained of her gown – this was the spot where the men had turned from the river. She urged her fatigued animal up on to the bank, ecstatic when she felt the solid road beneath her mount's hooves. It seemed the horse was just as grateful, for he found a well of strength and, responding to her urging, he galloped toward the almost invisible tree line.

ooOoo

Athos and the King were manhandled from their horses and roughly marched toward an outbuilding. It was an old barn judging by the look of it, a suspicion that was confirmed when they entered, the smell of damp straw and animals still clinging to the fabric of the building. Louis was at least seated on a chair, but tied firmly to the legs and back, his face drawing with pain as his arms were pulled taut behind him; still the monarch kept to his word and said nothing. Athos was actually impressed with the man's stoic behaviour. For the first time, he was actually behaving like a King instead of a petulant child, and he hoped it would long continue.

Athos was not quite so lucky; a rope was tied binding his wrists, before being slung over a beam up above. His arms were suddenly yanked into the air, and he thought they would be pulled from their sockets, but luckily they held, and he was pulled only so far, his booted feet just touching the ground. He toyed with the idea of kicking the man in the head, but at this juncture such an action would be pointless, only increasing the possibility of recriminations, and he could not risk damage to the King.

'So, Athos, what do we do now? We do not appear to be in a position to escape, and neither can we gain much information out here in a barn.' If there was an air of accusation in Louis' tone, Athos decided to ignore it.

'No, Your Majesty, but at least we are whole and not in any immediate danger.' The King accepted the comment, though he did not look appeased.

'Is that food I smell cooking? I must declare I am extremely hungry. At least if Treville had not insisted on such an early start I could have faced this on a fuller stomach.' Athos could not help but smile, though whether at Louis' gripe or at the fact Treville was still getting the blame, he could not say.

Just then, the barn door opened, and a man entered bearing a tray of food. For a moment he paused, realising both men were tethered and could not eat.

Turning toward the house he bellowed, 'Gammond, get out 'ere, I need you to watch 'em whilst I untie 'em.' Heavy footsteps sounded beyond the doorway, accompanied by a good deal of grumbling. A large, hulking man appeared out of the darkness, Athos was fairly certain he had not been part of the original party, meaning there were likely more inside the house – not good news.

The large man untied the King. Louis rubbed at his wrists as the returning blood made them throb and eyed the pistol pressed against his temple with some trepidation, as a bowl of stew was thrust into his hands. Athos feared the King might throw a tantrum at his treatment, but the man's hunger stayed his tongue and he ate the stew quickly, in fear they might change their minds and remove it. When he finished, they gave him water before trussing him up again, pulling the rope tight enough to make Louis groan.

They turned to look at Athos, and something in his expression made them stop. 'Wotcha lookin' so cocky about?' the smaller man asked. His eyes held a wary expression, as if he did not quite trust the ropes to keep the swordsman contained.

'Wot's wrong?' the hulking man asked, obviously in a hurry to get back to his supper.

'I sin 'im fight, it wasn't pretty. Put Gris, Rombert and Louson down, and not one at a time…' He risked a glance at the big man before eyeing Athos once more.

'If you give me my sword, I can re-enact it for him, if you would like.' Athos knew goading them was probably not a good idea, but then that had never stopped him before. The man holding the tray narrowed his eyes.

'They were good men.'

Athos sneered. 'Obviously not good enough.' Then came the punch, he supposed it had been inevitable, pity he had not followed his own advice.

'I ain't releasin' that bastard. Hold 'im still whilst I give 'im this.' The big man seized him around the waist in a vice-like, and Athos wondered if he could even digest any food, so tight was the hold.

The smaller man began to scoop up the stew and hold it to Athos' mouth, but just as he was about to take it from the spoon, the man let it spill onto the floor.

'Oops, aint I clumsy!' He slowly repeated the gesture, blinking rapidly beneath the swordsman's icy state, but this time he let him take the food. Athos maintained eye-contact with the man, and for some reason he did not deliberately spill any more of the broth. It was hot and Athos was glad of it. Though he was a man who could go without sustenance for days, he knew that at times like this, taking food when it was offered was definitely the lesser of two evils – having no strength when the time came to make a move, was not an option. As the man removed the water cup from his lips, he turned to leave. He spat on the floor as if to make a point, but not before Athos had seen the fear in his eyes. Good let them fear him; they should, when he eventually had a chance to fight back.

ooOoo

Milady had begun to think she had lost her way. She had been riding amongst trees for some time, just a little off to the side of the main path, and she would have missed it completely had it not been for the sudden roaring of appreciation from within the dense woodland. She brought her horse to a halt and listened intently. There it was again, the roar of laughter, and something else… blood lust. Her heart flipped as she peered hard into the blackness, toward the sound. There it was, a flash of light, and not that far. Slipping to the ground, she made sure the two pistols at her sides were ready and, with her dagger in her hand, she slipped silently between the watchful branches, ignoring their attempts to thwart her path, inching closer toward the unsettling sound.

ooOoo

Athos had begun to hope they would get off lightly, but the noises from outside were beginning to concern him.

'What are they doing Athos?' the King asked. He had slept fitfully after the meal and this was the first time he had spoken.

'I suspect they are… letting off a little steam,' Athos responded, not wishing to unsettle the King who, up until now, had handled himself with remarkable decorum.

'What exactly does that mean?' Louis persisted. Athos considered his words carefully.

'They have been waiting a long time for this, having to wait for us to leave the lodge has only sought to heighten their anticipation, they are celebrating.'

Louis nodded his head, before looking in askance at Athos. 'Is that good?' he asked. Unfortunately, their answer was just barging his way through the door, though Athos had already suspected that the answer was no!

The large hulk went over and stood behind the King. Not bothering to untie him, he simply tilted the chair backward and dragged it, along with the attached monarch, outside. Athos could just make out the light of fires and torches; he could not let the King be their entertainment.

'He won't entertain you for long, too pampered, too soft. Or is that your idea of fun, picking on an easy target?' Athos drawled at the man in his most superior voice, addressing the bearer of the stew as though he were scum. It had the desired effect.

'What, you keen for a little sport? Yeah, yer probably right, you would be far more entertainin'. Gammond, get back 'ere. Let's 'av this one too.' He gave a toothless grin, Athos offering the merest curl of his lip to show his appreciation ''E's practically volunteered.' He gave a hearty laugh as he grabbed Athos' free arm, making sure his knife was in his other hand. Athos forced himself not to wince as his left arm was freed. The pain in his shoulders was severe; as feeling rippled along his numbed limbs, his fingers felt twice the size, and a thousand pins stabbed into the tips and palms as the blood ran freely at last.

He was dragged outside, and the sight that met his eyes was not encouraging. At least twenty men, Bisset and Timot amongst them, sat around the large blazing fire, and they had obviously been drinking. That was a bigger surprise – if they were stupid enough to let their men drink and make this much noise, then even the raw Musketeer recruits would find them; he would have thought Timot had more sense. Athos looked around for the King, and noted the men appeared to be making some form of makeshift platform on to which they were lifting his chair.

Timot spoke. 'I understand you are offering to be the King's champion? How chivalrous of you. I observed your… skills earlier. I look forward to watching you fight again, Monsieur Athos, but I really cannot afford to lose any more men, so I feel it is only fair that I even the odds.' The men around the fire began to laugh, and the small spark of an opportunity that had flickered in Athos' mind, spluttered and died. He doubted this was going to end well.

Milady merely had to follow the roars of approval, and as she got closer, she could distinguish what appeared to be a large group of men drinking and celebrating. To her dismay, she could also make out the distinct, sickly sound of fists against flesh. She was not a delicate flower, and the sight of one man beating another to death did not cause her to falter. However, she had an idea this was not a fair fight and, worse still, she dreaded to see who was on the receiving end – though in her heart she had a pretty good idea.

The King was now sat upon a make-shift dais, and they had laughingly placed a circle of leaves upon his head, mockingly bowing and scraping to him as they made their way back to their seats. Louis appeared to have been more terrified by this act of disrespect than by any other, and Athos feared he would not hold his tongue much longer. He had to keep them occupied, though he doubted that was going to be a problem.

With Athos now tied to a chair and brought into the light of the fire, the men had arranged themselves so they had a good view of the spectacle before them. Stew man had given him a couple of blows to the face, but if this was the worst they could offer, Athos was doing well; Anne had slapped him harder. The men were into some serious drinking, and their raucous encouragement rang out in such an isolated spot.

'Hey, Piquer, give Gammond a go, you slap like a milkmaid,' one man jeered, causing laughter to spread amongst the men.

Athos grinned wide. 'Piquer, what a suitable name. Prick – I could not have named you better.' He relaxed his shoulders as he prepared for the coming blow; tension would only cause more damage. The man's fist hit his face with impact this time, and he felt the pain explode and blood fill his mouth as his bottom lip split. Well, that got a reaction, the swordsman admitted to himself with perverse amusement.

Milady watched as the smaller man lashed out in anger following Athos' remark. 'Oh Athos, what are you doing? Why goad them?' She looked around the group of men, finally taking in the mocked-up throne and dais on which the King sat. Understanding flared and she groaned. 'A thorough beating to save the King, and do you seriously expect him to be grateful, just like he was last time? When are you going to learn Athos? Duty and honour will get you nowhere.' She pressed herself against the tree and forced herself to watch as Athos spat the blood from his mouth.

Piquer was just preparing for another go, when someone spoke, though the words were stunted and roughly spoken. 'Mine… now… mine.' Hulking man spoke like a child, and Athos' blood chilled. They obviously did not keep him in the group for his planning skills, which meant, judging by his size, his speciality lay in other areas. Piquer grunted, but slapped the imbecile on the back as he took the proffered bottle and sat to watch the performance. Gammond circled around Athos, who needed all his self-control not to follow the man as he moved behind him, and he prepared for a weighty blow to fall from any direction at any moment.

Grammond returned to face him again, and offered an almost innocent smile, which was a terrifying sight. Then the first slap stung Athos' cheek. To call it a slap was a severe understatement, as though it had been delivered by the palm of the big man's hand, it had felt as if he had been hit by a slab of wood. Stars danced before his eyes and more blood filled his mouth, this time from his cheek as it impacted on his teeth; he half expected them to fall loose as he again spat blood onto the floor.

He hardly had time to settle his vision, before a back-handed slap hit the other side of his face, which returned his head to an upright position, but not before a sudden upper cut sent his chair toppling over backwards. Athos did not know which pain was greater, the one in his jaw, or the one in his arms, as his body weight and the back of the chair crushed them into the grass. The crowd jeered with excitement, and he felt rough hands lifting his chair upright. At least his arms were relieved of their agony, and Athos thanked whoever watched over swordsmen that neither felt as if they were broken.

'Do not over-do it, Gammond, we do not wish to end the entertainment prematurely. I am looking forward to the finale.' Timot's voice made the giant pause, but then he turned and tilted his large head on one side, as though deciding where to land the next blow. The punch to Athos' ribs took his breath away, his head was beginning to throb, and he felt as if he were unable to breathe. For a second, he feared Timot would not get his grand finale after all; a rib must surely have punctured his lung. This time, his chair had been caught by waiting arms before it had fallen to the floor. As he was pushed forward, his body finally remembered to take a breath, and Athos spluttered as air rushed through him, his lungs automatically functioning once more.

His audience had fallen silent for a second, but now they applauded and laughed at his sudden coughing fit, relieved he was still alive. As the next two punches fell, he hardly had time to catch his breath. Even with his eyes closed, red lights danced behind his eyelids, and he was beginning to see things out of his peripheral vision; memories of a kingfisher flitted through his muddled mind.

Milady stepped closer, anger surging through her veins. Twenty, she counted twenty men, but something about this whole spectacle felt wrong. Why would you let your men get so drunk, so out of control, when you held the most powerful man in the kingdom as a hostage? Surely this was far too important to treat with such trivial regard? As she crept behind the drunken men, she briefly wondered what would happen if she could free Athos – would they be able to fight their way out? She inwardly sighed. Perhaps if they were all drunk, perhaps if Athos had not been badly beaten, perhaps if they did not have to consider the King. There were just too many ifs in her life of late. No, this was not the time to fight.

So she simply watched as blow after blow hit her husband; never bad enough to break a bone, but enough to draw blood and illicit whoops of joy from the audience. Never had she felt so sickened, not since she had witnessed his flogging, that first day in Paris.

Yet again, Athos' chair was pushed upright. How many times now Athos had lost count, he was too busy counting his teeth with his tongue. He found it took his mind off the pain, though he had bitten it now too many times, leaving it throbbing and swollen. However, on the plus side, he did have all of his teeth still to bite with. Again, that flash of blue – something triggered a memory now, in the back of Athos' mind. Her getting into the coach that morning, a flash of blue as her cloak blew in the wind. He had told himself not to look, but somehow his head had not obeyed.

He almost did not feel the next blow to his stomach, only the reaction of the men around him reminded him to react. No, he was busy scanning the tree line where he had seen the blue – not kingfisher blue, but forget-me-not blue; how could he have not known? What did she think she was doing? But if she was here, was Treville here too? Would she fetch them? Athos felt a surge of strength, and when one of the men bent over him to see if he was still awake, he bought his head up quickly and felt the soft impact of flesh before the crunch of bone, followed by the accompanying howl of pain as the man's nose gushed blood.

The crowd roared even more, no longer concerned it seemed who was on the receiving end.

'Enough!' A voice rose over the rabble. 'Get him some water and a cloth.' The crowd quietened down, and someone helped Athos' mewling victim away. The swordsman was delighted to see it was Piquer – the little prick had got what he deserved.

Athos took the cup eagerly, swilling out his mouth and spitting the remaining blood onto the floor; he drank deeply, then used the remaining water to throw on his face. He wiped it with a cloth, though every inch of his face throbbed, his one eye was closing, and the world swayed. Athos would have laughed if he could – swaying, now that was something he was used to. To his consternation, the King suddenly spoke.

Louis had watched the brutal display in horror. He had never been one to enjoy such spectacles, preferring not to have to watch a hanging, beheading or worse, unless it was expected of him. He had thought to close his eyes, but he knew Athos had drawn the attention away from his King on purpose, and though Louis knew this was what was demanded of a King's Musketeer, he could not help but remember that he himself had refused to allow this man to join his elite regiment, and yet he protected him still. He owed it to Athos to watch, but now he had seen enough; he was the King, and they would listen to him.

'I order you to stop! This man is simply doing his duty to his King. He is the finest swordsman I have ever seen, and he does not deserve such despicable treatment.' Louis held his chin high, as there was little else, he could do to demonstrate his disdain.

There was silence, then the men began to roll around with laughter. Bisset growled, but Timot smiled too. Athos merely rolled his eyes and moaned; he doubted the King's intervention had helped.

Athos was untied, and if he thought his arms had been painful before… As he gingerly moved them in front of him, not only his arms hurt, but his bruised and battered ribs screamed in protest. How nothing had been broken he could only wonder. He suspected the giant had been forewarned not to kill him, or break him too much, but it was the why he dreaded. However, he now needed the King to shut up.

He was about to interrupt his King when Timot spoke. 'I am sorry, Your Majesty, but we have not yet quite finished with your Musketeer, but you will enjoy this tournament, I am certain.' He gave the King a low bow and then turned to Athos.

'I am glad to see you can still stand; it would have been a tremendous anti-climax if you could not. Before… his unfortunate accident, Piquer was telling us you had suggested a re-enactment your skills. I felt it would be rude to refuse such a generous offer, and I had such eager men to act as your opponents. You killed three of our party today, and all of the men standing before you lost family – two a brother, and one a cousin – so you see why they have volunteered.

Athos spat a trickle of blood. 'I can only assume they wish to join their dearly departed in hell.' Milady listened to the conversation, failing to hide a smile at Athos' droll reply. Dear God, that man really knew how to goad people to the extreme. Her smile dimmed. Could he still fight? Under any other circumstances she would not have worried, as given decent odds she knew Athos could defeat anyone, but beaten as he had been, she was not so confident. Where was Treville? Surely he could not have been that far behind her? She had no intention of going back for them, though until daylight she had no choice but to wait. Perhaps she could get to Athos when this was over. She shuddered – would Athos still be alive when this was over? She told herself he was strong, and as she noted that, despite his injuries, he still managed to move with the stealth and grace of a cat, she knew he had survived much worse. Nonetheless, she hoped that, like the animal whose craftiness he adopted, this was not his tenth life, having used up the other nine.