Chapter 26

They had finished making the necessary arrangements to depart, such as they were. The most difficult part had been deciding how to transport those alive and injured separately from the dead; it had made for rather cramped travel conditions. Still, the Queen had as usual been magnanimous, and only the Cardinal continued to complain. After being forced to spend the night at the scene because of the fading light, they were now increasingly aware of how much time had been lost.

'You expect me to ride? I will be a moving target!' the Cardinal raged at Treville, who was in turn, rapidly losing his temper. 'I demand you attend to the party Treville. You cannot abandon us to travel the remainder of the journey alone. I am the First Minister, and who knows what may have befallen the King? France will need me.' Though the man had a point, Treville was immovable.

'You have the remainder of your own Red Guard and four of my men, and Rambouillet is no more than an hour away.' The Captain continued strapping his travel bags, considering the conversation over.

'You have a responsibility Treville…' Before the First Minister could finish his sentence, the Musketeer Captain interrupted. Treville was furious, and worried.

'Yes,' he spat. 'I do have a responsibility. To the King first and to my men second, and at this moment both are in grave danger, so do not lecture me about my responsibility! We are the King's Musketeers and to his safety we are bound. So I bid you farewell, and a safe journey. I would hurry if I were you, it would seem the coaches are leaving without you.' With that, Treville climbed onto his horse and nodded to the two men mounted beside him, having witnessed their Captain put the outraged Cardinal in his place.'

Richelieu began to stride toward the remaining Red Guard, who held the reins of a horse designated for the Cardinal. 'I will not forget this Treville,' he called over his shoulder. But Treville was already galloping toward the tree line, and neither heard, nor cared, what the puffed-up politician threatened.

'It's been too long, she should 'ave been back by now. We should never 'ave trusted 'er,' Porthos hissed, frustration and anger marring his features.

'We had no choice, mon ami, we could not abandon those who were injured, nor the Queen.' Aramis attempted to reason with his friend, though he, too, was only too aware of the length of time Milady had been gone.

'I could 'ave gone. I'm no medic, I could 'ave followed 'em, I would 'ave been back by now and we would know where 'e was.' The fact Porthos did not say they was duly noted, though neither acknowledged it, but Treville and Aramis knew he did not refer to his King.

'We did need you. We needed your strength, we would never have righted that coach without you, or if we had, it would have taken hours longer.' Aramis was prepared to continue this line of persuasion, but Treville interrupted.

'None of us likes the delay we have been forced to endure, but Aramis is right, there was no choice. We may not care for the woman, but she volunteered when there was no one else. She must have realised it would ruin her relationship with the Cardinal – whatever that may be – but she went anyway...'

Porthos grunted. 'She's a woman, what use will she be?'

'She's the Cardinal's creature, so I am assuming she will be rather resourceful – like now,' Aramis grinned as he slowed his horse. They had been riding at a more leisurely pace within the confines of the trees, aware that such surroundings made the ideal spot for an ambush. It had been the Marksman's sharp eyes that had spotted the blue material, apparently snagged on a branch, beneath which they now realised lay a trampled route off the main track.

He pulled at the silk scrap and, when examined up close, noted it had been secured rather well to the branch. 'We need to keep our eyes open, she is leaving us clues. Be on the lookout.' With that, all three headed along the trampled brush, aware they could be riding into a trap. The sound of running water gradually disturbed the unnatural silence; even the birds in the trees did not sing, as though they understood the seriousness of the mission for those who rode beneath the branches.

When they reached the edge of the water, Porthos dismounted, examining the ground at the perimeter of the river.

'What do you think?' Aramis enquired, knowing Porthos could follow an ant in a cornfield.

'Odd. If I 'ad to guess, I would say this path had been made by only one 'orse, probably going backwards and forwards.' He walked a little way back along the path and then returned, examining the banks of the river in each direction.

'Well?' barked Treville. The Captain was anxious, and not one for sitting idly by.

Porthos remounted and turned to his Captain. 'It is a mess, but I reckon the riders came this way then sent one of their number back, on foot, to cover their tracks. If you look closely, underneath the brush on either side, you can see the damage made by the 'orses.' He paused to see if there were any objections.

'So who made the track?' asked Aramis, slightly puzzled.

'Must 'ave been 'er, she must 'ave realised we would ride right by, so she rode 'er horse backwards and forwards to make it more obvious, then left the fabric in the tree, just in case.' They all looked at each other, realising there was definitely more to the woman they hated than they had first assumed.

'So she has not abandoned us,' Treville remarked.

Porthos hmphed. 'Not yet anyway.'

'But that does not tell us where they went,' Treville snapped, hat in hand and running his hands through his hair.

'I've examined the bank in either direction. One way there is nothing, the other way a sole rider, riding at some speed judging by the broken branches, particularly considering the terrain.'

'Trying to catch up with someone… they went along the river!' Aramis grinned as he realised what the clues revealed.

'That would be my guess. She could not follow 'em along the river, she would 'ave been a sitting duck. She 'ad no choice but to stick to the bank, already 'aving lost time leaving us a clue, so she 'ad to ride hard. No mean feat in these conditions.' A spark of admiration from Porthos was quite amazing, considering how he felt about Milady, a feeling only emphasised by his next remark: 'Still don't trust 'er.' He scowled at the other two, then headed after the stone-cold trail.

They rode for several minutes. None of them had discussed what had happened, it was as though talking about it would make it all the more real.

It was Aramis who was the first to broach the subject they had all been avoiding. 'What do they want them for? Why did Bissett not simply kill Athos?' It was a question none of them really wanted to answer.

'Because it would 'ave bin too easy – 'e wants revenge, and shooting Athos would be no fun. You 'eard what 'e said.' Porthos looked straight ahead as he spoke, though the anger simmering beneath his words was clear for all to hear.

'Athos can look after himself,' Treville asserted. 'We must think of the King. Why do they want him?' Aramis and Porthos stared at their Captain, but they understood his role and responsibility.

'To complete his job he said. Do you think Gaston is still involved?' Aramis asked Treville; he could see no other way for the bomber to complete his task.

'I did not believe so, but I am beginning to think the man is a little mad. Maybe he believes if he can show Gaston the dead King, or kill him in his presence, he will have fulfilled his obligation and receive the money he is owed.' The Captain spoke the words, but he sounded unconvinced.

'You said Richelieu was sure the Duke was in the Netherlands. Perhaps the bomber does not know that, perhaps he intends to go to Chambourg, thinking Gaston will be there,' Aramis offered.

'Perhaps. We will have to wait and see.' Just as Treville finished speaking, Porthos called them to a halt.

'Look!' He pointed to a branch a little way ahead, where another fragment of silk danced in the breeze.

He freed the scrap and looked about him, deep in thought. Aramis removed his hat, scratching his head in consternation. 'Why here? She could not have gone anywhere. She is far too high up.' Porthos nodded, his brow creased in frustration.

'No, but they might have,' Treville added. 'What if they turned off here? Much earlier she had to make a decision; she would have had no choice but to follow the rising bank, knowing she could not go along the river. If you suspected anyone had been able to follow you, you would know they would have had to make the same choice she did. They would follow along this side of the river, then this would be precisely the spot you would pick to regain land, knowing anyone shadowing you would be trapped on this ridge.' Understanding flickered in the other two men's eyes. 'We have ridden for several hours; it must have been getting close to evening by the time they reached this spot.' Treville continued to scout the other side of the bank but could see nothing but planted fields and the beginnings of another wood in the distance.

'What would she do?' Porthos asked.

'She would have continued,' Aramis answered, grinning. 'She continued, but tied that silk so that as she rode back up the river she would know when to turn off. Clever girl.' Treville smiled and even Porthos gave a grin.

'Then let's get to it!' Porthos yelled, pushing his horse into canter now they had a clearer idea of where they were headed.

They made good time. The sun had climbed higher in the sky, and the day was warm, and by travelling along the river, they had been able to water the horses and lose hardly any time.

'Our horses are tiring, so they could not have travelled much further, unless they had fresh horses somewhere, but somehow I doubt they had those kinds of resources. This is a personal vendetta, not a sanctioned plan financed by someone with money,' said Treville. 'As far as we know,' he added. The two Musketeers nodded. They had reached the distant tree line of another wood and, just like Milady several hours earlier, they felt the double-edged sword that was riding through dense trees – difficult terrain and ambush territory, but plenty to hide behind.

This time, they all spotted the blue silk flag fluttering in the wind, and without comment turned from the main route, following the old neglected road just about evident beneath the foliage of the forest floor. Now they rode carefully. The wind blew the leaves and the occasional pheasant called out across the forest, but apart from that, all was silent. When the derelict gateway came into view, Treville called a halt, signalling for his men to dismount and walk. Porthos wrinkled his nose at the heavy smell of smoke still hanging in the air.

Tethered to a tree, the horses happily bent their heads and began to munch on the lush spring grass. Treville, Aramis and Porthos, made their way stealthily along the overgrown driveway, suddenly finding themselves in a large clearing, but it was the sight that met them which gave them the most unexpected surprise. Smoke hovered in the air like fog, still rising from the remains of a large, timbered house, and blackened beams sat at odd angles, the charred wood still glowing in places. It was not the smell of scorched wood that caused them to place their gloved hands over their faces, but the cloying scent of burnt flesh.

Pulling scarves over their mouths, the three men approached the smouldering wreck with care, ever watchful for signs of life. Heat still emanated from the fiery ruins, as they kicked at bricks and debris for any clue as to what had happened.

'Over 'ere,' Porthos called. He had turned away from whatever it was he had found, and was raising his head to the sky, as though the white clouds would somehow eclipse his discovery.

'Mon dieu.' Aramis genuflected as he gazed on the debris of a burnt-out room. At least eight or nine corpses lay tangled in a heap, mostly burnt beyond recognition. They stepped around the bodies, poking gently to see if there were any clues as to what had taken place.

'This one is still intact,' Treville called, though there was a reverent hush to his voice. No matter what these men had been involved in, they were mostly hired help, and even they did not deserve an end such as this. In the corner lay the remains of a man; half of his body was still trapped beneath a glowing beam, his legs no more than black stumps. However, the upper part of his torso, arms head and shoulders, had somehow escaped the fire. His large head was almost bald, and his expression held an almost childlike surprise, but the slash across his throat was the most telling.

Aramis examined him quickly, not wishing to remain amongst the stench any longer than necessary. Standing straight, he turned to his companions. 'He was a big man, a giant, even bigger than you my friend,' he said, slapping Porthos on the back. 'He had recently been in a fight. His hands were scuffed and his knuckles bleeding, though there is no sign of retaliation on his arms, torso, or face.' As he said the words, realisation dawned.

'He did the hitting, but nobody hit back.' Treville sighed heavily, shaking his head.

'Would they do that to the King?' Aramis asked, not really wanting to contemplate such a thing. Louis could be a petulant child, but he was still their King.

'Not if Athos could do anything about it, and we all know 'is tendency for volunteerin'.' Porthos kicked out at a pile of charred wood and growled in anger. 'Knowin' Athos, he probably begged 'em to beat 'im to death.' With that, he forced a path through the debris and made his way toward the outbuildings. Aramis looked at Treville and the older man nodded.

'He is right, but Athos would have known he had no choice. Better him take a beating, as Louis would not have coped. Apart from that, he is the King, and Athos knew his job was to protect him.' Aramis interrupted, only this time he, too, was angry.

'Only it was not, it was not his job, the King saw to that!' Then he, too, turned his back on his Captain and followed Porthos toward the barn.

Porthos was raging. ''Ow does 'e bloody do it? 'Ow does 'e manage to get 'imself into these situations? We've been Musketeers for years, we've 'ad our moments – you 'ad Savoy, but this is different. 'E looks for trouble.' He walked in circles, his tight curls in disarray.

'If there was no other choice, he would have taken a beating rather than the King. We both know, Musketeer or not, he would have seen it as his duty.' Aramis pushed the straw around with his feet; there was something about the barn that made his skin prickle.

'Can you smell anything?' Aramis asked, suddenly stubbing his toe on an upturned crate. Subconsciously he righted the object, then gazed at the markings upon its lichened surface.

'Animals and damp 'ay,' Porthos replied, still trying to dampen his anger.

'No, something sweet, I believe it may be jasmine. If she was here, then perhaps so was Athos.' This bought them out of their reverie, and they began to search the barn in earnest. Porthos found the upturned chair with cut ropes still attached.

'Someone was tied to this chair. No sign of blood on the ropes, but a thread of gold.'

'The King,' both men stated in unison.

Aramis was rooting around in the hay when he suddenly stopped and gasped. Porthos looked up and moved toward him. Spots of blood sat dark and drying on the straw, not many, but enough. Aramis lifted it to his nose and frowned, then held it up for Porthos' opinion.

'Brandy?' the big man scowled.

They looked around, and Porthos lifted the long rope, the ends bloodied and cut. As he held it aloft for Aramis, they both looked up at the beam overhead. Aramis stared back at the crate and dragged it closer. Standing upon it, his arms above him, the rope was just long enough to drape over the beam.

Just at that moment, Treville stepped into the barn, a bottle in one hand and a crown of leaves in the other. 'It would seem they had some fun last night.' His voice held the trace of barely controlled anger.

Porthos nodded over to the chair. 'The King was tied to that chair, no blood. Athos was strung from the beam, blood spots, but nothing fatal.' Treville's jaw clenched. It was beginning to make sense – mock the King and make Athos the entertainment.

'But there is more,' Aramis added. 'I can smell jasmine, and I know of only one person who leaves that scent wherever she goes.' They both eyed him intently, waiting for the marksman to continue. 'I think Athos was suspended from this beam, after he was beaten; that would explain the odd spots of blood. The crate there is just high enough for him to stand on and take his weight. Someone gave him that box to stand on. Then there is the smell of brandy, and I don't think it was Athos this time…' he paused with a sad smile. 'I am guessing she put it on his wounds.' He looked at the others and nodded when he saw Porthos grin.

'I hope she at least gave 'im a mouthful – this time 'e deserved it.' Aramis and Treville both smiled in acknowledgement of Porthos' attempt to lighten the gravity of the moment.

'Why didn't she just let 'em go?' Porthos queried. All three men appeared mystified by the question. Aramis took the bottle from Treville's hand and smelled the contents, he wrinkled his nose.

'Arsenic.' The other two looked at him like he was mad. 'This bottle, there is the faint trace of arsenic. You would have to be looking for it, and after one or two drinks you definitely would not notice.' They all thought back to the corpses in the burnt building.

'Could they have been disposable help?' Aramis asked.

'They kidnap the King and Athos, and arrive here, where they host some form of mock entertainment for the King. The men get drunk, but not the bomber or Bisset, perhaps not all of the men.' Treville began.

'Or maybe there were men waiting here for them to arrive.' Treville nodded at Aramis' suggestion.

'They have their fun, then drag the now unconscious men into the house, where they wait until daylight. In the meantime, or maybe even earlier, Milady arrives, watches and waits until they are asleep and gets into the barn; then obviously decides she cannot free them – perhaps there were guards. Athos must have been too injured, at least at that point, to be of much help. So, she did what she could and left.'

Aramis took up the tale. 'The next morning, they set fire to the building, hoping to hide any traces of the men inside, gathered Athos and the King and left. But where for?' They dropped everything and hurried from the barn. It took them a while this time, but eventually they saw it, a small scrap of blue, hanging from a tree, back on the main path.

Judging by the advanced state of the fire they realised the men must have been gone some hours. Mounting up, they rode fast – if they were going to find Athos and the King both alive, time was running out.