Chapter 28

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, streaking the sky red and purple, mirroring the glowing effigy in the glade, the three of them waited hesitantly amongst the trees. A breeze ruffled the leaves, but there was no birdsong, nor sound from any other living creature. As they watched the object atop the stone slowly break apart, the crackle and cracking of tortured wood echoed around the dell, leaving them mesmerised.

'I've 'ad enough of this,' Porthos hissed. Priming his weapon, he began to skirt the trees, looking for the closest approach to the centre of the clearing.

'Wait!' Aramis whispered. As Porthos glared in his direction, Aramis threw a stone in the opposite direction. The noise it made, striking branches and twigs in its path, was almost as loud as a pistol shot, but there was no response, nor any other indication that they were not alone. Aramis nodded, and Porthos continued between the trees, Treville and the marksman following in his wake.

They reached a spot where the path to the stone was now much closer. 'I am going to make a run for it, cover me,' Porthos stated. Treville knew that even had he ordered the big Musketeer to stand down, he would have defied him, but by now even his nerves could no longer stand the waiting. He nodded, and Aramis crouched, his pistol ready, as he scanned the trees for the first sign of movement.

Porthos steadied his own weapon, then dashed from the cover of the forest, sprinting for the altar. When nothing happened, Treville followed, leaving Aramis to remain vigilant. Once again, no reaction, and he gave the marksman confirmation to break cover.

Porthos was poking the remains with a stick, attempting to knock the still burning wood away from the stone. Up close, the entire structure was bigger than it had appeared from a distance. A body lay charred within the burning edifice, of that he was certain, though now it was simply a contorted shadow of its once human form. Aramis felt sick to his stomach as he helped Porthos get closer to the stone, kicking away at the still smouldering pyre, in his frantic need to discover whatever story would enfold, blackened and destroyed, amidst the dying flames.

Finally, they were able to reach the focus of the now scattered bonfire, and saw that the body appeared to be lying on its side, as though curling within itself to avoid the inevitable. Porthos still nudged and prodded amongst the charred wood and ashes, but it was clearly impossible to tell anything from the corpse itself. Suddenly the brooding Musketeer stilled. He reached amongst the remains upon the stone and picked up something small, which he dropped into his glove, then repeated the procedure twice more. Without comment or any indication of emotion, he held out his hand for the other two men to see. In the centre of his large glove, sat three small, round, blackened objects. Instinctively, Aramis plucked one of them from his friend's hand, rubbing the soot away, to reveal the gold metal beneath. No one spoke. The small button lay still, glowing, as the fire, along with the dying sun together, somehow managed to imbue it with a light of its own.

Porthos went back to poking the fire, though he now moved as though his limbs were made of lead, and the sound which escaped his mouth was one that Aramis hoped he would never hear again. Once more, he rescued an object from the soft grey ashes, leaving the ruined item covered in a fine layer of powder. As Porthos brought it closer, he shook it slightly to reveal a weapons belt, with no sign of the weapons it had once contained. The leather was blackened and the large buckle was once again covered with a thick layer of soot. At first, the object disclosed little; it was not unlike any other belt. But the smaller strap – the one that harnessed a sword hanger – that was a different matter. This time, it was Treville who reverently wiped the soot and charring away from the leather, and as the intricate pattern of vines and leaves revealed itself, Porthos dropped to his knees and moaned.

'This is still not definitive,' Treville croaked, as though his throat no longer worked.

'No, but this is.' Aramis' expression filled with despair as he held something aloft, and not for the first time. He had cared for it once before, on behalf of its owner, though then he had not appreciated its significance. Now, though, the item, despite having rapidly cooled, felt as though it was still burning through his glove. He wanted to hurl it as far away from him as possible; perhaps without it he could continue to hope. But instead, he curled his fist tightly around the slender chain, as he held up the open locket to Porthos and the Captain. Despite the heat of the fire, and despite the fragility of that held within, somehow it had survived unscathed, though the outer silver was as blackened as the rest. And so the once vivid blue, though now faded with age, still stood out like a heart-wrenching beacon amidst the death and destruction. And it was the last thing any of them could bear to see.

Treville closed his eyes, not wishing for the stinging tears that pricked behind his eyelids to make themselves known. Aramis took no such precaution. Though a sensitive man, tears were rare, but as he held the small locket in his hand, he could no longer hold back his grief. Porthos stood and bellowed like an enraged bull, kicking out at the remains of the pyre, scattering burning sparks and glowing embers like fireflies into the encroaching gloom. He turned to the desecrated corpse and made as if to pick it up, pulling back at the last moment as though frightened that if he touched it, his friend's remains would disintegrate in his arms. Frustrated and furious, this last rebuke was the final straw, cracking his emotional armour wide open. Defeated, he rested his hands on the stone beside the body, sinking his head on his chest and, with no defence left, he allowed the desolation he had fought to control wash over him.

It felt as though time had paused. The birds ceased to sing, the breeze appeared to die, and still nobody dared speak or move. Each man was lost in his own thoughts, his own remembrances, his own regrets.

The first suggestion of rain shook Aramis from another time and place inside his head. He lifted his face and allowed the large drops to mingle with his slowly drying tears.

'We must bury him.' The catch in his voice was matched only by the shudder of revulsion that shook his slender frame at the thought of such a task.

Treville's response shocked them both to their core. 'We do not have time.' The Captain attempted to imbue the statement with the urgency and authority he hoped would prevent further argument, but it was a fruitless effort.

'No time?' Aramis snarled. 'That is Athos on that stone, we cannot leave him there, leave him… like that.' The marksman's eyes were wild and frantic, as he sought out Porthos to support his argument.

'The King is now alone, there is nobody to help or protect him,' Treville countered.

Porthos stood beside Aramis and straightened up to his full height. 'You can 'ave my pauldron for all I care, but I am not leavin' 'ere until Athos is…' He could hardly bring himself to say the words. '… safe.' He swallowed hard, but both he and Aramis stared Treville down, the Captain knowing that he really would have to accept both men's resignations if he pushed them to leave. Admitting defeat, he bobbed his head in acknowledgment.

'So be it, though I urge you to remember, Athos would have told you to ride on, that the King's life was more important.' Porthos gave the Captain a thunderous look.

'Yeah, and when did 'e ever know what was best for 'im?' He swiped at his eyes as he stalked back toward the horses his horse to fetch the swords attached to their saddles.

When the job was finished, they paused for a moment. They had not had time to dig as deep as they would have liked, but the condition of the body meant that scavengers were unlikely to find it of great interest, and the sombre Musketeers had found enough stones to cover the remains.

'When this is over, we will come back for him. We will see him put to rest as he deserved. Now it is time to find those bastards and put an end to this.' Treville eyed his men with a look as cold as ice. When they nodded their assent, all three men mounted up and, without turning back, left the silent glade, with Athos sleeping beneath the black velvet of the night.