Chapter 29

Gaston flung his arms in the air and flounced up and down. It was times like these when his relationship to his brother Louis was more pronounced, their love for attention a failing they both shared.

'Have you read this, Despard? Have you? Could this really be true? What should I do, go to Paris? Wait? What?'

The older man watched the young Duke as he walked in circles around the room; he knew if he was patient, Gaston would calm down. Unlike his brother, Orleans was not inclined to regular bouts of histrionics. Oh yes, he could rage and sulk, but he was craftier than his brother, the King. He would settle eventually, then he would begin to plot. In the meantime, Despard supposed he would have to say something to fill the time until such a thing came to pass.

'Your Grace, we have played no part in this, if it is indeed true. Surely it would be wise to wait and see what happens? There is no strong rival for the throne, it will come to you. It would be best to remain ignorant of whatever comes to pass.' He eyed the Duke and hoped he would be satisfied.

'If it is true? Do you believe your contact lied?' Gaston narrowed his eyes and ceased his frantic pacing.

'No,' Despard replied – at least of this he could be certain. 'I do not doubt the validity of what he has told me, though the Musketeers have ridden in pursuit, so we cannot yet foresee the outcome. However, it will not hurt to be prepared. No one else will know of what has occurred; the Queen is at Rambouillet with the Cardinal, they will risk no word escaping until they have further news.' Gaston worried at his lip, considering his options.

'This contact of yours, he was there?' Gaston prodded for more information.

'Indeed, he was, he fought to save your brother, but they were simply overwhelmed. He says a large group of men demanded the King, and another man, the Musketeer swordmaster apparently.' Despard gave an eloquent shrug to express his confusion.

'A swordmaster. Why does that ring bells in my memory?' Gaston's face took on the sly, calculating look he often wore, particularly when discussing his older brother. 'Yes, for now you have the right of it, send instructions to your man. I wish to be kept up to date at all times. Also send out word to whoever we have closer to home. Surely this event is too near at hand to be a mere coincidence. Should it come to pass that I am to be the next King of France, should my brother fall victim to this vicious plot, then I cannot be suspected of having had any involvement in this affair. After all, I am supposed to be in Flanders.'

Despard bowed low and escaped the room as quickly as he was able, leaving Gaston to plot and connive.

ooOoo

Milady had managed to keep up with the party of riders without much difficulty. They would be fools to believe they would not be pursued – why else had they destroyed so much of the evidence? However, they had obviously thought it inconceivable they would be followed so soon after the ambush, so they had made no regular checks of the immediate area.

'What are you up to?' the woman whispered to herself. She winced, watching in horror as Bisset walked up to Athos and struck him violently over the head with the butt of his rifle. Athos dropped to the ground, and a laughing Bisset dragged him away toward a small building, half hidden in the trees. Whilst this was happening, another two men approached the King. Louis looked as if he was about to protest, when one of the men placed the muzzle of his gun against the Monarch's temple, enabling his colleague to loosen the King's hands. Together they walked as quickly as they could in the direction they had taken Athos, the gun kept firmly in place. Only Timot remained. Though Bisset was not walking toward her, even from this distance Milady could tell he was chuckling, and his face bore a distinctly smug expression.

'Any problems?' Timot asked, though he did not anticipate any.

'Nah, went down with one hit, a little blood, but nothing much. The other one's doing a lot of complainin' but nobody's listenin'.' He chuckled and took a swig from the flask at his side.

'Not time to celebrate yet,' hissed Timot, frowning as he watched Bisset imbibe.

'Just something to take off the chill. Pity the temperature seems to be dropping again, it might even rain. Shame.' With that, he laughed even louder, taking another long swig, as if to remind Timot he was not in charge of him. Finally, he walked away and began to prepare the horses.

Milady was as close as she dared get. She had managed to catch a few words, but not enough to detail what they were planning. She watched Bisset work with the horses, deducing they would not stay here tonight. She looked up at the sky. It was well into the evening, but after such a lovely day it had remained light a little later than usual. Still, large dark clouds hovered in the distance like storm crows and, despite the display of colour from the setting sun, she feared it would be a cold and wet night.

As she began to move toward the small building, she was surprised when a cart broke cover. It was a small covered waggon with one horse, but it was moving at a surprising pace. She heard harsh laughter break out from the dilapidated structure and it made her shiver. She dreaded to think what was giving them so much fun, though so far she had not heard anything to suggest a beating was taking place. She watched the cart disappearing through the trees and was torn; what if they had separated the men? What if Athos was on that cart? After a moment's indecision she told herself she was capable of picking up the cart's trail later if she had to – right now, she would stay and see what transpired.

Men began to emerge from the odd little building. The horses had been taken closer, so Milady could not see exactly what was happening, though they appeared to have taken on extra horses now, and they were loaded down with supplies. With little warning, the men rode out of the shrub screen and onto the road in front of her, causing Milady to dodge back out of sight. Each man now led a horse; she tried to count how many there were, but they were too fast. However, she did catch sight of the King, now wearing a dark cloak made of some rough cloth, but of Athos there was no sign.

'Damn, Athos, where are you?' she hissed in frustration. She needed to decide: the wagon, or the road? Perhaps there was something in the half derelict hut that would inform her decision. Slowly and stealthily she made her way through the trees toward the empty building. As her fingers brushed the rough brickwork, her heart jumped into her throat as she heard the whinny of a horse, or maybe even more than one. She pressed her back to the wall and breathed hard. The structure was not empty at all, and now she was closer she persuaded herself she could even hear the faint murmur of voices.

'Yer ain't goin' to kill yer own brotha, are yer?' The smaller man, tied to the chair, stared with wide open eyes, as the taller one walked up and down waving his gun. Dressed only in his underwear, he watched the man, and shivered as he considered his options.

'That's what Timot wants, don't know as I can let 'im down,' was the gunman's only reply.

'Just let me go. I'll not say nuthin, I promise. Just let me go.' He looked as though he were about to cry, and the taller man ceased his walking.

'OK, Jud, this is what I'm goin' to do. You put these clothes on – they've left them 'ere so they must not need 'em – then take the horse and ride as far away as you can. Only keep an eye out, there's three more comin' to swell out numbers. If they see you, you are as good as dead. Understand?' He crouched before the shivering man, who now shook his head in compliance, a frozen grin upon his face.

The man with the gun cut Jud's bindings and watched whilst he dressed. When the terrified man was done, his ever-watchful brother took him to the door and urged him to mount up. 'Now don't you forget, ride as fast as you can, and watch out for them three men.'

'You… you ain't gonna shoot me in the back now are yer?' Jud asked, still not convinced he was about to get away so easily. The other man shook his head.

'You're my brother, I couldn't do that.' He turned to re-enter the building and Jud waited no longer – kicking his heels into the horse's side he took off at a gallop, as though the hounds of hell were after him.

'Ride hard brother, and do just as you were told,' Milady heard the remaining man say. She waited behind the door and primed her gun, annoyed she no longer had her dagger; it was quieter for such occasions, but she was glad Athos had it, it gave her hope.

As the man exited the hut, he suddenly felt the cold steel of a gun muzzle pressed against his head. He froze, not even turning to see who was holding the weapon, though when she spoke, the surprised on his face gave Milady a great deal of satisfaction.

'A woman. Who the hell are you? Where did you come from?' He tried to turn his head to look, but she pushed the gun even harder and he stilled.

'Tut, tut – I ask, you answer,' she purred, keeping her voice low and sultry. 'Now, where is Athos, and where are they taking the King?' She gently moved the gun barrel in a slow circular motion to emphasise her question.

'I don't know anythin'. They just told me to deal with Jud, I know nothin' else.' The man showed little fear and his voice was calm. Milady had no doubt he was merely waiting for the right moment to make a move, and she would be ready. 'So, little lady, why not put that heavy gun down and we can talk more comfortable.' He still did not move his head, though he raised both hands out in front of him to show her they were empty.

'This is not uncomfortable; you have no idea what uncomfortable is – yet. However, if I decide to lower my aim, you will probably be uncomfortable for the rest of your life.' She began to slide the gun slowly down his body, until it was hovering near his hip. She could hear his breathing hitch as she neared his groin. When he remained silent, she primed it so he would hear the click. Now he was breathing faster.

'Alright, alright, lady, I'll tell you what I do know, but it ain't much. The one, Athos, I reckon he's dead, they took 'im off in the back of the cart. They loaded bags of somethin' or other wrapped in heavy sacks and then took off with the King toward the château. I was supposed to let Jud go, then follow on. That's all I know, I swear.' There was a dramatic change in his voice and Milady could hear the truth in it, or at least the truth as he knew it.

'Which château?' she asked with a burning sense of urgency, as she was aware of the growing delay.

The man gulped. 'Château de Bois.' Milady rolled her eyes. Here we go again, she thought to herself.

Without another word, she pulled the trigger, and the man fell dead upon the floor. She grimaced as she wiped a spatter of blood from her cheek and, without further hesitation, she ran back to her horse and mounted, heading in the direction they had gone.

She tried to focus on the road, but in the time it had taken for her to interrogate the man, the clouds had gathered overhead. Athos dead. She had feared it would be possible, but she felt nothing. She had thought that she would know when he was gone, feel diminished in some way but no, there was nothing. Perhaps this was it, perhaps this is what it would mean for her, feeling nothing, nothing ever again – no fear, no pain, no anger, no revenge, no love – just nothing. It was as though her entire being had turned to stone.

She did not know why she rode on. If Athos was gone, what was the point? What could she achieve? There was still the King, but what did she really care for the man? Though should she prove useful, perhaps he would offer her a reward. After all, she doubted the Cardinal would employ her again after this – she would be lucky if he let her live. No, a reward may be the answer, allowing her to escape Paris. Then suddenly she realised that if she turned around now, she had nowhere else to go. So be it, she may as well follow, but when she caught up with them, she would identify the man who had killed Athos, and slowly cut out his heart – just as he had surely cut out hers.

ooOoo

Jud rode like a man possessed. He had no idea what was happening to him – one minute he had been celebrating, and the next time he was aware of anything, he was bound, blindfold and gagged in the back of the covered waggon. He was terrified. His brother had let him go, but what if they followed? What if the men he had been told to look out for caught him? He wished he had listened to his wife, she had never liked his brother, and she had certainly never trusted him. It had all been going to so well – the ambush had gone far better than they had expected. Somehow the Musketeers had been disorganised and chaotic, rather than the methodical foe they had been led to believe they would be.

Now he was riding for his life, dressed in... God knows what he was dressed in. He had a pretty good idea, but he figured that alone would probably be enough to get him hung. No, he had to make for home and burn them, deny any knowledge of what had happened, and nobody would be able to prove anything against him.

It was almost dark now, and Jud knew he could not afford to leave the main road. He did not know the area enough to risk taking a short cut yet; a little further and he would have a better chance of cutting across country.

ooOoo

Aramis was not a man who liked silence. He enjoyed life to the full, and talking was something he did in abundance, often to the annoyance of his colleagues – especially Athos. Now he rode silently between Porthos and the Captain – the hooves of their horses pounding the ground as if reflecting the anger of their riders – little by little eating up the distance between them and the men responsible for Athos' death.

Treville was trying to focus on a plan, running though scenarios that would enable them to free the King, but all he could see in his mind's eye were the smouldering human remains upon the pyre.

No one had been happier than he when Athos had returned to the garrison, and not just because of the skills he offered. Treville was proud of all of his men – well most of them, one or two such as Deveaux and his followers he merely tolerated as long as they did their job – but Athos had been different from the beginning. Perhaps it was the memory of that first meeting between young soldier and child, or perhaps it was the mixture of strength and vulnerability – a trait both he and Aramis both recognised in the man – he could not say. Athos made him furious and frustrated one moment, then proud and protective the next. Now he was gone, and Treville felt the loss deep in his soul.

He could feel the emotions coming off the two men bedside him in waves, aware they would suffer greatly at the loss of their friend. They had been two of his best men before, but when Athos had made them a three, they had been great – as well as annoying, disrespectful and disobedient! Aramis would feel it keenly, Treville suspected, especially after Savoy. Porthos – well the big man would say little, but the Captain knew that if he reached the man who had murdered Athos first, there would be no trial. And Treville also realised that he would do absolutely nothing to stop him.

Aramis suddenly spoke up. 'Look!' They all peered into the deepening twilight. There was definitely movement up ahead, and for a moment, they thought they had caught up with their quarry. However, as they concentrated, it soon became obvious the rider was coming toward them. They spurred on their tired horses, but the lone rider ahead appeared to falter, and the horse abruptly veered off into the trees and was lost from sight.

'Am I simply imaginin' it, or was that the King?' Porthos shouted over the thundering hooves.

'Well, not many men dress like that, though I could not see clearly,' Aramis responded.

'Why would 'e run?' Porthos puzzled.

'He panicked, he would not know it was us,' Treville's voice hollered, trying to make himself heard.

They reached the spot in the trees where the rider had disappeared, slowing down, they paused, not sure which path to take. It had been fortunate for the rider, though unfortunate for them, that at this point two paths merged with the main road, but as they disappeared into the forest they forked in opposite directions. A sudden flash, something catching the light, gave them the break they needed, and as one they urged their mounts along the left-hand path.

They rode as fast as the encroaching foliage would allow, none of them wanting to lose their heads – literally. The figure in front darted between the trees in a completely haphazard fashion. As they began to gain, Treville called out, 'Your Majesty, it is I, Treville. You are safe, Sire.' He believed he had shouted loud enough for the King to hear, but if he was riding scared, he may not be thinking clearly.

'We need to cut him off,' he shouted to the Musketeers. Aramis and Porthos understood, and immediately peeled off either side, rounding up the King's horse like a pair of sheepdogs.

The man on the horse risked a look to his right and left – he had known they would catch him sooner or later. He kicked out at his horse, but the animal was already tired and stumbled, and Jud could not prevent himself from being thrown. He rolled himself up into a ball to protect himself as best he could, but he still hit the ground hard. He watched the leaves fly up to meet him, then all went black.

'That's not the bloody King,' Porthos growled in frustration, thumping the nearest trunk with his large fist.

'Indeed, it is not, but they are definitely the King's clothes,' Aramis pointed out, as he slid from his horse and approached the still form. The medic bent down to examine the unconscious man. 'No sign of real damage, though he will have a headache.'

''E'll 'ave more than a headache when I've finished with 'im!' Porthos scowled as he, too, jumped down to deal with the man.

'Porthos, not yet, he must know something that will help us,' Treville ordered. 'Just wake him up.' He shrugged his shoulders as Porthos smiled at his Captain.

'Certainly, Captain. Oy, you, wake up!' Porthos wasted no time being delicate. He hoisted the man up by his arms and lent him forcibly against the tree. 'Wake up, I said.' He gave the man a slap around the face, eliciting a cry of fear and confusion from the recipient.

'He seems to be waking up,' Aramis smiled, resting his boot on a fallen log, and waving his pistol around in a casual manner.

'So 'e does,' Porthos beamed. Treville took a step back and let his men do what they did best.

Jud tried to pretend he was still unconscious. He was terrified, but also confused; the voices around him sounded cultured – or at least some of them did – not like the men with Timot. He made the mistake of peering through one eye, but the two men were watching him carefully and he groaned as he realised his error.

'He is dressed rather grandly for a farmer, do you not think?' Aramis asked.

'Indeed, 'e is, perhaps 'e 'as some jewels worth stealin'.' Porthos stepped closer and the man began to squeal.

'I have nothin', 'onestly. These ain't my clothes, I don't know where they came from, someone gave them to me.' He looked from one man to the other trying to decide if they believed him.

'I think 'e's lyin','Porthos growled. 'Let me cut somethin' off, see if I can loosen 'is tongue.' He approached the man with his main gauche and Jud's eyes widened like saucers.

'He might be telling the truth, do not be too eager my friend – though I must admit, they are very fancy. At the very least, he must have stolen them from another.' Aramis smiled at the man, but continued to wave the pistol around as he spoke.

'No, no, I didn't, I was given 'em, my brother gave me 'em when I escaped.' He did not know who to fear most, the large man with the angry glare, brandishing the knife, or the smaller man – he may have been smiling, but the gun told a different story.

Treville decided his men had softened him up enough; it was time for some serious questioning.

'Gentlemen, enough. My turn, I believe.' The two Musketeers took a step back, Aramis rolling his eyes and giving Jud a dramatic you are done for now expression. 'I am Captain Treville of the King's Musketeers. I will ask you this only once: why are you wearing the King's clothes?'

Jud gasped in surprise as he looked from one man to the other, only now noticing the pauldrons upon their shoulders. For the first time, he saw a glimmer of hope.

'I am Reynard, Jud Reynard. I wos 'ired by a man called Timot. 'E didn't say at first what the job woz, just that we were to ambush an 'ighly guarded travelling group and take 'ostages. 'E pointed out the front carriage and told us no one was to 'arm anyone in it.' He stopped to see how his story was being received.

Porthos poked him with the tip of his knife. 'Did you 'ear the Captain to tell you to stop?' Jud shrunk backward.

'Sorry. Well, when we got there, someone fired and there was chaos. We fought for a while then Timot stopped us and called the shots. The King and another man were taken, then we rode away and took 'em back to the house in the woods.' The man's mouth was now so dry that he licked his lips in an attempt to moisten them.

Porthos waved the knife once again and Jud hurried to continue. 'We 'ad a drink, food, yer know. Then I don't know wot 'appened. The next fing I knew I was blindfolded and bound in the back of a cart. I was thrown into a shed of some kind and stripped. There were men outside and I were tied to a chair, these clothes wos on the floor. I never took 'em, 'onest.' As usual in these situations, the man had decided Aramis was his best hope of survival. He looked at him, his eyes beseeching the Musketeer to believe him. The night had grown dark, and he could hardly make out the men's faces – only the Captain's pale eyes seemed to bore into him in the gloom.

Aramis nodded for Jud to continue and the man did so. 'I were all alone. I 'eard the cart leave, and I waited. Then I 'eard the 'orses ride away, and I thought they wos leavin' me there to starve. I 'ad no idea why, I 'adn't done anythin' wrong.'

'Only killed a few Musketeers and kidnapped the King,' Porthos hissed, letting his knife cut through the air. The rain was now coming down in heavy drops, and somehow it made the three men appear twice as mean.

Jud had nowhere left to go in order to put distance between himself and the furious Musketeer, so he began to speak faster than ever. 'So, then the door opened and it were my brother. 'E told me they 'ad sent 'im to kill me. I didn't think 'e would do it, but I weren't sure. Eventually 'e told me to ride as far away as I could, and 'e gave me the clothes to wear, as I had nothin'. 'E told me to watch out for three riders, 'e said they wos Timot's men and they would kill me. That were why I ran, I were just trying to get 'ome, I swear.' This time he flagged. It was as if his bones had melted and he simply allowed himself to slump against the trunk of the tree.

'Not so fast. Where is the King?' Treville barked, jerking the man upright by his collar.

'I don't know, I swear. The last time I saw 'im 'e were sittin' by the fire, watchin' the other one fight.' He could not have known how his words would be received. There was no question who the other one was.

'Who was 'e fightin'?' Porthos asked, his tone quiet and twice as menacing.

''E started out with two, then three, then four, he killed one, I don't know, I couldn't keep it straight in me 'ead. They'd worked 'im over pretty good, but 'e could still fight. It were somethin' to see. He were keepin' four at bay, I think, but Timot stopped it. I were tired, I don't remember anythin' else.' He looked pleadingly at the three men, and somehow he knew the last part of his story had not been well received. Three pairs of stone-cold eyes now watched him intently.

Porthos took a step forward, but Aramis restrained him. 'It is not worth it, we have been fooled. They knew we could not be far behind and they made a brilliant move.' The marksman shook his head, his expression full of sadness.

'He was a decoy, nothing more. It did not matter if we caught him or shot him, he knew nothing of use.' Treville spat the words out in anger. 'Now it is dark, and we can do nothing until morning, by which time God knows where the King will be.'

The three men looked at each other with a mixture of horror and frustration; it would be a long night, and sleep would be hard to find. It had been a day like no other and memories would crowd in upon them all in the darkness. Laughter, tears, regrets, the night hid all and kept a man's thoughts private, but with the light of day there would be no further delays. Athos would be avenged.