Chapter 32
They had set up a base on the outskirts of Château de Bois, somewhere on the estate in a small empty cottage, and the château was now in sight. Athos was tired of being pushed around; in fact, he had had quite enough long before this, but he felt sure that whatever was going to happen, was going to happen fairly soon.
Sitting on the floor of the empty room, Athos considered his options. He would not give up on Treville and his brothers; he knew they would risk the fires of hell to rescue them. All he had to do was to keep himself and the King alive until they did.
'Your Majesty, I am going to ask you to be watchful. If I see an opportunity, I may not be able to give you much of a warning.' Athos spoke slowly and calmly, as if speaking to a child. The King had become increasingly silent and submissive, and the swordsman was worried the monarch no longer paid attention to what went on around him.
The King looked up, dark eyes not quite as focused as they should be. Still, he gave a slight nod and continued to huddle, knees pulled into his chest, staring at the wall, lost inside himself. Not encouraging at all. It was mid-afternoon when they had settled into the cottage, and they could not have been in the empty room for long, when Athos heard the sound of booted feet approaching. He instinctively stiffened – so it began.
Timot entered, and it was obvious he had made some attempt to improve his appearance, the clothes he wore being slightly better in cut and condition than previously. So, this was it, whatever he had planned was imminent.
'We are going for a ride. You,' he spat, pointing at Athos, 'are not needed. Stay here and keep quiet, or my men have orders to gag you, or shoot you if they have to.' Timot smiled at his remark and walked over to the King.
Athos had no intention of staying anywhere; he did not want to let the King out of his sight.
'What if I kill them instead?' Athos replied, his slow, drawn out vowels making the statement sound every bit like a threat.
Timot turned and appraised the swordsman's cold stare, uncertainty flitting across his features. But something in Athos' expression must have worried him just enough.
'Very well, you come with us, but if you try anything, the King dies.' Athos made no response this time, merely holding Timot's gaze with his own – just a little insolent and just a little smug.
The King was given a cursory brush down; they obviously did not want him to look as though he had been mistreated. One-by-one, they were lifted onto their horses. This time, the King was allowed a little more dignity, his demeanour so meek they no longer considered him any threat at all. Athos was a different story; they had tied his hands tight, his wrists so raw he now no longer felt the pain, though the warmth in his left arm was rather worrying. He dismissed the thought from his mind – risk of infection was beyond his control.
The small party – Bisset, Timot and the one called Fabre, the man who had tried to convince Athos of Milady's fate – rode in silence up the long drive toward the Château. Athos could not help but turn his mind back to the last time they had ridden this way. It had been a freezing day in December, and they were there to deliver an invitation for Gaston to attend the King's party – and look how that had turned out.
Athos studied the area closely – nothing much seemed to have changed in the interim. The grounds were mostly formal and ornamental, and the driveway was long, with an ostentatious fountain in front of the main doorway. Gaston would have his own men, so he did not want to begin any kind of escape under such circumstances. However, it did not help to be prepared.
As he thought back, he experienced a sensation almost like déjà vu – he had ached all over last time too. However, now at least the concussion had improved and his vision was normal, and he intended to miss nothing. As they approached, the château glowed in the afternoon light; it actually looked quite welcoming, but somehow, he doubted that would prove the case.
Timot dismounted, and Athos and the King were yet again pulled from their horses. Athos vowed there would be some payback, and in the not too distant future, for the times they had done this. For now, he was held back, whilst the King was pushed to the front, just behind Timot.
They stood together waiting for someone to answer the door. When the large wooden portal eventually opened, the major domo stood in the entrance and cast his eyes over the assembled crowd.
'May I help you? If you are travelling entertainers, we have no need of you…' Before he could finish, Timot interrupted.
'I have business with the Duke. Important business.' The servant stood his ground whilst he considered the statement then, with a look of distrust, shut the door, his footsteps echoing behind the solid wood.
They waited only a couple of minutes before the hallway was revealed once more. This time there was no sign of the servant; the man standing before them was dressed in fine clothes, and was obviously part of Gaston's entourage.
'I am sorry, the Duke has no memory of making an appointment.' He had still not given the rest of the party more than a cursory glance and was preparing to close the door when Timot spoke up.
'I have a present for him. Tell him I am ready to fulfil the rest of my obligation, and then I want the rest of my money. Tell him I will not stand out here much longer.' He let his hand fall to his gun, and the man on the doorstep ceased to look quite so confident.
Again the door was closed, and Timot began to get restless.
Interesting, Athos thought, so Gaston knew nothing of this after all. How would the conniving brother of the King react to such a bold move? He guessed he was about to find out.
Once more the door opened, this time much wider, and the man was now gesticulating they should enter, though his eyes were wary and a small tick below his eye gave away his discomfiture. This time he gave each man a much closer inspection, and when his eyes settled on the King they stared in shock, his expression turning from mere distrust to one of horror.
'Oh mercy!' He looked back at Timot, who was now smirking much like a man who was far too close to losing his mind – a situation which could affect their future either way. 'Please, wait one moment.' He licked his lips, his eyes darting back to the mud plastered monarch. The man was obviously not sure whether or not to acknowledge the King's presence.
Still looking uncomfortable, he scurried off through a doorway and they were left alone once more. His patience having long run out, Timot was about to follow when Gaston emerged through one of the many passageways.
'What is the meaning of this?' Whilst he addressed the statement to Timot, his gaze ran over the entire party.
'Oh, my God, Louis!' Gaston looked as though he had seen a ghost. 'What have you done?' He turned back to Timot. 'Are you mad? You have kidnapped the King! We will all lose our heads.' He turned back to his brother, who had now begun to take more interest in the goings on.
'Brother, I had no part in this. Please, you have to believe me. Are you well? Are you hurt?' He made a movement toward the King; whose expression was now full of hope.
Timot had other ideas. 'Now, now, let us not be hasty. You hired me to do a job, but that job was interrupted, shall we say, and because of that, you never gave me the rest of my money. Now I had plans for that remuneration; I was going to take myself off to somewhere warm and start a new life. So how about I finish the job here and now and you hand it over?' With that, he raised his gun to the King's head.
'No, no, definitely not. I do not know what you are talking about.' Gaston was now panicking; his eyes were wild and beads of sweat broke out along his hairline, eyes darting between his brother and Timot.
'I see. So that is how you wish to play this.' Suddenly a shot rang out and the man who had opened the door the second time, and who had been standing a little behind Gaston, fell to the floor in an ever-increasing pool of blood. Gaston cried out in terror.
'What are you doing? You have killed the Comte de Gerard! Are you mad Timot?' Gaston was now so white he was almost translucent.
'I thought you did not know what I was talking about? And yet you know my name,' replied Timot, gloating over the Duke's mistake.
Gaston's eyes narrowed. 'Whatever contract you may, or may not, imagine we might have had, would no longer exist – if it ever existed at all – which of course it did not,' he gabbled. He was in a hole, and everyone knew it.
'Are you admitting to having hired this man to kill me?' At last Louis sounded more like the King whom Athos was used to hearing. Standing in front of his little brother, the monarch obviously did not wish to appear downtrodden and defeated.
'No, brother, obviously not. This man is deluded.' The harsh and distinctive sound of a pistol being primed stopped his declaration and caused everyone to freeze.
'No, no, I will give you money, though I know nothing of your plot. Do not shoot!' Gaston pleaded; any semblance of self-control having now disappeared. Timot gave a cold smile, but before he could fire, a different voice rang out. Everyone turned as one, and Athos moaned, appalled at this new turn of events.
A tiny, birdlike woman stood in one of the doorways leading off the wide expanse of hallway. Holding a walking cane, she stared at the party, but did not see them, her sightless eyes looking slightly away from them.
'What is going on? Did I, or did I not, hear a gunshot?' She may have been small, but her aura was mighty. Gaston looked horrified, his eyes pleading with Timot to be discreet.
'It is nothing, Godmama, just an accident,' Gaston offered, his brittle voice wavering slightly. Tilting her small head to one side, the woman frowned, and Louis could not contain himself any longer.
'Aunt Lilly, it is I, Louis.' Fabre, who was holding on to the King, gave the monarch a slap, causing Timot to aim a long, cold glare in his direction.
'Louis, is that really you? Did someone just slap you?' Her haughty voice was filled with vexation. 'Gaston, I insist you tell me what is happening. Why did you not tell me your brother was arriving? You tell me nothing.' Tutting in frustration, she began to move slowly into the room, as Timot moved his pistol in her direction.
But Athos had no intention of letting the elderly Marchioness come to any harm. They had met last time he was here, and she had taken a particular fancy to him, much to the amusement of Aramis and Porthos. The godmother of Gaston, she lived at the château in permanent isolation.
'My Lady it is a pleasure to see you again. Please do not concern yourself, the King is safe and well. These men simply wish to talk with the Duke, then we will leave you in peace.' With that he issued a deadly glare to any that dared intervene, and even Timot dropped his smug demeanour.
'Monsieur Athos, is that you? A beam lit up her lined face, and she almost glowed. Come, come, you must tell me what I have missed in Paris.'
'Perhaps later, Your Grace, for now I think it would be best to leave the King and his brother to their discussion. I will seek you out later, if I may be permitted?' Athos' voice had taken on the arrogance and tone of a member of the aristocracy, and both the King and Timot gave him a questioning look.
'Very well, Athos, if you say it should be so. I will look forward to it. Louis, it is so good to hear your voice, I do hope you will have time to speak with me before you leave. I do so miss Paris.' With a doleful sigh, the old lady turned and left the hallway, everyone seeming to let out a collective breath as she did so. It appeared even these men drew the line at killing an old woman in cold blood, though Athos had no doubt Timot would have done, had he considered her a real threat.
Timot and Gaston stood face-to-face, neither speaking. At last Gaston gave way.
'Very well, you can have your money, but not here and not now. You need to get away from my estate. Whatever you do… cannot happen here.' He searched Timot's expression for signs of compliance.
'Where do you suggest?' the ringleader asked, his voice thick with sarcasm. He made a show of examining the hallway, waving his pistol as he spoke. 'This floor should clean up quite easily, but it looks like you already have quite a lot of that to do already.' He gave a throaty chuckle, though there was no warmth or genuine amusement in the sound. Gaston looked at the party, in particular at the King.
The Duke began to speak. Though his voice was ragged and his breathing rapid he tried to keep his head high, though he could no longer hold his brother's gaze, 'There is a château not far from here, the Château de Brun. The family died out and, ironically, the place now belongs to the Crown. It is empty and isolated, and it also has a moat.' He made the last sentence sound casual, as if he were trying to point out its interesting features to a prospective purchaser, but the inference was not lost on anyone.
'You were always weak and despicable, brother. My mistake was forgiving you – I should have taken your head the first time. Make no mistake, when I get out of this, you are a dead man.' Louis stood tall and spoke with all the authority of the King of France. Athos hoped his backbone would last.
Gaston smiled for the first time, even if it was a rather feeble effort. 'I had no hand in this, brother, but they do say never to look a gift horse in the mouth.' He issued a nervous laugh and then looked at Timot. 'I will bring the money at dawn.' With that, he turned, practically running from the hallway, leaving the party standing alone – apart from the slowly chilling body of the Comte.
ooOoo
Treville and the Musketeers had ridden hard. The ground was boggy, recent horse tracks showing clearly in the muddy road, and the three men slowed, allowing them to study the marks more closely.
'By the depth of the print, I would say the rider was going at speed,' Treville pointed out. 'The weather has been dry for several hours, so these marks could only have been made this morning. Whoever it was – and they may have nothing to do with this – is not too far ahead.' He did not wait for the others' reaction, urging Athos' horse back into a gallop.
True enough, they had not ridden far when the tracks appeared to become part of a much larger party. The recent prints they had been following appeared to have been made over the top, but that was all the ground disclosed.
Looking around, they were hopeful there might be more evidence to assist their search. However, it was not the signs of horses which they suddenly found so interesting, but the hurriedly extinguished fire and the abandoned cottage which stood in a small enclave of trees.
Tethering the horses, they split up and began to move closer toward the house. There was no sound other than the birds above and the slight rustle of leaves. The trees cast long shadows, and closer to the house the sun did not reach the moss-covered walls. The building stood grey and desolate, its dark, blind windows staring sightlessly out upon the approaching Musketeers.
Aramis reached the structure first and, crouching down, he crept beneath the window, listening for any sound that would indicate people within. Nothing. Porthos appeared around the far corner and shook his head, signalling that he hadn't discovered anything either.
Treville soon joined them. 'The fire has long been cold; from last night I should say.' He scrutinised the remaining outbuildings, indicating they should check them before entering the main house.
The three men did not need to go far inside before the metallic stench of blood and the sick accompanying smell of death, assaulted their nostrils.
Aramis caught Porthos' attention, and they slid along the wall toward the small room at the back of the storage shed.
Two bodies lay on the floor, both unknown to them. Their sigh of relief was immediate, but they still dropped to the floor, intent on examining the corpses for any information they could yield.
Both men had been stripped of any weaponry they might have had. Neither of them was particularly old, nor particularly young, in fact there was nothing distinguishing about them at all – unless you counted the manner in which they had died.
'This one's been stabbed in the neck with a small dagger,' Porthos pointed out.
'Interesting, I would say mine had been run through with a sword, but that would make little sense.' Aramis looked up at the other two men, who appeared equally perplexed.
'A falling out amongst thieves?' Treville suggested.
'Well it would have to have been a considerable falling out. If one of these two stabbed the other, then surely a third would have had to have been involved to kill the second?' Aramis considered his explanation for a moment, not sure it made any sense.
'If I could follow what you were sayin' I might agree,' Porthos snorted. 'What is interestin' is this dagger; it is hardly the possession of a hardened criminal. This is more the weapon of a woman.' He watched to see if the two men came to the same conclusion as him.
'Milady?' Treville asked, and Porthos raised a brow to suggest he considered it to be a possibility.
'If Milady kills bad man number one, who runs bad man number two through with a sword? The King?' Aramis asked. All three men's faces bore the same incredulous expression. It was not that the King was a coward, or that he could not handle a sword, it was simply that the thought of him overpowering his kidnappers in this way was rather a stretch of the imagination.
The Musketeers stood looking down at the corpses, not one of them wishing to voice what was in their heads. Eventually Porthos spoke.
'Now, if Athos had been here…' His voice trailed off. He had been reluctant to even suggest such a thing, but it did fit the scenario.
Aramis spoke up with enthusiasm. 'Perhaps you are right, it would make perfect sense.' His face had lit with hope and Treville could hardly bear to look.
'We know that is not possible,' the Captain affirmed, but he did not get the chance to say anything else.
'Why? Because we found a sword belt and some buttons? None of that is really proof. What if we were supposed to think that? What if we were wrong?' Aramis' voice was desperate with hope, having now grabbed on to the possibility of Athos being alive. Treville feared he would not be turned from his belief so easily now the possibility had been suggested.
'Let us look around, search everywhere, miss nothing,' Treville grunted, stalking off to examine the main house.
Aramis turned to Porthos. 'What do you think?' The big Musketeer looked distressed.
'I'm not sure what to think. I know I can't go through mournin' him again, but it is possible. What if we are wrong though? What if it was the King?' He spoke quietly and tried to appeal to Aramis' sense of caution, but it was too late, the marksman had made up his mind.
Without answering his friend, Aramis turned and left the room, following Treville, desperate to find more evidence to prove Athos might still be alive.
There was little in the main house, other than detritus that indicated someone had been staying there in the last couple of days, though apart from empty bottles and remnants of food, there was little to reveal any clue as to what may have transpired. Treville stood for a moment looking out of the grimy windows on to the almost picturesque clearing. He sighed as he watched Aramis head into the trees; he knew just how much the man wanted Athos to be alive, good God so did he. But could it be so? Had they been so cruelly deceived?
Like Porthos, he wanted the possibility to be a reality, he wanted it badly, but he dared not put any validity in the option, for the reality would cause only more pain – all over again.
'Captain! Come, you need to see this!' Treville heard Porthos bellow and ran back to the outbuilding, where the big man had remained to examine the other rooms. He found Porthos crouching on the floor in another part of the building, next to where they had found the two corpses. There was a chair on its side but little else, apart from the severed rope that Porthos now held suspended in his large hands, a grin splitting his face from ear-to-ear. Treville saw the man's smile and his heart squeezed.
'What have you discovered?' His question came out more sharply than he had intended, but he was not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
'This rope was over in the corner. The way it's been knotted and then cut, would suggest someone's 'ands 'ave been tied. There is a trace of blood, but nothin' of note.' He moved over to the chair and stood it back upright. 'Now this chair 'as several drops of blood, and there's more blood on the floor too. There was rope still attached to the legs, and rope loose on the floor, again from wrists by the length and the way it was knotted.'
He watched Treville closely. The Captain breathed a little heavily, but other than that said nothing. Porthos carried on. 'This 'ere rope on the floor.' He pulled a face. 'Whoever's 'ands were tied with this, they are probably in a mess, lot of blood, and the blood on the floor suggests they were probably beaten.' Porthos' eyes held more hope now than when they had first found the bodies, and even Treville felt the spark of something glowing inside.
'One man tied, perhaps not treated so badly, another tied and beaten, whose wrists have taken more strain.' The Captain could not help himself. 'I only know one person involved in this that would repeatedly get himself into that kind of situation, and if I find out he is still alive, I will tie him to a chair and beat him myself.' He flashed a brief smile and indicated for Porthos to follow him.
When they exited the store, Aramis was just coming back out of the woods, holding his hat in his hand, his hair having accumulated a variety of leaves and his boots in a terrible state.
Porthos was grinning. 'What you been doin'? Playin' in the mud?' Aramis glared.
'I found something quite interesting. There are footprints back there; it is quite a mess. However, at one point, just where the ground begins to slope up into the wood, I could clearly see the sign of a struggle, though between who and how many I could not say. But I did find this, attached to a bramble.' He held aloft a torn piece of blue silk – just like the scraps which had been their guide ever since they had begun following on the first day.
'There was the mark of a bullet on the bark nearby – someone fired a shot and hit that tree. Just a little further up the slope, I found the trace of booted footsteps disappearing into the wood, where I lost them, but they were small, very likely a woman's.' He let his words hang in the air, whilst they all tried to consider the ramifications.
Porthos could not contain himself any longer. 'Two people were tied up in one of the rooms back there, one set of ropes not too damaged. The other person was tied to a chair and beaten, hands in a bad way…' He said nothing more, simply watched his friend's reaction.
'Athos is alive!' Aramis almost shouted. He ran at Porthos and hugged the big man, his joy a sight to behold.
'We cannot be sure, but it is looking more likely we have been duped and distracted all the way, and it has slowed us down.' Treville growled.
'I do not know what went on in that wood, but if Athos was fighting here, perhaps she tried to help the King, we cannot know. Unfortunately, two people were tied up, and what we have to remember is we cannot conceive whether that was before, or after the killing. It does appear that Milady may have gotten away and, with luck, may still be on their trail. We must carry on; we cannot be far behind now.'
This time Aramis and Porthos hurried to their horses with a lighter step, no longer spurred by revenge, but by a desperate need to help their brother, whom they were now fairly certain still lived.