Chapter 33

Athos and the King did not return to the cottage on Gaston's estate. Fabre took a detour, presumably to collect the men left behind, as well as the horses and baggage. Timot and Bisset rode side-by-side, conversing quietly. Once or twice they looked toward the King, and Athos was not reassured by their expressions.

If Gaston delivered the money – and he had to admit that if played a rather large part in that equation – if Gaston delivered the money, the King would no longer have any further part to play in this plot, though how they were planning to account for his death, Athos had no idea. Richelieu would expect to see proof before letting Gaston anywhere near Paris, let alone the throne.

As Athos watched Fabre ride away from the party, the hairs prickled on the back of his neck. He looked off into the trees lined up along the side of the road. The dying sun made it difficult for him to see, as it was low and that side of the driveway was in deep shadow. Still he had a sense of presence – he could have been wrong, but for once he hoped he was not. Turning away he gave a wry smile at the irony.

A pair of elaborate gates marked the entrance to a driveway, almost hidden in the trees. Once grand, and in all probability decorated with gold leaf, they now stood rusted and broken, half-covered by brambles, and with grass growing up so high they could no longer be closed. They rode between the silent sentinels, weeds breaking through the rutted surface of the drive that no coach would traverse in its current condition. They guided their horses around the worst of the holes and made their way toward the house. What had once been a formal and beautifully laid out garden, was now wildly out of control. However, the feature that exuded the strongest sense of dread was the moat around the château. The surface was covered with scum and weeds, its stagnant water oozed more than flowed, and no swans or other form of living creature moved amongst the rotting lily pads.

Both Athos and the King stared at the dark water. Louis shivered – he was well aware why his brother had suggested the château in the first place. It was clear a body would never be discovered in the disused moat and, knowing his brother, he would probably not be the first.

'Athos.' The King had not spoken directly to him for some time, and his voice took the swordsman by surprise.

'Your Majesty?' Athos responded carefully.

'We are running out of time, are we not?' He stared at Athos, his dark eyes sad yet resigned.

'This may be our best chance yet, Your Highness.' Athos was not sure that was true, but as the King had rightly said, they were running out of time. He had tonight to form a plan for tomorrow; if Timot got his way, the King would be superfluous to his needs.

The château had to be one of the oldest in France, dating back to the time of King Charles, and it was more a fortress than a mere family home. They rode over the bridge and through an arched structure into the remains of a beautiful courtyard. Many of the statues had been stolen, only the shattered plinths remaining, and the tiled floor was now cracked and broken. Even so, it was a formidable building.

They dismounted and Athos suspected this would be the last time he would be pulled from atop his horse, a situation he would not miss. There was a mounting sense of impending change, of the end of something – whatever that may be.

Athos and the King were herded along endless corridors, each one seeming to take them further inside the bowels of the château. The atmosphere emitted a strong smell of damp, and the cold sensation of disrepair and abandonment gradually seeped into their bones. Finally, they reached a long corridor with a series of heavy wooden doors; some had grills, some bars and others no openings at all. Athos wondered if they were in some form of dungeon, but when the door was opened and they were thrust inside, he changed his mind.

It was not constructed like a dungeon, as they were not deep enough underground. One of the favourite deprivations for anyone designing such a gaol was the lack of daylight – always an essential – but not in this case. High up on the wall was a small opening with bars; no gaoler would want a prisoner to have such a sight, wanting to destroy the hope such a view would enliven. Apart from the small opening, there was little else to see. A series of empty crates were scattered around the floor, and a cask was lying on its side, its vacant interior laid bare. No, not a dungeon, but a storeroom of some kind. The only other features were a drainage hole in the middle of the floor and a grill low down on one wall, also with a grate in front of it, and none of them offered any means of escape.

Athos picked a small rock from the floor and dropped it through the grill at his feet. There was a few seconds of silence, then the distinctive plop of an object hitting distant water as the rock fell into the moat. It was as Athos suspected.

'So now we await my brother I assume?' Louis stated, sitting down on an upturned crate. 'I suppose this is my own fault – if I had killed him, then neither of us would be in this position. I am sorry, Athos. Despite his failings, despite all he has tried to do, he is still my brother and I could not see him come to harm. I do not expect you to understand, you must think me very weak.' Louis hung his head, avoiding Athos' gaze.

Slowly Athos sank onto a crate. 'Not at all, Your Majesty. I, too, had a brother, younger like yours; I would never have deliberately harmed him either.' He had spoken quietly, but his tone had been filled with so many emotions – hurt, regret, guilt – that there was no doubting his honesty.

'What is his name?' the King asked, eager for a change in subject.

Athos thought for a moment before he replied. 'Thomas, his name was Thomas.' Athos stared up at the patch of sky, now showing gold and orange as the day passed to evening.

'I am sorry, Athos. What happened to him?' The King spoke as though he was certain of Athos' reply; people did not refuse to answer a King. Athos actually considered refusing, but suddenly he no longer saw the point.

'He was younger than I by several years, and I bought about his demise. I should have known better, should have protected him. Instead… instead, I introduced him to his killer.' Athos felt a little lighter for having said the words aloud. That was how he remembered those months, that was how he felt, how he saw his own hand in the events that had consequently unfolded.

'So not by your hand?' If there was a slight note of wariness in the King's voice, Athos could not blame him.

'I did not wield the fatal blow, but I bought the killer under our roof. I made it all possible.' Both Athos and the King were silent for several minutes before the King spoke again.

'I decided to throw a party for my wife's birthday. I thought it would be a wonderful surprise. I planned and provided everything I thought would make the event perfect. I designed and ordered the most elaborate confectionary, thinking it would be the highlight of the event.' Athos could not help but raise an eyebrow at the King's remark, and the King even smiled.

'Yes, yes, I know, I am gravely sorry for what happened to you, Athos. I now realise the risk you took on my behalf. However, my point is, if the Queen had been killed, if more of my guests had died, or been injured, I could easily have blamed myself. But that would not have been the case – I merely ordered a cake. Those that decided to use that object for their own twisted ends, would have been the ones responsible, not I.' He looked at the swordsman, trying to imbue his words with the strong emotion of understanding that his expression exuded.

'Thank you, Your Majesty.' Athos heard the words the King had uttered and wanted to think the King was simply avoiding his responsibility. But he was not, he was right, it would not have been his fault, had not been in fact. Did that make Athos innocent of his brother's death? No, not in his eyes. His guilt did not come from innocence or ignorance; it came from selfishness, from not wanting to believe what was in front of him, because he did not want to be wrong.

The King was not foolish enough to believe Athos had really altered his own perspective of his brother's death just from listening to his monarch, but still he eyed the man with interest.

The light from the small opening was now dimming and soon they would be sitting in darkness.

'You appeared to be on good terms with the Marchioness. I assume you met before when you came to collect my brother in December?' Louis made the statement sound like casual conversation, but Athos knew the man was fishing for information and, under the current circumstances, he could not blame his curiosity.

'I did, Sire. She is an impressive lady,' Athos responded somewhat guardedly.

'She is, is she not. I loved her dearly as a child; she always stuck up to my mother on my behalf. I thought she was dead… and that shames me.' Athos could picture the King's wide grin and he knew the man had probably been told a lie.

'For reasons I cannot imagine, I believe your brother has kept her in ignorance of life outside of the château for some years. She was very keen on information concerning life at court when we met last Christmas. I thought her rather lonely.' Athos suspected he may have said more than he should, but with the King no more than a grey shadow, it was almost too easy to reveal information.

'And you provided her with such information?' the King asked. Athos did not reply.

'Athos?' Louis persisted.

'Yes, I did. Much of it was very out of date, though she did not realise,' Athos finally admitted, his voice almost a whisper. He waited for the King to continue, but no further questions were forthcoming. Athos watched as the stars emerged in the high opening in the wall, the King now lost from his sight.

Yes, he had bought Anne into his home, and he had loved her so much he refused to believe any rumours or slights that were directed at his wife. She had been everything to him, and he had believed him to her. Did that really make him guilty? Was blinding love so very wrong? Deep down he suspected the answer was yes. Any emotion which removed a man's ability to think clearly, and keep events in perspective was dangerous, be it love, revenge, hate or fear, all of which could lead you to act in a way that was unforgivable. And that was what he had done, and he could not forgive himself… or her.

The King's voice interrupted his thoughts, but it was not the sound, it was the very question itself. It was as if Athos had known it was coming, known it hovered on the King's lips; he had seen it there unspoken, waiting, for a long time now.

'Who are you, Athos?' the King asked quietly.

'Your loyal servant, Sire,' Athos responded, hoping the answer would satisfy the King, though knowing it would not.

'That I no longer doubt. I have seen you bought before me in rags, bloodied from a fight; you stood before me then and answered my questions with a confidence and assuredness I get from very few men. I had you publicly flogged, yet you still threw yourself out of that window to save my life. Then I refused you a place amongst my Musketeers, yet here you are again, trying to protect me. You speak to me with respect, but no suggestion of awkwardness. You have the carriage of a man of breeding, as does your voice. Do not tell me you are a mere swordsman, Athos – I no longer believe it. Would you lie to your King?' Louis put an emphasis on his last question, reminding Athos to whom he was talking.

The swordsman almost smiled. In the darkness it would have been far too easy to lie to the King, but ironically it also made it easier to tell the truth.

'I am… I am Olivier d'Athos, the Comte de la Fère.' Athos closed his eyes. How long had it been since he had spoken those words out loud? One year, maybe two even? He had no idea. They sounded wrong as they left his lips, as though he were talking about someone else, someone he had once known. An old friend? No, he thought not.

'The Comte de la Fère.' Louis repeated the words slowly, as though trying to summon up some memory of information. 'Pinot, is it not?' he asked, sounding pleased with his recollection.

'Indeed,' was Athos' response.

'There was some gossip, some trouble, the death of a family member. The Comte was not in residence, but I believe I still receive my taxes.' The King fell silent. He had spoken his recollections aloud, and now he fell silent, realising he may have said too much.

Athos wanted to respond with a sarcastic retort – how relieved he was that under such obviously trying circumstances, the King had still received his taxes – but he could not find the anger to fuel his remark. Instead he simply said, 'All correct, Your Majesty.'

'The death, was it your brother?' This time there was a gentleness to the King's voice, but whether it was in deference to his title or genuine concern, Athos could not tell. This time, Athos could not answer. He was tired, and the revelations, though liberating in their own way, had taken their toll. He needed to sleep, if he could – but most of all he needed to work on that plan.

The question hung in the darkness, and Athos was fairly certain he had given the King his answer.

ooOoo

Milady had caught up with the men a little way off from the Château de Bois. It helped that she knew where she was going, and had a vague remembrance of the area and, being a lone rider, she had been able to take a shorter route, which had saved her a great deal of time.

Now here she was, riding between the growing shadows cast by the trees, as the small party headed up the long drive to the château. There was no way she could get inside, and she only hoped the whole situation would not come to its conclusion here, with her outside helpless to stop it.

Milady felt as though she had waited for hours – patience not being one of her virtues. She watched the sun sink lower in the sky; it was not yet evening, but it was fast approaching. Suddenly a shot rang out from within the building, so loud, the nesting birds erupted, screeching into the sky, circling and crying their fear into the air, as they attempted to identify the threat. As the creatures began to calm and return to their branches, Milady's heart thudded in her chest.

Only one shot, only one dead. Friend or foe? She was not going to get her answer any time soon, but what patience she did have prevailed, and some time later the door finally opened, and several figures filed out. Relief flooded through her. Athos, as always, was easy to identify; he was a head taller than most of the men, apart from the one whom she had decided was in charge. Milady counted slowly – the same number of men had left as she had watched enter, so the victim was from within. However, she doubted he would have shot Gaston. A brave servant perhaps?

She slid further in amongst the trees as the men rode past. They did not appear to be in a great hurry, and one of their group departed as, veering off, he took a different route. As the party passed where she hid, Athos turned, looking directly at the spot where she was currently crouched behind the wide expanse of an old oak. His expression gave nothing away but, as he turned, she was almost sure she saw him smirk, and she found the normally condescending expression rather reassuring. He was still alert, but how he had known she was there she did not know, and the thought sent a shiver through her body, though she knew she was not cold.

Milady crept from the gloom and re-mounted her horse, just as a cart and rider were coming up the road. Gratefully, she dropped in behind him, the perfect cover. As they turned a corner, she realised the party ahead had turned off. Her breathing came quicker, and for a moment she was puzzled, but as she moved slowly forward, a pair of once impressive gates revealed themselves amongst the crumbling wall and overgrown trees. As the cart rumbled on oblivious, she slid from her horse and tethered him just inside the gated drive. A pile of rubble stood to the left of the gates – what had formerly been a lodge to observe the comings and goings of a great house, no doubt; but most of the useful items had long been robbed out, and only the crumbling masonry remained. Wherever it was that they were, it had been abandoned for a long time, or the owner no longer cared to see to its upkeep.

Aware that she was operating in the dark, her location unknown, Milady ran between the trees that lined the drive. The approach to the house itself was so unkempt that she feared she could probably break an ankle in the growing twilight.

The sky was beginning to glow with the setting sun, with golds and purples reflecting off the moat surrounding the ominous fortress; at least it lifted the otherwise loathsome stretch of water, making it appear less inhospitable.

She raced across the bridge as they passed out of sight through the distant arch, and peered slowly around the enormous gateway, just close enough to watch Timot and Bisset push Athos and the King inside the building. The heavy wooden door thudded shut behind them, closing off the world with a morbid finality.

Confident she would not be seen, she hurried closer to the château. Staying low to the ground, she examined every window and opening she could find – nothing, no sign of life, nor any way of entering. Trying to calm her thudding heart so she could hear herself think, she considered where they would take the two men. The dungeons were the obvious solution, but perhaps they would not deem it necessary to be so thorough. She gazed up at the towering edifice and hoped they were not secreted on the upper floors, entry to which was nigh impossible. It would be dark soon, and she needed something to help her move around the building, for waiting for the morning was not an option. Just like Athos and the King, she understood time was now of the essence.

ooOoo

Treville would have smiled at the lightening of the mood between the party, but there was still a small part of him that dreaded what would happen if they were wrong. Had they merely put two and two together and made it add up to what they wanted to see, rather than admit there were many more scenarios they had not considered, or not wished to consider?

'Will you please stop whistling,' Porthos growled at Aramis, who had been grinning broadly ever since they had mounted up.

'Why, is it annoying you?' Aramis asked innocently.

'No, you are frightening the birds,' Porthos murmured in return.

'Oh, I did not realise you cared so much for their welfare,' Aramis remarked, still smiling.

Under his breath, Porthos muttered something Aramis suspected was offensive. 'If you must know, it sets my teeth on edge,' Porthos explained, though reluctantly.

'I am sorry,' Aramis apologised, trying to appear contrite. 'I shall sing instead.' With that he opened his mouth, but before he could begin Porthos intervened.

'Don't bloody sing! How are we supposed to creep up on anyone if you warble like a cathedral choir?' The big man turned in his saddle and glared at the marksman.

'Perhaps the whistling would be preferable then? At least they might think it is simply the evening call of a beautiful bird,' Aramis said whimsically, completely aware he was goading his friend.

Porthos answered through gritted teeth, 'If you whistle or sing again, I will shoot you.' Aramis laughed, and this time even Treville could not withhold his smile. He had missed the banter of the two men, and he just hoped their happiness would not prove in vain.

However, Aramis did indeed quiet down, and he recognised the area despite the growing twilight. 'We are very close to de Bois. Do we simply knock upon the door?'

Treville lifted his head in thought. 'That might not be a bad idea.' He eyed the two Musketeers, noting both men appeared delighted at the suggestion. It was high time they took matters into their own hands.

Together they rode up the long drive, coming to a halt beside the ornate fountain, and a groom appeared out of the gloom and took hold of their reins.

'Do not stable them, just hold them, we will not be long,' Treville ordered the surprised youth.

The Captain banged on the door, then took a step backward, with Aramis and Porthos positioned at either shoulder. The wooden structure opened slowly, and a rather wary servant stood in the doorway.

'May I help you?' he asked, though there was a quiver in the elderly man's voice.

'Captain Treville of the King's Musketeers. I wish to speak with the Duke, is he here?' Treville climbed to the next step and the elderly man flinched.

'I am afraid the Duke is not in residence, perhaps…' Before he could continue, another voice rang out.

'Who is there? It is late for callers, come back tomorrow, the Duke is not here.' The voice was haughty, but it suggested age and a certain amount of frailty. A tiny woman, tapping a cane, gradually revealed herself until she stood only a little behind the major-domo.

Aramis grinned. 'Marchioness, it is I, Aramis. I was amongst the party who came last winter to escort the Duke to Paris – with Monsieur Athos – do you remember?' Treville wrinkled his brow but Porthos grinned.

'Monsieur Aramis, I vaguely recollect your name, but I remember Athos very well. In fact I spoke with him earlier today.' All three men gasped.

'You spoke to Athos? Are you sure my Lady?' Aramis asked slowly.

'I am old, and blind, but not stupid, young man. Anyway, I would know that voice anywhere. He was here, of that I am certain. He was with the King, talking to Gaston. As usual I was sent away. Athos promised to come talk with me, but he never came.' Her voice was wistful and filled with disappointment.

'Captain Treville, My Lady. Might I ask how long ago this was? It is important that we find Athos.' Treville spoke with deference, though the blood was singing in his veins.

'Captain, I have heard your name. Something is wrong is it not? I heard a shot – that is what bought me to the door. Athos told me not to worry, that he would see me later but, as I said, he did not come. Gaston left not long after and has not yet returned. It must be almost sunset now, is it not?' She tilted her birdlike head and looked in the direction of the men's voices.

'Yes, My Lady, it is almost dark,' Treville answered.

'Then it must have been somewhere close to the hour of five or six. Would you not say so, Paré?'

The servant nodded his head in confirmation. 'Very close to, My Lady, indeed it was.'

'Thank you, we will take our leave,' Treville concluded. Hesitating he continued: 'Might I ask you one last favour? Would you kindly refrain from passing news of our visit on to the Duke? It is essential for the King's safety, and the safety of Athos.'

The elderly woman smiled. 'You have my word, Captain. Look after the King and Athos for me – and tell Athos I would love to hear him read again.' With that, the small creature drifted toward the nearest doorway and melted back into the flickering torchlight.

The door was shut, the servant assuming the conversation to be over.

Slightly stunned, they all looked at one another, yet all of them were smiling, even Treville.

'I told yer,' Porthos said, slapping Aramis hard on the back.

'Actually, I believe it was I who told you,' Aramis coughed, though he could not hide his joy.

'It would appear Athos is indeed alive, and he had better stay that way until I get to him,' Treville stated, and though he sounded angry he could not hide the twinkle in his eyes.

Nobody mentioned the King.

'We do not know where they have gone,' Aramis said, suddenly realising they had no next move.

Acknowledging the statement with the shake of his head, Treville looked around. 'We can do little tonight, so we will set up camp at the bottom of the drive. Gaston may return but, if not, we will question the rest of the staff or groundsmen in the morning.

They did not like the delay, but Treville was correct, in the dark they could do nothing. If only they had known then, just how close Athos and the King truly were.