Chapter Five
The Garrison:
As Athos was taking his leave of the Baron de Bouvier, Porthos was the first to return to the Garrison. His mission had taken him almost three days.
Handing his horse over to Jacques, the stable boy, he unfastened his saddlebag containing the exact amount of taxation money he had been required to collect, counted out slowly and painstakingly by the Comte 'dAutevielle. He had hoped to return sooner, as the man did not resist. He just took his own sweet time about it, and Porthos was not a patient man at the best of times. It had been frustrating to say the least, but the moment he mounted his horse and turned its head toward Paris, all he could think of was reuniting with his brothers, a good beef stew and a flagon of ale. Plus a card game in The Wren. The sight of all that coin being counted in front of him had ignited an itch he needed to scratch, whether alone or with his brothers.
Slinging the heavy saddlebag over his shoulder, he climbed the stairs to make his report to Treville.
"Any trouble?" Treville asked, as Porthos dropped the bag on his desk.
"Nah. He was surprised to see me, though. Think he thought 'e might have a bit more grace before we took his money off him."
Treville huffed out a smile and opened the saddlebag.
"Then he is a fool, who does not know the Crown gives no quarter in regard to taxation."
"If he didn't," Porthos laughed, "He does now. Doubt he'll be late again."
"I will make sure I send you if he is," Treville replied.
"Have the others got back yet?" Porthos asked.
"You are the first," Treville said. "You are dismissed, Porthos. I am sure you have other things to do now."
Porthos beamed and nodded before taking one last, lingering look at the amount of coin glistening in the saddlebag.
Treville flipped it closed and waved him off. "Go," he said.
Feeling lighter than he had in days, Porthos made his way to the preferred bench beneath the Captain's office to await the return of Aramis and d'Artagnan. Athos was not expected to return this day, but he suspected his other two brothers would still welcome a trip to The Wren after they had eaten.
Jacques had obviously alerted Serge to his arrival, as the man appeared with a flagon of ale and four cups.
"You beauty!" Porthos sighed, taking the flagon from him and placing it in front of him. "Just three cups, Serge," he said, thanking the man. "Athos is due back tomorrow or Friday, at the latest."
Looking at the position Porthos had placed the flagon, Serge huffed out a laugh and shook his head.
"They better hurry up, or that ale will be all gone," he said, as he picked up the discarded fourth cup to return it to the kitchen. Holding the cup in one hand and the tray in the other, he watched as Porthos took hold of the flagon;
"Will you be wantin' food, or 'ave you got other things planned?" he winked.
"I've got a pack of cards with my name on it, Serge," Porthos smiled. "Can't speak for the others."
"You boys know how to enjoy yourselves, so I won't hold my breath," Serge grinned. "Shout if you want more ale."
"You can count on it. My throat's as dry as that tax demand I just delivered," Porthos grunted, happily, as Serge limped away.
He had started pouring ale into one of the three cups, when the sound of an incoming horse made him look up.
By way of greeting, the big man merely raised his head a little higher and hummed, reaching for a second cup. Aramis eased his horse to a standstill and heaved a deep sigh, pulling off his hat and running a hand through his damp hair.
"As much as I love this beast, and I do," he called, as he slid gracefully from his saddle, "It's much too hot for horse riding."
"It's too hot for anythin'" Porthos agreed, passing him the cup.
Aramis gave him a grateful tilt of his head and pulled off a glove with his teeth, before accepting the offering.
"Are we the first?" he asked, savouring a slow sip, which he pronounced was "Nectar from the Gods," before tipping the full cup down his throat.
"Looks like it. d'Artagnan is due back any time, but Athos may be a little later, he had the furthest to go."
"Ah yes, to the good Baron de Bouvier," Aramis smiled.
"You know 'im?"
"I knew his good lady," Aramis replied, wistfully.
When Porthos raised an eyebrow and sat back, waiting for an explanation, Aramis laughed.
"Not like that. The dear lady had a good few years on me, my friend."
"Had?" Porthos said. "'An' since when 'as that stopped you?"
Aramis sighed.
"She passed away, alas, some years ago. Splendid woman," he said, shaking his head, regretfully.
Porthos refrained from asking how the lady had met her end. Aramis did look genuinely sad. So he merely raised his cup;
"To Madame de Bouvier, then."
Aramis tapped his cup to Porthos's and smiled.
"To Madame," he said, softly.
Thinking it may be a story for another time, Porthos drew out a pack of cards and started to shuffle.
"Well, we're off duty now, so, let's play," he grinned, portioning the cards between them and laying the rest of the pack face down on the table.
"Why not?" Aramis said, brightening and reaching for the flagon.
An hour later, on the midday strike of the bell of Notre Dame, d'Artagnan rode through the archway.
Seeing his two friends, he gave them a smirk and an elegant wave, before dismounting and leading his horse into the stable. Even though the stable boy waited, d'Artagnan liked to settle his horse himself, dry her off, and feed her before taking refreshment himself.
"'e's been practising that wave," Porthos muttered, waving his cup in d'Artagnan's general direction,
Aramis turned to look at the stable doors, now standing open, before turning back and leaning across the table toward his large friend.
"No doubt our young friend has been practising many things," he said, conspiratorially, his voice dropping out of earshot of any passing Musketeers.
"Well as long as 'e gets his sleep and keeps 'is strength up, that can only be a good thing," Porthos replied, with mock seriousness, as the two chinked cups. With that, d'Artagnan came striding toward them, pulling off his gloves.
"One, two, three," he counted, as he approached Aramis and Porthos a little later. "One more to come."
"I think we can discount Athos's company tonight," Aramis replied. "I'm sure he'll be back before Friday. His negotiation skills are exemplary."
"I'll report to the Captain, then," d'Artagnan said, tucking his gloves in his belt and heading for the stairs.
On his return a short while later, Porthos pushed some cards over to him and laughed at the young man's expression.
"Don't worry, we're not playin' for money," Porthos said.
When d'Artagnan relaxed, Porthos laughed. "That's for tonight, at The Wren."
oOo
At the Garrison, life went on for the next two days and Friday evening saw them sitting at their table once more, awaiting the arrival of their fourth. The sun set and shadows fell around the courtyard. Two empty bottles of wine stood on the table. An unopened bottle awaited the attention of their missing friend. Conversation had become a little muted and Aramis finally cast a glance up above them to the balcony, before pushing himself up and taking the steps to their Captain's office.
Treville called "Enter," at the second knock. Once inside, Aramis found his Captain in deep thought at his desk.
"Athos is late," Aramis said, when Treville did not raise his head.
"I'm aware," Treville said, reaching for a message that had arrived earlier.
He handed it over to Aramis and sat back wearily.
"Raymond Vachon," Aramis said, after reading the document.
Treville's chair creaked as he sat back.
"There is some evidence," he began, not waiting for Aramis to finish, "That he and two others have been engaged in all manner of law breaking, Aramis. It has been brought to my attention that some of the local landowners want them stopped. The King is losing patience with their petitions. They are petty criminals, but there is some evidence that they have now graduated from robbery to murder. The Cardinal has the Red Guard patrolling various areas but it would be expedient for the Musketeers to join in the search."
"Richelieu would like nothing better than take the credit for their capture," Aramis said softly, looking up and meeting Treville's tired gaze.
Treville did not reply at first, but then added, "His Eminence is impatient for the response from the Baron de Bouvier."
Aramis dropped the parchment on his desk, as Treville changed the subject.
"You think the two are connected?" he said.
"Probably not," Treville finally said.
"But, you're worried," Aramis said, frowning.
"It's nothing," Treville replied, gruffly. "Go and get some rest, Aramis," he replied. "Or whatever you intend to do with your evening."
"I'll let you know when Athos returns," Aramis said, more than a little worried himself. "He's not that late," he added.
Treville pursed his lips before looking up and meeting his gaze.
He gave Aramis a single nod of his head and raised his hand to hurry him on his way. Aramis stepped outside, deep in thought. Whatever he had intended to do with his evening, his plans had changed. Despite his friend not being "too late," he would not now leave the Garrison until Athos returned.
To be continued …
oOo
A/N:
For Porthos's mission to collect taxes, I have used the name of the man who Dumas is purported to have based the character of Athos on: Armand de Sillegue d'Athos 'dAutevielle (1615-1644), just for fun.