Chapter Fifteen
Later, Treville saddled up and rode out of the Garrison for his meeting with His Eminence, Cardinal Richelieu.
The Musketeer patrol that had called at the barn had arrived before the three men who were causing the disturbance in the tavern had been apprehended and the only way Treville would find out whether the Vachons had been apprehended was to speak directly to The Cardinal and, possibly, the Red Guard contingent who had gone to investigate; a task he did not relish. He had assured Athos he would find out what had happened to the old man who had helped him and, had apparently gone for help.
Treville had given Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan three days leave to care for Athos. Knowing his Lieutenant, he would want to be up and about at the first opportunity, but at the moment, he was bedridden and those three were the best people to keep him there.
As Treville rode out, Aramis walked into the infirmary with a bowl in his hands and a towel over his shoulder.
"Doctor's orders," he said, as Athos watched him move across the room. Aramis turned and met his scowl. He really did look awful.
Aramis set the bowl over the pan of water he had placed on the embers of the night's fire, before pulling up a chair. He took hold of Athos's good hand and began to lift it. Athos flinched and made to pull away, but a bolt of pain shot through his shoulder joint and he stifled an angry groan.
"How far can you lift it?" Aramis asked.
"I believe I just demonstrated my full range," Athos gasped.
"As I thought," Aramis hummed. "I am sorry for what I am about to do, but I report to Dr Lemay and he was insistent on our doing this."
"On "our" doing what?" Athos asked suspiciously, rolling his head on the pillow as he tracked Aramis on his way back to the fire.
Aramis brought the pan over and set it down on the floor. Then he took the towel from his shoulder and placed it carefully behind Athos's shoulder, to protect the sheet. The bandage wrapped tightly around his chest was the only item he wore above his waist, and Aramis dipped his hands in the bowl and rubbed them together.
"Warmed oil," he said, by way of explanation to an unasked question, as he placed his hands on Athos's shoulder and began to slowly circle the contours of the muscles in his upper arm.
"We don't have to do both shoulders now," Aramis said. "I can come back later."
Athos bore it well, the combination of sickening pain and warm massage concentrated his mind and the two men fell into a companionable silence.
It was inevitable that the subject of Athos's confinement would come up, and Aramis systematically went through his injuries, telling him what Lemay had said and how he had initially treated those injuries.
"He was confident you would heal," he said, "but he did insist upon this," he added, as his strokes grew firmer, and the muscles complained.
Athos grunted, but did not reply. His jaw worked as he gritted his teeth. He could barely bear to have his arm lifted a few inches from the mattress.
"You need time to heal, Athos. You were deprived of food and water and treated appallingly," Aramis said, carefully.
Athos closed his eyes and looked away. He remembered he had challenged, and then reasoned, before steeling himself for the inevitable as the Vachon's discussed what was in store for him.
His face was running with perspiration now, and Aramis slowed the firm, sweeping motions.
"Enough?" he asked, gently.
"No," Athos said, his face set. "Proceed."
oOo
Treville duly arrived at the Louvre, the signed document from the Baron de'Bouvier now in his saddlebag. He also had questions. Aramis had brought him Athos's entreaty to try and discover what had become of Silas Marchant and, if the worst had happened and the Red Guard had thrown him in the Chatelet with the Vachon brothers, to petition for the King for his release.
His boots echoed along the corridor as he made his way purposefully to the Cardinal's vast room.
The door was opened by a Red Guard on his second knock and the familiar figure of His Eminence, pouring over one of many documents on his desk, came into view.
The Cardinal seemed to relish such administration, unlike he, who found it time-consuming and tiring. Treville was a soldier at heart though and the machinations of the First Minister were no doubt far more interesting to Richelieu than regiment rotas, requests, invoices for stores and the consequences of the many missions that he, himself, had to deal with. In that, he found he envied him a little.
He dropped Athos's leather wallet on Richelieu's ornate desk and took a seat without being asked. It was their usual opening gambit and if it irked Richelieu, he never said and so their dance continued.
After a few moments, Richelieu dropped the document he had been reading and reached for the wallet without looking up. Removing the Baron's contract, the Cardinal smiled, before finally raising his pale eyes.
"Athos has saved you a considerable amount of money," Treville said, tersely, in no mood for combat this morning.
Richelieu looked back at the document.
"So he has," he replied, his tongue licking his lips as he read through it.
After a few moments, Treville impatiently leaned forward.
"I will give him your thanks," he said, when it was clear that Richelieu was not going to speak again. "When he recovers," he added, curtly. "I believe the Vachon brothers were instrumental in almost killing him."
Richelieu looked up, mild annoyance crossing his features.
"The Vachon brothers are in The Chatelet, due to the actions of my Guard," he said, matter-of-factly, before dropping his eyes back to the document, which he continued to read.
"In no small part down to the good will of the Tavern landlord and one of his patrons," Treville countered, drawn inevitably into combat in support of his men. "According to my men."
Richelieu lowered the document and sighed.
"It is the duty of all citizens to uphold the law," Richelieu replied, setting aside the Baron's document and slowly raising his pale eyes to fall on Treville.
The Captain of the King's Musketeers was one man he could not intimidate, however.
"And what of the old man, Silas Marchant?" Treville asked, returning the man's cold gaze with one of equal measure.
Richelieu sighed and sat back. Any hope that Treville was finished seeped away.
"What old man?" he replied, tetchily, his fingers beginning to beat out an irritated beat on his desk.
"I understand, according to my Musketeers" Treville replied, "That when the Red Guard spoke to the Tavern patron, there was also an old man there. That man directed them to his barn, where they found Athos. And, the Baron's contract," he added, should Richelieu be in any doubt that the two were connected.
"I have no knowledge of an old man," Richelieu replied, haughtily. "Why should I?"
"Because he was a witness to the Vachon's deeds. He was ordered by your Guard to accompany them to The Chatelet, on apprehension of the Vachons. Apparently, according to my men, he waited with a contingent of Red Guard for the main force to return with their prisoners."
Richelieu rose slowly to his feet and walked to the door, waving the Red Guard aside. Opening it, he turned to Treville.
"Then I suggest you enquire at The Chatelet," he said. "I cannot be held responsible for every man my Guard arrests."
"I trust he was not arrested," Treville countered firmly, his eyes blazing.
Richelieu merely took a step back, whilst holding eye contact, obviously expecting Treville to leave.
When Treville stood his ground, the Cardinal smiled. Such a smile always unsettled Treville.
"Well, as I said," Richelieu replied, "You should make enquiries elsewhere. Good day to you, Captain Treville," he added pointedly, as his gaze drifted out into the corridor.
Treville's hand tightened on the hilt of the sword hanging at his side;
"I trust that the Baron's piece of land will be worth it," he glowered, as he swept past Richelieu.
"Oh, I am sure it will be," Richelieu responded, out of earshot, as he closed the door.
To be continued ...