Chapter Nineteen
The Trial:
The courtroom was a bare room in the Justice building; one of several rooms within the building, for Paris was awash with miscreants and the lists of cases to be heard was long that morning.
The day before, three men and one woman had arrived back in Paris, courtesy of Porthos, who had driven them straight to the address that the Musketeer Guard had given him at the Garrison.
The rooms allocated in the lodging house were well-apportioned. Only the number of rooms needed to be communicated to the owners, as Treville had no knowledge of how many, if any, villagers would be availing themselves of the Crown's hospitality.
The three men had come willingly in the end, much to Porthos's relief. The woman, Sarah, had joined them "to keep an eye on them." Paris held a myriad of temptations and these old soldiers had lived a raucous life before returning from the wars of their youth and settling down, and indeed, growing old and infirm. Still, Sarah believed there was life left in them and she was determined that, having made the journey to Paris, they would return to the task of rebuilding their village.
They also needed clear heads if they were to go before a judge.
Porthos and Aramis had shown them around the central quarters of Paris, taking in the Louvre and Tuilleries Palace, the latter having been the royal residence of Henry IV, the first Bourbon monarch and father of the reigning King, Louis XIII. The old comrades, as well as Silas Marchant had served under the old King but had never had the opportunity to see such a magnificent residence. In any case, Paris had changed much of the last few decades, due to the self serving efforts of the King's mother, Marie de Medici.
Royal power had grown following the old King's death, with civil conflict a thing of the past. As a result, the unprecedented growth in royal power and authority was reflected in the architecture of the period. Town houses had sprung up in close proximity to the medieval core of Paris; prime housing for nobles and wealthy burghers. The magnificent "Place Royale" was Paris's first purpose-built square - the plans laid down by the old King who had begun to sell plots to buyers who agreed to build their houses along and facing into the square.
Along the way, Aramis picked a yellow rose for Sarah, giving her an elegant bow as he presented it. The old lady giggled like a young girl as she accepted it.
On the evening, they had taken the men to The Wren, under strict instructions from Sarah to return them with "level heads." She herself remained in the lodging house, which offered more comfort than she had been used to for some time. She propped herself on a comfortable chair in her room, her rose cradled gently in her hands, and watched the world go by below her from her window. The men had duly returned by their two Musketeer guides, mildly drunk but content. All too soon, they had gathered their thoughts for the morning before Aramis and Porthos took their leave, promising to collect them in time to walk to the Justice building in the morning.
True to their word, early the next morning, Aramis and Porthos collected the small party, d'Artagnan having remained in Athos's company back in the Infirmary.
The route was short, the streets now teeming with traders and Parisians going about their business; more for the villagers to take in. The fashions had made Sarah's eyes widen, as the horseflesh did for the men. Paris was, indeed, an overwhelming place.
Soon, the building came into view and Aramis ushered them in, giving their names to the clerk. They took their place in the allocated court room and looked around in quiet awe. The room was windowless and it was full; the air musty with the smell of stale sweat as people jostled each other to obtain a vantage point for the coming spectacle. The four pushed through the noisy throng and stood at the back, watching as the officials entered. Eventually, the clerk shouted for quiet and the Judge entered. A stern looking man, he glanced around the room with a practised eye, before taking his seat at the high desk.
The four villagers watched the proceedings, shoulder to shoulder at the back of the room.
Porthos and Aramis flanked the Judge's desk, in uniform, and keeping an eye on the assembled crowd.
Several cases were heard without preamble and the accused marched out to their fate, under the control of the Red Guard. Having seen the Red Guard, Sarah was in no doubt that she much preferred the look of the King's Musketeers, all together much more handsome in their blue cloaks and much more courteous.
Soon enough the moment came and the three Vachon brothers were brought into the room.
Heavily manacled, they were flanked by two Red Guard, plus the Court's own guards; large men who brooked no nonsense. They came to a shuffling halt in front of the Judge's desk, eyes roving the crowd menacingly.
Porthos and Aramis looked up then, as Captain Treville walked in, straight from his duty at the Palace. He was called to read out Athos's statement, explaining why his Musketeer Lieutenant could not attend himself. Following that, the three village men were called forward and each answered questions and told their individual stories of the Vachon's heinous deeds. The three villagers stood straight-backed, side by side in front of the Judge and Raymond glowered toward the back of the room where they had come from, catching Sarah's eye.
He winked and she pressed her lips into a grim line, holding his gaze.
"I hope you hang and rot in Hell, you devil," she murmured under her breath, though several people around her heard her words and nodded in agreement, having heard the damning evidence put before them.
In the end, the testimony of three veterans who had endured months of the Vachon's systematic brutality was conclusive.
Porthos stared at the three brothers standing before him, wishing he could just have five minutes with each one.
Finally, he leant over to Aramis.
"Look at 'is face," he said proudly, nodding toward Henri Vachon. "Athos got 'im good. That nose is well and truly broken."
Aramis smiled back, turning his smile purposefully onto Henri, who glowered at them.
When it came to Raymond, the taller and obviously older brother, they both stared unblinking and unsmiling at him.
The Judge rapped his hammer on his desk and the crowd hushed.
Pronouncing sentence, the Judge decreed that Raymond and Henri Vachon would hang at noon the following day and Phillipe would be imprisoned in The Chatelet for the rest of his life. A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd.
"Life in prison?" Porthos grunted, not entirely happy with that particular outcome.
"As a deterrent," Aramis whispered. "To anyone who wishes to follow in the Vachon's footsteps."
Porthos would have preferred for all three to hang but Phillipe, it seemed, had been pulled along in his brother's wakes from a young age. All in all, though, he wondered if it was worse to be imprisoned for life than to hang. Word would spread around The Chatelet of the prisoner who languished at the King's Pleasure and would never be freed. A miserable existence, indeed.
Porthos and Aramis relaxed and nodded to the three villagers. Porthos turned his head and found Sarah at the back of the room and gave her his best smile, which she returned. It would soon be over.
Raymond and Henri glowered at Aramis and Porthos as they were roughly manhandled from the court, shouting obscenities at the blue cloaks in front of them. Both Musketeers had made sure they wore their pauldrons and cloaks so that the prisoners were in no doubt who they were.
Outside, the villagers, rather than stay another night in order to watch the hangings, had decided to return home to begin the work of restoring their village. It was a satisfying end to the Vachon's tyrannical rule over them, but they had seen enough violence in their lives and wished to put it behind them.
Back at the Garrison and with a promise to return with a contingent of Musketeers to help them begin their mammoth task, they took possession of their cart, now harnessed to a spare horse loaned to them by the regiment and began to say their farewells.
"We will drink a toast to Silas tonight, my friends," Aramis said, as they all shook hands.
"Before we go," one of the veterans said, looking at the others, "We would like to meet Silas's Musketeer."
oOo
The Infirmary:
Footsteps alerted Athos and d'Artagnan to the imminent arrival of several people. They glanced at each other as they waited for the door to open. When it did, it was Treville who entered alone, moving across the room to make way for those who would follow him.
"Guilty," he said, gruffly.
Athos caught Aramis's eye, and his friend nodded. No doubt, the details would be relayed in due course.
"There are some people here to see you," Treville said, looking at Athos. "I think you may wish to hear them," he added, softly, as he nodded toward the door.
Porthos ushered four people into the room. Three men and a woman, looking very out of place in their lowly clothing, but determined. Porthos and Aramis slipped in behind them. The small room was suddenly very crowded as Aramis and d'Artagnan hurriedly brought chairs in from the outer room. They all quietly sat and, after introductions, each person spoke.
Slowly, a more detailed story Silas's life unfolded.
He had been a soldier for the old King, Louis's father; drafted in from his Liege Lord's farm when he was a young man. He had fought in many campaigns until he was about Treville's age, one of them said, which brought a gruff smile to their Captain's face. His life in the army had ended when he lost his arm. Instead of being bitter, Silas came home and helped build up the village into a thriving community. He was loved by them all. When Raymond and his men had taken over, it was Silas who encouraged them to flee, taking what they could, while he stayed to protect the barn which he said was a valuable asset.
Treville's suspicions were correct; the villagers had no idea that Silas had been given the spoils from his comrades in arms. He had made no mention of the cache currently buried in their barn, but Treville was sure that none of them seemed to have questioned where Silas got the money to do what he did, only that he had been pensioned off. It did not seem to have mattered. It was good to know how they felt about the old man though.
"You said that the barn was an asset," Porthos said, looking across at Athos, knowingly.
"For storage and refuge for the whole village, in times of need," Athos replied, carefully, meeting his gaze.
"We held dances in there," the woman, Sarah, spoke up softly. "And all manner of village activities and festivals. Silas said it was the glue that held us all together."
"It was the heart of the village. It was a happy village. Silas made sure of it," one of the men said.
"Until they came," another one added.
"It will rise again," Treville said, looking at Athos, who held his gaze and inclined his head.
"I am sending a detail to begin to turn your fields over so that you can plant new crops." Treville continued. "I am certain you will find the means to begin again, with a little help. I have spoken with The King today and he has promised your village protection, should such a situation arise again. It is up to you now whether you wish to start again."
"We do, Captain Treville," their spokesperson, Hugo, said. "For Silas. He could not bear injustice."
After they had gone, Aramis sat quietly alone with Athos.
"Do you feel better about the situation now?" Aramis asked, gently.
Athos sighed, as he gathered his thoughts.
"I still feel my arrival became a catalyst of sorts," he replied. "Perhaps Silas would still be ..."
"No," Aramis interrupted abruptly, raising his hand and cutting him off;
"The tavern owner said they spoke of burning the village to the ground, Athos," Aramis explained firmly. "Your arrival distracted them from that. Small consolation, I know. But knowing Silas as you do now, he was a very determined man. His age was unfortunately against him."
"It was good to know he had built a good life," Athos conceded. "For himself and others. I only knew his bravery and kindness for a very short time."
"He saved your life," Aramis replied. "Your King and your friends are grateful," he added with a sincere smile; tilting his head, his hand over his heart.
Athos returned his smile, briefly, before he spoke;
"What turns some men into animals, while those who are sorely used become the best of men?" he sighed, looking at the feather on the small table next to his bed.
"I have no idea, my dear friend," Aramis replied, watching Athos as he managed to painfully reach out and pick up the feather. "But the world is a better place for such men," he added.
Aramis smiled fondly as Athos turned to look at him.
"It is," Athos replied, the sentiment seemingly lost on him, as most compliments were.
Aramis let it go and poured them both a drink. Passing one over, he held his own cup aloft.
"To Silas," he said, quietly. "And to peace."
They both touched glasses and drained their cups.
But peace is hard won and easily lost. As they were to find out at first light, when a rider brought Treville disturbing news.
Raymond Vachon had escaped.
To be continued ...