Chapter Twenty

Raymond Vachon had spent the best part of his life thieving and bribing. The Chatelet was a formidable place but prisoners came and went at all hours and the guards were as corruptible as the next man trying to survive. The only way those men made any extra was from the prisoners who offered them something and Raymond had the means to make a very acceptable offer.

A single gold coin, hidden in his boot, was enough to convince a man that there was more. It always was. That coin had got Raymond out of many situations. A little trust was required on the guard's part, but if the alternative was seeing his reward marched to the gallows and getting nothing but another brigand to fill the vacant cell, most were willing to take the chance.

Raymond didn't know where his brothers were and he didn't have the time to find out. The crowd would be gathering in the square soon, ready to watch the hangings at noon. As his chosen guard went off duty, the man passed him his hooded cloak and Raymond delivered a right hook, as arranged, leaving him crumpled on the ground; to be found later by the next watch. The guard would be berated and disciplined but they were hanging seven men that morning and would have their hands full. There would be chaos for a while as the other prisoners created mayhem at the sight of men being led, and in some cases, dragged, from their cells to meet their deaths.

Raymond, tall and strong in his acquired hooded cloak and unknown to the off duty guards who pushed out of the gate to get to their homes and taverns, slipped among them and out into the darkness before the dawn.

oOo

Word of Raymond's escape had reached Treville quickly, passed from Red Guard to Musketeers on duty at the Louvre and consequently borne on swift horse to the Garrison.

"How?!" Porthos had growled as Treville hastily arranged to double his guard in the square.

"That's for another time," he had growled back. "I want you and Aramis in that square, eyes open. Phillipe is still in custody but Henri hangs at noon. That execution will happen. I want men on the roof, looking out for Raymond."

"They won't know what he looks like," Porthos argued.

"They'll know a disturbance when they see it!" Treville retorted angrily. "Shoot to kill. Henri is not to escape too."

Outside Treville's office, Aramis turned to Porthos.

"We need to talk to Athos," he said.

oOo

"You have spent time in Raymond's "company," Athos," Aramis said carefully, as they gathered in Athos's room to discuss the disturbing news. "Any ideas as to what he will do?"

Athos was thoughtful. Aramis noted that Silas's red hat now lay on top of the bedside table.

Ever since he had been given Silas's hat, Athos had struggled to comprehend why the old man would relinquish it, and to him. Silas had not struck him as a sentimental man. More a pragmatic one with a careful and considered mind. At the news of Raymond's escape earlier, he had taken the hat from the drawer. As his eyes had fallen on the feather, he had tucked it back in place in the hat band and in doing so, felt a trickle of understanding.

It had been anger that he had initially felt, when first given the hat, once the sadness at the old man's passing had eased. But the feather spoke of mercy on Silas's part. Silas had offered the pheasant a chance at life. Silas must have known he was not going to live through the heart attack that felled him, and his last thought was to send a message to Athos.

Silas had offered the pheasant only one chance. There was to be no mercy if they met again, he had told that bird. Athos had understood that there was a message in the gift, and now he understood what that message was. Silas had not trusted The Chatelet to hold Raymond. His message was No Mercy! No second chances! Athos was not in a mood to be merciful. The old man had sent him a message, and he had heard.

When he answered Aramis, there was steel in his voice.

"He will come for his brother," he said. "You should prepare."

Aramis and Porthos looked doubtful, but Athos pressed his point.

"What about you?" Porthos asked.

"I am no use to you," Athos shot back. "If you want to recapture him, lay in wait in the square. He will come. He is their brother."

"I'll stay," d'Artagnan spoke up, offering reassurance to Porthos and Aramis.

Eventually, Aramis and Porthos agreed and set off to take their place in the square with their brother Musketeers to carry out Treville's orders.

As d'Artagnan closed the door, he leant on it and looked across to Athos, who's eyes were now on Silas's hat once more.

"Is there anything you want?" he asked, softly.

Athos looked up and then pointed to a chair.

"Silas told me about the Battle of Arques," he replied. "Would you like to hear it?"

As a distraction for them both, that sounded a possibility. d'Artagnan tilted his head, before replying.

"Why not?" he smiled, moving away from the door toward the chair.

oOo

The morning had dawned gray and damp, which was unusual for the season.

A large crowd had gathered to watch the hangings.

Seven climbed the steps; a rag tag of villains and miscreants, shuffling for place for their final performance. Henri stood at the end, scowling at the crowd. His face still bore the bruises given to him by Athos, though now faded to a sickly yellow and green.

As he cast his eyes down on the crowd, two men stood out in their blue capes. They were carefully scanning the crowd behind them. Looking up at the rooves of the buildings that surrounded the large quadrant, Henri followed their eyes and saw other Musketeers peering over the parapets, also searching. He smiled to himself.

The Vachon brother's reign of terror had come to an end when the Red Guard had stormed into the Flagon Noir and arrested them. But Raymond had escaped, leaving Henri and Phillipe to take their punishment. Phillipe, though, was not beside him on the scaffold. He had been told that his sentence was to life imprisonment. Perhaps that was worse than hanging, Henri had thought when he heard. The guard had certainly delighted in informing him.

The guard had also told him that Louis XIII had taken their sustained attack on one of his Musketeers quite personally. At the trial, people lined up to denounce them. It turned out that they had been much more viscous than had previously been thought, as more and more people spoke out against them, emboldened by the fact that they were in custody and perhaps by the possibility that it may be a public execution and they could finally put their fears to rest.

Looking down at the crowd now, Henri recognised many of the faces that had crammed into the courtroom, looking up at him with expressions of satisfaction.

Added to Phillipe's woes, though, was that he was required to view the hanging of his brothers on this grey day that would be their last. Now, only Henri stood on the scaffold He had avoided looking at his younger brother. Memories of their boyhood would not serve him now. And so, Henri turned his attention back to the Musketeers, their attention still taken by the vast crowd behind them.

"Raymond will not come for me, Musketeers!" he shouted at them, over the excited crowd.

When the dark-skinned Musketeer turned bored eyes back to him, Henri grinned, showing his black teeth.

"There is only one man he's interested in," he sneered, as the rope was put over his head.

He started to laugh as the man's expression changed, and watched as the Musketeer turned to his comrade. Henri read the man's lips as the Musketeer shouted one word.

"Athos!"

The two men turned and pushed through the crowd, rushing from the square.

Behind them, the crash of the trapdoor and the collective gasp from the crowd told them that Henri Vachon was dead.

oOo

Aramis and Porthos ran from the square and into the streets. The Garrison was not far, but it seemed to take an age to get there. People scattered in their wake as they ran, hands on their weapons and cloaks flying behind them.

Ahead the Garrison came into view at last; the guard above the gate watched their frantic approach and frowned as they ran through the archway and toward the Infirmary where they disappeared behind the banging door. Aramis threw himself at the inner door and slowed as he saw the door to Athos's room standing ajar. Surging forward, they rushed into the room.

There was no sign of Athos or d'Artagnan. The room was empty.

"Where the 'ell are they!" Porthos shouted, slapping his palm on the wall.

"Athos was wrong," Aramis said, turning to stare at Porthos.

They both turned and raced back out.

To be continued ...