A Fortnight Later…
D'Artagnan sat on the bench staring off into the distance. He had been running errands for the Captain for most of the day, a job usually reserved for the cadets. He did not mind, he was still not fully recovered from his injuries, the bruises were almost faded but he was not yet presentable enough for guard duty at the Palace. And he could keep an eye on Athos whenever he returned to the garrison.
Athos had spent several days getting increasingly grumpy in the infirmary before Aramis had deemed him well enough to at least annoy the cadets in the garrison yard. D'Artagnan had felt sorry for the newer cadets who did not know what had hit them when they had Athos yelling at them to watch their feet and raise their shoulders. It was not until Porthos had taken pity on the young men and ushered Athos back to the infirmary that their torment had finally ended. None of them had been surprised to find a complete lack of cadets anywhere near Athos the following day. Athos had wandered into the armoury and spent that day cleaning weapons.
The injured Musketeers had waited eagerly each day for updates on the investigations into Baron Gerard. Each day they were disappointed. The Baron was going about his daily business without any suspicious incidents occurring anywhere near him. Aramis and Porthos were dutifully following the man around the city whilst Treville kept an eye on him when he was in the presence of the King. They were almost at the point of having to confront the man just to move their investigations along.
Not for the first time during his recovery and the first few days back at work, d'Artagnan found himself wondering if there was something important he had forgotten when he was knocked out. Was he the one who knew a vital piece of information but he just could not remember it?
A movement beside him pulled him away from his thoughts. Athos was pouring them both a cup of wine. D'Artagnan had not noticed his friend arrive and had been unaware of the bread and cheese being put on the table. Serge was walking back to the mess, muttering something about ungrateful youngsters.
'You will have to apologise to him later,' remarked Athos with a wry smile. 'You were miles away… Still trying to remember what you might have forgotten?'
D'Artagnan nodded, 'what if I know something important. Vital…'
'And what if you do not,' said Athos. 'You could be getting yourself worked up for no reason. If there is something in your head, it will come out eventually. When you are not trying to remember.'
D'Artagnan sighed, 'I know. I just feel guilty-'
Athos gave him one of his glares, 'if anyone should feel guilty it is me. I stupidly got myself cornered and attacked - twice. By dogs,' Athos shook his head with a shudder at the memory, 'and then by those two Spaniards.'
'None of us knew about the dogs,' d'Artagnan reminded him, 'and you were already quite badly injured when the Spaniards got you. If I'm not to feel guilty, neither should you.'
They sat in silence for a few moments. Athos sipped at the wine while d'Artagnan chewed on some of the bread.
'At least we are back on duty now. In a few days, we will be able to help the others. I think Aramis is getting fed up with following the Baron around and Porthos hates going around the city without his uniform,' said Athos.
'Poor them,' said d'Artagnan with a smirk.
MMMM
Porthos stood at ease by the door. The King was sat on his throne with the Queen at his side. Treville stood a respectful few feet away on the other side of the King. The large room was, as usual, filled with courtiers and nobles trying to curry favour with the monarch.
Baron Gerard was waiting for his turn to talk to the King. The man wore his usual doublet, not as ornate as some of the others but a symbol of his wealth and status, nonetheless. The rich green with gold embroidery caught the sunlight along with many of the other shiny silken doublets in the room. Porthos sometimes envied the intricate work the nobles could afford on their doublets. He had paid handsomely for the studded collar on his own doublet, his only extravagance. Apart from his sword and Athos had helped him choose that even going as far as bartering the price down to something he could afford.
In an idle moment, Porthos wondered how his injured friends were getting on. D'Artagnan had been cleared fit for full duty a couple of days before and once his bruises had faded, he would be allowed back on Palace duty. Athos was easing himself back into duty by terrorising cadets and helping Treville with his paperwork. Both his friends had been a little melancholy at not being able to help with the investigations, although both he and Aramis had pointed out that up to that point all they had done was follow the Baron around. They had not learned anything new. It was becoming tedious.
The snivelling minor English Lord was waved away by the King after his requests for help against a more important English Lord were denied. The simpering man scurried off out of the room, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to retreat.
Baron Gerard stepped forward. Porthos focused his whole attention on the conversation.
'I am disappointed,' said the King, causing a few gasps from the fawning courtiers.
'I do not like to disappoint you, Majesty but I cannot accept the post. I am not suitable for the role-'
'But you know the people Gerard, you would be the most suitable candidate.'
'I cannot be away from my home, Majesty, it is just not practical.'
The King sighed dramatically, 'what can be more important than serving your country, serving you King. I command you.'
'I refuse.'
More gasps from around the room. The argument raged for a few more seconds. Porthos had worked out that the King had offered Gerard the job of ambassador or diplomat or something similar in Spain. They knew the Baron had spent time in Spain and could speak the language and understood the Spanish customs. He was, as the King had pointed out, an ideal candidate. But Porthos also knew Gerard would not want to be sent that far away from the King. He could not be placed on the throne as regent if he was not in the country.
'There are numerous other candidates far more suitable than I.'
'I have asked you and I will not take no as an answer.'
'You will have to, Majesty.'
The King had gone an interesting shade of red, the Queen was looking at him with concern. She was about to speak to him, perhaps to ask him to calm down a little. Before she got the chance, the King rose from his throne. The courtiers all quickly bowed respectfully. The King closed the gap between himself and the Baron who stood his ground.
'In which case, Baron,' said the King, his fury barely contained, 'you will have to leave the Palace. I do not want to have sight of you anymore. Go back to your chateau and be grateful I have not taken it from you. I am not sure if you are even fit to be one of my Barons.'
The King turned on his heel and walked from the room. The assembled courtiers parting like a wave before him, bowing as he went. After a few seconds, the Queen rose from her chair and followed her husband, a look of sympathy on her face as she passed the Baron. The courtiers gradually followed the King. Treville made eye contact with Porthos and nodded towards the Baron, who had remained where he was. Porthos understood. As the last of the courtiers left the room in the King's wake Gerard followed them to the door, but rather than following, he turned the other way and walked along the corridor and out of the Palace, walking towards his home in the city.
As Porthos was still in his uniform he had to be careful he was not spotted by the Baron. As the man turned into his road a young man approached him, dressed in black, with a black woollen hat pulled low over his head and moving with poise the man had the look of a dancer. Porthos had seen the lithe man at court when the King had demanded he be entertained by dancing. He could not see the man's face; he could only make out that he was slim and moved with a cat-like poise. Porthos was reminded of tales of warriors from faraway lands who could infiltrate a home, kill the occupants, and disappear into the night without leaving a trace.
The Baron spoke to the young man for a few seconds. Porthos, his own skills learned in his own Court, got close enough to hear a few words of the conversation. He could not make out what the young man was saying but he could hear the Baron.
'He tried to send me to Spain,' the Baron laughed. 'I refused; he's banished me. It's a setback but at least I won't have to worry about being around when you strike him down.'
The black-clad man said something before the Baron nodded.
'I agree, we should move on with the plans. I will go to my estate tonight and be ready to return at a moment's notice.'
Porthos realised that the plot to assassinate the King was now moving on. They were no closer to finding out what was going to happen, or where, or when. But it was set to occur soon.
Porthos hurried back to the garrison.
MMMM
A few days later...
The bells rang loudly in the bell tower scaring off any birds that had been tempted to settle on its roof. As the doors of the cathedral swung open on well-oiled hinges the crowd cheered. Shouts of encouragement to the King and Queen, with a few disparaging remarks, quickly quelled by the overwhelming groups of well-wishers.
The monarch and his wife smiled and waved graciously. The show of togetherness at odds with what the King really thought of the people of his country.
The waiting carriage was strategically placed at the end of the road, a short distance, but far enough for those that wanted to get a glimpse of the King and see him walking amongst his subjects.
Aramis always thought the exposure was too much. The chances of an attack were rife. He saw danger and evil at every turn, a butcher with a meat cleaver in hand, a blacksmith wielding a red-hot poker, straight from his furnace. He sighed as he pushed back some over-eager women, all keen to get a glimpse of the Queen who, as always, was radiant in her exquisitely made dress.
They were on alert, they were always on alert, but today they were even more watchful. They knew the assassination attempt was likely to happen when the King was at his most vulnerable. And that short walk from the steps of the Cathedral to the Royal carriage was the perfect chance for any would-be assassin.
If the King knew of the plot, he would not have attended mass, he would have hidden away. They were using the King, and the Queen, as unwitting bait. Aramis did not like the idea, but they had little choice.
Treville had subtly added a few more Musketeers to the escorting guard than usual and more were milling with the crowd to observe from a different angle. Athos and Porthos were ahead, Porthos was calling out to the people to make way while Athos was simply glaring at people until they moved back for their anointed leader to pass.
D'Artagnan, his keen eyes constantly searching the crowd was walking to Aramis' left. They were all on edge, alert, ready. But would it be enough?
A scream.
Chaos rained down.
The explosion was not as big as it could have been, no buildings were demolished, but the damage was done, and panic ensued. The people scattered; the Musketeers closed ranks around the Royal couple. All thoughts of etiquette pushed aside. Treville had his arm around the King's shoulders, forcing him to bend forward slightly, protecting him. Aramis moved up beside the Queen. He guided her towards the carriage, her frightened eyes wide, if he could have got away with sheltering her in one of the nearest buildings until the danger had passed, he would have done, but all he could do was see her safely to the carriage and help her up the step, and stepping back quickly for the King. Treville bundled the King into the carriage much to the man's dismay. The King was bemoaning what was happening, demanding the perpetrator be caught and wanted to know how Treville could have let the attack happen. The latch had barely caught before the horses were whipped and moved forward with a jerk causing both the occupants to fall back in their seats.
As the carriage moved a shouted warning from d'Artagnan had both Treville and Aramis whirl around. Four men were bearing down on them both, probably aiming at the carriage, but that was gone. Both Musketeers drew their swords and were quickly embroiled in a fierce fight. Aramis recognised the slightly different style of swordsmanship. The men were Spanish. They wore dark clothing, they would have blended in with the crowd, their black cloaks hiding their weapons.
The space the carriage had left gave Aramis and Treville room to manoeuvre. The law-abiding citizens were keeping out of the way, fleeing from the explosion and the fighting. Aramis still did not know what had exploded. There had been a moment when debris fell about them, but he had not paid much attention to it, his only purpose at that moment had been protecting the Queen. As he engaged the two men in front of him, he was aware of broken and splintered wood scattered across the ground. Much as he wanted to consider what had happened, he had to concentrate on the men in front of him first.
Bringing his parrying dagger across he deflected a blow from the shorter of the two men, before twisting at the hips slightly to better retaliate against the man. The second man, a lithe fast-footed man was trying to dance his way around Aramis. The Musketeer saw the ploy and countered by taking a few steps back, as the men followed him, he used his knowledge of the area to get the upper hand, quite literally. A couple of steps surrounded the door of a tradesman's tavern, one of the more expensive in the area, he knew the steps were well maintained and was confident as he placed his feet. The men were not expecting their opponents to gain a height advantage, Aramis pressed that advantage slicing downwards, catching the shorter man across the chest causing him to stumble backwards, clashing with another of the plainly dressed Spaniards. The two men ended in an inelegant heap on the cobbles, both remained quite still. Pierre, who had been dealing with the man nodded his thanks before moving on to help Athos who had also taken on two opponents.
MMMM
Porthos had noticed the small covered cart at the side of the road as they left the cathedral. The closer they got to the cart the more Porthos felt something was wrong. The route to the Royal carriage from the cathedral was usually kept clear, the cart should not have been there. Porthos was going to have words with the men who should have been watching the route to the carriage that morning.
Despite the feeling that time had slowed down, Porthos had no time to react when the cart exploded. The shattered wood spraying across the road caused people to run or duck down. Porthos and the bystanders who were closest were all knocked flat. He was aware that he needed to get up and deal with the situation, but he was too confused and uncoordinated for several seconds. His sense of hearing disappeared for a while. He managed to look around him as the debris settled. Two women were huddled over a third trying to get her to react. An old man was staring at his arm, blood dripping from a deep ragged gash. Other people were picking themselves up, the look of shock repeated by everyone he looked at. The shocked silence immediately after the explosion seemed to last forever to Porthos, but he knew it was only a couple of seconds. The screams that followed were deafening.
He managed to twist himself around to push up to his knees. The women were sobbing, Porthos guessed the woman they had been trying to rouse was dead. The old man was being hurried away by a couple and helped into a nearby tavern, which was now missing its windows. Other people were still trying to get away from the scene.
The whinnying of the carriage horses and the sound of hooves and wheels clattering over the cobbles told Porthos at least the Royal family had been safely removed from the area. He looked in the direction of the carriage in time to see Aramis and Treville fighting with a group of black-cloaked men, other Musketeers were rushing forward to help. Porthos wanted to help but could not get to his feet, his ears were ringing, he could hear but the sound was muffled.
'Stay there,' said Barbotin, who had appeared from the crowd.
The musketeer had been one of the men deployed to mingle with the crowd, he was out of uniform but still well-armed. Barbotin had decided, rightly, thought Porthos, that his skills as a field medic were more use at that moment. Other Musketeers had the fight with the attackers under control.
Porthos pointed at the woman lying prone a few feet from him. Barbotin shook his head.
'She's dead,' he said, with a frown, before continuing, 'so are LaPointe and Simon…'
Barbotin looked across the road to the spot where the cart had been. Porthos saw the bodies, covered in debris, blood seeping from penetrating wounds, staining the splintered wood.
The clashing of swords stopped, Porthos was aware of shouted orders from Treville before a fresh, more ordered, a flurry of activity began.
'They got away,' someone said.
'These are dead, no use to us now…' Treville said, the annoyance evident in his voice.
A few Musketeers were sent to search for the attackers that had fled, although Porthos did not think they would find anything. The black-clad attackers would have quickly changed and disappeared into the crowd.
'You alright?'
Porthos looked up to find d'Artagnan looking down at him, his hand out ready to help him up. Porthos took the offered help and finally got to his feet, d'Artagnan was quick to grab him when he stumbled slightly.
'Got knocked flat by the explosion,' Porthos said as he looked at the shattered remains of the cart.
Aramis and Barbotin were looking at the bodies of their comrades. Aramis was saying a muttered prayer over each man as Barbotin double checked they were both dead, despite it being unlikely they would have survived their injuries.
'Take him back to the garrison,' said Treville, 'don't argue Porthos. I want you fit and if that means you take a couple of hours to clean yourself up and rest than that's what you'll do.'
Treville made a vague gesture at Porthos doublet. He looked down and saw the dust and dirt across it, he held up his hands and realised they were grazed and shaking.
D'Artagnan smiled grimly, 'I think you got off lightly,' he said with a glance at the two dead Musketeers.
Porthos allowed d'Artagnan to guide him away from the site of the attack, the streets were busy. People rushing towards the explosion and people rushing away from it. A few women were being led away, crying into handkerchiefs. Porthos realised the explosion could have been much more serious. But three people had died and several more were injured. The attempt on the King's life had been very real.
They knew now that action had to be taken and soon.
MMMM
The garrison was quiet. All the Musketeers and cadets had found themselves unable to engage in their usual sparring or shooting practice. Those that had not been despatched as extra guards at the Palace were in a sombre mood.
The men who were closest to Lapointe and Simon were sat together at the table quietly drinking a toast to their friends.
D'Artagnan was sat with Porthos outside the infirmary. Porthos had spent a few minutes cleaning the cuts and grazes he had received in the explosion before sitting heavily on the bench next to d'Artagnan. They watched their friends across the yard. One of the men closest to Simon had given into the grief, the man next to him had simply flung his arm across his shoulders and pulled him into a brotherly embrace. They were soldiers, they could ignore death and all that went with it in the heat of battle, but they were still human. No one thought any less of the sobbing man. The Musketeers were a tight-knit group, they all looked out for each other. The losses were felt by them all.
Treville and Athos trotted into the yard, the stable boys, were quick to emerge from the stables to take the horses away.
Treville nodded to the two men sat by the infirmary, he indicated for them to follow him to his office. Athos paused to speak to the stable boy who pointed at the armoury. Athos walked purposefully across the yard. D'Artagnan had seen Aramis disappear into the weapons store an hour before. As they made their way towards the stairs Athos re-emerged with Aramis in tow.
They reached Treville's office together. The Captain was leaning on his desk, his arms folded across his chest, his stony expression unreadable. As the door was shut, he sighed, looking at them each for a few seconds, his gaze lingering on Porthos.
'I'm fine, Captain,' the Musketeer assured.
Treville nodded slowly.
'I don't think I am exaggerating by saying the King is furious,' began the Captain. 'I explained what we have been doing… and how I hoped we could prevent the assassination attempt and perhaps get some men captive to interrogate.'
Athos said, 'he wanted to know why he was not informed of the plot… he wanted to know why we were not closer to him… he wanted to know why we allowed him to be injured-'
'He was injured?' interjected Aramis.
Treville shook his head, 'he bumped his knee on the carriage door when I pushed him in. I think I'm lucky he didn't have me hanged.'
'Did you tell him that we lost two Musketeers?' asked Porthos.
'Yes,' replied Treville, 'he said they were probably not very good soldiers if they allowed themselves to be killed.'
Porthos muttered something in response under his breath. D'Artagnan watched Aramis shaking his head in disgust. They all knew the King could be compassionate, but it evaded him frequently.
Athos took over updating them about the meeting when Treville went quiet, staring at his boots shaking his head occasionally.
'The King has generously allowed us a chance to put things right. He has given the Captain one chance, and one chance only to deal with the situation. He wants the Baron arrested and interrogated. If we fail the mission will be given to the Red Guard…'
'I'm sorry,' said Treville, 'this should have been handled better. I should have had him arrested when I first heard about the plot. Now we have lost two good men…'
The Captain paused, lost in thought, he looked down. D'Artagnan watched as Porthos stepped forward. He lay his hand on the Captains shoulder. The Captain looked up. The two men looked at each other for a few seconds. Treville nodded and straightened up. He moved to sit behind his desk. None of them blamed the Captain for the deaths of Lapointe and Simon. The attack on the King would have happened anyway. The fact that only three people had died was probably thanks to the Captains increased security. If the Spaniards had not had the Musketeers to fight, they might have attacked the innocent Parisians.
'What is the plan?' asked Porthos.
'We four,' said Athos, 'will leave immediately for Gerard's chateau. We will take him by force, but as quietly as possible. The Captain will follow us ready to deal with any of the Spaniards who are, we suspect, also at the Chateau or in the vicinity.'
'Stealth followed by brute force,' suggested Porthos.
'To put it concisely, yes.'
MMMM