CHAPTER 14

Athos soundlessly watched from the rafters as Anton's men systematically made their way from stall to stall, leading away selected stallions. As the soldiers approached Roger's stall, the swordsman cautiously moved across the rafters until he was close to the box, then he melted back into the shadows near the wall.

One of the soldiers stood outside the stall holding Roger's bridle, which he had taken off the hook outside the stall door. When the latch on the door rattled, the black stallion pinned his ears back flat against his head and gave a stomp of his back hoof to express his opinion on some stranger entering his stall. However, he was a trained horse so he didn't lunge at the man as the door slowly opened. But he did continue to snort and roll his eyes to show his displeasure with the situation.

Athos remained quiet, hoping to use the fact they hadn't found him yet to some advantage. As no reinforcements had come from the house, he had to assume the rest of the musketeers were already captives of the Spanish. Or dead, his mind tacked on. Athos quickly shoved that thought away even though he had heard the single gunshot.

After a bit of a struggle, the soldier got the bridle on Roger's head and the animal discontentedly chewed on the metal bit while shaking his head. The soldier, swearing under his breath in Spanish, gave the reins a strong yank downwards jerking Roger's head. Then he led the stallion into the aisle, where the black horse planted his hooves and refused to move any further.

Finally, the soldier lost the last of his patience. He secured the reins to a hook on the wall and stormed down the aisle, back towards the stable's tack room. A few seconds he later he reappeared with a driving whip in his hand. He gave a few practice cracks as he approached the stallion. When he was close enough, he brought it to bear on the stallion's rump and Roger screamed in anger.

Athos, who was still in the rafters towards the back of the stall, began carefully moving towards the aisle as the soldier brought the whip to bear two more times on Roger's hindquarters. Unable to stand by and watch Roger be whipped, Athos dropped out of the rafters, knocking the soldier to the ground. They both hit the dirt floor with a grunt and Athos, who quickly recovered, sent a swift hook to the man's jaw. Two more brutal blows with all the power he could muster behind them and the soldier's eyes rolled back in his head as he passed out.

The soldiers in the stalls beyond Roger's stepped into the aisle to see what was going on. Athos, spotting them and, realizing he had gotten himself into a no-win situation, slowly backed up as they advanced towards him. In desperation, Athos called out to Roger and the black horse swung his hindquarters trying to knock the approaching soldiers against the wall. The unlucky soldier on the right was caught by the stallion's muscular hindquarters and crushed into the stall door. However, the other two, on the left, slipped by. The horse did lash out with his feet, but it was too late and his hooves didn't strike either of them.

At least one was down, Athos thought as he debated his next move. His heart sank when he heard a sound behind him and a glance over his shoulder showed two more soldiers hurrying up the aisle behind him. His odds had just gotten much worse.

He didn't have time to think anymore as a shout went out in Spanish and all the soldiers rushed him at once. Athos used every trick Porthos had taught him, but unarmed and out-numbered, he was soon subdued, on his back, on the ground, arms and legs firmly pinned. The man he had knocked unconscious, woke and, scowling, he slowly sat up while rubbing his sore jaw. When he saw that they had Athos pinned to the dirt, he rose, walked over and gave the immobilized musketeer a swift kick in the torso with his boots. Then he gestured for them to haul the man to his feet, which they did, restraining him against the front of a stall.

The soldier got within inches of Athos' face and the musketeer's command of Spanish was good enough to know the man was cursing at him. Athos eyes showed no fear, remaining cold and hard, as the man raised his fist to punch him in the face. Athos' skin beneath his cheek bone split, and even though he felt his own warm blood trickling down his cheek, his attitude remained defiant, which infuriated the soldier even more.

As the soldier drew his fist back to deliver yet another blow, a shout was heard from outside. The hit was never delivered, and instead, Athos was pulled away from the wall and dragged down the aisle. Up by the tack room, a length of rope was brought out and his hands were roughly secured behind his back. After his hands were tied, they shoved him out of the stable into the sunlight, which made him blink and stumble to his knees, the bright light blinding after the dimness of the stable.

"Take him up to the house with the rest of them," one of the soldiers instructed as he looked distastefully at Athos kneeling in the dirt.

Athos' heart skipped a beat for that was a piece of good news. It meant the others, while captive, were still alive. Deciding his best move at the moment was to be subservient and obedient, he rose to his feet, bowed his head and meekly allowed the men to lead him towards the house. The soldiers were happy and assumed his change of heart had to do with the fact they had cowed Athos by showing him who was in charge.

Anton, who was still in the dining room eating the food laid out on the table, paused in his chewing when one of his men entered the room, walked over and then whispered in his ear. Standing and giving the musketeers an unfathomable look, the leader of the Spanish soldiers left the room. A few minutes later, he returned with Athos and the men who had captured him.

"Who is this that felt the need to defy us?" Anton asked Jourdain in a deceptively calm voice. The leader of the soldiers was getting rather tired of surprises. This was supposed to be an easy mission. Grab the stallions and bring them back over the border to Spain to become part of the breeding program to support the growing Spanish army. The Spanish were getting short on quality horses to mount their troops. They knew about this estate with its plethora of superior horseflesh and they decided it was remote enough to make it worth the risk to steal the stallions. Anton had not expected to find the King's Musketeers here, though now that he had he was going to turn that to his advantage.

His orders had been clear; get the horses and get out with minimum fuss. Spain had provoked a small skirmish with the soldiers of France to the south of the area to test out the preparedness of the French troops. He idly wondered if these musketeers had been part of that battle and who had won. However, he didn't think it prudent to ask, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

Jourdain looked at his friend Athos as he stood there, trussed with blood smeared on the side of his face and he saw the slightest shake of the man's head, so he didn't respond to Anton's inquiry.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Anton demanded, his voice carrying an unspoken threat. "I don't like repeating myself, especially in your foreign language that hurts my tongue."

Athos had been silently debating which path to follow. He could claim he was a worker on the estate for he'd left the room this morning in a simple shirt and pants that didn't necessarily scream King's musketeer. Was there some advantage he could make out of being a simple stable hand? Or was it better to declare himself as a King's musketeer?

What Athos didn't know was Anton already suspected he was a musketeer for, when his men had searched the house, they had found an unclaimed jacket with the distinctive pauldron as well was the weapons in one of the bedrooms. As all the other musketeers were dressed and none were missing their insignia, it wasn't hard to conclude there was another musketeer they had not yet identified. The leader of the soldiers was waiting to see how this would unfold.

"I work for Comte Vergy. In the stables," Athos said quietly, keeping his head lowered.

So, the musketeer went with a lie. Interesting, Anton thought. What did he hope to gain by hiding his identity? The leader did wonder for a second if he was mistaken, but he didn't think so for something about the supposedly contrite man indicated musketeer more than stable-hand.

Anton took a few steps closer to Athos. "I was told you attacked my men in the stable quite viciously."

"Your men were whipping one of my stallions without cause," Athos answered slowly, still keeping his eyes downcast and his body unassuming.

Anton gave a little laugh. "Without cause? I hear the animal was causing quite a ruckus." Turning and walking towards Jourdain, he made a little tut-tutting noise. "Really, Monsieur. I was told you breed the best horses in all of France. Is this how they all behave? For if so, I will be disappointed. Perhaps this has been a waste of my time."

Athos spoke up once more, not giving Jourdain a chance to speak. "The stallion was frightened, by the commotion. That is all. These are intelligent, sensitive, high-spirited animals, not use to your crude ways."

Anton smiled as he walked back towards Athos with measured steps. With a tilt of his head, one of the men securing Athos reached up, grabbed the musketeer's wavy hair and yanked the swordsman's head upwards. "You want to know what I think? Hmmmm? I think you are lying."

"Why would I lie?" Athos grunted, his green eyes passively gazing at Anton.

"Because, I think you seek to gain some advantage by hiding the fact you, like them," Anton's arm swept towards the other musketeers tied to chairs, "are in fact a musketeer."

Athos neither denied or confirmed the claim, but suddenly attempted to wrench himself free from his captors.

Immediately, the other soldiers in the room converged on Athos, repeatedly hitting him. Athos, hands tied behind his back, found it hard to fight back so instead tried to drop to the floor and curl up in a ball to protect himself. Aramis and Porthos, unable to help themselves, attempted to jump to their feet, but they were securely tied and unable to move. Porthos bellowed like a wounded bull, struggling to break free as he watched his brother being pummeled. Aramis prayed they wouldn't seriously hurt his friend who was still recovering from the battle.

After a few moments, Anton signaled his men to cease beating Athos. Killing the musketeer, at this point, would bring no advantage. In fact, having him alive would serve another purpose, he decided as a plan began to solidify in his mind.

After the men stopped pounding on him, Athos remained in a collapsed heap on the floor. Anton strolled over, stood and stared down at the man. "So, I can assume you are indeed a musketeer?"

Raising his head, Athos stared defiantly at Anton. The once passive green eyes were now snapping with fury and for a moment, the Spanish captain wondered if he had just made a mistake in not having this defiant man killed outright. However, Anton forced himself to remain immobile as the musketeer was dragged upright by his men.

They stood, nearly toe to toe, in a staring contest. Keeping his voice cool, Anton said, "I ask again. Who are you?"

Straightening his body, though the small wince gave away the fact it was painful, Athos answered in a firm, regal voice. "I am Athos. Of the King's Musketeers. You should surrender now and perhaps the King will show leniency...on your men." The subtext of 'but not you' was heard as clearly as if it had been uttered by Athos' lips.

Anton simply stared at the battered man, astounded, then amused by the man's audacity. Laughter burst forth from his mouth. "I think, Monsieur Athos of the King's Musketeers, you are in no position to be making demands." The laughter died from his voice when he saw not an ounce of softening in the musketeer's countenance. Interesting. He was holding all the cards and yet this man in front of him still acted as if he had a play. He decided to implement the plan in his mind. The musketeer probably had knowledge that would be useful to Spain. It would be a feather in his cap to not only bring back the stallions, but also a man possessing knowledge of France's plans and tactics of warfare. And then, after all the useful knowledge had been beaten out of the musketeer he would be killed, a fitting end for this cheeky bastard.

"Monsieur, you are either a fool or a lunatic. Let me tell you how this is going to end. You are going to accompany me, as my guest, to the border of Spain. If there is no pursuit for the horses, I will set you free at the border," Anton lied before he reached over and patronizingly patted Athos on the cheek. "That is how we will proceed."