CHAPTER 15

Athos was hauled outside to stand under the blazing sun and wait. It took a while to get everything organized, but eventually the soldiers and Anton were ready to depart for Spain. Many of the soldiers held the lead rope of one of Jourdain's prize stallions. In all, they took ten of Comte Vergy's top stock.

"You. Musketeer. Athos was it?" Anton asked as he walked over to where the man in question stood, in the yard, sweating and trying to ignore the signals of pain his unhappy body was sending. The wound on his side had bled a little for he had felt the stickiness on his skin, but mercifully, it seemed only minor. His cheek ached and his ribs were sore from the beating, but he knew it could be worse.

Athos didn't say anything, just tilted his head to look at the approaching Spaniard.

"Is that your horse by chance?" Anton inquired, as the dancing black stallion was led from the barn by one of his men. When the Captain had examined the horse to see if they should take him, he had noticed a few scars on the black hide. It seemed odd a breeding horse would be marked as such and he decided he must be one of the musketeer's mounts.

"He is." Athos answered succinctly.

"Impressive. Is he always this temperamental?" Anton asked as the stallion attempted to nip the soldier who was leading him out of the barn.

"He does not care for…strangers," Athos informed the Spanish captain dryly, the second time on this trip he had to explain Roger's ill-nature.

Anton watched the black stallion for a few minutes, admiring the horse's muscles rippling under his glossy black coat as he danced in the courtyard, tossing his head and shaking his flowing mane. He really was a magnificent animal and based on his scars, battle-trained; one he wanted to bring back to Spain. "He will behave for you?"

A small smile hinted at the corner of Athos' spilt lips. "We have an understanding."

Athos had raised and trained Roger after procuring him as a yearling from Jourdain's father. His own father had thought the temperamental colt a foolish purchase. But Athos had seen intelligence and something more in the horse. Even Jourdain's father had tried to get him to buy a different animal for the black yearling had been a handful and was slated to be gelded. But Athos, then Olivier, had been persuasive, eventually winning and bringing the troublesome black colt home to the de la Fére estate. He and Roger had interesting times getting to know each other and coming to terms. But it had been worth it and now he had a loyal, if slightly moody, companion, much like himself.

"Then you will ride him," Anton declared before instructing his men to saddle the animal.

Looking back at Athos, he warned, "You keep that horse under control or I will personally put a bullet between his devilish brown eyes and then between yours." Roger took that moment to lash out. "Hijo de puta, he is the devil," the soldier cursed as he narrowly avoided the black stallion's hooves.

"What is this horse's name for it should be Diablo," Anton said shaking his head at the black demon's antics.

"His name is Roger," Athos informed the Spaniard.

Anton's head spun around to stare at Athos. "That black beast's name is simply Roger? That is a joke, no?"

Athos shook his head no, as he let out a little sigh. "It's a long story."

Anton stared at the black stallion admiring his physique once more before he turned to one of his men and gave him a softly spoken instruction. The man scurried off into the house and emerged a short time later with a limping Jourdain. The soldier half-dragged the Comte over to his leader. Anton slowly drew his dagger and held it to Jourdain's throat, who immediately stood as still as a statue.

With his eyes on Jourdain, Anton addressed Athos. "Get the horse saddled. Show me he can be controlled. That is if you want to see this man remain alive. I imagine the King frowns upon his nobles being executed."

"Let him go," Athos insisted. "He has nothing to do with this."

"He has everything to do with this for if you are a man of honor, as musketeers are supposed to be, you will not let an innocent man die for your disobedience," Anton declared looking over at Athos with a smug smile.

Athos knew he had no choice other than to meet the Spaniard's demands. "It will be extremely difficult to saddle my horse with my hands tied behind my back."

Anton weighed the request, then gave an order in Spanish to two of his men who cut the ropes securing Athos' wrists.

Athos waited as a soldier went into the stable and fetched Roger's gear. When he came back with the saddle, Athos slowly walked over to retrieve it. The moment Athos drew near, the stallion stopped his antics and gazed at his owner. Without fuss, Athos saddled him, checked over the tack quickly adjusting a few straps and then swung abroad. As soon as he was seated, Athos held his hands out in front of him to be tied again.

"Behind your back. You will be led. Like a child on a pony. And if that devil causes issues…" Anton's voice trailed off as he patted the gun on his belt.

Anton nodded to the man holding the rope to go secure the musketeer's hands once more. The man approached the horse with trepidation, but other than a little flick of one ear, Roger remained a perfect gentleman. When the soldier was done, he went to step away, but Anton called out, "Tie his feet together. Under the stallion's belly." The soldier's face blanched white at the thought of doing what he had been told.

Athos indignantly looked over at Anton. "Is that really necessary?"

"Yes, musketeer. I believe it is prudent. I hear musketeers are clever, though I am sure that is an exaggeration," Anton answered as he pressed the knife harder against Jourdain's throat.

The cool stare that Athos gave Anton indicated they had different ideas of what the word 'prudent' meant, but he submitted quietly, as did Roger. A rope was fastened to his left boot, above his ankle, then run under Roger's belly to Athos' right ankle on the opposite side. A little slack was left, so as not to cause chafing on Roger's skin.

When Athos was secured to his horse, Anton released the blade from Jourdain's neck and the estate owner slumped to the ground, weak-kneed. Anton left the man in a huddle on the ground and went over to where his own horse was being held, swung into the saddle and indicated for the rest of his men to mount. When they all were settled, Anton turned towards Athos who was glaring at him, annoyed at being tied to his horse. It was humiliating as well as dangerous.

"I don't like your attitude, musketeer," Anton warned Athos menacingly, "And for that, he will die." Anton pulled his pistol from its holster, turned and without hesitation shot at Jourdain.

Athos couldn't stop the scream from erupting from his throat. The musketeer tried to turn his horse towards the downed man, but one of the soldiers moved in, reversed his hold on his pistol and slammed the wooden butt into the side of Athos' head, rendering him unconscious. The swordsman slumped in the saddle, but the ropes held him in place.

The rest of the Spanish soldiers mounted their horses and Anton, taking the lead, started down the road, his troops and the stallions falling in behind him.

The people tied up in the dining room heard the gun shot, the scream and then ominous silence. Nausea settled in the pit of their stomachs as they listened to the hoof beats growing fainter and fainter until they became nothing but a memory. Once they were reasonably sure the soldiers were gone, Porthos started rocking his chair until he got it to topple over, onto the floor, with a loud thud.

"Damn chairs are made too well," Porthos groused when he realized that no parts of the chair had been broken by the fall. He lay on his side on the ground still firmly tied to the chair, debating his next move.

Roudon rolled his eyes and snorted. "That was well thought out."

"The silverware. Is it by any chance stored in this room?" Aramis asked the servants as an idea began to blossom in his head.

"Yes. In the buffet. Over there. Behind you," the woman to his right replied quietly, not understanding why the musketeer was asking.

Aramis nodded to himself then begin to hop his chair across the stone floor towards the indicated drawer. When he got closer, he changed his trajectory until the back of his chair abutted the chest. His fingers blindly quested for the drawer pulls.

"Up and to the right," another servant, who was probably the butler, instructed, having a good view of the buffet from where he was tied up and figuring out the musketeer's plan.

Straining so hard at the ropes that his shoulders nearly popped out of their sockets, Aramis got a grip on the drawer handle. Then, keeping a firm hold, he hopped his chair once, away from the cabinet, causing the drawer to jerk open a few inches.

"Can anyone tell me where the knives are located in the drawer?" Aramis asked hopefully, not wanting to have to do a blind search.

The scullery maid spoke up. "On the left side."

"Left as one faces the drawer?" Aramis sought to clarify since his fingers could only reach so far.

"Aye," the girl answered in a positive manner. "And they are sharp. I sharpened them myself not but a fortnight ago."

With care, so as not to bump the drawer closed, Aramis inched his chair to the right until he got to the end of the open drawer. Then, straining once more, he raised his hands as high as possible so his questing fingers could search for a knife inside the open drawer.

The rest of the room held its breath until a small smile crept on Aramis face. "I have one," he announced as he cautiously tried to maneuver it out of the drawer. He had it mostly clear of the drawer, but as he was dragging it over the edge, it slipped and clattered loudly onto the stone floor. A collective groan escaped the mouths of all in the room as the silver knife hit the floor and skittered away.

"I can't believe the Captain thought the two of you would be any help on this mission," Roudon said dismissively. "Even when you come up with a semi-reasonable idea, you can't execute it."

Aramis chose to ignore Roudon's belittling commentary. "How many place settings are in this drawer?" he asked, as he lifted his eyes to address the scullery maid again.

"Eighteen," she replied. "Eighteen."

Aramis let a little smile grace his face, as he lightly jested, "Good. Then I have seventeen more tries left to be successful."

While Aramis went back to try to remove another knife, Porthos clumsily moved his chair in a slithering manner across the smooth marble floor towards the knife that had fallen. At that point, it almost became a competition between the two musketeers to see who could get free first. It was practically a draw with Aramis securing a knife on his third try and sawing through his bonds, while Porthos finally got hold of the one on the floor and cut though his ropes. Once freed, they quickly freed Pierre so he could free the others, then they rushed outside and saw Jourdain laying still in the dirt. Hurrying to his side, they heard a soft moan as the man, who had passed out, woke.

"Where are you hurt?" Aramis asked as he dropped on his knees in the dirt.

Jourdain glanced up at the musketeer. "I am not, other than the first bullet wound in my leg. He fired at me though he didn't hit me. How he could miss at such a close range." he struggled to sit up. "I was so scared when the gun went off, I fainted."

"There's no shame," Porthos said sympathetically as he assisted the Comte to his feet.

"Yes, but Oliv…I mean Athos doesn't ...he saw that Spanish bastard shoot at me…I heard him scream… I fainted. He probably thinks…thinks I'm dead." He bowed his head to hide the fact his face was turning red from making the slip on Athos' name.

Porthos and Aramis exchanged a look behind Jourdain's back, each having caught the slip of tongue. However, this wasn't the time to ponder on Athos' mysterious past and what this man might be able to tell them. Now was the time to come up with a plan to save Athos' future. The two musketeers shared another uneasy glance, for they knew it was highly unlikely Athos would simply be set free at the border. More likely he would be taken to Spain, tortured for his knowledge and then killed.