CHAPTER 16
"I shall ride ahead with Pierre and Francis to let the King know what has transpired. You two, along with four of the Comte's grooms, will follow with the King's horses," Roudon commanded, his arms crossed over his chest. "By separating, we will be able to cover the ground quicker. I do not want to risk injury to the King's carriage horses by pushing them too hard. The King would be very displeased if something happened to his gift for the Queen."
Unfortunately, Aramis thought Roudon, for once, was right about one thing. The King would care more about his horses than Athos' life. It wasn't that the King wanted Athos to die, but sometimes the monarch's priorities were skewed.
"No!" Porthos declared loudly. "Aramis and I have to go after Athos."
Roudon gave the fuming man a withering look, as if once again questioning the streetfighter's intelligence. He spoke slowly, as if Porthos would be unable to grasp the concept otherwise. "The Spaniard said if we don't follow, he will release Athos unharmed at the border. Besides it was Athos own fault for allowing himself to be captured. Very unprofessional. Unless," Roudon said thoughtfully, "Athos wanted to be captured."
"What are you saying?" Porthos growled menacingly.
"What do we know of his background? A nobody. A drunk. Perhaps he is a Spanish spy planted into our mist. Perhaps he wanted to get captured, so he could return to his own country and divulge everything he has learned."
Aramis stared at Roudon, astounded. "Surely you can't think that Athos is a Spanish spy. What a ridiculous thought."
"Didn't I hear your mother was Spanish, Aramis? I would be careful who I defend, Monsieur, especially with your heritage." Roudon gave a knowing look to the others in the room.
"You've got to be joking?" Porthos exclaimed, tired of Roudon's accusations. "You are an idiot!"
"And you are out of line, Soldier! Captain Treville will hear of this, be sure of that!"
He looked at Porthos' angry face to see if the man had understood, before turning to face the Comte. "I am sorry, Comte Vergy, about your stallions. Perhaps the King will offer some level of compensation or authorize a party to go after them later."
Aramis lost what little patience he had and before Jourdain could reply, he whipped his head around to glower at their leader. "You can't be that stupid as to believe that the Spaniards will simply let Athos go free. His knowledge of France is more valuable than any of those stallions."
"Watch yourself, Aramis, or I'll have you up on charges of insubordination when we get back," Roudon practically screamed at the marksman. Roudon's face grew redder as he continued to screech. "Athos' knowledge? Please. No one in their right mind would believe a person such as he would have any knowledge to impart. Perhaps, had they realized who I was and taken me, the story might be different. And, if musketeers are so valuable, why didn't they take all of us?" Roudon demanded with a sweep of his arms.
Knowing what he was doing was stupid, Aramis did it anyway and answered what he was sure was supposed to be a rhetorical question. "Taking six of the King's musketeers would be stupid and akin to starting a war. It would be perceived as a direct attack on the King."
Jourdain tried to play peacemaker between the warring musketeers. "Please, the loss of my stallions is nothing compared to the loss of Oli-Athos. Let Aramis and Porthos go after him. My grooms and I shall deliver the carriage horses to the King, personally," he announced, thinking it was a good compromise.
Roudon gave the Comte a small, somewhat condescending, smile. "Thank you, Comte Vergy, but that isn't the King's desire. He specifically ordered the musketeers to escort the new carriage horses to the Palace; armed men trained to fight. I applaud the bravery you are showing in offering to deliver the horses yourself, especially given your injury. However, as we have seen, your bloodstock is very valuable and would be a tempting target for thieves. No, the horses must be guarded by musketeers, who can guarantee their safe delivery to his Majesty. You are wounded. You need to rest and recover."
"We have to rescue Athos," Porthos restated, tired of the time being wasted in what he considered a stupid conversation with a stupid man.
Roudon strutted up and stood in front of Porthos. "We have a mission to complete, musketeer. We have to let the King and Treville know what the Spanish are up to and we need to deliver the horses. To do that quickly, we need to spilt up. If Athos is such a great musketeer, he will find a way to free himself and make it back to the garrison."
Growling, Porthos started to take a step forward as if he was going to hit Roudon, but Aramis' hand placed discretely on his arm kept him in check, barely. "Let me and Porthos go after Athos. After we get him, we will come back here, pick up the carriage horses, and deliver them to the King. A few more days will not make a difference," Aramis said, trying again to reason with Roudon. "Surely you don't want to risk Athos being killed."
Roudon turned away and walked across the dining room where they had been discussing their plans. "He is a musketeer. He knows the risks that come with the job. Mission first."
"If this were a critical mission, I would understand your position," Aramis tried to be diplomatic, but the edge to his voice wasn't helping. "But the delivery of carriage horses, that can be delayed without putting France at risk, verses a man's life..."
Roudon spun around and fiercely scowled at Aramis. "And that is why Captain Treville put me in charge of the mission. Because I can make the correct decisions."
Aramis lost the last hold on his temper as he stalked across the room, his voice sharp as a knife. "To leave a fellow musketeer behind to die needlessly? That is the right decision? Somehow, I think our good Captain would disagree with your analysis of this situation. We are going after Athos."
"Do that and it won't be just insubordination. I will see you are greeted with a court-martial when you return to the garrison. Both of you!" Roudon threatened as he glared first at Aramis and then Porthos. "And Athos too. He doesn't belong in the regiment. None of you do!"
"We'll risk it. We will rescue Athos and then bring the carriage horses safely to the Palace. And if the King or the Captain wishes to dismiss us for our actions, so be it. We will not leave Athos behind!" Porthos nodded as Aramis spoke, indicating his agreement with the words.
"Inseparables," Roudon spat with disgust. "Captain Treville showed extremely poor judgement in letting any of you into the regiment. The street rat, the libertine and the drunk. You make us a laughing stock. You need, you deserve, to be kicked out of the regiment. The whole ignoble lot of you."
Pierre and Francis, who had been quietly standing in the corner, stepped behind their leader in support.
"I command you to forget about rescuing Athos and to take the carriage horses to the Palace!" Roudon demanded, standing straight and tall and challenging Aramis and Porthos to defy him.
Porthos walked over and stood next to Aramis. "No," he quietly said.
"No," Aramis echoed in solidarity.
"So, you are defying my orders," Roudon stated, staring first at one then the other musketeer.
A little smile lifted the corners of Aramis mouth. "I prefer to think that we simply are delaying in following your orders."
The angry leader saw no humor in the situation. "Then I shall demand Captain Treville court-martial you, if you ever return to the garrison, with or without the King's horses," Roudon stated, meaning every single word he uttered.
"Do as you will. But we are going after Athos. And we will deliver the carriage horses too, just a little later than the King expects." Aramis said and, though a small smile was on his face, his voice was as cold as steel.
Roudon suddenly burst out laughing. "You do that. Makes it all that much easier for me to ensure Captain Treville gets rid of you and the rabble like you. Help bring the musketeers back the noble fighting force it was meant to be, not a home for common low-lives." With that, he stomped out of the dining room, with Pierre and Francis in tow, heading to the stable to prepare to leave for Paris.
"Well," Aramis remarked lightly as he turned and clapped a hand on Porthos' shoulder. "That went well, didn't it?"
"Man's an idiot," Porthos muttered under his breath.
"True. But he is the idiot that Captain Treville put in charge. And we are defying his direct orders."
"Are you saying we shouldn't go rescue Athos?" Porthos questioned, glaring at Aramis with disbelief.
"Of course not. I have put too much time and effort into straightening Athos out. And I'm not done yet," Aramis said facetiously, though his friendship for Athos shone through the glib remark.
"I'm worried too," Porthos muttered softly. "You know the Spanish aren't going to…"
Aramis cut him off not wanting to hear the end of that sentence. "We'll find him."
Jourdain, who was trying to process what was happening, blurted out, "Would you really be dismissed from the musketeers for going to save Athos? Surely a man's life, saving one of your own, is more important than the delivery of some horses," Jourdain declared as he let Aramis guide him to a divan to sit upon and rest his leg.
Porthos snorted as he moved across the room to look out the window at the other three musketeers, who had mounted and were riding away. "Only if you are up to their standards. Our commonness sullies the regiment." Suddenly realizing he was talking to a member of the nobility, Porthos ducked his head and apologized. "Sorry. Didn't mean anything personal."
"What Porthos is fumbling to say," Aramis explained as he moved to sit in a chair across from the divan, "is when the King first commissioned the Musketeers, the regiment was envisioned as a force comprised of the sons of the nobility, defending their King and country. A purpose for those who were not 'first-born'. Or first sons waiting to inherit. However, Captain Treville had other ideas and recruited men for their skills, not just their birth rank. He took in common soldiers, such as the two of us, whose names are not listed in the book of nobility."
Porthos moved from the window and dropped into the chair next to Aramis. He had formed a good opinion of this Comte during their short stay, so he was honest. "I was raised on the streets of Paris. My mother was once a slave and my father, well I have no idea who he was."
"So, you are the street rat to whom Roudon made reference," Jourdain said slowly, as he pieced together their roles, thinking back to his conversation with Athos in the barn.
"And I'm the libertine," Aramis chimed in. "My parents were simple people who always wanted me to join the church. But my love of God was equaled by my love of adventure and women, not exactly what one looks for in a parish priest. And yes, my mother was of Spanish descent."
"And Athos, he is the drunk?" Jourdain questioned carefully, remembering to use Olivier's new name. He wondered how much they really knew of their companion's past. Athos said he hadn't told them anything, but what had they guessed? The three seemed very close. "What of him?"
Porthos and Aramis looked at each other then laughed heartily.
Aramis started off rather cheerfully. "Athos is a man of mystery. It is obvious he is well-educated, but how he came about that, who knows. He has the speech patterns of a noble, but swears like a sailor. When he feels the need, he can lie as glibly as a Court-of-Miracle's con-artist. Best damn swordsman I have ever seen. A fine horseman. A natural leader, though he doesn't realize it. Straight as an arrow, until he isn't."
"Damn fine swordsman. Good with a knife too. Not a bad shot and I have been teaching him hand-to-hand," Porthos added with a touch of pride. "He's improved a lot. Learning the way of fighting that lets you survive, not just win a barroom brawl."
"But," Aramis continued, turning more reflective and somber. "There is something, in his past, that haunts him. Almost drives him to seek out atonement. Makes him reckless with his own well-being." Aramis and Porthos had not forgotten the occasional slip of Jourdain's tongue on Athos' name. "Perhaps you can help with that mystery? A few times you seemed to want to address him by another name than Athos," the marksman lightly accused the noble.
"Yes, I confess I have tripped over his name for Athos bears some resemblance to someone I once knew," Jourdain deflected with a hint of sorrow.
"And what happened to this friend, if I may ask?" Aramis inquired, realizing he was treading in murky waters.
Jourdain sighed and glanced towards the window. "I haven't seen him in years. You know nothing of Athos' background?"
"Not in so many words, but it doesn't matter. We all have secrets in our past. And his actions speak louder than his few words. I trust him with my life…"
"As do I," Porthos declared with loyalty.
Jourdain was happy to see that Athos had acquired such loyal friends in his new life, something that he knew the boy Olivier had struggled to find. It had troubled him, what Athos had said in the barn. But if he had loyal friends such as these two, maybe he could rise above the darkness that seemed to be eating his soul.
"Though, he is a bit moody…" Aramis declared with a twinkle in his eyes.
"…like his horse," Porthos added with a chuckle.
"But there is no one else I want fighting at my side besides him and Porthos. So, if we get court-martialed for saving him, well... it will have been for a good cause," Aramis concluded.
Something had been bothering him and Jourdain finally worked up the courage to ask. "The Spanish. Do you really think they will let Athos go when they reach the border?" He could see he had hit a nerve when Aramis and Porthos glanced at each other uneasily. "The truth. Please."
Aramis ran a hand through his wavy hair, buying time before he answered.
"We have already seen their faces. They have left you behind knowing you are musketeers and will tell the King what transpired here. What reason would they have not to let Athos go?" Jourdain asked, a hopeful look on his face.
"Because," Aramis said slowly, after glancing over at his friend once more, "he is a musketeer. One of the King's guards. Familiar with the palace, routines, tactics, plans…"
"Information that would be useful, if they plan to start a war with France. And," Porthos added ominously, "they won't be shy in how they ask him."
Jourdain leaned back on the divan and closed his eyes. How stupid and naive he was being. Of course, Athos, the musketeer, could be a valuable asset to the Spanish. And if Athos, the musketeer, was as stubborn as Olivier, the Comte de la Fére, he'd take those secrets to the grave, no matter how much they tortured him.
"Is there is anything I can do to help? All my resources are at your disposal. I could come along…"
"Thank you, but that wound on your leg would just slow us down. Better you stay here, recover," Aramis said kindly, knowing the man's heart was in the right place.
"When we find Athos, we'll come back here," Porthos promised him, refusing to use the word 'if.' "Now, we gotta get going. They already have a good head-start on us."
The two musketeers went to the barn and tacked up their horses while talking strategy on how to rescue Athos. Porthos was in favor of hunting them down, riding into their midst and taking Athos away by force until Aramis reminded him there were twenty Spaniards and only two of them. Next, they debated about sneaking into camp after dark to free their friend, but once again, the odds of making a clean get away were not in their favor.
Finally, Aramis came up with an idea, one that might work. With a last goodbye to Jourdain, they rode off down the lane. For Aramis' plan to work, time was of the essence.