CHAPTER 31

The physician came, and went after confirming Aramis' grim prognosis. He left laudanum to help take the edge off the pain before the inevitable, which could take anywhere from an hour to a few days. Jourdain had asked one of his servants to go fetch his cousin, who lived on the far edge of the estate, several hours' ride each way under the best of conditions. Whether or not the cousin would make it in time was anyone's guess, but the servant set off on the fastest horse in the stables.

Aramis attended to Athos' medical needs, then tried to get him to eat and rest but the musketeer refused. Aramis knew Athos was operating on pure adrenaline and would crash, hard, at some point, but there was no persuading him to rest.

Jourdain, wanting some private time with Athos without betraying his past life to the other musketeers, asked for his butler to bring him parchment and writing implements.

"I need to set my affairs in order. I need one of you, who has a neat hand, to write down my last wishes for me for I am too weak to hold the pen steady."

The three musketeers looked at him, then each other. "Athos would be the best for this task," Porthos declared. "His penmanship is by far the clearest. Occasionally, Captain Treville calls upon him to help with the paperwork required to operate the garrison."

"I would, if I could." Athos held up his wounded hand. "But alas this injury would make my writing illegible I fear."

Aramis, knowing that Porthos' writing skills were limited, stepped forward. "I would be honored to assist, Comte Vergy."

Jourdain tried not to wince at his mistake. He had forgotten about Athos' injury. He'd have to come up with another idea to get privacy with Athos without raising suspicion.

"Thank you. However, before we begin, I would hear the end of your tale, Athos. How you escaped from the Spanish." The bedridden Comte gave the other two musketeers a look of expectancy, which Aramis interpreted correctly. For some reason, the Comte wished to speak to Athos, alone.

"Porthos and I have already heard this tale, so we will withdraw to the kitchen for something to eat. Let me know when you are ready for my services," Aramis said gracefully, before offering a little bow of respect and retreating from the room with Porthos and the butler.

"If your goal was to speak privately with me, you have accomplished that," Athos declared with a hint of a smile. "Thank you. For continuing to respect my…secrets."

"They are good men, Athos. I am certain you can trust them with your past," Jourdain said hoping to persuade his stubborn friend to confide in the other two musketeers who he was sure would neither lose respect, nor hurt him.

Pushing aside Jourdain's advice, Athos dragged a small chair closer to the bed. "What do you truly want, for I doubt it is to hear the rest of my tale."

Jourdain stared at his old friend hoping to see a small crack in the hard shell he'd built around himself, but he was only met by Athos' cool, impassive gaze. With a moan that was mostly pain, but partly frustration, he began to ruminate. "I'm dying. Alone. No brothers, sisters, wife or children with whom to leave the estate. My family's lifetime of work breeding horses, great horses, has come to an untimely end."

He lifted his agony-filled eyes to capture Athos' somber green ones. "The only person left in my immediate family is my cousin Bern. He is a fine enough fellow, but has no understanding of horseflesh."

Pausing to take a rattling breath, he slowly exhaled, wincing with pain. "And the thought of my estate being forfeited to the crown. I suppose I could live with that, but not my beautiful horses. My legacy. All I have left to show I existed in this world."

Athos was very uncomfortable for he didn't know how to offer comfort to the man.

"There is one solution that could save my legacy. You, Olivier. The Comte de la Fére. You take over my estate and continue breeding horses. You'd be excellent at it, I know it."

"I had my own estate which I renounced, along with my title," Athos reminded him with a heavy heart, for he couldn't do what his friend wished.

"I understand you don't want to go back there to those unhappy memories. But let yourself start fresh here. Stop punishing yourself. You were born a noble and you will always be one. You can't renounce your heritage! Stay. Continue my work. Breed the best horses in the entire world."

The injured Comte's excitement brought on a bout of coughing that had him spitting up blood and leaving him weak and drained. Athos rose to go get Aramis, but Jourdain waved him to sit.

"No one can help. I have so little time left. Please say you will accept my offer," Jourdain pleaded with all his heart.

It broke Athos' own heart as he dropped back into the chair, whispering, "I am sorry. I cannot. I…," he swallowed, hard, "…not even for you."

A heavy, awkward silence settled over the room as a deflated Jourdain sank back into his pillows with a moan and screwed his eyes closed tight. His beautiful horses. His and his family's years of careful breeding to produce spectacular animals gone…or worse…ruined by some unscrupulous breeder only seeking profits. It was more than he could bear.

"There might, however, be another solution," Athos said slowly as an idea crept into his mind.

Jourdain's eyes flew open in hope. "You'll reconsider?"

Athos shook his head. "Never. But, I know a man, an expert with horses. In Paris. Down on his luck. Working in a stable."

"Is he nobility?" Jourdain asked with confusion, wondering if so, why he was working in a stable.

"No. You cannot leave your estate to him. It wouldn't be accepted."

"And so how does this help save my horses?" Jourdain asked in frustration. "I can't just give them to a nobody who works in a stable."

"The man is Jacob, an ex-soldier, the instructor who taught me to ride. The one my father dismissed because he thought I was not paying proper attention to all my studies," Athos said with noticeable distain.

Jourdain's eyes grew hazy as he searched his fading memories. "I do recall. Jacob, even given his injuries, was an excellent horseman. I had half hoped my father would have offered him employment here...after. Though," he added after a pause, "that wouldn't have been…seemly given our fathers were friends of a sort."

Steering back to the matter at hand, Athos continued, "I recently came across Jacob in Paris. Working in a stable. You can gift this estate to your cousin Bern and have him hire Jacob to continue your breeding program as well as educate your cousin in the ways of equine management."

"My God, Olivier, that could work. Bern and his wife could run the estate if they had someone like Jacob helping with the horses. My precious legacy could live on!"

Another fit of coughing sent painful spasms through Jourdain's body. When it was over, it left him even weaker. "Go. Get Aramis. Let's get this on paper before it is too late."

Aramis and Porthos raised their heads and looked at Athos expectantly when he entered the dining area. They had been speculating as to why Jourdain had wanted to speak to Athos alone. Neither was totally inclined to believe the Comte simply wanted to hear the end of the tale as he had stated.

"You finished your story?" Aramis said breezily as Athos walked over to the table.

Ignoring the comment, Athos solemnly said, "He's ready to record his…wishes."

Athos sank into one of the chairs as exhaustion swept over his body. He folded his arms on the wooden table and dropped his heavy head on top of them.

"Try to eat something, Athos," Aramis suggested as he rose. He was ignored, as he knew he would be by Athos, but Porthos gave a quick nod to say he would try to get the swordsman to follow the advice.

With that, Aramis left the room to write down the dying words of a good man.