Chapter X

The King's illness turned out to be a simple fever and it was quickly cured by his physician. The cold weather was certainly responsible. Even Constance was not feeling good when the young girl went to visit her a couple of days later.

Elise enjoyed meeting with the woman and Aramis had been right; it was a pleasure to discuss with her. The older woman had some tales to tell about the Musketeers and about life in Paris. Elise could listen to her for hours. It would make her forget that she still had no news of her brother and her uncle. She knew she could not lose hope, but it was difficult when no progress was made. She was spending more and more time in the chapel, praying.

Constance made her feel comfortable enough to be trusted with the story of the tragic attack. It was the first time Elise had told it directly to someone and she found it difficult to remain focused and not end up crying in public. On the other hand, she felt better when she was finished, as if something had been lifted from her heart.

"Our Musketeers will never cease to impress me with their heroic actions. It's a good thing they remember their duty once in a while because their behaviour generally leaves room for improvement."

"They can be childish sometimes," Elise conceded.

"You're being gentle when using such a word. They are so...infuriating at times!" Constance shook her head, and Elise laughed quietly. Having a friend like Constance could make her stay in Paris less complicated, she thought a while later as she was walking back to the Garrison. D'Artagnan was her escort. She was not sure what was going on between the soldier and Constance. They looked at each other with looks of complete adoration, but Elise knew she was married, she had seen Mr Bonacieux a couple of times in the past. Were all Musketeers womanisers?

At supper that night, the four friends joined the girl, which did not happen often. Athos was resenting more and more his new commanding duties, and the three others had learned to stop teasing him about it. Athos's wrath was feared within these walls.

Elise was amazed by the quantity of alcohol they could consume, and she wondered how much wine Porthos had drunk the night he pushed her to the floor. He was drinking heavily while eating yet he did not display any sign of intoxication. She had never imagined someone could drink so much.

However, she was more concerned by Aramis's attitude. Ever since he accompanied her to the Palace to meet the Queen, he was more distant with her. He would still greet her in the corridor, but he would never say more than a few words to her. If she listened to her heart, she would think that he was avoiding her, even though she could not begin to understand why. Even now, sitting across from her at the table, he barely looked at her, eating his food and joking with his friends, as if she was of no more importance than the bench he was sitting on. Of course, he must have been thinking of one of his lovers. There was no room in his thoughts for poor Elise.

Having just lost her appetite, Elise pushed her plate from her and crossed her arms. She did not want to leave because the room was warm and she did not wish to be by herself. Nevertheless, she did not enjoy being here any more. She looked around to see who else was in the room. Since she spent a lot of time at the Garrison she knew all the Musketeers by name. They were all very courteous and nice with her.

Four of them had just entered to feed. They were coming back from the Palace, Elise gathered. The King had thrown a fit about some new painting, which was proof that he was completely healed. The new problem at present was that the Dauphin seemed to have fallen ill, as well, and you could not cure a baby as you cured a grown man. At these words, several things happened at once.

First, Athos stood up next to Elise, probably anticipating new orders to arrive. Aramis dropped his food on his plate, his eyes strained on the four Musketeers sitting at the other table.

"What..."

"Aramis." With a simple word, Athos stopped his friend from speaking. All the colour was gone from the soldier's face. He was as pale as a ghost, as if he was the sick one.

Then, Porthos, whose legs were propped on the table, laughed loudly at his friend's white complexion and lost his balance. He fell to the floor, wine soaking his uniform. D'Artagnan was too busy mocking him to help him up. Elise took pity and went to help him on his feet. When they stood up, Aramis and Athos were on their way out the door, having what looked like a heated argument.

"You will remain in your quarters. It's an order!" Athos hissed, anger pouring from his voice, the muscle on his throat clenched. For one second, Elise was actually frightened for the other Musketeer. Aramis challenged Athos's gaze. If looks could kill, she was unsure who would have died at this staring contest. Eventually, Aramis secured his hat on his head and left.

"What was that about?" asked d'Artagnan, confused. Elise was as confused.

"He must be afraid his precious Marguerite will catch the same disease as the royals," Porthos ventured.

"I'll inquire to see if they need more of us at the Palace," Athos decided, neither answering d'Artagnan's question nor confirming Porthos's hypothethis.

Orders did come from the Palace for more protection so the same routine as when the King was ill started again. Unfortunately, the Dauphin was not even six months old and his body could not fight off the fever as well as an adult could. Every time someone came back to the barracks, the news was that his health had not improved and that his parents were seriously worried.

Poor little fellow, thought Elise as she was walking to the chapel. She did not know if her prayers were of help, but she could always try. It was early in the morning; she preferred to come before her breakfast because she was usually alone and she found solace in the peaceful and quiet environment. Yet, there was someone else kneeling down by the altar when she arrived. She was going to turn around when she heard his whispered prayer and recognized his voice. Elise was so stunned by the desperation in Aramis's words, half of them in Spanish, that she did not find the strength to give him some privacy.

"Merciful God, do not punish him for my sins. Punish me. Do not punish him. He's so frail and defenceless. Punish me instead. I will endure whatever catastrophe you deem appropriate but not him. Please, not him. He's everything I have. I beg you, my Lord, find some other way to torture me. I cannot save him from this. I promised I would always protect him, God. I promised. I must keep this promise. Please, hear my words and save him. I've always respected you. I know I've made more mistakes than I could count and one day, I will gladly face your Judgement, but do not inflict this on him. He's so young and tiny and he will accomplish so much. Give him a chance. Save him, heal him. If not for me, do it for his mother. My God, please..."

The rest was drowned in Spanish. Elise was puzzled by what she had heard, but prayers hardly made sense for people other than those saying them. She doubted the Musketeer would appreciate to know she had overheard him, even though she had no ill intentions. While trying to make a hushed retreat, her arm pressed against one of the candlesticks, and it fell to the floor. The noise it made on the stone floor echoed in the silence of the chapel. Elise closed her eyes, cursing her clumsiness.

"Who's there?" Aramis asked, tension perceptible in his voice. He turned around slowly, one hand on the pommel of his sword.

"It's me, Elise. I'm sorry I disturbed you. I didn't mean to intrude. I often come here to pray." Words came rushing out of her mouth.

"You do not need to apologise." Aramis relaxed, sitting on the front bench, his back to her.

"I will come back later."

"I do not own the place, Elise. Stay and pray if you want to."

She did not move, standing still at the back of the church. When it was clear that he was not going to leave either, she walked forward, sitting behind him.

"I could not help but hear you...I did not know you spoke Spanish."

"I was raised not far away from the Spanish border. My mother is of Spanish-descent herself. Even being half-Spaniard is not something people boast about in Paris nowadays."

"Where is she now?"

"They're both dead. They died when I was younger. Everybody dies in my family...Please, make it stop, make it stop, God..." Aramis put his head in his hands, his body sagging in front of Elise. She had never seen him like that. It had not even crossed her mind that this Musketeer could feel so weak one day. Her heart broke a little for him. She put her hand on his shoulder to show her sympathy.

"The person you are praying for, he is also part of your family?"

"No...yes...it's complicated. You should not ask questions like this, Elise. It's too dangerous."

"I've been living a dangerous life lately, and if I've learnt one thing since coming to Paris, it's that talking about your trials can be of help."

"Not this time. You must trust me when I tell that it could get you killed. Do not try your luck."

"I'm sure you would be there to save me yet again if someone threatened my life."

"Perhaps not this time. This is a burden I must carry alone." His voice quivered. Aramis turned around to face her. The hand she had on his shoulder fell to her side. He looked dreadful. There were huge sleeping bags under his eyes as if he had not rested in days. Elise did not remember seeing him since Athos had ordered him to remain in his quarters. What has he been up to?

Resolute, she stood up and went to sit right next to him. He was in too bad a shape to stay by himself. She would care for him as he had cared for her when she was traumatized. She held in hands in hers.

"God did not create us to face troubles by ourselves. You don't want to tell, that's fine, but I will not let you suffer alone." He granted her a small smile. This girl was quite stubborn at time and right now, he was not strong enough to push her away. On the contrary, he welcomed her compassion. "I will pray with you. The man you are worried about, does he have a name?"

"Louis. His name is Louis."

"Just like the King!" Elise remarked innocently. "With a name like that, he cannot stay in trouble for too long."

"He's sick. Very sick and they don't know if they can save him."

"You know a few medicinal tricks, Aramis, you proved so while taking care of me. Can't you help him?"

"I'm not allowed to see him. Elise, you must stop. Please, stop. I'm going to put you in danger." Aramis broke free and suddenly stood up from the bench. He signed himself, kissed the cross that never left his neck and made for the exit. Elise could hardly contain her anger, although she knew this type of emotion did not belong in a chapel.

"So, I guess I am not even good enough to comfort you, is that it?"

"What?"

"You don't talk to me anymore, you barely acknowledge my presence at the Garrison and when I try just a little to show that I care and that I want to be your friend, you dismiss it. Am I not good enough to be your friend?"

In other circumstances, Aramis would have laughed at the way her face turned red, but he was in no mood to laugh at anything lately; he was too worried for his son. He was dying to rush to the nursery, to take the baby in his arms and soothe him. He would die if he had to watch his child pass away without being able to help.

"It has nothing to do with you, Elise. Believe me. This story is too big for you as it is for everybody else. I care too much for your life to drag you along with me."

"And I believe that this is my decision to make."

"No." He had not expected the slap. Elise took the decision so fast that she looked as surprised as he was. He may have gone too far and she would never understand that he was protecting her from treason.

"I did not know you had it in you," he sounded impressed.

"I'm not going to apologise." Her cheeks were so red he could almost see the fire burning in her eyes, as well as a bit of shame.

"I don't expect you, too. You'll never understand why I'm not talking to you, but I hope that you will forgive me one day. I will find some other place to pray. Good bye."

"Wait!" She reached out for his hand, stopping him. How ever furious she was with him making decisions in her stead, she could not forget how miserable he was. It took some self-discipline to push her feelings aside, but she took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. "Stay. I won't ask questions, you have my word. Two prayers are more powerful than one. Come on."

It was as if she was leading a small child as they walked back to a bench. She let go of his hand, and he took off his necklace, holding the cross in his hand, closing his eyes in silent meditation.