Sorry for the delay. Thank you to all my wonderful readers.
She sets down her basket on the table and rushes over to him.
"What on earth?" she asks. "You should be in bed!"
"He was actually doing quite well until you came in," retorts Aramis, earning him a slap around the face. He raises his fingers to his cheek. "You really like slapping me don't you? D'Artagnan, you certainly have a feisty one on your hands."
"Watch it or there'll be another! You should know better than letting him fight so soon!" she reprimands, helping d'Artagnan up and over to the bench. "He's still weak."
"He's not deaf!" d'Artagnan cries out in frustration.
"No, just bloody stupid!" Constance replies, causing him to hang his head.
The two men are silent in the face of her rebukes.
"What?" she asks. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Tell her Aramis," d'Artagnan says, looking tiredly to his friend, who nods in agreement. Once he has done so, she throws up her hands in despair.
"And what? You weren't going to tell me? More secrets?"
"If I said I didn't want you to worry would that make things any better?" Her glare tells him very clearly that it wouldn't.
"Athos has a plan. We're hoping he and Porthos will get back before the fight. If not…"
"Well then you idiots, we just have to delay the fight, don't we?" Constance says, pulling herself together.
"If you have any idea how, that would be most helpful," Aramis tells her. "So far no idea has presented itself to us."
"Men. You just don't know how to think outside the box! Aramis, which apothecary do you usually go to? Can he be trusted?"
Aramis raises an eyebrow at her. "He is the soul of discretion."
"Good. Then let's pay him a visit. But first," she says, turning to d'Artagnan, "you are going to eat and get back into bed. Is that clear?" she asks sternly. Then her face softens a little and she raises her hand to his cheek. "I baked fresh bread this morning. Come on, let's have breakfast."
He puts his hand over hers and then brings it to his lips, kissing it softly.
"All right, enough of that! I'm hungry." Aramis calls out to them.
"So," says Aramis, drawing out the word as he munches on a piece of bread, "do you want to share your plan with the rest of us madam?"
"Probably not the best thing to discuss over food," she replies, with a twinkle in her eye.
"Oh, it sounds like I'm going to like this," Aramis grins, "do tell, I don't have a weak stomach. And I'm sure d'Artagnan will manage. Isn't that right?" he looks to his friend, only to see that he has fallen asleep, head on the table top.
Constance raises an eyebrow. "Can I say I told you so now?" She then gets up and goes around the table to her lover. "Come on you, upstairs to bed," she says softly, trying to ease him up from the table.
D'Artagnan raises his head a little and looks around sleepily. "Just a few more minutes," he begs, before dropping his head back down. Aramis laughs and goes to help Constance and together they lift him up and take him back to his room. He barely even wakes as Constance gently removes his shirt and trousers and lies him down on the bed or when Aramis checks the various dressings and bandages. Yet as Aramis is finishing up and covering him with a blanket d'Artaganan grabs hold of his hand and pulls him close. "Don't let her do anything stupid," he implores his friend.
"Me? Stupid? Don't be so silly. What we are relying on is the stupidity of the Red Guards."
"Madam, remind me never to cross you," grins Aramis, "You have a wicked mind."
"You don't know the half of it," she says, winking.
The ride back is slowed down by their additional cargo, wrapped up warmly in Athos' cloak and riding on the horse in front of him. At first she keeps up a constant stream of chatter, asking all kinds of questions, which Athos endeavors to answer. It seems that she has seen little outside of the convent in her short life and everything amazes her. Yet eventually, the rocking of the horse and tiredness overwhelm her and she falls asleep, nestled into Athos' chest.
"So, you've got a kid huh?" asks Porthos, nodding towards the little girl. "Always figured Aramis would be the first one to get someone pregnant. You beat him to it."
Athos snorts. "I was married you know. Unlike Aramis. Who is the reason we are here now."
"Yes, so you have a lot to thank him for," Porthos notes.
"I told you that you'll forgive him in no time. Now come on, we should make more progress while she sleeps," Athos urges his horse onwards.
"Wait! You still haven't told me how this is helping? And what are we going to do with her? Can you imagine what Treville is going to say? Hey! Wait up!" Porthos tries to catch up with Athos, who is studiously ignoring the questions, himself not knowing all the answers.
D'Artagnan is woken the next morning by Aramis, who enters his room with a wide smile on his face. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes he stretches, feeling the aches and pains of yesterday's exertion.
"I take it your plan was successful?" he asks, tiredly.
"Oh yes! The Cardinal is on the war path. Treville was called to the palace some time ago," Aramis grins. "Now we wait. I just wish I could be there to watch!"
"Great."
"You could sound a little more excited!" Aramis whines.
"Sorry, it's hard to feel happy with the prospect of an impending swordfight when I can barely stay upright," d'Artagnan snipes back.
"But if our plan works, there will be no fight!"
"If!" d'Artagnan cries, running his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry Aramis. Thank you. I'm just a little edgy."
"I'm sorry too," his friend sits down heavily, his face suddenly serious. "This is all my doing after all."
"No. This is the cardinal's doing. Come on then, tell me how it went?" says d'Artagnan, unaccountably saddened by Aramis' change in mood.
"Well…. It went like this…"
Aramis can hardly contain his excitement, pacing the room in expectation as he tells d'Artagnan all the details of the plot. Finally he hears boots on the stairs and the door is swung open by an angry looking Treville.
"Would someone like to tell me how the whole Red Guard garrison has been struck down by an epidemic of diarrhea and vomiting? The Cardinal is accusing me of poisoning his men!" The captain looks like he may explode.
"Erm… sir…" Aramis stutters, only to be cut off by the captain, who claps him on the back.
"It's wonderful! Amazing! You should have seen the cardinal's face! Apparently a cask of ale was delivered to the garrison, allegedly sent by the Cardinal to be drunk after the victory in celebration, he was so sure of that his man would win. Yet of course, they couldn't restrain themselves and downed the entire thing last night. All except the whelp who drew the short straw for guard duty. He's the only one left standing!"
"You're not angry sir?" d'Artagnan asks.
"Angry? I'm delighted. There's no proof of poisoning, it just seems that the Red Guards are all terribly hung over and unable to resist a drink. This will do wonders for our prestige."
"And the challenge?" Aramis asks hopefully.
"Ah, well, the king wouldn't cancel. He was so looking forward to it. However, the duty now falls to the only man whose head is not over a bucket, the 15 year old trainee who didn't get any ale. Think you can manage that d'Artagnan?"
"Let's hope so sir…."
"I just want to know one thing. Who had this wonderful idea?" Treville asks, smiling from ear to ear.
"Well," begins Aramis, "it might be time to think about employing a female strategist…."
"Bloody men and their bloody fights," Constance is swearing as they arrive at the grounds for the challenge, angry that the plan didn't work exactly as she had hoped. "Couldn't just cancel it? No, bloodthirsty, that's what they are."
"Constance, that is the king you are talking about," d'Artagnan tries to calm her
"Pff!" is all the response he receives.
"Look at him," Aramis nods towards the lone Red Guard waiting for them. "He looks like he might wet himself any minute."
"And the Cardinal has steam coming out of his ears!" d'Artagnan adds, "All because of you, my love." He kisses her cheek, before entering the arena.
It's very much like the last challenge, except this time his opponent is not twice the size of him, but a scrawny, pimply teenager who keeps looking over his shoulder for a way out. They both bow to the king and queen and listen to the rules of the engagement. And then, the fight is under way.
The kid might be scrawny, but he is not completely without skill, and d'Artagnan, weak as he is, cannot take him as easily as he had hoped. At first the boy's fear works against him, restricting his moves and hampering his attacks. Yet D'Artagnan soon finds himself with sweat beading on his brow but continues to parry the blows. He knows that he needs to end this soon, or he'll collapse in a heap in the mud.
He lets the boy think that he is winning, retreating backwards a few steps, and even letting him nick his arm, drawing a thin line of blood. He can see that the Red Guard's confidence is growing and with it, his carelessness. From the corner of his eye he sees Constance gasp and put her hands over her mouth, Aramis' arm snaking around her shoulders. He notices the Cardinal smile, but sees that Treville understands his tactic from the slight nod of his captain's head. Backing into a corner of the arena, his attacker approaching with a smirk on his face and looking around in delight, d'Artagnan takes his opportunity and lunges forwards, driving his sword into the boy's side, and praying that he misses anything essential. He really doesn't want to kill the poor kid. With wide eyes, the boy collapses to the ground. It's clear that he won't be able to go on, and d'Artagnan, having no wish to harm him further, looks to Louis for guidance.
The king claps his hands, declaring d'Artagnan the winner. There will be no more bloodshed. The young musketeer breathes in relief.
"Well Armand," he addresses the Cardinal. "I do believe that you have had your challenge and my musketeers have won again. What do you say?"
The Cardinal is barely civil, his lips pressed into a thin line. He bows slightly, inclining his head in ascent, but his eyes flick between Aramis and d'Artagnan and the message is clearly conveyed.
D'Artagnan bows to the king and queen, who rise to leave, followed by the Cardinal, before crossing to his opponent, kneeling down on the mud in front of him, and relishing the fact that he is no longer standing.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs quietly, taking his opponent's hand. He can see the fear in the young man's eyes. Before he knows it Aramis is at his side, clapping his shoulder quickly before looking at the boy.
"Let's get him back to the garrison and have him looked at. He's not a bad swordsman. Maybe we can train him up. I doubt the Red Guards will want him back now," he says, beckoning to some other musketeers to help him. "And you. I need to look at that cut."
"No sign of the others?" asks d'Artagnan, changing the subject.
"No. I hope they get here soon. The cardinal is pretty angry," Aramis muses.
They are trudging back through the mud, d'Artagnan leaning heavily on Aramis, Constance on his other side, when the Cardinal appears in front of them, almost materializing from nowhere, slipping out from among the trees.
"I had thought you more sensible than this!" he hisses. "You know what will happen now."
"I won. You leave us alone," d'Artagnan answers, pulling himself up to his full height in the face of his enemy.
"I have given you too many chances, you rude young country boy. I will give you no more. You die here, now, and your friends will hang!" The Cardinal declares, drawing his dagger.
"I rather think it will ruin your reputation if a man of the church kills someone in broad daylight in cold blood," Aramis comments coldly.
"No, not in cold blood. It was self defense. He was mad with anger and attacked me," the cardinal states.
"I think not," calls a voice from behind him. "I have taught him to control his emotions."
"Athos!" d'Artagnan calls and the cardinal turns to see the other two musketeers looming behind him.
"This changes nothing! The king will hear of this and you will all hang. Treville will be disgraced. The Musketeers are finished!"
"Really?" asks Athos. "I don't think you want to do that. You see, I have here a signed confession, by the Comtesse de la Fere, my dear wife and thus a woman of the nobility, admitting to her engagements on your behalf and detailing many of your plots, including that against the queen. Should I show it to his majesty?"
"You've fooled me once with a false letter. Don't think that trick will work again!" the cardinal snarls.
"I would presume no such think. Have a read, why don't you," Athos throws the letter at him and the Cardinal catches it before it falls to the mud. As he reads, his face falls. But then he looks up at Athos.
"Thank you for this," he smiles. "It will burn well in my fire."
"Honestly? You give us so little credit," Porthos complains, "It is just rude."
"There are a further three copies of this, all witnessed by mother superior and the local judge. One remains in the convent, the other I have given to Captain Treville and the third I have lodged with a banker who shall remain anonymous. Should anything happen to any one of us four, there are instructions for these copies to reach the king. Did I miss any other loopholes?" Athos asks, turning to Porthos.
"No, I don't think you did," the other man shakes his head.
"That traitorous bitch!" Cries the cardinal, throwing the letter at Athos' feet and storming off.
The four men watch him leave in silence, before embracing, Constance looking on as the brothers hold each other, their relief so evident.
"Thank you," says Aramis into Athos' shoulder.
"You are welcome brother," the older man replies.
"You are still in the bad books though!" Porthos quips.
"And he should be back in bed," Aramis says, looking at d'Artagnan, who appears pale and wan after all the excitement. "I will make it up to you all."
"Oh no, don't do that. Goodness only knows what trouble that will bring," begs d'Artagnan.
"Talking of trouble…we should probably get back to the garrison soon. Treville might not like the gift I left in his office," Athos mutters.
"What have you done now?" Aramis asks.
"Oh, I think you're going to like this one," Porthos smiles, as they head off home.
"There's someone you all need to meet…."
