Richelieu's Revenge

Chapter Six

Although it wasn't a long ride to the palace it rapidly sapped Athos' strength. When they arrived he felt so weak that he had to hesitate before dismounting. Inevitably, his friends noticed.

"Do you need help?" Aramis asked.

Athos' pride chose that moment to reassert itself. "I'm fine. Just give me a minute."

They waited patiently until he could muster up enough energy to swing his leg over the saddle. His feet hit the ground and he leaned against his horse until his head stopped spinning. Their progress was slow as the others were content to allow Athos to dictate the pace. Treville sent word to the King and they waited in the ante-chamber. There was no place to sit. Not that Athos would have sat. He was a soldier and soldiers did not take their ease while on duty.

Standing still was problematic so he paced from the windows to the door while they waited to be summoned. The King, probably encouraged by Richelieu, was in no hurry to see them. Athos began to feel ill. Beads of sweat accumulated on his forehead and his palms were slick.

When the door opened he almost groaned with relief. He simply needed to get this over with. They entered the room and Athos glanced around. To his relief there were no courtiers, just the King with Richelieu standing beside him. They all bowed before standing to attention. Athos kept his eyes trained on a spot just over the King's left shoulder.

"Well, Treville, is he sober?" the King asked.

Athos felt heat in his cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so embarrassed.

"He is, Your Majesty."

"Step forward, Athos," the King commanded.

Athos walked forward and sank down onto one knee. "I beg your majesty's pardon," he said.

"I should think so," Louis said.

"He doesn't look very well." There was undisguised satisfaction in Richelieu's voice.

"It has been an ordeal," Treville responded icily. "He will be fully fit by tomorrow."

"I hope so," the King said. "We can't have members of our guard incapable of performing their duties." He returned his attention to Athos. "We will be lenient this time but, if it ever happens again, you will lose your commission. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sire."

Richelieu looked annoyed. "Your Majesty is too generous."

"Perhaps, but we remember how Athos and his companions defended the Queen from those who would have assassinated her. For that alone he deserves a second chance." He waved a hand in Athos' direction. "You may rise."

Athos considered that. A headache was building behind his eyes and his limbs felt far from coordinated. After a moment he rose to his feet, immediately feeling a hand under his elbow, steadying him. He gave Treville a grateful look before backing to stand with the others.

"Well, Cardinal, it appears your concerns about Athos have been satisfied." The King stood up, his interest lost.

Richelieu glared venomously at the Musketeers who all gazed back with equanimity. After the Cardinal had followed the King from the room Athos relaxed, staggering slightly.

"Time to get you home," Treville said.

The return journey was even harder than the ride to the palace. Athos was close to collapse by the time they reached the sanctuary of the garrison. Aramis immediately hustled him off to bed.

"The Cardinal wasn't lookin' happy," Porthos said with satisfaction.

"No, he wasn't," Treville replied. "Be vigilant. I don't think he's finished yet."

TMTMTM

Porthos drained his glass and reached for the wine bottle. His table companions, three members of the Red Guard, were all studying their cards. He picked up his own cards. He had a good hand and wouldn't need to resort to the King or the Ace he had secreted up his sleeve. He pushed a couple of coins towards the small pile in the centre of the table.

Giroud, on his left, made a growling sound before throwing down his cards in disgust. Bertrand, sitting opposite him, hesitated before matching his bet. Porthos turned to look at Perod, whose stack of coins had steadily dwindled as the evening had progressed. The large man hunched forward over his cards, greasy hair shadowing his face. Finally he shook his head and laid them face down on the table.

"Let's see what you've got then," Porthos said to Bertrand.

The tall, lanky, soldier laid his cards on the table. Porthos grinned with pleasure and spread his own cards so that everyone could see that he had two pairs

"If you're goin' to bluff you need to do a better job of it than that," Porthos said as he reached over to scoop up the pot of money.

A large hand came crashing down on the table. "Your lucks been a bit too good tonight," Perod said. "I reckon you've been cheating us. What do you say, boys?"

Giroud and Bertrand both nodded their heads and Porthos looked hurt. The fact was that he hadn't cheated, he'd just been lucky with the fall of the cards. It didn't matter a damn that he'd have happily fleeced them if that had been necessary. He pushed back his chair.

"I'm wounded by your accusation," he said. In truth he was greatly enjoying himself. If there was anything he enjoyed more than winning at cards it was a good brawl. Unfortunately none of his brothers were with him but he had faith in his abilities and it wouldn't be the first time he had trounced three Red Guards.

"I think he needs to be taught a lesson," Perod said, pushing back his own chair.

Porthos picked up the wine bottle. It wasn't quite empty and he was never one to waste good wine. He raised it to his mouth and tipped it back. Then he gripped it by the neck and stood up.

"Right then. Who's first?"

Giroud, the smallest of the three shook his head and Porthos' grin widened. "Typical Red Guard," he said. "Lettin' others do the dirty work."

All three men rose to their feet and formed a loose semi-circle around the table. The other patrons were hurriedly moving out of the way while the landlord hurried over, looking harassed.

"I don't want no trouble," the landlord said. "If you want to fight take it outside."

He had no sooner finished talking than Perod launched himself at Porthos. Porthos swung the bottle and it connected with Perod's left shoulder. The Red Guard grunted but continued his assault. A fist came hurtling towards Porthos' face. He ducked and countered it with a blow to his opponents stomach. Perod staggered back a couple of steps. Before Porthos could follow up on his advantage Bertrand had charged in and was pummeling him. Porthos brushed him off like a particularly annoying gnat.

"Two on one is hardly fair," he said, stepping back out of reach.

"Who said anything about fair?" Perod said. He moved round to Porthos' right while Bertrand took up position on the left.

Porthos had lost track of Giroud, only remembering the man's existence when he felt a blow to the back of the head. It was enough to send him teetering forward and right into a vicious punch from Perod. It rocked him back although he managed to keep his feet under him. He shook his head to clear it before lashing out at the two smaller men. They backed away but his actions had left him open to a further attack from Perod. One on one they were evenly matched. They traded punches for a few moments, neither man gaining the advantage. When a chair was smashed across Porthos' back, however, the dynamics changed. A right and then a left to his jaw sent him crashing to the floor. He curled up as boots connected with his side. No-one interfered as the assault continued and he felt his limbs go slack. Then there was a sharp pain in his side and Perod leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"Compliments of the Cardinal," Perod said, withdrawing the dagger from Porthos' flesh.

After a final kick they all walked away laughing, leaving Porthos lying on the floor in an ever increasing puddle of blood.

Tbc