Chapter Seven

Aramis' recovery continued at a good pace. Brother Lussier implored him to rest in bed, but Aramis was insistent on fresh air. They came to an agreement whereby Aramis would sit in the garden and rest instead. He savoured the feel of the wind on his skin, the air seemed to get staler and staler in his small room. Out here he could watch the monks go about their business in the garden. Between their prayers and devotion to God vegetables had to be picked, and seeds sown. A time or two Aramis tried to help, but his well meaning attempts were brushed off. It seemed Brother Lussier had informed on him. They all insisted he rest.

The sounds of hammering and other building work often drifted over. Aramis knew the abbey was being rebuilt, having been destroyed during the religious wars. He had hoped to assist in the work, which seemed to be going well. Enough had been constructed that the monks had a serviceable abbey, but it would likely take years for it to be completed entirely. Eventually curiosity got the better of him, when the garden was quiet Aramis clamped a hand to his side and slowly got to his feet. He followed the sounds until he came across a team of men working the stone. Sweat slicked their bodies as they heaved it and shaped it. Aramis longed to join them. It would be a fine thing to help rebuild a house of God. What better work could his hands be put to? A voice at the back of his head said that he had other work to do. More important work to do… Many had the strength to lift stone, few had the strength to do what they were going to do.

"I thought we agreed that you would sit in the garden?" Brother Lussier suddenly appeared at Aramis' side and pulled him from his thoughts.

"It's not very far from the garden." Aramis tried sheepishly.

"It's further than you should be walking."

"I made it didn't I?"

"Barely, judging by the paleness of your complexion and the trembling of your legs."

Now being aware of it, Aramis tried to stop the shaking that had set in.

"Come on, let's get you back inside. Your friend is waiting for you."

Aramis let the monk lead him away, but he shot a last look over his shoulder at the ongoing work. "I wanted to help, you know. I wanted to come to Foix and lend a hand."

"You still can, once you've healed."

"I fear there is other work that will take my attention."

"Well, as long as it is a good wholesome sort of work, I'm sure the Lord will be pleased all the same."

"He will."

They were going to restore the rightful order to the world. They were going to show the selfish and uncaring the error of their ways. The nobility would soon reap what they had sewn.

~oOo~

Aramis returned to his room to find that Romero had brought a fine dinner of meats down from the castle - much better than that monk's watery stew - as he said. While they ate he railed against the luxury the commanders had, while others got by on little more than scraps. Romero considered it his duty to take what he could from the kitchens.

Whenever Romero visited he brought good food and vitriol. Being in the castle, at the heart of it, seemed to stoke the fire in him a little more, while Aramis felt apart from it. As the days passed he gained strength and was allowed to help in the garden and with the animals. He joined the monks in prayer on occasion, and ended up deep in discussion on ecclesiastical matters with Brother Lussier. Something of this life gave him peace, but he knew it wouldn't last. He knew there was work to be done...

Sure enough the day came when Romero declared Aramis was fit enough to join him. But first, a position had to come up at the castle.

When night fell Romero came for him. "Be quiet, follow me."

It crossed Aramis' mind to ask where they were going. But it wouldn't do to question Romero. Taking the paths less travelled he led Aramis out to the trees surrounding the town. As they came to a stop Aramis noted a sack and a couple of shovels concealed by the undergrowth at their feet. Romero knelt down to ferret about in the sack. When he got to his feet he pushed a dagger into Aramis' hands.

Aramis looked down at it and then at Romero with a confused expression.

"I know a fellow working in the armoury. We have been sharing drinks at the end of the day. I'm due to meet him tonight. He will partake in a little too much wine, and I will lead him out here." He put his hand on Aramis' shoulder. "That is when you strike."

Aramis swallowed heavily and nodded. A small part of him quailed at the thought of stabbing an innocent man. The greater part of him didn't even question it.

As if sensing those treacherous thoughts Romero squeezed Aramis' shoulder. "It is a necessary sacrifice. Just like all the others. Are you with me?"

"Of course."

"Good. I know I can trust you, Aramis. Wait here, I shouldn't be too long, he can't hold his drink at all."

Aramis went to settle himself down against a tree trunk and wait for his moment. He toyed with the dagger in his hands, twirling it back and forth between his fingers. He would be burying it in another man's flesh shortly. It was nothing new. He was intimate with the feel of steel breaching skin. It was usually the skin of somebody attacking him though. Still, they were often attacking at the behest of somebody else. How many of those he killed did he actually have a personal quarrel with? Few, too few. Especially on the battlefield where they just happened to be on different sides.

He was going to kill an innocent man. He had already killed too many innocent men. But this time, it was necessary.

Soon enough the sound of somebody lurching through the undergrowth reached Aramis. He clutched the dagger and got to his feet. A quiet and tuneless song wound around the trees. Aramis risked a look. He peeked from behind his tree to find Romero helping another man stagger along. Romero found his eyes and gave a nod. At that Aramis revealed himself and slowly approached. Romero's companion didn't seem aware of him, not until he stood right before them, at which point the armourer stopped his singing and blearily looked up at Aramis.

There would be no resistance, this would be easy.

Aramis wondered for a moment where to stab. He felt like he was appraising a slab of meat. In the heat of battle you didn't often have the luxury to consider these things. You just had to lock onto targets and thrust your sword into them as quickly as possible. Slashing the throat would be quick, but it would be messy. A stab to the gut might very well leave him lingering for a while…

"What are you waiting for?" Romero hissed.

At that Aramis grabbed the man's hair and pulled his head to one side, exposing the juncture between neck and shoulder. He plunged the dagger down into that soft hollow of flesh behind the collarbone. It sunk in deep with little resistance, doing irreparable damage.

"Hush, hush…" Romero smothered the man's scream with his hand.

Wild, confused and pained eyes looked at Aramis. He hardened his heart against that gaze and withdrew the dagger. It came free with a wet sound, and blood spurted forth in its wake. Romero unceremoniously dropped the armourer as red began to soak his shirt.

They stood over his still body for a moment, breathing heavily. And then Romero broke the silence.

"Now we dig."

While Romero went off to retrieve the shovels Aramis knelt down beside his victim. He brushed the man's eyes closed and whispered a quick prayer. It almost didn't seem real. Aramis pressed his fingers into his eyes, suddenly feeling as if he were walking through a dream. A metallic thunk beside him heralded the arrival of a shovel. His body felt distant as he began to dig.

The ground gave way easily. A hole began to open up. Rivulets of sweat soaked their skin, despite the cool night air. The hole opened deeper, deeper, and deeper… Aramis' movements became mechanical, his arms did their work without conscious thought. His mind was drifting...

Scrape.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Couldn't.

Get.

Out.

Scrape.

Couldn't move.

Scrape.

Couldn't breathe.

Suddenly Aramis jumped out of the hole and went to lean against a tree, panting harshly. One hand clutched at his chest clawing against his thundering heart, while the other grasped at the bark. Moments later a rough hand pulled him away. He was shaken, and stars danced across his vision. A strike to the face came next. Aramis found himself on his hands and knees, a half dug grave just in front of him, and a body beside him.

"Keep digging."

He was frozen. He couldn't breathe.

He was hauled to his feet and thrown down into the hole.

"Keep digging!"

He pushed himself up and stared blankly down at the dirt between his fingers.

"Aramis, don't let me down. I trusted you to do this. I thought you were strong."

And then he was digging. As if his mind had yet to catch up with his body, he was digging, while his head was still spinning. He couldn't let Romero down, they were in this together. He had to keep digging.

His body continued to act while his mind was trapped elsewhere. He didn't take in much, aside from Romero's barked instructions. When it was done Aramis made his way quietly to the abbey. He moved without thought, opening doors, lighting candles. When he finally came back to himself Aramis was on his knees, before a cross, frantically brushing at the dirt on his hands. He realised and stopped, hands stilling, but trembling, on his lap. Aramis stared reverently at the cross and let out a long breath. He felt his heart settle for the first time in what felt like an age.

It was a necessary sacrifice.

Romero's words came back to him. It was necessary. It had to be done. Aramis' gaze dropped to his hands. He should clean them. They were filthy. He was filthy.

"Ancel?"

Aramis hid his hands between his legs as he heard Brother Lussier's confused voice.

"Could you not sleep?" There was the grating sound of pity in the monk's voice.

Aramis shook his head.

"I understand. I find it hard to sleep sometimes, and so I come here to pray. Although I suspect my troubles are more due to age and aching bones than yours." He came to stand at Aramis' shoulder.

Everything in Aramis seemed to tighten as Brother Lussier approached.

"Would it lighten the burden on your soul to speak of what troubles you?"

Aramis tried not to flinch at the hand that found his shoulder. "No, I…" He took in a deep breath, searching for the right words. "My troubles are my own."

"Very well." Brother Lussier stepped forwards to light a few more candles. He frowned as he turned back to Aramis. "How did you get to be so filthy?"

I have killed.

I have lain with women.

I have...

His shirt. Of course. It was as dirty as the rest of him. "I fell. I felt a little light headed and fell."

Brother Lussier put a gentle hand to Aramis' face. "Fell and landed on a rock?"

He must be bruised then. The ache at his jaw had been as distant and muted as everything else. Aramis hadn't noticed it. Abruptly he pulled his face away and scrambled to his feet, turning from the monk and making for the door. A hastily muttered 'goodnight' was thrown over his shoulder as he went. He needed to get away. He needed to be alone.

~oOo~

It was a few days later when Romero came to take him away. Brother Lussier had tried to get him to talk several times, but Aramis always brushed off the attempts. Romero wouldn't be happy at him unburdening himself to a priest. He couldn't give anything away. As they parted Brother Lussier held on tightly to Aramis' arms. There was something strange in his eyes, a warning perhaps… but the only words that passed his lips were fond goodbyes and a plea to look after himself. Aramis assured him that he would, and promised to return. He turned his back on the abbey and went to Romero.

The castle was like another world entirely. Soldiers and civilians rushed hither and thither, it reminded Aramis of a busy day at the garrison, but on a grander scale. Romero steered him through it all until they reached a room lined with a row of muskets. A gruff looking older man stood barking directions in the middle of it. Romero approached without hesitation.

"Chardin, this is the fellow I was telling you about - Ancel."

He reached forwards to give Aramis' hand a vigorous shake. "Renou here tells me you could strip and clean my pistol, then put it together again blindfolded."

"And with one hand behind his back!" Romero gave a laugh.

"Well, perhaps not that. It would slow me down at least. Blindfolded I could certainly do."

"I'm short on time, so I'll take your word for it. But be assured, when you work for me, you work hard and you work well."

"He won't let you down. Will you?" Romero seemed to stare down into his soul.

"No, certainly not."

"Right, good. We're due to take a delivery of two dozen muskets. I want you to ensure they're clean and in good working order, ready to go out to the men. I'll send another couple to work with you. We'll soon see how good you are." Chardin gave Aramis a last appraising look before marching off.

Romero clapped him on the back. "You're in."

Aramis managed to impress with his work. In no time at all he was part of a well oiled machine, always going above and beyond to get things done. It was an attitude that didn't win him any friends, there were more than a few who muttered ill mannered comments about Aramis being a boot licker. But he could ignore such envious bile when it was whispered behind hands and out of earshot. He knew what they were about. He showed them up, and he wasn't there to make friends in any case.

As the weeks passed by Aramis was given more responsibility. Chardin trusted him to check deliveries and send them out, he was fast becoming Chardin's right hand man. Naturally it ruffled a few more feathers. The ill mannered comments were said a bit louder, but Aramis still turned a blind eye.

Occasionally Romero would meet with Aramis down in the depths of the castle. They could leave Renou and Ancel behind for a time and be themselves. Spanish flowed freely between them, and of course, they could discuss matters plainly without ears listening in. Just as Aramis had become a part of the armoury's workings Romero had embedded himself within the kitchen. Although Romero had made a few more friends than Aramis. He often shared drinks with his fellow workers, while Aramis was given a cold shoulder.

A turning point came when Aramis was overseeing a delivery of powder. Romero found him and seemed quite animated about something.

"I have news. I will see you at eight." He would say no more, but clearly something big was about to happen.

When the hour struck Aramis made sure he was entirely alone before going to their meeting place. He dodged a patrol of guards and slipped into the cellar room unseen. Romero was already waiting.

Once the cellar door was closed Romero burst out with his news. "We have our chance Aramis!"

Aramis took a seat on a crate and looked on eagerly. Romero didn't need any encouragement to continue.

"There is to be a meeting, an important one, even the Minister for War will be coming! I'm involved in the preparations for the reception. Naturally they need a show of excess to welcome the high born officers." A derisive tone crept into his voice at that. "I have discovered where the meeting will be taking place. It happens to be above a store room. Now, if that store room were full of powder an explosion would take out half of the French command there and then."

Aramis looked on without saying a word.

"Well?"

He cleared his throat. "It seems like a good plan. But how do you propose I get powder into the store room? Chardin trusts me with much work, but he isn't going to let me move our stock of powder on a whim."

"I need you to take Chardin's place. It is the only way we will be able to operate unhindered."

A chill seemed to creep down Aramis' spine. "And how will I do that?"

"Leave it to me. I will bring you a bottle of wine, make sure he gets it, and do not drink any."

~oOo~

It was a few days later when Romero approached with a bottle of wine in hand. Aramis' heart leapt at taking it. He made his way back to the armoury with leaden feet.

"What's this then?" One of the men tried to snatch at the bottle as he passed by.

"Get your hands off!" Aramis pulled it away.

He turned to leave and found his way blocked by another two men. All three were those behind the slurs against Aramis. He scowled. "Move aside. I won't ask twice."

"Let's have a look at your bottle first. We don't often see anything this fine down here." A hand reached forwards and Aramis batted it away.

"It's not for you."

"Oh, who is it for? Let me guess, a present for Chardin? Want to bed him do you?" One of the men leered in with a lewd grin.

"What are you standing around chatting for? There's work to be done!" At that shout the men sprung apart to reveal Chardin striding forwards.

"Ancel's drinking on duty sir, we thought we'd better tell him you don't appreciate drunkenness in your men."

"Indeed, I don't." Chardin eyed the bottle. "But that is easily solved." He held out his hand and Aramis reluctantly gave it up. "Don't let me find you with alcohol again."

Chardin took the bottle away into his room. The men sniggered as soon as his back was turned. But one had a face like thunder. It was Benett, the ringleader of the three.

"Don't know what you're laughing about, if that was any of us we'd be flogged."

Aramis rolled his eyes. "He clearly knew you were lying. You're as easy to see through as a window pane."

"What else are you doing with a bottle of wine then? Bring it down here just to admire it did you?"

"That is none of your concern. Well, as Chardin pointed out, there's work to be done. Forgive me gentlemen."

Aramis turned and tried not to shake as he left. It had all gone to plan, he hadn't originally meant for the bottle to be taken so publicly, but at least it was in Chardin's hands. Now he had only to wait.

The next day Chardin failed to turn up for work. Aramis went into his room and perused the paperwork to give out the work detail. He surreptitiously disposed of an empty bottle while he was there.

When Chardin was absent the day after, a boy was sent to his lodgings to see if he was unwell. The lad found Chardin dead in his bed.

Aramis' mouth went dry as they were informed. Of course there were suspicions, men in good health didn't usually die in their sleep without reason. An investigation was promised, but for now there was work to be done and important visitors to prepare for. Naturally Aramis was looked at to take over. He knew it would set dissension in the ranks, and so his first action was to send a certain three men to the kitchens. He had the perfect excuse - there was a grand reception being planned, and they needed more hands over there. The three of them wouldn't be missed in the armoury. They were more inclined to laze about when out of Chardin's sight, and Aramis could do without them questioning his orders and his position.

Once they settled into the new routine Aramis gathered a few men together. He told them that damp had been found in the powder storage room and they were going to have to move it all. Nobody pointed out the new storage room was a little out of the way, nor did they examine the room for damp too closely. As far as they were concerned, Aramis was in charge, and they would follow his orders.

The next meeting Aramis had with Romero, he happily reported that everything was in place.

They were ready.