Chapter Eighteen
Romero found Aramis in the church again. Part of him hoped that it had been a dream, and Romero was nothing more than a product of his vivid nightmares. But he took his seat, finished his prayers, and felt a hand on his shoulder. It became a regular occurrence, and the house of God became something else. No sanctuary, no salvation. It was a cage. And he kept returning to it, like a songbird too used to its captivity. No doubt if he eschewed the church Romero would find him somewhere else. There was no escape.
And then there was that nagging voice at the back of his head - He didn't want to let Romero down.
Instead of lurking in the shadows of the church aisle, Romero led Aramis outside for their latest meeting. He was taken down side streets, and darkened alleyways until he had quite lost any sense of where he was. Eventually they arrived at a small unassuming house. Romero offered him a seat. The room was quite bare and showed all the signs of neglect. Aramis guessed the place had been abandoned until quite recently.
The windows were all covered, so Romero lit a single candle to place between them on the table. The hairs on the back of Aramis' neck prickled. He had the strange sense that there were more eyes on him than just Romero's.
"So it is time for talk to turn more serious." Romero smiled and leaned across the table. "Grimaud has everything in hand at his end. Now it is time to put things in place at your end. I propose dispatching the King first. If we start an attack he is likely to be placed under more protection, which will make your job that much harder. Since you are the one close to the King at the palace I will let you decide how best to kill him. I can provide anything you need for the task, whether it be poison, weaponry, or something else. Just let me know. Have you any thoughts?"
"A shot would be too loud, but a knife might work. The timing would have to be exact. I would need to attack when he was alone, perhaps in his room, at night. That's if I can dismiss his guards. Even if I was one stationed to watch him, there would be another. Perhaps poison… it is more indirect, but then its administration is not so straightforward. I have little contact with his food - it is always attended, being brought straight from the kitchen to his table - but I might be able to access his medicines. Let me think on it."
And a voice inside him screamed… Why are you thinking on how to kill the King?!
It was madness.
But with Romero's next words it made sense.
"Very well, I will leave it in your hands. As soon as the King dies, all eyes will turn to the Dauphin. You need to get to him first. I will arrange to have a carriage placed nearby, take the Queen and Dauphin to it. They will be taken to safety. Then I need you to-"
"I want to go with them." Aramis interrupted.
"My friend, your work is not yet finished. I need you to return to the garrison and destroy it. I assume your store of powder is sufficient for the task?"
"You have others at your disposal, any man can set off powder."
"But not just any man can walk through the garrison gate unhindered. I need you to do this. Do not worry. I have good, trustworthy men to escort the Queen and Dauphin."
"I go with them, or this doesn't happen." Aramis was adamant.
If he refused to kill the King, everything fell down.
Romero sat back with a long sigh. "Imagine that you do. The carriage leaves with you in it, but this other man that I send to the garrison in your place is stopped and detained. The musketeers all live, and they have all of their weaponry and horses to use. They oppose us and hunt you down. Everything fails." Romero leaned forwards again, a predatory look in his eye. "Then you will be hung while the Queen watches, and some other power hungry Lord will get their claws into the Dauphin."
He paused and Aramis felt Romero's eyes boring into him. Aramis made no reply, he swallowed heavily and looked down at the table top.
"You have been apart from them for so long already. What is a little while longer?"
Still Aramis remained quiet.
"I need you, Aramis. I'm relying on you."
He dredged the words from deep in his throat. "Very well."
~oOo~
As soon as Romero led Aramis back to a more familiar area of Paris, he made his way to the garrison and down to the room where they kept the powder.
Their supplies were not as great as they once were, but the powder had been restocked bit by bit. More was surely on its way. Aramis wasn't sure if this would be enough, but with another delivery or two it may well be.
He stood absently staring at the barrels. His mind ran around and around…
Why are you doing this?
Why are you doing this?
Why are you doing this?
For them.
For a new life.
But it meant more blood and dirt. He would never be clean.
Maybe he could pretend that he was. If he was away from here, with his family. He wouldn't have to look down at his dirty hands, he could look up at their smiling faces. Eventually he might forget the stains were there.
One more time. One last treasonous act, and then he would be free. He could be with his family.
And he didn't want to let Romero down.
"Aramis?"
He flinched as he felt his arm shaken. Athos was standing there, when had he arrived?
"Aramis? Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine."
"You were miles away, is something wrong?"
Everything is wrong. What I'm about to do...
There was a moment when Aramis wanted to let it all out. He wanted to open the floodgates and tell Athos everything. He swallowed the urge down as the memory of Anne's fingers wrapped around his hand arose unbidden.
"I'm fine." He repeated a little more strongly.
"If you insist…" Athos looked anything but convinced. "I've been looking for you everywhere. What are you doing down here?"
"I… I wanted to check how much we had." Aramis waved his hand at the powder. "Are we due any more deliveries?"
"I believe there's some more on its way. You're not planning on doing that much training are you?" Athos raised an eyebrow.
It was more than enough for their practice with muskets for sure.
Aramis smiled. "If I did, the recruits might just approach my skill. Only just though. Anyway, what did you want?"
"I've got an important letter that needs to be taken to the Duke of Lorraine."
~oOo~
The next time Aramis was put on guard duty at the palace he managed to slip away to the King's bedchamber. There in his bedside cabinet stood a few bottles of medicine. The King had been suffering with a cough recently, and the court physician had made up some tinctures. It seemed this would be the easiest way to dispatch the monarch. It would be clean and quiet, and Aramis could be somewhere else by the time the King took his last breath.
Just as he left and closed the door behind him, Aramis turned to find Anne approaching.
He bowed. "Your Majesty."
"Is the King not in his chambers?"
"I'm afraid not."
She didn't even think to question why he was there. After looking around to ensure they were alone her demeanour softened.
"I am pleased to see you again."
"I am always happy to see you, Majesty." He studied her carefully and smiled. "Do you ever imagine another life, somewhere far away, where you can be somebody else?"
She frowned a little, as if confused at where this strange question had come from. "I do, but I never dwell on it for long, for it cannot be."
"Do you think you could be happy if you were just Anne, and not the Queen?"
"Being the Queen affords me many comforts and luxuries, but it is a cage in it's own way. At least as Anne I would be free." She drew a little closer to him. "Free to love as I wished."
"Perhaps it is all just a dream, but perhaps one day it could be more."
"What do you mean?"
He moved to put his hands to her arms, but footsteps down the corridor heralded the arrival of an approaching servant. The two of them sprung apart.
"Have hope, Your Majesty." He bowed and left just as the servant reached them.
Aramis looked over his shoulder to see the servant bowing in turn. But Anne's eyes were staring at Aramis in confusion, he offered her only a warm smile in return.
~oOo~
This time Romero slipped into the pew beside Aramis and subtly passed him a small bottle.
"This will do the job."
Aramis looked down at the tincture in his hand. "What is it?"
"The poison of kings and the king of poisons."
Arsenic then.
"When?"
"Not yet, there are still preparations to be made. But soon. Keep it safe and I will send word when it is time. Tie your blue sash to the garrison side gate when you go to make your move. I have men watching, the carriage will be put in place and everything will follow on from there. A better France is in the making. Stay strong, my friend."
With a pat to the shoulder, Romero was gone.
Aramis stared down at the bottle. It was such a little thing. So small, and yet so great. He held death in his hands. The fate of France sat nestled between his palms. This could change everything.
It could change everything. If he let it.
Aramis looked back up to the statue of Jesus looming over the church. He seemed to pin Aramis with his sorrowful stare.
And under the scrutiny of those vacant eyes, Aramis became painfully aware of the sins weighing him down. He felt the dirt staining his soul, the grit against his skin, the way it suffocated him in his grave. He wanted to be rid of it. And here he was burying himself deeper. He was conspiring to commit murder. Not just any murder. Regicide.
And Aramis began to wonder when he had fallen so low.
When and why. Why had he fallen so low? For Anne and his son. He wanted to be near them and had led Marguerite to her death. Now he was chasing the dream of another life. How many more would die for it? Aramis closed his fist tightly around the bottle, knowing he didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve to be happy. He deserved to suffer. And his punishment would be to love a woman he could never have and watch a son he could never claim. They were not Anne and his son. They were the Queen and the Dauphin. They never belonged to him, and they never would.
But there was Romero and the fate of France to consider. The others had done much to loosen Romero's iron grip on Aramis, but the man still retained some sort of a hold over him.
Aramis looked back down to the bottle in his hand. He could drop it, watch it smash against the flagstones and drain harmlessly away. Just like the future he yearned for.
Instead he closed his fingers around the bottle and got to his feet.
~oOo~
That night found Aramis in his quarters, on his knees, hands clasped. But it was no vision of a cross he looked to. The arsenic sat upon the edge of the table before him.
"Please… Father… Guide me, tell me what to do. Please." His hands tightened and shook. "I don't know what to do."
Suddenly a flare of anger took him. "Why must I be tortured so?!"
He reared up and banged a fist down on the table. The bottle shook and threatened to tip over.
You are tortured because you deserve it. Another part of him seemed to answer.
"I wanted none of this!"
What do you want?
Her.
And the fight drained out of him. Aramis settled to clasp his hands again. "Forgive me, Father... I need guidance. I cannot trust myself in this. My heart is split in two, I don't know… I don't… just, send me a sign, anything, please."
A moment passed and then there was a soft knock at the door.
Aramis leapt on the bottle and stashed it away. "Who is it?"
"It's me, now open up."
Porthos.
Aramis went to let his friend in. "And what can I do for you at this late hour?"
Porthos held his hands up. One contained a bottle of wine, the other a pack of cards. "Can I tempt you?"
"Did you run out of people to fleece in the tavern?"
"Not quite, but let's just say the patrons weren't up to my standard."
"And you think I am?" Aramis spoke with a hint of wryness.
"After those I faced tonight you're a considerable improvement."
Aramis stepped back and waved Porthos over to the table. Ice ran through his veins as Porthos set the wine down where arsenic had stood moments earlier.
"Shall we play for anything, or just for pleasure?"
Porthos dealt out the cards, while Aramis stared fixedly at the bottle.
"Aramis?"
He started, and Porthos repeated his question.
"Well, I have little to play for, and little pleasure for that matter."
"That's what the wine is for, and the good company of course." Porthos grinned and flourished a hand towards his own chest.
Aramis tried for a smile and took his seat. "For pleasure then."
Of course Aramis could tell Porthos' true reason for being there. He was worried. Aramis hadn't joined them at the tavern and with his night terrors making a reappearance Porthos was no doubt concerned. So he made an effort to seek Aramis out - with wine to make sleep easier - and get him to talk.
Aramis tried to be the Aramis that Porthos wanted to see. It felt like he was wearing a mask that he was crumbling behind. Piece by piece he was falling away into dust. But he would fall and blow away into the wind before letting Porthos see.
Bit by bit the bottle drained and the candles wore down. Conversation flowed easily with the wine, but Aramis gave nothing away.
Eventually Porthos drank the last of the wine, he gathered up his cards and looked as if he were about to get to his feet. He paused, and looked at Aramis, really looked.
"There is something troubling you, my friend. If you do not wish to speak of it I will not push you. Just remember, I meant what I said - I am with you, whatever comes."
Porthos was not so easily fooled by thin, brittle, masks it seemed.
"Thank you." Aramis didn't know what else to say.
Porthos smiled, clasped Aramis' shoulder, and let himself out.
Aramis stood staring at the door long after Porthos had gone. Those words… I am with you, whatever comes… they had given him a strange sense of calm.
Eventually he got into bed and closed his eyes to a restful night's sleep.
~oOo~
The days that followed were a strange but welcome return to normality. Aramis went about his duties, his prayers in church went undisturbed, and so did his sleep. But at the bottom of a small wooden box in his lodgings sat a bottle that could change everything. If he used it. For a bottle by itself was no danger, even containing a fatal dose of poison, it was harmless. It could sit in that box an age untouched. A hand was needed to administer it. Would Aramis lend his hand to the cause? He opened the box a time or two, to check it was still there, to check it was real. But he did not touch it. He closed the lid and put it away, out of sight, out of mind. The bottle was never entirely out of mind though, it scratched away at the back of his thoughts, a constant irritation.
And then one night Aramis returned from the tavern to find a letter had been pushed under the door of his lodgings. Gingerly he pulled the parchment apart to read the sprawling writing:
The pieces are in place.
It is time for checkmate.
Your move.
Do not let me down.
Aramis screwed the letter up in a tight fist and took a deep breath.
In that moment he knew what he had to do.
AN: Thank you for your review Kiwi Reader! :D As you're a guest I'll have to explain a bit here since I can't message you directly - There weren't really any strings for Treville to pull. Nobody outside of Athos, Porthos and Treville knows Aramis is guilty. Back in chapter 13 Brother Lussier spoke for Aramis' innocence, on the face of it Romero is the guilty one as far as they're concerned in Foix (even if Lecocq did chase it up in a letter to Treville that was mysteriously "lost"). Athos and Porthos would never turn Aramis in, and despite Treville's sense of honour and duty I don't believe he would either, especially in light of his role in Savoy.
But if this still leaves you wondering, call it artistic licence. I'd have a shorter story and a few angry readers if Aramis was put on trial and hung ;)