CHAPTER 11
D'Artagnan, if we kill the horses, we will never get there," Porthos gently scolded the younger, impatient, musketeer. "I'm worried too, but we have to be smart about this."
"You're right," the Gascon acknowledged as he reluctantly reined back his mount. "It's just I'm..." The lad's emotions choked him off from finishing.
"Scared. Me too," Porthos completed the sentence for his friend. "But this is Athos and Aramis. They've gotten out of situations much worse than this."
They rode along in silence, watching, as the spire of the Abbey of Saint-Germain d'Auxerre slowly came into view over the snow-dusted tree tops. It felt like it was taking forever to get there as they rode along the path in the weak morning sun.
Something had been bothering the lad as they had slowly ridden through the night. Like a flood damn suddenly breaking loose, D'Artagnan burst out. "We should have stayed and kept searching and forgotten about completing this stupid mission."
Solemnly, the streetfighter shook his head. "It doesn't work like that, d'Artagnan. When you became a musketeer, you took an oath to King and country. To give your life for the safety of France. We don't know what is in this package," he said patting his pocket. "But we do know the King entrusted his musketeers to deliver it. And we will."
"I know. You have already given me that speech," d'Artagnan grumbled as he gazed into the distance at the spire sporting a rooster, which he swore was moving further away.
"It doesn't seem like you listened the first time then." Porthos smiled over at the lad, fully understanding his frustrations. "And let me repeat myself again. This is Athos. And Aramis. They will make it."
The speech didn't make d'Artagnan feel any better this time than it had the last time and he lapsed back into silence.
The sun was fully risen when they rode through the narrow stone archway into the inner courtyard. The space was rectangular in shape, lined with a double row of trees on the right and a single row on the left. Behind the stout rear wall ran the river, which they could hear in the near silence of the Abbey. Because it was enclosed, the snow had been blown in strange patterns, leaving some spots empty and others, where the drifts were as high as a horse's shoulder. It was into one of the bare spots that the two musketeers rode and dismounted.
A monk in a worn, but warm looking woven robe appeared and indicated he would take their horses. "Don't untack them, we'll be leaving soon," d'Artagnan yelled after the monk as he walked away with the animals. His voice echoed loudly around the silent courtyard.
"Sheesh, keep your voice down, d'Artagnan," Porthos hissed at the lad. "Show some respect."
The Gascon did feel sheepish as attested to by the way he ducked his head. However, he still grumbled under his breath, "When did you become so religious."
"Religion is Aramis' thing. But this is about respect for someone's way of life. Some of these monks may have made vows of silence. It must be disturbing to have your voice braying about."
They stood for a few minutes in the courtyard, waiting. A monk had led their horses away, yet no one else had shown up to greet them. Trying to curb his impatience, d'Artagnan scanned his surroundings, his eyes drawn upward to the various spires and towers. The shorter ones were graced with crosses and yet the largest one, the one he'd seen in the distance, had a rooster on it.
"Porthos, why do you think there is a rooster on top of that spire instead of a cross?"
Porthos stopped looking around the courtyard for someone who appeared in charge and let his eyes be drawn upwards to the tallest tower. There was a rooster on it. "Dunno. Ask Aramis. Religion's his game."
Just then, a brother glided out from one of the archways heading in their direction. He moved swiftly, quietly, and efficiently over the frozen ground.
Coming to a stop near the two musketeers, he made a small bow and began to express his regrets. "My apologies for keeping you waiting. I was at prayers. I am Abbott DuBois. You have brought me something from the King I believe?"
Porthos began to reach into his pocket, but the Abbott quickly whispered, "Not here. Let's go inside. It's warmer and there are fewer prying eyes.
D'Artagnan started to open his mouth to protest, he wanted to shove the package into the Abbott's hand and then get back on the road, but a glare from Porthos' preempted his words. If the Abbott saw the silent conversation, he chose not to comment, simply turning and eerily glide away.
"Amazes me how they do that," Porthos murmured to d'Artagnan who was walking at his side as they followed the monk indoors.
"We take a class on how to do it," the Abbott frivolously tossed over his shoulder as he glided under an archway.
The big man blushed a little at having been heard by the Abbott. They wound through the stone confines of the Abbey, climbing stairs and moving through corridors until they came to an elaborately carved door.
"Ostentatious, isn't it. But it's been here since the place was built. Who am I to change it." Opening the wooden door covered with a mulitude of heavenly hosts , the Abbott entered into a small antechamber, wherein sat another monk behind a small desk.
"Brother Francis, please see to it we are not disturbed." With that, he passed through another door, non-carved, into his suite. Once again, the chamber was ornate. The Abbott signed. "My predecessor spent way too much time on decorating and not so much on the business of the Abbey.
Motioning them over to a set of chairs near the fire, he invited them to sit. Playing host, he walked to a nearby cabinet, removed three wine glasses and brought them over to a table near where the musketeers sat. Retrieving a bottle of wine next, he brought that over and amply filled all the glasses. "Would you like it warmed by the fire. It is certainly cold enough." Both musketeers declined his offer.
"Not to be rude, Father, but we need to give you this package and get back on the road." Reaching inside his jacket, Porthos grasped the item, withdrew it and set it on the table near the wine glasses.
The Abbott placed the wine bottle he'd been pouring from on the table, but made no move to pick up the package. Instead, he lifted the wine glasses and passed them around. "It's very good, I assure you," he declared as he sat in the third empty chair by the fire. "We have our own vineyard, and our brothers make this wine. An old recipe handed down over the ages. Quite robust."
The two musketeers politely sipped the wine. The wine made them think of Athos, who'd be able to judge its worth. Porthos, having delivered the package, felt he had done his duty as commanded. Now it was time to go search for his missing brothers. He rose and placed his unfinished glass of wine on the table. "Not to be rude, but we have to be going."
Hearing those words, d'Artagnan was on his feet in an instant. He too placed his glass of wine, more than half-full, on the table.
"Please. You have had a long and I suspect cold journey to bring me this." He reached over and tapped the package with a fingertip. "Stay the day. Recuperate. Let me offer you a warm room for the night. Surely your Captain won't begrudge you sleeping safe and sound for a night."
"Thank you for the offer, but we must get going," d'Artagnan repeated, a little more forcibly than he meant to for he was worried.
"Might I inquire as to why you feel the need for such a hasty departure?" the Abbott asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.
"We lost two men on the way here. We have to go search for them," Porthos impatiently explained to the man, whose eyes had strayed to one of the windows in his quarters.
"Oh dear. Then this is not good." He gestured towards the windows, and the two musketeers glanced outside.
Moving closer to the window, because he didn't believe what he was seeing, Porthos swore. "Damn!" There were blizzard conditions outside the window. He couldn't see more than two feet. He felt the Abbott gliding up to his side.
"Normally, I have a wonderful view of the vineyard. You'll find nothing in that weather. It would be foolish to go out into that storm."
Porthos knew the man was right, but it didn't mean he had to like it.
D'Artagnan was even more upset and he blurted out, "We have to go. We can't sit here doing nothing."
Looking out the window once more, Porthos shook his head sadly. "He's right. Until this clears we won't be able to track them and most likely we'll die. They wouldn't want us to risk ourselves so foolishly."
"So, we are going to stand around here, doing nothing?" d'Artagnan exclaimed bitterly as he turned away from the window.
"No," the Abbott interjected calmly. "We shall finish our wine. Get some food and you will head off to bed to get some rest. That way you will be refreshed and ready to head out the minute this storm breaks. The brothers and I shall spend our time praying to God for the safe return of your friends." He saw the skeptical looks on their faces, but wasn't insulted. He understood well enough these were men of action, not prayer. "Trust me. Never underestimate the power of prayer."
NOTE: If you want to know why there is a rooster on the spire of the church, I recommend to Google it. There are a lot of 'stories', some more plausible then others, but like many things no one is absolutely sure which one is 'true'. It does however, seem very popular to find a cock on a French church. When I Googled a picture of the Abbey, I saw one on top, hence I added it to the story.
