CHAPTER 25
"Athos? Are you alright?" the Abbott asked in concern when the musketeer closed his eyes and seemed to slump into himself.
"I can't be very well if I am sitting in a stable, on Christmas Eve, talking to Pére Noël and his donkey, Gui," the musketeer sarcastically stated, keeping his eyes shut and his head bowed. He'd failed his family once more for he could imagine no way this night ended with presents in Pinon. His father had been right all those years ago when he told Athos he wasn't proper material for a Comte.
A warm, soft nose, gently brushed against his uninjured cheek. It felt good and he actually leaned into the nuzzling, enjoying the feeling. When it was withdrawn, he opened his eyes and saw the long, grey face of the donkey staring at him. He reached up and patted the grey nose in a rather affectionate manner.
"I'll bet Roger enjoys working with you," the little donkey stated as he contentedly stood there having his muzzle massaged.
"I hate to interrupt your moment of bliss, Gui, but we really must be going," the Abbott said kindly, but firmly. "The night awaits us and time is not on our side."
Pinon! Athos realized he had been sidetracked again. He abruptly stopped petting the burro and rose to his feet before the Abbot could stop him. "There must be some form of transportation in this Abbey!" he cried out, desperation coloring his tone. "I must get to Pinon!"
"As I said before, there is no one left in the Abbey this night besides your slumbering friends…"
Athos eyes flew to the Abbott's face for confirmation of what he thought he heard.
"…yes. Your fellow musketeers are safely sleeping in the guest chamber."
"Brothers," injected the donkey. "They are his brothers. He is not an only foal."
The Abbott gave the burro a smile. "I have heard the tale of the brothers who do not look like brothers."
"They are brothers of my heart. The only blood we share is that which has been spilled on the field of battle. They are dear to me," the musketeer solemnly swore.
"Well, your brothers are safe and sound. And all of my brothers…"
"By that he means the monks in the Abbey," the donkey helpfully interposed.
"…are out on their appointed rounds for this night. I'm afraid the only means of transportation left would be Gui and I."
The musketeer slumped back against the hay bale, dropping his head into his hands and groaning. "Then I have fulfilled my father's prophesy. I am a total disgrace."
Using his strong white teeth, Gui helpfully dragged another hay bale from across the aisle, in front of the one on which Athos slumped and the Abbott perched upon it. Gui took up watch to the religious man's left, his long face nearly resting on the man's shoulder. Reaching across the narrow space that separated them, the Abbott placed a comforting hand on the musketeer's shoulder.
"Why is it so urgent to reach this Pinon tonight?" the Abbott asked as he patted Athos' bowed shoulder before removing his hand.
"It is Christmas Eve," Athos stated woodenly. "We, under the guise of Pére Noël, always deliver smalls gifts, toys, food, warm clothing, to the children of Pinon. And this year there will be nothing and it is all my fault. My father said I wasn't cut out to be a Comte and he was right for I can't even carry out this small task, that my ancestors have been accomplishing for centuries."
"Well, I do admit you and your brothers' presence here has been a tiny bit disruptive, and has put us a little behind schedule, but God will make sure we have all the time we need to complete our good works this night," the Abbott declared as one who had the utmost faith in the Almighty.
The donkey bobbed his head in agreement over the Abbott's left shoulder. "I may look like a small, grey donkey to you, but I'm very gifted."
"Yes. You talk," Athos said wryly as he lifted his head to stare off into the distance. "But I am afraid your gift of speech will not be an aid to me tonight."
"Oh, I don't know about that," the confident beast declared. "You might be surprised."
"Why would you deliver gifts to the children of Pinon?" the somewhat confused Abbott asked. "That is Pére Noël's mission, not one of a musketeer."
Unconsciously straightening his spine, Athos declared, "I am the Comte de la Fére."
"I thought you were a musketeer?" the donkey interrupted.
Sighing, Athos replied, "It is a long, sordid, story."
"All your stories seem to be long," the beast grumbled as he twitched his floppy ear.
"Go on," the Abbott kindly encouraged, elbowing his furry friend in the side.
"I am the first-born son of the Comte de la Fére, now deceased, which makes me the Comte, though technically I renounced my title and claims and gave them to the people of Pinon."
"You can't renounce your title, can you?" the Abbott asked with curiosity.
A small bitter chuckle escaped the musketeer's lips. "It would seem one can't. Not without causing a lot of…suffering. However, I did place the innkeeper of Pinon in the position of Mayor. He has my seal and can act in my name. It is my solemn intention to never go back there again."
"Why is that?" asked the donkey, who received another poke from the Abbott.
"Long story," Athos declared once more.
"Why am I not surprised," the grey burro bellyached under his breath.
The Abbott was still trying to work through this strange tale. "If you are to have no more to do with Pinon, as you stated, then why do you need to go there tonight and pretend to deliver gifts from Pére Noël?"
Athos' green eyes focused on the inquisitive Abbott's face. "Because, Father, it is my duty. I may be a poor Comte, husband, friend and even musketeer, but I do understand the meaning of duty. And honor. And by not getting to Pinon tonight, I have sullied both."
"I don't understand, Abbott," the donkey said moving around to the side to better see the man. "I thought we delivered gifts? Why is he doing it?" The grey donkey with the black tipped nose almost seemed offended that someone appeared to be messing with their mission.
"That, my furry little friend, is a very good question. One I shall pose to Brother Bernard upon his return. He keeps the books. Maybe he knows some history, of which you and I are unware." The Abbott turned from addressing the donkey, back to the musketeer. "So, your family has been delivering gifts on Christmas Eve to the children of Pinon?"
"Not quite delivering. My family gathers the gifts and places them in the innkeeper's barn. He actually places the items in the waiting shoes of the children. I imagine this arrangement came from both dignity and practicality. I can't imagine my ancestors wishing to sullying themselves by sneaking into the hovels of the people of Pinon, nor can I fathom the reaction should they have been caught. Making it the innkeeper's role was a…practical and pride-saving solution."
The Abbott appeared confused. "Pride-saving?"
Again, a ghost of a smile appeared on the tired musketeers face. "Nobility don't wish to be perceived as caring too much about their serfs, or servants for that matter. All acts of …kindness, no matter how small, have to be hidden from view unless you wished to be perceived as …weak. We are the ruling class, my father once lectured me. We are to lead and tell others how to properly …follow. It was another area in which I failed my father by not believing as strongly in that caste system as he and my ancestors. However, it has been my experience that people do well enough on their own in their normal lives. They don't need leadership from an aristocrat."
"That seems like an odd statement from a Comte and especially a solider. The army thrives on the chain of command I always thought," the Abbott stated, for he had some experiences with France's military. Rank and order always seemed the directive of the day.
Shifting his position slightly on the hay, Athos plucked out a straw of grass and twirled it between his fingers while he considered the Abbott's comment. "When you are trying to organize something, whether it be a battle or a dinner party, there must indeed be someone in charge to ensure things get carried out correctly. Lives depend on it. Well, in battle anyway. Thus, the military needs, thrives, on the concept of rank. It is for survival." He paused a minute in reflection. "I fear we fail our poor Captain Treville in that area. He says commanding the four of us is rather like riding herd on a group of cats."
The burro burst out braying once more. "Oh, you and your brothers must be quite a handful if he equates you like that. It is impossible to get a group of cats to agree on anything, or to do what you want. Most willful creatures. Smart, but independent."
Athos' fever-flushed cheeks appeared to deepen in color. "I fear we have given our Captain a good portion of the grey hair that is liberally sprinkled about his head."
"Hey, grey is a great color!" the burro exclaimed with a stamp of his hoof and a swish of his tail.
"No offence intended," Athos declared raising his hands in a peaceful manner. "But, to bring this conversation to a close, rank is needed in the military, but not for the daily lives of the people of Pinon. They can oversee that themselves."
Athos closed his eyes and leaned his head against the stall door behind him, taking a deep breath, which aggravated his bruised ribs and made him wince. The Abbott saw both the physical and mental pain the musketeer was in and knew what he had to do.
"I don't know why Pére Noël seems to have forgotten the village of Pinon all these years, but on behalf of myself and my brothers from the past, we thank you and your family for seeing we were well represented." A thought occurred to the Abbott. "If we having been missing Pinon all these years, what about you. Didn't Pére Noël ever visit you?"
That sad, self-depreciating expression crossed Athos' face again. "My father told me I was not worthy of a visit from Pére Noël, though he often left things in my brother's shoes." Opening his eyes, he glanced up at the ceiling of the stable, before adding, "But that was a long time ago." He dropped his eyes to his hands. "Childish notions."
"It is never childish to want to be loved," the Abbott declared softly. "For God so loved the world, as to give his only begotten Son; that whosoever believeth in him, may not perish, but may have life everlasting. After all, is not tonight the start of that story? Mary, giving birth to our Lord."
"And don't forget the noble donkey who carried her and stood by in the stable to watch, guard and spread the good news!" the grey animal said with pride. "God was so appreciative, he placed a cross on the backs of me and my brothers as a sign of remembrance."
"That is just a tale, my long-eared friend," the Abbott said kindly as he reached over and ran his head over the black stripe on the donkey's back.
"Believe what you want," the little donkey sniffed in a rather offend manner. "I say it is a sign of divine blessing."
"Back to the point, Pére Noël shall take over the burden of delivering the gifts to Pinon from now on, Athos. You and your family have done our duty long enough. I'm not sure how it happened, but I shall be sure Brother Bernard straightens it out. You will never need to worry the children of Pinon are ever neglected. And Gui and I shall go straight away now to ensure they are not forgotten this Christmas Eve."
Athos actually burst out laughing. "It is a very long way from here to Pinon, Abbott. As strong as this little guy is," he reached over and ruffled the donkey's mane, "you cannot make it to Pinon before the sunrises." He dropped his hand back to his side. "No, they shall be disappointed this year."
"Oh, ye of little faith," the Abbott said with such confidence, Athos raised his eyes and stared at the monk.
"But…"
"Pére Noël and his faithful steed Gui shall prevail. Trust and have faith."
That sad little smile appeared on Athos face again. "Alas, those are two things I am not good at, trust and faith. God has abandon me long ago, rightly so, and life has taught me trust is a very fragile item, best to be left alone."
The Abbott, even though he realized now was not the appropriate time to preach, couldn't stop himself. God placed the perfect verse into this head. The little burro bobbed his head in time to the cadence of the Abbott's words as he spoke. "For my father and my mother have forsaken me, but the Lord will take me in. Teach me your way, O Lord, and lead me on a level path because of my enemies. Give me not up to the will of my adversaries; for false witnesses have risen against me, and they breathe out violence. I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living! Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!"
A moment of silence settled over the stable. "For now, Athos, believe what you can. But I swear on all that is holy, Gui and I shall carry out your mission tonight and we will not fail. But first, you need to go back to the chambers where your brothers slumber. I can't have you spending the night in the stable."
"Want me to carry you back?" the donkey inquired, pushing his long muzzle against Athos' torso once more. "I'm stronger than you give me credit for, like your brother Porthos I bet."
"I am weary, very weary and I don't know what to make of any of this," Athos said as he swept his hand through the air. "Strange dream brought on by a fever I suppose of which I shall wake up in a bed somewhere. I confess I have no memory of where said bed is, so yes, I will allow you to guide me, Gui, but I shall not impose upon you as to ask for a ride."
"It's no imposition. We donkeys have a long lineage of providing rides to important people."
"None the less, I am not important and won't ride, but I will walk beside you, as a friend, and perhaps place my hand upon your sturdy back now and then for support," the musketeer said with sincerity. "You have been kind to me tonight and I appreciate it."
"Enough to give me a carrot or apple?" the little beast wheedled as they headed for the stable door.
"Remember what our Lord said about gluttony my greedy little friend," the Abbott reproached the donkey, wagging a finger at him. "I'll shall meet you at the gate in twenty minutes." With that, the Abbott glided away.
"He says that," the donkey grumbled as he and Athos proceeded through the stable door back into the long stone hallway. "But if every meal he ate consisted of either grass or hay, he'd be looking for some variety too."
Athos followed alongside his witty companion. "If you say you will deliver the gifts to Pinon tonight…,"
"And we will."
"…where will they come from? Surely an Abbey does not have children's toy and clothes lying about," Athos declared with some level of certainty, though after tonight, nothing seemed impossible.
They were even with the open doors, which were still spilling their pools of light into the semi-dark corridor. The donkey nudged him into the first room on the right, filled with bolts of cloth and sewing supplies.
"This is where the monks, who have been assigned to make clothes, work. They are quite capable of making basic items of necessity for children. They also make the robes for the Abbey and once a cozy blanket for me."
Nudging the dazzled musketeer from the room, they went into the second room, this one on the left-side of the hall.
"And this is where the food gifts are made. Nuts, sweetmeats and such. The Abbott wants to talk about gluttony? He should see how much of what the monks make does not end up in the sacks for the children. I'll tell you, for grown men these monks have a large sweet tooth."
Athos bent over and picked up a stray walnut from the ground and dropped it in his pocket.
"And do you not like a sweet treat, now and then my floppy-eared friend? Perhaps to sweeten your oats as my brother Porthos does?"
Athos walked over to one of the tables and found a container of sugar. Pouring some into the palm of his hand, he moved back to the animal and presented his offering. The velvet lips tickled has they slurped up the grains from his hands. When his palm was empty, he rubbed it on the side of the donkey's cheek. "Sweet tooth, hmmmm."
"I don't suppose you'd get me some more?" the little beast tried to persuade the musketeer. When he saw the man was not to be swayed, he moved back to the hallway and then into the third room. "Here, the monks make the toys. Again, some are very skilled and others, well let's say they are given the more basic tasks. But every monk here contributes in some way to our mission."
They went back into the hallway once more, moving towards the staircase at the end.
"And no one knows of this secret…mission you carry out?" Athos skeptically questioned the donkey.
"The Abbey was assigned this role shortly after being built. The monks and my brethren have been hiding this secret for many, many centuries. We're rather good at it."
They stopped at the base of the long staircase. "Can you climb stairs oh fair beast of burden?" Athos asked in a diplomatic tone with an undertone of mirth.
With a snort that Athos was beginning to recognize meant he had just asked a stupid question, the donkey replied, "Can your ill-named horse, Roger climb stairs?"
Athos paused for a moment and thought. "Yes. Yes, he can. But going down can be an issue."
"I hear that," the grey beast concurred as he began to climb the stairs. "It's a matter of how God built us. Not many stairs in nature. And if a hill were as steep as some stairs, well we'd simply walk around until we found another path."
Once at the top, he deftly led them in the right direction, though he noticed the tired musketeer was leaning on him for more support with each step. At last, they arrived at the chamber, and the donkey nosed open the door and walked in. He led Athos over to a bed and encouraged him to sit upon it.
"My brothers?" Athos said with rising panic as he looked at the empty beds.
"…are safely slumbering in the chairs by the fire," the donkey explained calmly as he walked over to look at them. "They must have, ah, fallen asleep after they ate the good food the monks prepared. I'm sure they were, hmm, very exhausted from their heroic rescue efforts."
"Yes. They saved us. Me and Aramis."
The donkey, who had been examining the three sleeping musketeers proclaimed, "It is strange, they don't look like you. They all are darker of skin, especially that one," he said as he tossed his head in Porthos' direction. "Even with a fever you are much paler. You must have issues in the sun with that pale skin. Me, I have a nice coat year-round to protect my pale skin."
The little beast inhaled loudly. "And they don't smell like you. And yet," he said taking another deep whiff and stepping back to look at all of them, "I can sense a bond, a very strong one, between all of you. You have chosen your herd mates well, Athos."
"I think," the musketeer stated with a huge yawn, "they more chose me."
"Well, however, it worked out," the little donkey supposed as he walked over to Athos and basically pushed the slumping musketeer flat onto the bed, "It's good. For them and you. Time for you to go to sleep. The Abbott will not be in a good mood if I'm late."
With surprising dexterity, the talented grey donkey used his teeth to pull the wool blanket over the prone musketeer, who was on the very edge of consciousness. "Human skin. Way to frail. I plan to ask God why he designed you that way, without fur I mean. Sleep tight."
Athos rolled onto his side. "It was nice to meet you, donkey of my dreams. I don't suppose our paths shall ever cross again."
"Well you could come back next Christmas Eve, to talk to me I mean. It has been fun and I still don't know how Roger got his name," the burro complained. "Next Christmas Eve you may want to seek out Roger, ask him a question or two, especially about his name." Then the little grey beast sighed, "It has been a pleasure conversing with you, Athos. We will see if it is God's will that our paths cross once more."
"Likewise," Athos mumbled as he drifted off to sleep.
With that, the little grey donkey walked out the door, after taking a short detour by the table checking for any stray apples or carrots that might have been left upon it scarred surface. Using his hind foot, he kicked the door shut and though it made a banging noise, no one from within stirred.
"Take care of yourself, Athos," and with that the little grey donkey whose ancestors had once carried Mary, went about on his own mission, to spread joy with Pére Noël."
NOTE: Thanks to all who voted for Choices as the Dec challenge story. It was a honor and a pleasant surprise at the end of a long day.
