CHAPTER 26
D'Artagnan woke first in the morning, stiff and cold because the fire had burned down to embers. There were plenty of logs in a carrier by the fireplace and in no time he had a cheery roaring fire. Aramis and Porthos woke next, their bones and joints snapping as much as the fire, or at least that is what d'Artagnan claimed.
Once awake, Aramis moved quickly to the bed to check on Athos, who was also showing signs of rousing. A hand on the swordsman's forehead showed his fever must have broken in the night and the green eyes that opened, blinked a few times, then focused on him were clear and bright.
"Your fever has broken. How do you feel?" Aramis asked as he helped the musketeer sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed.
As usual, Athos remained silent for a while before answering, "Better, I think."
Aramis, chuckled as he walked over to the fire place and held out his hands to warm them. "It's a marvel. Athos is not fine. He's better…well at least he thinks he is better. And that, gentleman is a Christmas miracle."
The walnut, which Athos strangely found in his pocket, whizzed by Aramis' head with only inches to spare before slamming into the wall on the other side of the room.
"What's that?" Porthos asked, who was hungry and had seen the walnut projectile fly by. He walked over to where it had landed and picked it up, the shell separating in his hand. "Funny way to crack open a nut," he jested as he popped half of its contents in his mouth.
"Hey. It's Christmas. Share," d'Artagnan declared as he marched over and took the other piece.
"After all you ate last night? How can you possibly be hungry" Porthos questioned as he scowled at the lad who had taken his treat.
D'Artagnan offered it to Aramis and Athos, who shook their heads no, before popping it in his mouth. "I seem to recall," he declared after swallowing, "you did major damage to that feast yourself."
"It seems," Aramis said thoughtfully, "We all ate so much we must have fallen asleep, immediately, in front of the fire, and stayed there all night without moving."
"Explains my stiff bones," Porthos groused as he cracked a few more joints.
"Yes. It does. And we were all exhausted." However, it didn't seem like Aramis was totally comfortable with that thought, but before he could say anything more, a discrete knock came upon the door.
Porthos strode over and opened it, emitting Abbott Dubois. "Joyeux Noël," he declared brightly as he entered the room. "I wanted to invite you to our Christmas morning mass. We do things a little different here at the Abbey of Saint-Germain d'Auxerre. Instead of a midnight mass, we have a morning mass and then our feast. We are hoping you are well enough to join us in celebrating this wonderful day."
Athos felt that the Abbott's attention lingered on him as he swept his gaze over the four musketeers.
"That would be wonderful, Abbott DuBois," Aramis declared speaking for the group. "I can't believe I missed midnight mass. I haven't missed one in years, whether in Paris or a small gathering in the field. It is a magical night, so full of hope. Even in the middle of the battlefield, the majesty of our Savior's birth can bring gladness to a weary soul."
"For a child is born to us, and a son is given to us, and the government is upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, God the Mighty, the Father of the world to come, the Prince of Peace," the Abbott softly quoted followed by an immediate amen from Aramis and slightly delayed one from Porthos and d'Artagnan.
Athos, still sitting on the bed, remained silent as he studied the Abbott, who, when he noticed the scrutiny, walked towards the bed. Unsteadily, Athos rose to his feet, not one to meet anyone in a disadvantaged position, even a priest.
"I'm Abbott DuBois. We have not met yet as you were unconscious when your brothers brought you in. I'm delighted to see you are better."
The Abbott stood there congenially smiling at him, and while Athos didn't necessarily sense any danger from the man, he did feel as if they had met before, which of course was not possible. As the Abbott had said, he was not even aware of where he was, let alone who was in charge. Always the Comte, he politely said, "We thank you for your hospitality and will not impose on you at length."
"Impose? The King's musketeers are never an imposition. Why it is our fault, the way I see it, that you are here in the first place. Had it not been for that message from the King, you would have been safe and sound in your garrison, enjoying this day with your companions. I only hope that you will find some joy and peace in our modest celebration."
Aramis, d'Artagnan and Porthos discreetly moved to their fourth brother's side, ready to support him in any way he required. As the four musketeers stood by each other's side, the Abbott could feel the bond that Gui had blathered on about all night on their trip. It was, as Gui said, a gift from God as were their own talents.
"I will leave you to make ready," the Abbott said politely with a little bow as he did the magical glide out the door. "Service is at 9. Dinner at noon. Simply follow the sound of singing and your nose and you will find your way."
After he left, the four musketeers went about cleaning up, using the bathing room that the Abbot had told them about down the hall. Aramis had tut-tutted over the bruises covering Athos' left side and insisted he be allowed to wrap his ribs. He also examined the burn and declared the infection gone. Checking for frostbite, Aramis also did a head to toe examine of the swordsman, who in no manner submitted to it graciously.
Porthos and d'Artagnan were curious how Athos' arm had been burnt, but the distressed look on Aramis' face and the discreet head shake from Athos had them quelling their inquisitiveness. Another story for another time.
Once back in their rooms, Athos dropped into a chair by the fire, already feeling tried from simply getting washed up. He kept trying to think back if he could have ever run across the Abbott before, for he still had the feeling he had met the man. "Aramis. Do you recall if we have ever met this Abbott before in our travels?"
Aramis, who was working on his hair, paused and thought about that for a moment. "No. I do not believe so. Why?"
Athos declined to answer, simply staring moodily into the fire until Aramis came over and handed him his boots. "Can't have you going to church in your stocking feet."
"I will wait here," Athos declared with some degree of finality, which was immediately over-ridden by Aramis.
"No, you will not. Don't test me on this one. Now, do you need help getting those on?" Aramis asked, his tone telling Athos this was one battle of wills he was not going to win.
"No," he grumbled grouchily as he accepted the boots from his brother.
Aramis moved back across the room to sit on the bed and put his own boots on.
Athos stuck his right foot in, and when it reached the bottom, he felt something, like a piece of paper. With annoyance, he withdrew his foot and instead reached in a hand. His fingers touched a folded piece of parchment, which he withdrew and opened.
"It has been done. Thank you and your family for carrying the burden for so many years."
Athos sat there staring at the note. What had been done? Was this even meant for him? Then the wildest imagines of a midnight sojourn and a talking donkey flooded his mind. Fever dreams, he scoffed, though it felt incredibly real to him. As he sat there daydreaming, his brothers had finished dressing and were headed for the door.
"Athos. Are you ready?" Aramis yelled over, seeing his brother was still sitting in the chair bootless. He started to walk in that direction.
Athos, hearing him approach, hid the note in his pocket, before hurrying to shove his foot into the now vacant boot. Before Aramis could touch it, he grabbed the other boot and held it away from Aramis' reach. "I don't need any assistance."
Aramis, crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. "We are waiting. It wouldn't be polite to be late."
"Would you mind getting my scarf off the bed?" Athos asked to distract his brother. "I don't wish to get a chill."
Complaining mildly, Aramis moved towards the bed and as soon as his back was turned, Athos reached into his boot in case it also contained a note. To his surprise, he withdrew a small apple, which he quickly palmed into his pocket. By the time Aramis came back with the scarf, he had both boots on and was standing ready.
The Abbott was right, it was not difficult to find the sanctuary, the strains of a Christmas carol ringing down the old stone wall of the Abbey, almost as if the rocks themselves were joining in the rejoicing. When they entered the church, they noticed live animals in the front near the altar.
"We use live animals in our crèche. A tradition of the Abbey," Abbott DuBois informed them. As usual, he had glided out of nowhere to their sides as they entered.
Athos stepped into the sanctuary and immediately came to a halt, staring at the animals. Then, instead of slinking to a pew in the deep recesses of the church, he uncharacteristically marched down the aisle. He chose a pew near the front, sat and stared at the live animals in the crèche, especially the donkey.
"It is nice to sit in the front where I can hear for once," Aramis joshed as moved over Athos to sit on his far side.
Athos refused to give up his aisle location, so the rest of them climbed awkwardly over him too. Athos was known to cat nap during most services, so Aramis was surprised when he didn't catch the man sleeping once. It seemed that he was utterly fixated on the crèche, and in particular on the donkey.
At the end of the service, the brothers led the animals down the aisle while the congregation waited. As the little grey donkey with the black stripe on his back drew near to Athos, it veered in his direction and began searching his body with its velvet lips.
Athos withdrew the apple from his pocket and offered it up to the questing lips. The donkey took it graciously, eating it in three bites before sticking his nose on Athos' person once more.
"Glutton," Athos breathed under his breath.
The brother controlling the animal pulled on its lead to encourage the donkey to move on. And Athos would have sworn, as the long grey face tuned away, that the burro winked at him.
The rest of the day, Athos participated in the proceedings as much as he ever did, which meant he sat to the side and was mostly quiet. Back in the room that night, after dinner, he gratefully sank into one of the chairs by the fire, to be joined by his brothers.
"It was nice you had an apple for that donkey. Must be hard for the fellow to hang out there for so long. Where did you get it from?" d'Artagnan asked as he loosened his tunic.
"It must have been from…dinner…the night before," Athos lied smoothly, though none of his brothers recalled that there had been apples at the meal.
"Well, you seemed quite entranced with that crèche," Aramis noted as he took off his boots and wiggled his toes. "First time you have not fallen asleep in church. It seemed as if you were deep in thought over something. Care to share?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Athos muttered under his breath. Talking donkey. Pére Noël. He must have a slight concession on top of all his other injuries for he was having hallucinations.
Porthos, who had poured them each a glass of wine, handed them round then proposed a toast. "To another year survived. May there be many more."
They each drank deeply from their glasses, then made small talk. Later that evening, as they prepared for bed, Athos asked Aramis a question.
"I have heard it is said the cross, on a donkey's back, was placed there as a sign, a mark of favor from God. I did notice that little donkey in the church today had such a mark."
Aramis smiled at his brother. "I too have heard that story. I suppose anything is possible. Why do you ask?"
"Someone mentioned it to me and I was…curious." Athos laid down on the bed, but sleep took a while to claim him for he kept thinking of a little grey donkey who had winked him at the service. A dream, wasn't it?
NOTE: One more chapter...an epilogue if your will then we say goodbye to this Christmas tale that was a month late.
