Greetings, all. Here's a slightly longer chapter for you to make up for the delay. Unfortunately, Covid eventually caught up with me thirteen days ago and I was really unwell in the early stages. (Thank goodness I was triple vaccinated!) I have proofread and edited this chapter but please forgive any errors that have slipped through as I do seem to have a brain fog for now.

Guiscard continues in his own unpleasant way!

CHAPTER 35

Athos was watching Guiscard carefully, weighing up the man and rapidly drawing the conclusion that if he disliked this de Ricart before, when he maintained an intimidatory presence in the background, the Musketeer detested him even more at close quarters. The festering animosity might be distracting him to some extent from the pounding headache that had developed but it was having no detrimental impact upon his racing mind as he sat there quietly observing and analysing the situation and its significant players.

When the bones were callously dumped in the fireplace amidst the logs, he had felt Aramis stiffen beside him and heard Porthos grunt in unbridled rage, even as Philippe had emitted an anguished cry. Athos did not react but merely studied Guiscard with narrowed eyes.

"How can you be so disrespectful?" Philippe said, his face contorted with distress.

"And how can you be so gullible, Cousin?" Guiscard retorted. "How can you accept that these are the remains of the glorious saint himself? It's a few small and broken bones. Even if they are human, we have no way of knowing that they belonged to him. The contents of any pauper's grave would suit the purpose."

"But the King expects –"

"Expects what, Cousin? Do you really think he's interested in those old bones? That he could tell, just by one look, that they are not the bones of the saint? Of course not! Somehow, he has heard the story of the Templar treasure, probably from that fossilised religious relic he keeps by his side to advise him."

Porthos snorted his amusement at the colourful description of the Cardinal but immediately looked contrite as his brothers scowled at him simultaneously.

Ignoring them, Guiscard continued his tirade. "You're an even bigger fool than I took you for. Don't you see that you have played right into their hands by giving them the documents and the reliquary. With both in their possession, they can begin the search for the treasure." He suddenly broke off and turned, his glare settling on the Musketeers as they sat together innocuously on the floor.

"Not that they would do the dirty work themselves," he said slowly as an idea came to him. "Rather they would send someone else to do it for them. That's why you three are really here, isn't it? It has nothing whatsoever to do with the King's misguided sentimentality in letting my cousin see what he has let go. Answer me!" he demanded.

"I assure you that His Majesty did not send us here to locate any treasure," Athos said truthfully. He was not about to explain that the suggestion to come here had been his and that Porthos and Aramis had subsequently agreed with him. Nor was he about to admit that his intention had been to disprove the treasure's existence, rather than discover it.

"I don't believe you!" Guiscard yelled, his patience wearing dangerously thin. He looked from the Musketeers to his cousin and back. "You are in this together with your scheming and lies. What is the arrangement? Philippe here takes his share and you soldiers get your reward whilst the King gets what's left?" His voice had risen almost to a screech.

Athos maintained his composure, keeping his voice low and sounding almost disinterested for to raise his tone and volume would probably only infuriate Guiscard further.

"I do not know what to say to you to convince you, but I have told you the truth. There are no schemes, no lies and no arrangements. We have had no contact with your cousin since our last visit and he knew nothing of our intended return."

The quiet delivery did little to appease the angry man, but he did at least pause as he glared at the Musketeer. It might have discomforted any lesser individual but confident green eyes calmy met the stare.

Guiscard took a step closer and towered over the soldier. "You have a lot to say for yourself."

Athos raised an eyebrow as if in surprise. "I am merely responding to your accusation and endeavouring to explain that you are wrong in your assumption."

"And what about you two?" Guiscard demanded, taking in Porthos and Aramis. "Do you let him do all the talking?"

"They have plenty to say for themselves when they wish," Athos cut in before either of them could respond.

Guiscard paused again as if thinking hard about something.

"But you are their spokesman," the noble persisted. "So you must be the one called Athos, lieutenant in the King's regiment."

If Athos were surprised that his name was known, then he did not show it, even though he was wondering how the other man had learned of his identity.

"'Ow does 'e do that?" Porthos suddenly asked.

Aramis knew instinctively that the question was directed at him even though all three Musketeers had not torn their eyes away from their captor. "Do what?"

"Draw attention to 'imself without even tryin'?"

The response came without missing a heartbeat. "Years of practice and his sunny disposition."

Athos did not even blink; it was as though he had not heard their exchange despite sitting between the pair.

"Silence!" Guiscard bellowed, before turning his attention back to Athos in the middle and resuming the lower, almost conversational tone that invited conspiracy. "Now I understand why you do most of the talking; they have little of value to say."

Athos sensed the feigned offence exhibited by his brothers but he knew they took no genuine personal affront at the comment for they had endured far worse as the King's men but they must – like him – be wondering where this was leading and how they could make good their escape. Tréville would not be thinking of them as seriously overdue yet and he was ignorant of their decision to return to Philippe de Ricart. There would be no help coming to secure their rescue; they were on their own and would have to fend for themselves.

"So, Athos of the Musketeers, you are a poor sailor but a fine swordsman," Guiscard continued.

"Cut me loose, put a weapon in my hand and I will give you a demonstration."

The loud guffaw that met the comment was surprising, but its abrupt end was sinister. Guiscard's eyes blazed with fury and hatred as he leaned closer.

"You'd love that, wouldn't you, Musketeer? Be patient; I have something in mind for you but it can wait for now. I made inquiries in Calais and heard from a crewman on board the ship you used. He told me all about how you murdered my kinsman."

"It was self-defence," was all Athos said, but it was enough.

The back of Guiscard's hand caught him a stunning blow on the side of his face, snapping his head back so that he slammed it into the wall behind him. Pain exploded in his skull and, for a few moments, his peripheral vision faded. Sheer willpower prevented him from losing consciousness and his existing headache seemingly increased tenfold. He bit into his lower lip, determined that he would not favour his tormentor even with a groan; it was enough that his brothers reacted on his behalf.

"Stop!" Aramis cried out and added, almost as an afterthought, "Please." Then, wondering if his transparent concern would heap more trouble upon the beleaguered Musketeer, he shrugged and attempted to play down the extent of his worry. "His brains are addled enough after the first blow you gave him. Any more and he will be completely incapable of any straight thinking, should you need him."

"And what makes you think I would have any need of him to be thinking? Or any of you for that matter? Perhaps it is you, soldier, who has the addled brains that you can forget so quickly that you are my prisoners."

"Be quiet, Aramis," Porthos growled in warning.

"You would do well to heed your friend's sound advice," Guiscard ordered and focused upon Athos once more. "Self-defence indeed! Hear this, Athos of the King's Musketeers," and his voice dripped with contempt. "I have not finished with you yet; you will pay for what you did. No man sheds blood of mine without vengeance."

"And yet you would quite happily terrorise and threaten your own blood when it suits you," Athos shot back, nodding in Philippe's direction. The man was a confusion of fear, abject misery and incomprehension.

"Athos!" Aramis moaned at his brother's recklessness in speaking his mind at such an inopportune time.

"You can be quiet too," Porthos insisted, glaring at Athos next to him.

Aramis brightened. "See, I told you his brains were addled. He doesn't know what he is saying."

Guiscard merely harrumphed. and walked back to Philippe but there was undisguised menace in the way he held himself and in every step he took.

"Enough of these distractions. Time, cousin, for you to stop messing about and telling me what I want to know, namely the whereabouts of the treasure. For some reason, I credit you with a little common sense in that you must have kept a copy of the document at least. I can understand your parting with the originals. After all, you would want the King and the Cardinal to believe that they were the sole owners of the information."

"I have no need for any documents," Philippe declared slowly, as if explaining to one who had definitely lost his wits, "for there is no treasure."

"Y'know, even I'm beginnin' to believe 'im," Porthos whispered.

Athos rolled his eyes and Aramis allowed himself a low chuckle.

Guiscard, though, remained unconvinced and his focus swung yet again to the three soldiers and their perceived part in this ongoing conspiracy. Crossing to the dresser where the men's weapons belts lay, he let his fingers lightly caress the collection of swords, daggers and pistols.

"Is this all they had on them, Arcy?" he asked, changing the subject.

"It's what they dropped when we captured them," Arcy answered, smirking. "It's enough, don't you think? Don't know how they manage to walk, carrying that lot."

"They're highly trained and fit, you imbecile. So you're admitting you didn't search them properly?"

Arcy had the decency to look uncomfortable at the accusation levelled at him as he realised that he may have made a grievous error. "Well, no. I … er …"

"Do it now, idiot," Guiscard snarled, "and send someone to search their saddles too. They may have something useful with them."

Arcy hesitated. "How can I search them? They're tied up and you've said they're trained well. They might try to escape."

Guiscard let out a long-suffering sigh. "Do you expect me to breathe for you as well? Are you incapable of sensible thought, man? Get some others in here to increase the guard and search them one at a time."

It took a further ten minutes for Arcy to organise matters, conscious that his employer was watching his every move, the man's silence a disapproving censure.

As the search commenced, Guiscard settled himself at the other end of the table as far away from Philippe as was humanly possible. He barked an order for refreshments and a terrified elderly man servant, himself under armed escort, brought a tray bearing a goblet, flagon of wine, bread and cold meats. As he began to eat and drink his fill, Guiscard was able to survey the whole room: his cousin, who sat deflated and miserable on his chair, the Musketeers on the floor and the men who had sworn allegiance to him in return for some pecuniary reward.

He knew they were not imbued with much intelligence; he had hired them for their brawn and not to question too much, but he had taken it for granted that they might be able to demonstrate some initiative. His mistake, it seemed, but he had heard much of the King's men and even more about the three specific soldiers who were currently his prisoners. Messages – passed from Chesman and Tanquerel, both verbally and written – had spoken of the trio and their resoluteness, that all were a force to be reckoned with but that the one called Athos was worthy of specific attention, not least because of his prowess with a blade in his hand but also because he held the rank of lieutenant.

He was their leader then and Guiscard was faced with an interesting conundrum. Should he pick on the other two, attempt to break them first or even kill them in front of the officer to force him to co-operate? Did the man feel any sense of responsibility for the men who served with him or were they expendable? It was Guiscard's biggest miscalculation that he did not consider that these soldiers were friends and brothers on a level that he had never before witnessed and certainly never experienced personally. He was only followed because of what he had promised by way of reward.

Or should he focus all his attention and efforts on the lieutenant? In his gut, he feared that any one of these men could endure a great deal of adverse treatment for much was said of the Musketeer code of honour, duty and loyalty. This was not going to be easy, but the recovery of the treasure would make everything else pale into insignificance.

He watched as, one at a time, the bonds at the men's ankles were released and their boots removed before they were retied. The search revealed two hidden weapons in their footwear. There had been a brief attempt at resistance from the big soldier, the one they called Porthos, who had kicked out at his captors the moment his feet were free, but a knife at his throat had quickly subdued him.

Then they were hauled up to stand whilst willing volunteers patted them down none-too-gently and searched through pockets on breeches. Wrists were released just long enough for them to be stripped of their leather jackets and then they were forced to the floor once more.

It was as Arcy was examining one garment that he felt something and discovered the concealed inner pocket. With a jubilant cry, he withdrew some papers and handed them over to Guiscard, eager to look more competent.

Without saying a word, Guiscard unfolded the documents and perused them, unable to believe quite what he was seeing: a letter addressed to the King and concluding with a poor version of Philippe's signature which outlined the agreed purchase of the reliquary, a document scribbled in Latin, and what looked like a long poem written on paper in pencil and by a neat hand.

Reluctant to set them down out of his grasp for fear of losing them, Guiscard held the Latin document in one hand and the one written in pencil in the other as he glared at the Musketeers.

Porthos stared back, his expression suggesting that he would like to tear his captors limb from limb. The one addressed earlier as Aramis sat with his eyes closed and head bowed as if in resignation. It was only Athos in the middle whose face was hard to read as his disconcerting, green eyes rested upon Guiscard.

"You lied," de Ricart said. "Here are copies. You can no longer deny that the King sent you here to search for the treasure; you have both the document and the letter and this poem in pencil, which I see is a translation of the Latin. Who did this for you? The Cardinal?"

"No-one did it for us." Athos sounded bored. "Aramis and I translated it between us," and he inclined his head towards the third man.

Guiscard let out a humourless laugh. "You expect me to believe that common soldiers did this?"

"Soldiers, yes; common no. We are not without some education," Athos objected. "We merely collaborated with my knowledge and Aramis' church Latin. The result is … acceptable."

If Athos were disappointed that the papers had been discovered, he was not showing it.

"In which doublet were they hidden?" Guiscard asked, pushing his chair back and slowly rising. He crossed to where Arcy was standing, the clothing strewn upon the floor at their feet.

"This one," and Arcy kicked at a slate-coloured leather.

Breathing hard, Guiscard looked from the garment to Athos.

"Well, well, well. It seems you are determined to annoy me, Athos of the Musketeers. You could have told me of these documents before now and saved me the time."

"And why would I do that?" The arrogance, challenge and contempt were unmistakable.

"You are hardly in a position to defy me, Musketeer; not when I hold you, your comrades and my cousin. I believe I will have to think up something special for you. Rest assured, your time is running out but to other matters," and he turned to Arcy. "Bring in the other one."

There was no concealing the bewilderment of the three friends this time. What other one? Who else was being drawn into this?

Arcy nodded to one of his colleagues who left the room and swiftly returned with another guard, dragging an elderly man between them. He was dressed in the garb of the church.

They let him go and, unable to stop himself, he fell to his hands and knees with a cry and stayed there, head bowed, but there was no hiding his bruised and battered features.

"Father Clemence!" Philippe gasped.

The village's aged parish priest had joined the group of prisoners and they were all left wondering what Guiscard's intentions were now.

Little had stopped him so far but to what lengths was Guiscard still prepared to go in his relentless pursuit of the Templar treasure?