Thank you all so much for your support and kind words, especially the guest reviewers whom I have been unable to contact directly.
So, what is going on with Athos? Are we - or his friends - any closer to finding out? Was his behaviour in the last chapter merely a minor aberration? Read on ...
THE FIRST HOUR
At the sound of booted footsteps on the wooden stairs, the four looked up and saw Athos beginning to descend again. This time it was Tréville intent upon interception and he blocked the musketeer's way by standing at the bottom of the stairs, his hand on the bannister so that there was no opportunity for Athos to get past.
"Where are you going?" Tréville asked, struggling to sound calm and with no trace of censure in his tone for he was increasingly concerned for the well-being of one of his most trusted men. This display of behaviour deviated far from the norm.
Athos was clearly troubled. "I have to check the guard; it must be doubled," he insisted.
Tréville looked to the other Inseparables and spoke loudly, deliberately, as he hoped they would join his play-acting without question.
"Why don't I get Porthos and Aramis to do that for you?" He heard the pair enthusiastically give their consent to the task. "You must be tired after your journey and you have not yet had the chance to make your report. I am eager to hear it for you must explain to me the need for checking the guard. As Captain of the garrison, it is incumbent upon me to know immediately of any threat and to act accordingly." He stepped up onto the same tread just as Athos rubbed at his right temple as if in the early throes of an intense headache.
Recovering rapidly, Athos gazed at his superior officer with unrelenting intensity. "The guard must be doubled and the garrison put on high alert."
"But of course," Tréville attempted to placate him. "Porthos and Aramis have that in hand. Now I need to hear your report. It sounds as if it is going to be very important."
"But Captain …" d'Artagnan began. He did not know what kind of report Athos was going to make and he did not want Tréville caught between vague truth and utter fantasy.
"Easy," Porthos said, grabbing him by the arm to stop him. "The Captain will talk with Athos an' he'll know what to do, soon as he hears Athos' report. Meanwhile, why don't you come an 'elp Aramis an' me check the guard."
With his objections falling on deaf ears, d'Artagnan let himself be led away by the other two, but not before they had seen Tréville put a fatherly arm around Athos' shoulders, turn him round on the step and guide him up towards the office.
Aramis was watching their departure the whole time and, as the door closed on the Captain and their friend, he ground to a halt, tapped Porthos on the shoulder and headed towards the places they had earlier vacated at the table. They had left d'Artagnan to walk on a few paces before he realised that they were no longer there and he raced over to join them.
"I thought we were going to check the guard," he said.
"Of course not," Aramis explained. "That was just a ruse by Tréville to get Athos to go with him quietly."
"Now," said Porthos, clapping a large hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder and forcing him to sit on the bench, "why don't you start at the beginnin' and tell us exactly how long Athos has been actin' strange an' what he's been doin' and sayin'. I'm thinkin' you might 'ave only told us the 'alf of it."
"If he's ailing in some way," Aramis continued, his face one of ill-suppressed concern, "we need to know all the details."
In the office, Tréville sank onto the hard chair behind his desk and indicated to Athos to pull up a chair and do likewise, but he was not surprised when the younger musketeer ignored him and resolutely chose to stand.
"A hard ride?" the Captain began by way of opening the conversation.
Athos thought for a moment. "We did not push the mounts too zealously at the start, we felt little need but when Beauvais' men set off in pursuit of us, we did have to press the animals hard."
His voice and expression was the Athos of old, stoic and to the point. Retrieving a pile of letters and other documents from his saddlebag, he stepped up to the desk and handed them to Tréville; some were addressed to the King.
"From the Comte," he announced needlessly and Tréville looked up just in time to see him drop the saddlebag to the floor, frown and rub at his temple again.
Tréville noted the action but made no comment upon it as he sifted through the papers he had been given. A long ride, at least one night spent sleeping brokenly under the stars and an apparently tense conclusion to the errand were sufficient to induce a headache. As he broke the seal on one missive to peruse its contents, he urged Athos to begin his report whilst he continued to read. He was not concentrating on what was written but listening closely to what Athos had to say.
There was distinct relief to be felt when he heard the manner of the young man's delivery. The rich timbre, familiar cadence and coherence of detail were all there as Tréville had come to expect; Athos may be economical in his words but he missed nothing and communicated all, which was why his behaviour in the yard had been so jarringly different and, according to d'Artagnan, this aberration had to have been ongoing for a while. He might be the newest musketeer but the lad had already proven that he was not given to flights of fancy.
There was nothing in the verbal account to suggest that Beauvais was anything other than a loyal nobleman to the crown.
Tréville laid down the letter in order to give Athos his undivided attention. "And what led you to believe that you were being followed? That it was Beauvais' men? Did you see them? Did they present some kind of direct threat to the pair of you?"
They were natural questions to ask considering that the report which Athos gave noticeably ended with his and d'Artagnan's departure from the Comte. He made no mention of the subsequent pursuit, an omission that was strangely glaring in light of his insistence to increase garrison security.
Even as Tréville watched, he saw the confusion reappear in Athos' eyes and there was a drawn-out hesitation as he considered his reply. "No, I didn't see anyone."
"Then why did you think you were being followed?" Tréville repeated, modulating his usually gruff voice for he did not want to sound angry.
"I thought ….," Athos began. "That is, I was sure …. Gut instinct."
Tréville raised an eyebrow. Gut instinct was far from being a bizarre response; instinct kept many a soldier alive in battle and those who were sadly lacking in it had long since gone to meet their maker but, in this instance, accompanied by the incomplete sentences, the reasoning was weak, inadequate. Athos was incapable of justifying his perception and being unable to explain himself was not in the man's nature. Something was seriously amiss.
"Get cleaned up and have something to eat," Tréville ordered kindly.
"But my report?" Athos' frown deepened.
Now it was Tréville's turn to frown. Had Athos already forgotten that he had given his report? What was going on with the man?
"You have made your report and it was, as usual, clear and succinct, unless you have anything else appertaining to the letters that are to be delivered to the Palace."
"What are you doing about the guard?" Athos asked suddenly.
"Porthos and Aramis are taking care of that for me, remember?"
"But it's not just the main gate. We have to consider the perimeter as well."
"And we will," Tréville reassured him. He decided to take a different approach for many was the occasion when he had seen Athos' ability as a strategist. Perhaps he could encourage more clarity of thought. "I need more information from you about the reasons behind Beauvais' animosity. Why is he intent upon attacking the garrison? If you were at his chateau, you must have seen the numbers of men he commands. What size of force should we expect? Is the King in danger? Should we increase the guards at the palace as a result?"
Given the level of confusion that Athos had demonstrated several times already, Tréville anticipated another perplexed look and the stumbling uncertainty at the barrage of questions. He was not prepared for the sudden change. Re-emergent was the cold expression, the calculating mind and the reasoned delivery.
"Within the chateau were enough trained men to provide a small army. This number could be easily augmented by menfolk called upon from the surrounding villages, all tenants for the Comte. They would not have the same level of expertise but, deployed efficiently, they could do damage. It is highly unlikely that Beauvais would be in a position to launch a full-scale attack on the city but he is more than capable of the utmost subterfuge. No doubt he would split his forces and they would enter through the various city gates in the guise of being ordinary travellers. They would rendezvous at a predetermined place and begin their assault from within the city walls. We must overcome any animosity or competition we have with the Red Guard. Cardinal Richelieu must be made to understand the seriousness of the situation so that we join forces to guard both King and city. There is strength in our greater numbers and combined experience. Beauvais does not stand a chance."
He stopped abruptly and it was seconds before Tréville realised that he was not going to speak again. The Captain cleared his throat, giving him precious time to gather his thoughts. Athos had sounded so calm, his tone and explanation so credible that Tréville had to remind himself that he had still not provided one shred of evidence to support his claim of an imminent attack by a man known for his loyalty to France. Admittedly, that did not mean a much trusted man could not become a traitor if he so chose but Beauvais was not high on the list of potential turn-coats.
"I thank you for your advice and will make arrangements to see the Cardinal forthwith," Tréville lied, adopting a similarly business-like manner. "Now go and get something to eat." Then he calmly turned his attention to the papers on the desk.
For once, Athos did not seem to recognise the dismissal and continued to stand there so that Tréville was forced to look up at him again, wondering if there was something pressing to be shared.
"Your arm!" Athos suddenly blurted out.
"Yes?"
"You are not wearing the sling." He was referring to the support Aramis had insisted that Tréville wear after his injury had been treated.
"No, there is no longer any need."
"But it is only two weeks since you received your hurt; you must look after yourself," Athos went on, a note of creeping anxiety evident in his voice.
"I thank you for your concern but it hardly even aches now. I have not worn the sling for the past three days," Tréville gave a reassuring smile.
"Perhaps you should have Aramis look at it. I can get him for you," and the younger man turned to leave.
"Athos!" Tréville stopped him. "Aramis has been tending it; there is no need to bother him now. I am fine, I assure you; go."
Even as he departed, Athos' eyes roamed the office, his expression puzzled as though he were seeing the room for the first time. Gone was the calculating soldier of a few minutes before and Tréville sat still, considering his limited options.
That something was wrong was obvious, but what? Athos did not appear injured in any way. D'Artagnan would have found some way to communicate to them if the musketeer had suffered a blow to the head that might occasion such inexplicable shifts in behaviour. If a physician were summoned, what could Tréville say? That one of his men was behaving most oddly and claiming outrageous things? What could a medical man do in that event, short of questioning Athos' sanity and declaring him unfit for duty? At best, he would be told to rest. A physician unable to make a diagnosis might resort to suggesting less satisfactory treatments such as purging and bloodletting, just to be seen to be doing something. At worst – and Tréville would fight tooth and nail not for this outcome – the diagnosis might be that Athos had lost all reason and was destined for an asylum.
Perhaps, Tréville thought, the young musketeer's behaviour could simply be ascribed to exhaustion and a good night's sleep would remedy all ills. Perhaps that was it – Athos was sickening for something. If that were the case, it was not anything that Tréville had seen before, not with an initial symptom of such irrationality but he knew that, even at his age, there was much of which he was ignorant. He tried to settle and concentrate on the newly arrived communications, reading that which required his attention and sorting those documents going on to the palace but familiar, raised voices from below his open window interrupted him. The tension was evident.
He was starting down the wooden staircase when the exchange between the four at their table became more heated, the remnants of lunch strewn across the rough surface. Athos was walking away as Aramis rose to his feet. Having eaten, musketeers were beginning to reappear, ready to resume their training or to head off to undertake prescribed duties but the apparent disagreement between the close friends promised a fascinating diversion and a number of men loitered to see how the situation would unfold.
"Athos!" Aramis remonstrated with him. "I take exception to your accusation and am far from being negligent. I checked the Captain's arm and shoulder yesterday; they are virtually healed. I really do not need to look again today."
Athos rounded on him. "You don't know that! An infection could begin at any time. Now, more than ever with a threat imminent, we cannot afford for the Captain to succumb to illness."
"Not after all this..." Aramis began but Athos cut him off.
"And what about the guards?" He did a complete circle, rapidly taking in the immediate area of the garrison.
"Now what about the guards?" Porthos asked as he stood and walked towards his friend. "What do you mean?"
"The guards!" Athos backed away, gesticulating wildly. His mood was swinging from undisguised anger to bordering upon panic. "We need more guards on duty to ward off the attack! Tréville must increase the guards. I have said so and you are all ignoring me. Do you not believe me? How is it that I am the only one who can see the danger here?"
His three friends exchanged alarmed glances in the face of such uncharacteristic behaviour. More men were assembling in the yard now, word spreading even if the sound of terse voices had not already drawn them to the spectacle. Unnerved anew by what he was hearing and seeing, Tréville hurried down the steps and joined Aramis as d'Artagnan reached out a calming hand.
"What attack, Athos?" he asked, deliberately keeping his voice soft as Athos became increasingly agitated and rubbed frantically at both temples. "You keep speaking of an attack but what have you heard that we don't know?"
"The Comte de Beauvais," Athos said, incredulously. "You were there; you know he is a threat to the musketeers and then he will hurt the King. How can you stand there and pretend that you know nothing of this, d'Artagnan? You were with me." His face darkened and he took a menacing step forward. "Unless you are in this plot with the Comte de Beauvais. Your accompanying me gave you ample opportunity to finalise details of the insurrection."
As he lunged, Porthos leaped in between him and d'Artagnan and grabbed him by the shoulders, struggling to hold him still for he suddenly seemed imbued with a terrible strength, even for the big musketeer. "Stop it, Athos. I don't know what's goin' on here but you've got it all wrong."
D'Artagnan turned to look back at the Captain, spread his hands, shrugged and mouthed, "What? I don't know what he's talking about."
Tréville nodded encouragingly to the young man. "I know; don't worry."
They were the wrong words to use.
Still fighting against Porthos, Athos' temper erupted and he pointed directly at the Captain.
"You sent us there. You made him go with me. The others were not allowed to accompany us. Why not? We always travel on missions together so why not this time? You knew what d'Artagnan was going to do because he was your messenger. You sent him. That means that you are in on this too."
Tréville was speechless. The situation had dramatically spiralled out of control and he did not know how to answer such incredibly absurd accusations.
"That's rubbish an' you know it," Porthos challenged as he fought to keep his brother from reaching the Captain now.
"Athos," Aramis tried approaching. "What is wrong ...?"
"Nothing,"Athos replied testily. "Nothing is wrong with me. It's you; can't you see this? Can't you see what they are doing?" His voice had risen to a shout, bordering on desperation.
Wrenching himself free from Porthos' grasp, he staggered backwards a few paces, hands held out in front of him as if in the process of warding them off. "Why didn't you ask to come along?" he gasped at Porthos and Aramis. "You would any other time. You chose to stay here. Why? What were you doing?"
Aramis continued to take small steps towards him, his own hands out but in supplication, a calming gesture as he sought to quieten his distracted friend but Athos would have none of it.
"You were planning some nefarious business here, weren't you? That's why you would not come. You are all plotting against the King and I am the only one who can stop you!"