Chapter 4

The Abbey of La Trinité was an ornate structure with two spires rising on either side of a majestically carved central arch encompassing one of the oldest known stained glass windows in the world. Originally a Benedictine monastery, it fell under the purview of the St. Maur congregation, renowned for its literary and historical works. Aramis squinted at the façade, the weathered balustrades pale against the blue sky above. He sighed, praying silently they would be able to find some answers here.

They tethered their horses to a tree across the main courtyard and moved on foot to the two main doors of the church. Inside, the air was cool, the late afternoon sun shining through the stained glass, casting a rainbow of color across the parquet floor. A few people occupied chairs within the hushed confines of the cathedral, but the marble alter was not in use and the Musketeers were reassured they had not intruded upon any ongoing service.

Aramis hung back, leaning wearily against the main door as Treville moved further into the church, his objective a cassock-clad monk by the marble columns near the altar. The click of the Captain's boots echoed in the lofty structure, and Aramis winced as the sound reverberated inside his head. He narrowed his eyes as Treville approached the monk, who held out a hand in greeting. Their voices were pitched too low for the marksman to hear the words exchanged, but he watched Treville gesture back toward him and grew concerned as the monk's expression instantly changed to one of alarm.

As Treville led the monk toward the front of the church, Aramis stepped back into the vestibule, his hands nervously gripping and releasing the soft felt of his hat. His stomach knotted in fear and pain, uneasy at the monk's expression. As the two men approached, he saw the dismay in the monk's eyes. If his memories continued to remain buried, he feared he would fail not only his friends, but his country and church as well.

"Is it true?" the monk asked in a shaking voice as soon as they strode within Aramis' reach. "The book has been lost?"

Aramis glanced at Treville, who shrugged apologetically. "We are unsure of its fate at the present," he admitted. "But if my friends are alive, I am sure they have kept it safe."

"Your Captain has told me you cannot remember what happened?"

Aramis shifted, wincing as the stitches in his side pulled. He shook his head, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I'm sorry." He looked up when he felt a hand on his arm, smiling gratefully at Treville for the support.

"Aramis is not to blame," he said with authority. "He was gravely wounded yet made it back to Paris to report the attack. His head wound has prevented him from recalling what took place, but he is here now, despite his condition, to make things right."

The monk looked the younger man up and down, seeming to find substance in Treville's words.

"No," he agreed. "This man is not to blame." He turned, motioning for the Musketeers to follow him toward the back of the abbey. "Come. This is a conversation best held in private."

He led them to a small room, just off the main cloister walk, bereft of furniture save for an upholstered wooden chair and small writing table. Aramis swallowed, the pain in his head increasing as the monk closed the door behind them. He swayed, reaching out to the nearest wall to steady himself, his vision graying around the edges.

"You look pale, my son," the monk said, observing the younger man. "Perhaps you should sit."

Before he could protest, Treville clasped a hand around his arm and with the other firmly against his back, guided him across the tiled floor to the small chair, pressing him down onto the seat. A glass of water appeared before him and Aramis accepted it, sipping gratefully, sighing in relief as the cool liquid slid down his throat to his stomach, quelling some of the building nausea.

"Aramis?"

The Musketeer nodded, taking a deep breath as the he regained control of his senses. "I'm all right, Captain."

"You're far from all right," Treville corrected. "I must have been a fool for allowing you to come."

Aramis smiled, conciliatory. "Despite outward appearances, I was the best man for the job. You are too worthy of a commander to have ignored this."

"You are the Musketeer called Aramis," the monk stated.

Aramis nodded. "Yes. We have met?"

"When you and your friends arrived with the Cardinal's missive." He stepped toward the small desk and lifted the top, retrieving a parchment from inside. He handed it to Aramis. "You do not recall this?"

Aramis accepted the parchment, letting his fingers run across the broken seal. The large R pressed into the red wax was familiar enough, but Aramis had no recollection of this particular letter. Inside, the Cardinal's precise handwriting instructed the monks to turn the book over to these Musketeers with little preamble. He assumed the seal had been intact when they'd arrived, and since he'd not read the letter previously, he was not surprised the words elicited no recollection. "I'm afraid the memory still eludes me." He handed the parchment back to the monk. "I'm sorry."

"And you have no idea what happened to the book?"

Aramis shook his head. "I presume we left here without incident?"

"The four of you left soon after you took possession of the book." The monk wrung his hands together, shook his head and started to pace in agitation. "This is not good," he mumbled. "I warned the Cardinal of the dangers of exposing such a secret. The ampule should never have been moved."

Treville stepped forward, exchanging a look of confusion with Aramis.

"Ampule?" He held out a hand to stop the monk's pacing. "I thought the package was a book?"

The monk, seeming to suddenly realize his thoughts had been voiced out loud, sighed and rubbed a hand along his chin.

"The book was a mere cover for the actual treasure," he carefully explained. He shifted his eyes to Aramis and shook his head sympathetically. "I am distressed the Cardinal did not explain to you the importance of what you were carrying. You may have been more vigilant if you had understood the magnitude of your task."

Before Aramis could respond, he felt the weight of Treville's hand on his shoulder.

"My men always perform their duties to the best of their abilities. They would have fought to protect whatever they had been charged with no matter the value."

Aramis dipped his head, smiling softly, quietly thanking the Captain for his conviction.

"Of course," the monk said hurriedly. "I meant no disrespect."

"The Cardinal can be… less than forthcoming at times," Treville continued, accepting the monk's apology on Aramis' behalf. "What exactly didn't we know about this mission?"

The monk sighed and buried his hands in his sleeves. He turned and faced the two Musketeers, his voice hushed as he began his explanation.

"The book was created as a concealment – a camouflage – for what is known as La Sainte Larmé." He paused as Aramis' eyes widened.

"The Holy Tear of Christ," the Musketeer breathed. "The existence of La Sainte Larmé is but a legend."

The monk nodded solemnly. "It has been rumored to exist for centuries, hidden away in churches and abbeys all over the world."

"And you are telling us this legendary tear is real?" Treville found himself struggling to understand. "It was hidden inside the book?"

Again, the monk responded affirmatively. "It was discovered nearly a decade ago, and has been hidden in many different places, always moving so to keep its true location a secret."

"And the Cardinal wanted the ampule moved to Paris." Aramis concluded.

"Yes, His Eminence decreed it would be safer under his protection." He shrugged. "He was able to convince Rome of his intentions and we were ordered to turn it over to the Cardinal's emissaries." He nodded his head to Aramis. "You and your friends."

Treville squeezed his shoulder then stepped away, hand to his chin, his eyes narrowed, his expression one of contemplation.

"Why would Richelieu order the ampule moved when it was safe here under the care of the monks of the abbey?" Aramis wondered aloud.

Treville shook his head, dropping his hand and returning his attention to the other men. "It's not our place to decipher the intricacies of the Cardinal's mind," he said with a subtle roll of his eyes.

Aramis grinned, hearing the unvoiced 'thank goodness' loud and clear.

"But," the Captain continued, "knowing of His Eminence's ruse does not change our directive. We still must find the others and determine what happened to them and the property placed in your charge."

Aramis nodded grimly and pushed himself to his feet, the pulse in his head increasing slightly at the movement. "Again, I apologize for any discontent this may have brought to you and the abbey." He bowed slightly, relieved to see the light of forgiveness in the monk's eyes. "I assure you I will not rest until we have answers."

"For your own peace of mind as well as my own, I believe."

Aramis dipped his head in accord.

"Please, allow us to provide you with something to eat before you go."

Treville looked to Aramis. The marksman was still pale, but he was standing confidently, determined to continue their journey at any cost.

"Thank you, but we must be on our way while we still have some hours of daylight left." Treville shook hands with the monk and motioned Aramis toward the door. "We will send word when we find the ampule and our missing men."

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Aramis grew quiet as they left the abbey, his mind occupied with the thoughts of his friends and their potential fate. The fact the Cardinal had neglected to inform them of the true focus of their mission was no surprise, Richelieu's scheming ways and lack of trust more than familiar to the Musketeers by now. As Treville had pointed out, knowing the actual details of the task would not have changed their dedication to their duty one bit; he was convinced it was that dedication that had made it impossible for the others to follow him and perhaps had even led to their deaths.

No. He refused to consider that. Athos was a consummate commander as well as one of the best swordsmen in all of France. Porthos was a survivor, a fighter without equal, standing above any man who sought to harm him. And d'Artagnan… while still young and impetuous, his natural brazenness had been tempered by their careful tutelage, and though he still exhibited the willfulness of youth, he would no more allow his actions to place his comrades in peril than Aramis himself.

They were alive. Aramis refused to believe anything else.

Then why had he returned alone? Why had there been no word from them? He and Treville had left the garrison the moment Aramis had been reasonably fit to travel. Perhaps they had sent word and the messenger had passed them on the road? Aramis shook his head to clear it. He had not been altogether attentive to their journey, trusting in the Captain to keep their heading true, but he could remember no messengers riding with haste toward Paris, and he was confident the Captain would've stopped anyone who made any indication of recognition toward their pauldrons.

"Aramis?" Treville's voice broke into his thoughts and he raised his head, rolling his neck to ease some of the throbbing in the back of his skull. They were at a crossroads. One lane leading directly back to Paris, the other a more easterly path winding through a wooded area that would provide cover and protection from the elements. He squinted, the sun directly in his eyes, just beginning to settle behind the grove of soaring oaks…

… The first shot rent the silence of the woods, the bullet's burning path arcing along his side. The initial shock of the wound unseated him from his horse, his head smacking hard as he tumbled to the unforgiving ground causing his vision to waver as men surged from the trees, pistols raised, swords unsheathed. Dazed from his abrupt meeting with the hard earth, Aramis squinted into the distance, counting at least five masked men bounding toward them. The bandits were on foot, but they outnumbered the Musketeers who had been caught unaware. The Cardinal's precious book remained tucked away inside Aramis' saddlebag, and Aramis watched helplessly as the animal reared in response to the approaching attack and the bag slipped from the horses flank. The bag hit the ground and fell open, spitting the book from its protective embrace. As the book tumbled across the forest floor, the binding snapped and the book fell open, its empty pages blowing in the breeze like an invisible hand turned them. Scrambling across the sharp rocks and twigs, he reached for the book, his eyes blinking rapidly as he stared at the empty pages.

His head swam, and he could make little sense of what his eyes were seeing. He held a hand to the back of his skull, feeling a tender lump already rising beneath his hair, wincing as he pressed against it. His stomach lurched and he swallowed convulsively, hoping to keep the nausea at bay long enough to get to his feet and aid his brothers in the fight. Breathing harshly through his nose, he shoved the book back into the bag and pulled it to his chest. He reached out, using a nearby tree to pull himself up, leaning heavily against the weathered bark as the world spun dizzily around him. With his eyes squeezed tightly to ward off the vertigo, he could hear the clash of swords nearby, knowing instinctively it was the heavier blade of Portho's schianova swinging through the air.

"Aramis!"

Athos voice came from somewhere behind him and be turned, groaning as the furrow the bullet had wrought in his side made itself known. He pressed a hand to the wound, feeling the sticky warmth of blood seeping through his fingers.

"Aramis!" Athos voice sounded insistent, and he forced his eyes open, squinting into the sun, the silhouette of his friend easily distinguishable from the man he was currently engaging in battle. "Go! Get the book to safety!"

Loathe to leave his friends in such peril, Aramis' mind was clouded by pain and he could only do as he was bade. Believing the others would make short work of these bandits and catch up with him quickly, Aramis tossed the saddlebag across the horse's withers and grabbed for the reins, clumsily mounting and twisting the horse's head toward the road, away from the ongoing clang of steel. He slapped his hand against the animal's flank and dug his boots into its girth, spurring it into a run….

… "We were attacked," he breathed, his eyes tracking the edge of the trees, the battle playing out in his mind like a hazy dream. "Near those oaks," He twisted in the saddle, his eyes tracing down the other path. "I was wounded… Athos ordered me to run; to protect the book." He frowned as the image of the book returned, its empty white pages ruffling in the wind,

His eyes snapped to Treville's, and the Captain leaned forward as if to steady him.

"They were blank," Aramis announced.

"What were blank?" Treville moved his mount closer, ducking his head in an attempt to study the younger man's face. "Are you all right?"

Aramis continued, ignoring the Captain's inquiry, his face a mask of anger. "The Cardinal played us for fools. The pages were all blank. Why send us out without telling us what we're really trying to protect. What kind of man does that?"

Treville shook his head slowly, his lips pursed, his eyes narrowed in concern. "You know the Cardinal never reveals his plans. Perhaps we should find a place to rest. Your injuries –"

"I'm fine, Captain, I assure you," he interrupted crisply, seething at the injustice of Richelieu's actions.

Treville nodded. "I understand your anger, Aramis, but Richelieu's deceit is not our focus now."

Aramis deflated, nodding solemnly, his eyes squeezing shut as the ache in his skull, momentarily forgotten in his fury, began anew. "You are right, of course. If we had not been attacked, if the book had not fallen to the ground, we would probably have never known about the Cardinal's deception. Despite his actions, it is still our duty to find this worthless book and the treasure it contains."

"If you had the book when you escaped, why was it not with you when you returned to the garrison?"

Aramis shook his head, frustrated. "My memory comes in fits and gaps. I cannot control it."

"But you do remember Athos ordering you to run?"

At Aramis' reluctant nod, Treville sighed. "It was the right move, Aramis. Do not believe otherwise. You know as well as I that Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan are more than capable of taking care of themselves. Securing the book was what was important, and you being wounded…"

Aramis rubbed a hand across his side, wincing at the sharp pull of the stitches beneath his doublet. "I was no use to them in a fight, so it was a tactical advantage for me to escape with the book while they kept the bandits from pursuit."

Treville smiled. "A good soldier knows when to withdraw as well as attack."

Aramis nodded, accepting the Captain's subtle praise.

"Do you remember which way you headed?" Treville asked, turning in his saddle to survey the area. "Did you take the other road?"

Aramis took a deep breath and looked around, his eyes alighting on a hill directly opposite the woods. He raised a hand and pointed to the horizon. "There. I remember heading for the road, but moving past it in that direction. I pointed the horse toward that hill, but honestly have no memory of reaching it."

"Then we will head that way and see what else we can find to trigger your memories." Treville swung his horse around Aramis' stopping level with the younger Musketeer. "We're getting closer, Aramis. We will find them."

The marksman was buoyed by the confidence in his commander's voice, but it couldn't completely erase the cold tendril of fear that still wound around his heart. The longer his friends reamined missing, the less chance they had of finding them alive, and he knew his life hung in the balance alongside theirs. "I pray you're right."

TBC