Insurgency

Chapter Five

After two nights without sleep Aramis was barely able to function. He tended to the horses in an exhausted haze before curling up in the straw to sleep for a few hours. He awoke to find a summons from the Abbot.

"You look tired," Father Guillaume said solicitously.

"I was awake all night," Aramis responded, trying hard to keep his tone respectful.

"Brother Jerome was most complimentary about your work."

"I was only doing my duty."

"Yet you resent following orders." The Abbot's tone remained even, lacking its usual censorious overtones.

Aramis felt as if he had been doused with a bucket of cold water. He was instantly alert, wondering with concern, where this conversation was heading. "I have never failed to follow the instructions that I have been given."

"Is that true, I wonder? Colonel Marquez is concerned that someone within these walls has been passing information to the local populace. That would be in direct contravention of my orders."

Aramis remained silent, his head bowed and his hair falling forward to hide his expression. He could feel his heart rate increasing, wondering if he was about to be denounced to the Spanish.

"I have assured him that he is mistaken. Nonetheless he has doubled the guard and his men have been instructed to kill anyone attempting to leave the monastery."

"Why are you telling me this?" Aramis looked up, his gaze piercingly direct.

"It is always better to be forewarned. I would hate for there to be any misunderstanding between us and our Spanish guests."

"I will ensure that they see nothing to cause them concern," Aramis said carefully.

"Good, now return to your duties."

The news that the Abbot knew of his nocturnal wanderings sent his mind reeling. He had despised his superior for cooperating with the enemy, but now he was unsure. Gradually his tired mind began to put the pieces together. Father Guillaume knew he spoke Spanish and he had been put in the perfect position to overhear the enemies' plans. His years as a soldier were also known and a soldier's instincts never entirely disappeared. His mouth curved into a smile. He had been manipulated for the greater good of France and had badly misjudged the Abbot's motives. He had also been given tacit permission to continue with his insurgency and that revived his spirits. Lack of sleep was no excuse for failing in his duties to King and country. Tonight he would get word to the Mayor about the impending attack on the outlying farms. He was no longer a Musketeer but he would fight this war his own way no matter the personal risks. Success was paramount if he was to defeat the Spanish offensive and keep his fellow monks safe from retribution.

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His trip to Douai was without incident. He saw for himself the scale of the damage done by the Spanish raiders and heard that four men had died, with another three wounded to varying degrees. His offer of medical assistance was declined by the Mayor although he expressed his gratitude. All the injured were expected to recover and the town physician had their care in hand.

He kept close to the treeline on his way back to the monastery. The night was dark, with clouds obscuring the moon, and he was relying on his hearing more than on his sight. He was within reach of the monastery when he heard a rustling noise behind him. He began to turn, reaching at the same time for his sword but he was a second too late. A muscular arm circled his chest, pinning his arms to his body. At the same time a calloused hand clamped down firmly across his mouth, stifling his instinctive protest. He was yanked backwards, deeper into the trees. Even though he hadn't been involved in a fight for four years, he still remembered all the countermoves to an attack such as this one. He pulled in a deep breath through his nose and prepared to push.

"There's a Spanish patrol two hundred yards west of here," a familiar voice whispered in his ear.

Before his tired brain could process the words he was released and spun round to be enveloped in a massive bear hug. "Porthos!" he whispered. He looked over Porthos' shoulder to see the amused expressions of Athos and d'Artagnan. There were other men with them but he only had eyes for his three brothers. Porthos let go and Athos moved to take his place. Then, d'Artagnan was there, grasping his hand and pulling him into a quick embrace. He stood speechless, trying to make sense of their miraculous arrival. Athos put a finger to his lips to remind him to remain silent and he nodded to acknowledge the warning.

Soon a man he didn't recognise appeared from the direction of the roadway and saluted Athos. "They've moved on, Sir."

"Thank you Sebastien. Tell the men to make camp. Set a guard too."

"Athos. How…?" He drank in the sight of the Captain. Athos looked older and, if it was possible, more self-possessed. His full beard was gone, replaced by a neat goatee and he looked fitter than Aramis had ever seen him. It appeared that the war had tempered him into a more efficient fighter and an able commander.

"Treville sent us. It's good to see you, Aramis. Now, do you want to tell us what you are doing sneaking around in the middle of the night?"

"The Spanish have occupied the monastery."

"We know that." Porthos had changed too. His hair was longer and his beard was unkempt and wild but there was something about his eyes that worried Aramis. He'd seen horrors and endured them without bending. Aramis was afraid that his best friend might someday break under the pressure and this weighed heavily on him with a mantle of guilt. If he had been there he could have helped to ease the strain of unrelenting fighting.

"We captured a courier carrying dispatches that spoke of an attack on Douai and other towns. We thought you could use some help." D'Artagnan looked physically little changed. However, he had an air about him that spoke of confidence and competence.

"How's Constance?"

There was a slight flush in the younger man's cheeks. "She was well the last time I saw her."

"Is she still in service to the Queen?" Aramis hadn't allowed himself to think of Anne and his child for a long time.

"Not any longer. There is much poverty in Paris. The cost of the war has drained the treasury. Constance does what she can to help the sick and needy."

"She always was a fine woman."

"You don't look like no monk," Porthos said, eyeing him critically.

"I am still a lay brother. I never took my final vows."

"I'm guessing it isn't normal for a lay brother to be outside the monastery at night, armed to the teeth." Athos grinned at him.

"Not normal, no." Aramis returned the smile. "I learnt of the Spaniards' plans and have passed a warning to the town."

"Told you he'd be gettin' himself into trouble," Porthos grumbled.

"Well, we're here to help now," Athos said. "Come, sit and tell us what is happening."

"I have to get back." Aramis looked toward the sky but with the cloud cover couldn't tell the position of the moon.

"No, you don't. You can stay with us," d'Artagnan said.

"If I am found to be missing the Spanish will know that I have betrayed them and will kill everyone in the monastery. I won't be responsible for their deaths."

"It isn't safe for you to go back."

"I have no choice, Athos. Let me tell you what I know and then I must leave."

"Very well, although I am agreeing under protest."

"They are under the command of Colonel Marquez."

"Aye, we know him. He slaughtered a troop of Musketeers. Treville wants him captured or dead. Personally I'd like the chance to skewer the bastard."

Aramis smiled at Porthos' passion. "He arrived with eleven men but two were wounded last night and are in the infirmary. They plan a night raid to burn and terrorise the farms outside of town. It is my belief that they will then leave before troops can arrive from Paris."

"We won't give them the chance to leave," d'Artagnan said hotly. "They've invaded our country and must pay the price."

"Treville believes the war is almost over. Defeating the Colonel could be the final push Philip needs to agree terms. We can arrange an ambush. They'll never see it coming," Athos said decisively.

"That won't help you get to Marquez. He never rides with his men. If you want him you'll have to take him in the monastery. There is a secret way in. If you come with me I will show you. I suggest you split your forces. Leave some men in ambush while you enter the monastery and capture the Colonel. There are unlikely to be more than two guards and I can help from inside."

Athos nodded thoughtfully. "It sounds feasible. What time will they ride out?"

"Last time it was at midnight. Give me fifteen minutes after they leave to gather my weapons and get into position."

"Agreed. Now, brother, show us the way in."

It felt natural to be walking with his three companions again. It was as if the previous four years of separation had never happened. He showed them the entrance and then, with regret, prepared to part from them again. Athos halted him with a hand on his arm.

"When this is over what will you do?"

"Ride with you, if you'll have me."

He didn't wait to gauge their reaction to that statement. He closed the gate behind him and walked down the corridor. He had almost reached the room where he had left his robes when he heard footsteps both ahead and behind him. He drew his sword and waited.

Colonel Marquez, accompanied by Father Guillaume and two soldiers appeared from around a corner. The soldiers were armed with pistols which were pointed at his head. He half turned to find another two Spaniards behind him, also heavily armed. He let the point of his sword droop to the floor and raised his chin defiantly.

"I am curious, Brother," Marquez said. "Where have you been?"

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