I keep thinking that I am almost at the end of this story but it still continues on. Thank you for reading and for the lovely reviews.
Insurgency
Chapter Eleven
Aramis stood outside Father Guillaume's study. He was wearing his leathers with his sword strapped to his hip. All that was missing was the sash and a Musketeer pauldron and he felt their lack keenly. He knocked and waited.
"Enter."
After taking a deep steadying breath Aramis opened the door. Father Guillaume gave no indication of his mood as he slowly looked him up and down.
"Thank you for seeing me, Father."
"Come in, Aramis."
He noted the name. He was no longer regarded as a Brother and that brought with it an unexpected pang of loss.
"Sit down."
He had never been invited to sit in the Abbot's company before and it felt wrong. "I prefer to stand."
"You are well?"
"I am." It wasn't entirely true. Unguarded movements of his back could still result in pain and his jaw ached whenever he ate anything hard.
"I see you are leaving us."
"Although I am grateful for my years here I am a soldier at heart."
"So you have proved." There was no censure in the Abbot's voice.
"My faith remains strong and there are other ways to serve God. I will seek to become a spiritual advisor to the Musketeers."
"We each serve in our own way. You will be missed."
"You never believed in my vocation," Aramis said with mild accusation in his tone.
"I never doubted the depth of your beliefs but I don't think it was a vocation that brought you to our doors."
Aramis bowed his head in acknowledgment. He had wrestled with this all the previous night. He didn't have a true calling although he believed he could be happy in the priesthood. If he was now to walk away from it he wanted to do so with a clear conscience. "I came because of a vow I made to God. He showed me mercy when I deserved none."
"Our Lord is ever merciful to those who sincerely seek his grace."
"Will you hear my confession, Father?" He saw the Abbot's surprise which was quickly hidden.
"If you wish, my son."
Aramis dropped to his knees, his hand automatically reaching for his crucifix. After crossing himself he took a moment to ensure that he was composed. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Bless me father for I have sinned. I swore an oath on the Bible to tell the truth and then I lied…"
TMTMTM
Aramis was in a thoughtful mood when he joined Athos and the others in the courtyard. He was touched to see that most of the Brothers had gathered to wish him well. When he reached Brother Jerome he clasped the monk's hand. "I can't thank you enough for all you've done," he said.
"Be careful, my young friend. The world outside these walls is a dangerous place."
"I know." He grinned happily. "I'm looking forward to it."
Colonel Marquez was already mounted with his hands tied. Athos handed the reins of a horse to Aramis. "I assume you still remember how to ride," he said mischievously.
Aramis swung into the saddle, excitement making his heart beat faster. "Let me show you." He guided the horse through the gates and then urged it into a canter. The wind rushed past his face as he revelled in a freedom he hadn't known for four years.
Finally he slowed, waiting for the others to catch up with him. Porthos' booming laugh sent his spirits soaring ever higher. He glanced back at Marquez. The Colonel regarded him with supercilious contempt. Aramis shrugged it off, turning his face up to catch the warmth of the sun. Despite the uncertainty waiting for him in Paris he felt more alive than he'd ever done in the monastery.
They rode at a comfortable pace all morning, stopping when the sun was at its highest. Aramis dismounted stiffly, his muscles unused to the strain of riding. He walked over to where d'Artagnan was aiding the Colonel.
"So," Marquez said. "You are a failed soldier and now a failed monk."
D'Artagnan pushed the Colonel toward a tree. "Sit down and shut up."
"How many vows have you broken?" Marquez continued, his attention fixed on Aramis.
"Ignore him," Athos advised.
"It's the truth is it not?" the Colonel asked. "You gave your oath to your King to serve as a Musketeer then, when war came, you hid away in a monastery to avoid combat."
"Aramis is no coward." Porthos lunged for the Colonel.
"Leave him, Porthos." Aramis grabbed his friend's arm. "He seeks to provoke me but my conscience is clear." His emphatic words did nothing to assuage the true uncertainty he was feeling.
"He's askin' for a good beatin'," Porthos growled.
"He's our prisoner and will be treated with respect," Athos said although his thunderous expression was much at odds with his words. "There is no need to resort to violence."
Colonel Marquez settled back against the tree with a satisfied smirk on his lips.
"Watch him d'Artagnan." Athos pulled Aramis away. "Don't listen to him."
"He's only saying what others will think." He could see the looks of uncertainty on the faces of Athos' men. "I turned my back on my duty. While I remained safe many of our brothers fought and died."
"That is the nature of war and you had your reasons."
"Reasons I cannot explain to the King," Aramis said sadly. "I was a fool to think it would be easy to regain my commission."
"We will persuade Louis."
Aramis gave a weak smile and nod, wishing he shared Athos' optimism.
TMTMTM
They reached the outskirts of Paris three days later. The sounds, sights and smells were so familiar that for a moment Aramis felt as if he had never left. When the archway leading to the garrison came into view he felt a faint flutter in his stomach. This had been his home for so many years.
They rode into the yard to be met by a stable boy he didn't recognise. In fact when he looked around he saw no familiar faces.
"The most experienced men are at the front," Athos told him, noticing his look. He slid from his horse and handed over the reins.
"Welcome back, Captain." The Musketeer who approached Athos was young and didn't have the look of a hardened campaigner.
"Thank you, Pascal. Can you send word to the palace of my return? Tell the King that we have Colonel Marquez in custody."
"Yes, sir."
"Come, Aramis. You can have your old room. Stow your gear and then we'll eat. Sebastien, see that the Colonel is secured and post a guard. He is to be given food and water but no other courtesy."
Aramis looked around him, suddenly feeling uncomfortably aware that he didn't belong there. "I can find lodgings in town," he said.
"Nonsense," Porthos put an arm around his shoulders. "There's plenty of room."
"That's the point, isn't it? Everyone is away fighting while I have been living in safety."
"I wouldn't say it was very safe," d'Artagnan said. "Look what happened when Marquez and his men turned up."
"You're stayin' here and that's all there is to say about it," Porthos asserted.
Recognising that he would never win the argument Aramis conceded with good grace. It was a strange sensation to walk into the room he had occupied for so long. He laid his saddlebags down on the bed before sitting down in the only chair. He thought with a fond smile of all the nights he'd spent with his brothers, drinking, laughing and generally being content in each other's company. It was a camaraderie that he had sorely missed and there was no certainty it would ever be regained. With a heavy sigh he stood and walked to the door.
He found Porthos waiting for him at the table they had always occupied in the yard. A man with grey hair was laying out food for them. He looked at Aramis curiously before nodding a silent greeting.
"Serge?" Aramis asked when the man had disappeared back towards the kitchen.
"He lost his enthusiasm for the job when the regiment marched. Decided to retire. He's got a small place just outside the city. At least he did last I heard. Haven't been back here for almost a year."
Athos came down the stairs from his office to join them. "I've send d'Artagnan to see Constance. They've been apart for a long time. In fact they've only spent a few weeks together since their marriage."
"The years have not been kind to any of you," Aramis said sadly.
"We survived and soon the war will be over." Athos cut a wedge of cheese and reached for a loaf of bread.
Porthos opened a bottle of wine, pouring the liquid into three glasses. "To old times," he said, raising his glass.
Aramis and Athos joined the toast although Aramis was left wondering if those old times could ever be recaptured.
Tbc