This has gotten a little out of hand. I never meant it to go this far. This story was meant to be lots of Constance-d'Artagnan fluff, thinking I couldn't write anything else, but I have been having too much fun. Next chapter will probably go back to fluffiness.
Thanks for all your reviews. They really make me very happy!
I know that horses falling on people and Athos giving Constance away are not my own ideas. I have read them elsewhere. Apologies for any these and any other plagiarisms that I have unknowingly included.
Chapter 3
2ndNight
The Boys
"So, what do we have here then?"
A hand on his shoulder startles Athos, causing him to drop the spyglass in his hand.
"You took your sweet time." He says, turning to Aramis and Porthos.
"Well, you could have written." Porthos says.
"Oh, so sorry. Next time we are ambushed I must remember to stop and write you a note." Athos replies drily.
"Well, we are glad to see you out here. Thought it was going to be the two of us springing the two of you. Our odds have significantly improved." Aramis tells him cheerily.
The three of them are on a grassy ridge covered in bushes and shrubbery, which provides them with a vantage point on the manor house below.
"So, how did you find me?" asks Athos.
"We followed the cardinal of course." Says Aramis, as though stating the obvious. The three turn to look at the coach in the driveway of the great house. "Who else would be so determined to stop that envoy?"
"Well, things just got a whole lot more complicated," Athos tells him, clapping a hand on each of his friends' shoulders, "And I have not had a drink in far too long. Please tell me you brought some wine."
The three retreat into a grove of trees and Porthos passes a wineskin to Athos. The older man drinks long and hard before looking at the others again.
"Want to tell us what happened?" asks Aramis, probing gently.
"Does it matter? Envoy to get out of the country, d'Artagnan causing a distraction, me shooting a lot of musketballs, somehow the stupid idiot gets himself taken captive. Now we get him out, before the cardinal kills him."
"Are you sure he's still alive?" Porthos elicits what is commonly known among the musketeers as the "Athos-death-stare" and recoils, hands raised in front of him, "Okay, I get it. He's alive."
"Well you tell me why the cardinal would come all the way out here if he wasn't? Just visiting?" Athos spits at him.
"Where is here anyway? Why this place? And how did you find it?"
"The estate belongs to a nephew of the cardinal and is only about 10 leagues from where they captured d'Artagnan. Once I got the envoy away safely and came back it wasn't hard to work out."
"Since you probably played with him as a child, snorts Porthos.
Aramis puts a warning hand on Athos' arm and tries to calm him. He knows Athos is blaming himself, but that is not going to help them. "So now, we get him out. I presume you have done some reconnaissance and have a plan?"
"Yes, we move in at dusk."
"Just one question. How suicidal is this going to be?" asks Aramis
"Well, the odds are better now you two are here." And with that Athos returns to the wineskin, to while away the afternoon.
#######
It had seemed like a good plan at the time. Although they had said that about a lot of plans that had gone horribly wrong. This was another one to add to the books. Once they knew they were being followed, d'Artagnan, being closest in build to the envoy, swapped clothes and horses with him. Athos, who was a better shot than him, was to take out as many as he could from a distance, and d'Artagnan and the envoy would go off full speed in two different directions. Athos and the envoy arranged a rendezvous point. It was d'Artagnan's job, as the faster horseman, to keep the enemy busy for as long as possible.
It had been going quite well. He had them going around in circles after him until a musketball hit his horse (and he was still rather annoyed about that, he liked his horse), causing it to fall and him with it. He had banged his head and broken his leg in the process. When he regained consciousness he had made an effort to crawl away and find a hiding place. The choices being death alone in the forest or capture, he chose the forest. But they found the carcass of his horse, and after that finding him was easy. A pistol butt hit the back of his head and that was the last he knew.
First they took him to a barn. He woke up in hay and smelling of horse. He soon realized that they really believed that he was the envoy, and so kept talking to a minimum so they wouldn't hear his French accent. He had to give the others a head start.
After another blow to the head he woke up in a cold cellar. His first thought was to wonder why the bad guys always stuck their prisoners in cold, damp underground rooms. On reflection, he pretty much knew why, but that didn't make it any better.
His head hurt, his vision was blurry, he was freezing cold and his leg was on fire. Other than that he was pretty much fine. The most important thing, he figured, was to keep up the pretence as long as possible. That way they would keep him alive for questioning.
And question him they did, "question" being rather a euphemism. As they beat him he thought of Constance in her simple wedding dress, the white flowers in her hair, standing next to him in the chapel. He thought of Athos giving her away, the other two grinning like lunatics behind him, Captain Treville shaking his head in despair.
As they cut him he thinks of the day that Constance came to the garrison, cheeks red, eyes bright, biting her lip, nervously stammering out that she was having their baby. He thinks of Marie, imagines every part of her tiny pink body – from the soft under soles of her feet to the silky feel of her hair. When he is shivering from cold, he remembers the time he had flu and Constance fed him broth and snuggled in bed with him to keep him warm. He remembers telling her not to do it, to keep away so that she wouldn't catch the illness from him, and her clucking her tongue. He remembers her getting ill and the roles being reversed, although his broth was not quite so good.
He listens to his captors' conversations. It becomes obvious that they work for the cardinal, in fact the owner of his prison appears to be some relative of the man in red and black. They want to know what was said between him and the king, who his masters are, where he is going. They want to know everything about him (apart from his favorite food, that doesn't seem to interest them – in fact, they have not fed him at all). When they fail to get answers from him, he overhears that they will be sending word to the man himself. D'Artagnan knows that if the cardinal arrives, his time is up.
By the time Cardinal Richelieu graces d'Artagnan with his presence he is almost too far gone to care. Every bit of him hurts, he is shivering from chills and fevers intermittently and his vision is constantly blurred. Yet when the door swings back to reveal the man he hates most in this world, he finds some reserves of inner strength and gets to his feet (or rather foot, the non-broken one), using the wall for support. He remains in the shadows, half-turned away, hoping to drag this out as long as possible.
Luckily, by this point d'Artagnan also stinks, and Richelieu does not want to get too close to the dirty, bloody, smelly mess of his prisoner. So he keeps his distance, flanked by two Red Guards.
D'Artagnan hears the blood rushing in his ears, he feels wobbly standing up, but is not willing to back down. He is going to draw this out as long as he can. And he is looking forward to seeing the cardinal's face when he finally finds out that d'Artagnan has duped him again. It's the small things in life….
Yet at the same time he can't help but think about Constance, about how he is going to leave her alone, about never getting to say goodbye, never holding Marie again. He just hopes that the others will take care of them. He pushes the thoughts from his mind in order to stay strong.
"So, you are somewhat hard to break Monsieur. I am not impressed at having to come all the way here from Paris. I just hope you have something worthwhile to tell me."
D'Artagnan sinks further back into the shadows.
"You know, I will break you," the cardinal goes on, "no one ever stands in my way. I will know what you said to the king and he to you."
With an incline of his head he motions to one of the guards, who brings a blow to d'Artagnan's ribs. He bends over double, but after a few seconds straightens again.
"I'm getting bored now," says the cardinal in a sing-song voice. "That is not a good thing, take my word for it."
More blows rain down on him, but he won't give up. Not yet. His lip is bleeding, his cheek, a cut above his eye. He hears some ribs crack and sinks to the floor.
"Bring him to me." The cardinal sounds like he is getting angry now. He really doesn't want to get his hands dirty, thinks d'Artagnan.
The two guards grab him by the arms and drag him to the cardinal's feet, where he collapses in a heap. One of them pulls his hair to raise his head and he finds himself eye to eye with Richelieu. He smiles his characteristic cheeky grin as the cardinal's face turns almost purple. He is sure he can nearly see smoke coming out of the man's ears. Then a punch to the face renders him unconscious.
He is brought back to the world of the living by freezing cold water being doused over him. The cardinal is watching him from afar, silently fuming, hands curled into tight fists at his sides. Finally, he bends down towards d'Artagnan and whispers to him "I am going to kill you, slowly, and I am going to enjoy it." Then he turns on his heel and walks out.
#####
As dusk falls the three inseparables launch their plan. They tether the horses as close to the houses as they can and skirt around the house, keeping low under the windows. As they pass under one large window they hear the cardinal's voice. Athos raises a hand to stop and they crouch down low, listening. The cardinal is screaming at some person or persons unknown, issuing forth a stream of expletives. They make out bits of the words "idiots", "stupid", "fools" and "numbskulls". The three look at one another, understanding that the cardinal has been lured here on false pretences. If they hadn't been so worried about their friend, they might have even laughed.
They continue round the house and knock at the servants' entrance, immediately delivering a blow to the head to the footman who answers the door. They proceed to knock out cold any other servants they encounter, while a few maids cower in the corner of the kitchen. As they proceed they pick up knives and anything else useful they can find to hand, a letter opener, a candlestick, some rope.
They go straight for the cellar. Of course he will be in the cellar. Where else would you keep a prisoner – the guest bedroom? To do so they have to pass by the room where Richelieu is in the middle of a heated discussion with his nephew. The door is ajar. With only a look necessary to communicate, the trio work in perfect harmony. Aramis closes the door silently just as Porthos jams it closed and Athos ties the doorknobs together with the rope. The men inside immediately run to the door and being to bang on it. This will buy them some time, but not enough.
Porthos holds off a stream of servants and guards as the other two make their way to the cellar. Luckily the cardinal had only brought a small group of men, so he can keep them off single handedly. Dank, cold and wet (typical musketeer territory, Athos thinks darkly), they make their way through a maze narrow corridors, running through anyone in their way (or hitting them over the head with the candlestick). After what seems like forever, although in reality is only a few minutes, they have found the makeshift cell, the door stands open.
Both of them stop dead in their tracks. D'Artagnan, shirtless, has been tied to the ceiling from his hands. Three men are beating him, one with his belt. They are so shocked by entrance of the musketeers that Aramis and Athos have the opportunity to kill two of them immediately. While Athos takes on the last one, Aramis cuts down d'Artagnan and eases him to the floor in a crumpled heap on the floor. He drops to his knees in front of his friend and gently lifts his chin.
D'Artagnan pulls back at the touch and struggles to open his eyes. Aramis lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding when he sees that d'Artagnan is alive and recognizes him.
"How bad," asks Athos, "dusting himself after dispatching the last fighter."
Aramis only has to look at him for Athos to understand.
"A'mis….'thos…." D'Artagnan manages to croak out. Athos drops to his friend's side. He wants to scream and shout and hit the walls, seeing what has been done to their youngest brother, but he knows that right now that won't help anyone. He settles for a rather rude word.
"'ve c't it fine," D'Artagnan stammers out. Athos has to smile at the lad's attempt at humor.
Athos and Aramis take D'Artagnan's arms and place them around their shoulders. He cries out in agony as his foot makes contact with the floor and they quickly understand that the only way they are going to be getting him out is by carrying him.
They make their way back towards the noise of fighting. Leaving d'Artganan with Aramis, propped up against a wall, Athos goes to join Porthos in the hallway. Yet just as they manage to send the last of their opponents to the floor the doors burst open and the cardinal and his men come rushing out.
Athos is ready for them. He dives straight towards Richelieu, bloody sword at the cardinal's throat. Porthos shudders, the death stare is back.
"We are going to walk out of here, and no one is going to follow us, or his eminence dies." He says, enunciating each syllable very clearly. The cardinal, feeling the point of the sword digging deeper into his throat, gives the tiniest of nods. He raises his hands to stop anyone moving closer.
Porthos takes it as his cue and scoops up d'Artagnan. Athos, sword to the cardinal's throat all the while, forces Richelieu to back towards the door. He knows there will be no going back from this. Richelieu will never forgive this. When the others are out and saddling up the horses, he finally lowers his sword and runs. Shots ring out behind him, one piercing his shoulder, but he keeps going, jumping on to his horse and cantering off into the night behind his friends.
D'Artagnan, finally safe in the arms of Porthos, groans as each movement of the horse causes tremors of pain to course through his body. But he is chuckling. Porthos, worried that he is delirious, looks at him closely. As d'Artagnan loses consciousness with a slight smile on his bloody face, Porthos is sure he hears him whisper, "smoke c'ming out 'f 'is ears."