Thanks to everyone for the reviews on the last chapter and for sharing your thoughts about the parts you enjoyed. Hope you like this next one!
The three men rode silently back to the heart of Paris, dismounting just outside the garrison walls and then leading their mounts through the gates and into the stables. They dealt with their own tack, doing their best not to draw anyone's attention as they'd agreed. Outside, in the courtyard, all of the men who remained at the garrison were drinking and engaged in conversation, Treville having organized an evening of wine and camaraderie in celebration of the Gascon's life; at least, that's what everyone would say if they were asked. In truth, the Captain had organized the event as an alibi for the inseparables, the three merging seamlessly into the throng of carousing men as they lifted their wine glasses in a silent toast to the young man who they'd freed that night. The garrison would be the first place Rochefort would look in the morning for his missing prisoner and, upon finding him absent, would seek next to identify those who had aided the boy. Every man in the garrison would claim that the three inseparables had been present during the evening's festivities, drinking more than most due to the strength of their bond with the condemned Musketeer; this last part, at least, would be true.
As they emptied their glasses, Porthos swiped a nearby bottle and tipped its contents into the empty vessels, Athos especially craving the relief that the thick wine offered. He was well aware that theirs was a shallow victory, having won the battle but with a hard war still facing them. The Gascon would not be able to stay hidden for long and, eventually, if they were unable to clear his name, the young man would have to leave France and seek his fortunes elsewhere. That was not an outcome that any of them were willing to accept and, despite aching heads and roiling bellies, he knew that they would resume their search for answers the following day. As Athos tipped his head back to drink, he caught sight of Treville watching him from above, hands resting on the railing that ran along the balcony. Bringing his glass down, but maintaining eye contact, he gave a minor nod of his head, confirming that their nighttime outing had ended in success.
Treville raised his own glass in salute and then turned and walked away, leaving the men to their drinking but wanting a clear head as he steeled himself for the coming storm, which he knew could not be avoided. Closing the door behind him, the Captain leaned back against it, weary from the almost constant stress they'd been living with since d'Artagnan's initial disappearance. He was grateful now that he'd had the foresight to make alternate arrangements if the boy was found guilty, but knew he and the others would pay the ultimate price if their complicity was discovered. It was a temporary measure, nothing more, and would buy them a week's time, at best. If they couldn't find the real killer by then, the boy would be lost to them forever and he wondered if he'd lose three more men in the bargain; they were called the inseparables for a reason, after all. Stepping forward, he placed his empty glass on his desk and raked an eye over the paperwork that awaited his attention. Allowing a disgusted look to cross his face, he strode determinedly away from it and to his back room where his bed stood. Tonight he would rest and prepare himself for the confrontation with Rochefort; the paperwork would still be waiting for him once he was ready to refocus on the responsibilities of leading the regiment.
He travelled for several hours by the light of the moon, recognizing that it would be safer for him to ride during the night and hide somewhere out of sight during the light of the day. He'd stopped to consult the map twice since he'd left his friends behind, and was confident that his path was taking him in the right direction. He had no idea to whose home he travelled, but trusted that his brothers would not lead him astray, especially after risking so much by helping him escape. Now that the adrenaline had worn off and his aches and pains had returned, making it uncomfortable to sit a horse even while walking, his mind started to turn to all the questions that he wished he'd asked before departing. Where was he going? How long was he expected to wait? What would happen if the true killer could not be found? There were too many uncertainties and the plan to free him felt a little too hastily contrived for his liking, despite his gratefulness to his brothers for saving him from the noose.
When he grew weary of riding and was in danger of falling from his horse, he found a copse of trees and wove his way through the foliage until he found a large pine with a comfortable-looking hollow at its base. Dismounting, he guided the horse to one side, and once it had been tended, pulled his cloak tighter around himself against the chilly of the pre-dawn, grateful again at his friends' foresight in packing it for him. He momentarily considered having something to eat, but his fatigue outweighed his desire for food and, in the end, he had a quick drink from his water skin before settling against the tree he'd found, falling asleep within seconds.
It was daytime when he awoke, but based on the height of the sun above him, it was not yet past noon. He was stiff from the previous night's beating and the hours he'd spent on the cool ground, and it took him a few minutes before he could move around without his aches demanding all of his attention. After taking care of his morning needs, he ate a quick meal and then took his horse's reins in hand, walking the animal forward and back out of the trees where he'd hidden. At the edge of the copse, he looked around and determined the immediate area to be just as deserted as it had been the night prior. He knew that the roads he'd chosen were not usually well-traveled but reasoned that the closer he got to his destination, the greater the chance of running into someone.
He began walking, staying within viewing distance of the hard-packed path, but off to one side so he would have ample opportunity to avoid anyone in the area. An hour later, he came across a small stream and he allowed the horse to drink its fill, taking the opportunity to wash up and refill his water skin. From there, he mounted again, still keeping his mount to a walk in deference to his still sore ribs. He knew that it would take him longer to reach is destination in this fashion, but was content to keep moving, albeit slowly, reasoning that his pace would have him arriving after sunset and that he was safer on the move rather than taking the risk of stopping to hide somewhere he could be discovered.
His day was blessedly uneventful and he didn't run into anyone else as he'd journeyed. It was now dusk and, believing he was close to his destination, d'Artagnan's gaze travelled back and forth continuously, doubly alert to his surroundings. As he'd been instructed in the written directions, he guided his horse off the path and approached the house he'd been directed to from behind, finding a small gatehouse that had been identified on his map. As he approached, he was surprised to see a man shift from the shadows to stand in front of him, waiting by the glow of a lantern and incredibly unsurprised to see him approach. Steeling himself, he continued, keeping his horse's pace steady as he drew closer. When he was within five feet of the man he stopped, waiting to see what the reaction would be. The man ahead of him merely stepped forward to close the gap between them, already reaching for the reins. "Good evening. You can dismount now if you'd like and I'll take care of your horse after I've seen you up to the house."
The man's tone was neutral, containing not even a hint of malice, so d'Artagnan did as the man had suggested, slipping carefully from his saddle and placing the reins in the man's outstretched hand. The man motioned with his head toward the saddlebags, "Do you want to bring those with you now or should I bring them in afterwards?" The Gascon kept a wary eye on the man as he wordlessly detached the bags and slung them over one shoulder. As they walked, the man continued to speak, "I'm Gilles, by the way. Madame is expecting you. We weren't sure exactly what time you'd arrive but I'm glad it's not any later," he said with a grin in the young man's direction, "I'm not as young as I used to be."
d'Artagnan gave a noncommittal nod as the man led them closer to the estate, tying his horse to a post outside the stables with a promise to return afterwards, and then making his way toward the main house. They approached from the side, d'Artagnan able to make out a door ahead of them and Gilles eased it open, allowing d'Artagnan to enter. He stepped over the threshold warily, looking around for any sign of a welcoming party, but the space was empty. He took a couple more steps away from the door, allowing enough room for Gilles to follow him inside and then once more take the lead as they wove their way through the kitchen and then finally up a set of stairs which opened onto another doorway. Once they'd passed through, d'Artagnan noticed how the furnishings around them changed, the fine tapestries and furniture reminiscent of the royal palace.
Gilles led the way into a sitting room where the fireplace burned lowly, dispersing any of the early evening's chill. As he moved further into the room, he was startled as Gilles exited, pulling the double doors closed behind him, and d'Artagnan turned slowly in place in an effort to determine if he was alone. As his eyes returned to the fireplace centred against the longest wall, he saw movement from one of the two chairs positioned there. A woman rose and walked around the chair, having been hidden from view by its high back. She approached cautiously as though sensing d'Artagnan's uncertainly, his behaviour more akin to a skittish foal rather than an experienced solider. "d'Artagnan?" she asked softly, waiting for his nod of confirmation which he guardedly offered. A smile graced her face, "Oh, I am glad you've made it here safely. I am Madame Trémaux and you are welcome in my home."
d'Artagnan knew he should reply so he gave another small nod, "My pleasure, Madame."
As he fell silent, realization dawned on the woman standing in front of him, "You don't know who I am." At the Gascon's head shake, she continued, "I am Captain Treville's sister. He wrote to me requesting sanctuary for you."
d'Artagnan was stunned by the revelation that he was in the home of the sister to his commanding officer. He knew that his friends would send him somewhere safe, but Treville's involvement was completely unexpected. "Why?" he uttered as he thought out loud.
"Why? Because you are one of his men and Jean-Armand loves his men – he would do anything in his power to protect them," the lady explained, still seeing disbelief in the young man's face.
d'Artagnan eyes widened at hearing his Captain referred to so casually, but remembered that this woman was his family; to him, Treville was her brother not the commander of the Musketeer regiment. "Perhaps I should go. I cannot put the Captain's family at risk," d'Artagnan stated, his mind already considering the other possible locations where he might hide himself.
Trémaux gave him a disbelieving look as she stepped forward to grasp his forearm, leading him out of the room and toward the grand staircase in the foyer, "Nonsense. Jean-Armand sent you here because you need help and it is help you shall receive." Still pulling him along with one hand, her other held her skirts as they ascended the stairs to the next level. "I've had a room prepared for you and there's food and wine as well." She glanced over at him as they walked down the hallway, "Nothing warm, mind, as I wasn't sure when you'd be arriving but I'm certain you must be famished. There's water as well and I can arrange for a hot bath tomorrow, but the staff have retired for tonight." She stopped and pushed open a door, guiding the man inside before stopping abruptly a few steps into the room as she asked, "Are you listening to me?" The look on her face was almost quizzical and d'Artagnan realized with a start that he'd been quiet for too long, having been overwhelmed by everything that had transpired since he'd arrived.
Swallowing, he dredged up a small smile as he responded, "My apologies, Madame. I am grateful for everything you've done. It's been a long ride and I fear my weariness has stolen my manners."
The woman seemed satisfied as she smiled in return, pulling him forward once more to show him around the room, encouraging him to drop his saddlebags on a side table. "Is there anything else you require?" she asked as she took a last look around the room, confirming that everything was as she'd intended.
With another smile, d'Artagnan shook his head, "No, Madame, just some discretion. There may be those who will be looking for me and it could place you in danger if others know of my presence."
With a hand once more on the Gascon's arm, Trémaux reassured him, "Don't worry, d'Artagnan. I am the only one here who knows your real name. Gilles was told that you are a cousin, here to help with the training of the horses, and my husband will be away for at least two more weeks. I promise you are safe here."
The sincerity and compassion in her eyes momentarily brought a lump of emotion to the young man's throat and he nodded, unable to speak. The woman squeezed his forearm in understanding before removing her hand, moving toward the door as she threw back over her shoulder, "Sleep as long as you'd like and then ring the bell when you'd like a bath drawn. I'll find you when you come downstairs and we can talk more over breakfast."
With that she was gone and d'Artagnan stood staring at the closed door, left with the impression of a minor whirlwind who was, apparently, the Captain's sister. With a deep breath, he looked around the room, grateful that after his days in the Chatelet he would now get to enjoy the comforts of a well-stuffed mattress, clean linen and proper food, if only for a few days. He still had no idea how long he was expected to stay, but supposed that his hostess might reveal answers to some of his questions in the morning. As he looked at the food that had been prepared, his stomach growled and he sank into the chair next to the table, helping himself to a piece of hard cheese. If nothing else, his time here would allow him to rest and regain his strength, preparing him for whatever his future might hold.
Despite the previous night's drinking, the Musketeers were awake and dressed early, waiting at the garrison with saddled horses when Treville exited his office and made his way down to the courtyard. The four men were among many who would be making the trip to the gallows that morning in support of their condemned brother. They had just mounted when the thunder of approaching hoof beats reached their ears, and they sat patiently, waiting, for the riders to appear. As they'd expected, it was Rochefort and a number of Red Guards, the Comte dismounting as soon as he'd pulled his horse to a halt and striding over to stand in front of Treville. The Captain looked down at the man from his horse, affixing an expression of impatience. "What do you want, Rochefort? We were just about to depart for the gallows."
The Comte sneered up at him, clearly unimpressed with the Captain's use of his last name and the fact that he'd remained on his horse, forcing the other man to look up at him. "Where is d'Artagnan?" he demanded. At the look of confusion on Treville's face, he continued, "He's gone missing from the Chatelet."
Athos couldn't help himself as he questioned dryly, "Do you mean to say that you've misplaced your prisoner?"
Much to the Musketeers' satisfaction, the Comte sputtered indignantly before he rallied, "We did not misplace anyone. He's escaped! Now, where are you hiding him?"
Treville answered calmly, "d'Artagnan is not here. If you don't believe me, you're welcome to see for yourself."
As expected, the Comte wanted to do exactly that and he motioned to his guards, giving them their orders regarding the search of the garrison. As he did so, the Captain turned back to the assembled Musketeers. "Men, these guards are here to search for d'Artagnan. They are not to be thwarted in any way. Take your horses back to the stable and see to your other duties. There will be no hanging today." With his last words, a hint of a smile appeared and he hastened to hide it, lest Rochefort or his men notice. The four men dismounted, other Musketeers coming forward to take their horses, the men nodding gratefully to them for allowing them to keep watch over the Red Guards' activities. Treville motioned toward the balcony and they followed him upstairs, leaning against the railing as they watched the proceedings down below.
"This won't be the end of it," Athos stated as his eyes followed the men's search.
"I know," Treville replied, arms braced on the railing. "They may have their suspicions but they won't find any proof, and eventually they'll have to give up and leave. Once they're gone, you'll be able to continue your investigation."
The four continued to watch as the Red Guards scurried around like ants, the Musketeers not blocking their efforts, but not allowing Rochefort's men to do just anything either, the odd push or hard stare from the King's guard stopping the searching men in their tracks when they got overly aggressive. The garrison was comfortable enough for the regiment, but was not overly large, and in under an hour Treville had Rochefort seething in his office, demanding again to be told d'Artagnan's whereabouts. Although not formally invited, the three inseparables had followed them in and were now standing around the outside of the room as the Comte ranted. Taking a calming breath, Treville repeated his earlier declaration, "Rochefort, I told you that d'Artagnan isn't here. If he's managed to escape, he's probably half-way to the border by now."
The Comte straightened from where he'd been leaning on the Captain's desk in an effort to intimidate the man, turning to look at the others instead. "What do you three know of d'Artagnan's whereabouts?"
They held Rochefort's gaze as it stopped on each man in turn, Aramis and Porthos simply shaking their heads to indicate their lack of knowledge, while Athos replied, "Rochefort, we've already answered you. No Musketeer in the regiment can tell you d'Artagnan's location and we can't be held accountable for your inability to keep him locked up."
The Comte was clearly incensed at the Musketeer's word but managed to keep himself in check as he turned back to face Treville, "You haven't heard the last of this. I will find him, and if I discover that you had anything to do with d'Artagnan's escape, I'll make sure you hang next to him." He stormed from the room, slamming the door loudly behind him.
Porthos let out a long breath before he spoke, "I really don't like that man."
Aramis grinned at his friend's comment, slapping him on the back, "You have a penchant for understatement, Porthos. That man is the devil himself."
Treville ignored their banter as he held Athos' gaze, "Wait at least an hour before you head out and watch yourselves. He'll be more dangerous than ever now that he's been embarrassed." The older Musketeer gave a nod of understanding as he led the way out. When the door had closed, Treville's head sank forward into his hands as he rubbed at his temples in an effort to ease the headache that had taken up residence there.