CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Lion D'or Tavern, en route to Mantes
Early the following morning, after they had been on the road for an hour, they approached a tavern, set back from the road amid a circle of trees. The low branches of a large oak tree scraped along the roof slates.
It was a single white building, two stories high. An ancient black painted wooden board with a rampant golden lion painted on it swung from an old iron bracket above the door. The place had seen better days, but was no doubt a welcome sight to many a traveller passing along the road.
Aware that they had estimated that five people had camped out at the river side, Porthos bade Aubin stay with the horses and keep watch, as he dismounted and reached into the saddlebag for his pauldron.
Buckling it in place, he strode confidently into the tavern. Apart from the Landlord, there were only two other customers in the room, neither of whom fitted the description of assassin, being old and bent. They went quiet and stared at him.
"I 'ate it when that 'appens," he muttered, heading for the Landlord.
The thick set man had been leaning against the counter when Porthos strode in, but was now suddenly busy wiping it down with enthusiasm, his eyes focussed on his task.
Porthos watched him for a few moments before leaning in towards him.
"I am Porthos, of the King's Musketeers," he said, in a commanding voice.
The man finally raised his head and looked at him. Porthos pointed through the grimy window at Aubin, sitting calmly on his horse outside. "We are on the lookout for strangers passin' through. Anythin' you can tell me could be important."
"We are a tavern, monsieur; you are describing most of our clientele," the man gruffly replied, returning to his task.
Porthos bought ale and made a show of counting his livres slowly and placing them one by one on the counter.
"You don't look too busy, you would remember these men."
He continued counting coins onto the counter top.
"They killed six Musketeers, and injured eight."
The tavern owner was licking his lips, looking at the coins laid out in a line on the counter. Business must be slow.
"I am sorry to hear about the Musketeers; they have given us protection in the past," he said quietly.
He reached out his hand and scooped up the coins and pointedly looked up at the ceiling.
Porthos followed his gaze. He held up one finger.
The Landlord shook his head.
Two fingers earned him a slow nod, and then the man flicked a thumb toward the door in the corner of the room.
"Room Number Two," the Landlord said quietly, his eyes growing wide as Porthos reached behind him and pulled his main gauche from his belt.
Porthos stretched out and patted the man's hand, and then put his finger to his lips.
Putting his other hand on the hilt of his sword, he walked softly to the door, pinning the other two customers with a look that would keep them in their seats for the foreseeable future.
The door opened surprisingly easily on its old hinges, leading onto a narrow set of uneven wooden stairs which rose steeply, twisting around sharply to the floor above. A thick rope fastened to the wall served to help weary travellers up the staircase, stained in places where grasped by many a hand over the years; his now added to that number.
Ahead of him was an equally narrow corridor of sagging floorboards. Four windows on the left ran along the length of the corridor, looking down onto the frontage of the tavern, where Aubin sat waiting.
Along the right were four numbered wooden doors.
Walking very slowly, Porthos approached Room Number Two.
oOo
Outside the tavern, Aubin sat quietly on his horse, his eyes trained on the door, hand on the hilt of his sword.
Fifteen minutes had gone by.
The sudden burst of glass that showered him from above had him leaping from his horse, as a man landed at his feet. As a pool of blood began to spread out underneath the man, Aubin looked up to see Porthos grinning down at him from the shattered window.
Porthos held up two fingers, before making a slashing motion across his throat.
Aubin watched in surprise as Porthos made his way back along the upper floor, passing the windows before disappearing.
Inside, Porthos tossed a few more coins at the Landlord.
"Resisted arrest," he said to the shocked man. "The King is grateful for your assistance."
He left a piece of red twine in the oak tree in front of the tavern.
After half an hour's ride, he will leave another.
Two dead.
oOo
Porthos had dusted himself off, and taken the reins of his horse from Aubin. They made their way towards Mantes, a community some 48 km out of Paris. The spires of its cathedral could be seen in the far distance.
A small commune stood in their way, a more likely place for a group of brigands to seek provisions and services quickly, and it was here that they now headed.
Porthos tied a piece of red twine to an imposing beech tree at the side of the road and they followed the road into the small village. It led them to a large open square, with a stone well; canopied with thick timbers and slate roof. Porthos and Aubin pulled up their horses and dismounted. Aubin jumped up and sat on the well wall, leaning backward to pull up the bucket in order to replenish their water skins and water the horses.
An array of low buildings surrounded the square. One, presumably a tavern of some sort had low wooden benches in front of it, where several men sat.
Looking around without making it too obvious, Porthos noted the stables, and a smithy. A dozen or so houses spread out behind a small church.
Four young children appeared from behind a building and came running up to the well, looking up at Porthos in awe; gaping as if he was a giant. Aubin laughed, scooping one child up so she could reach out and touch Porthos's beard. Porthos growled playfully and she squealed and pulled her hand away. Aubin set her down and she scampered off with the others toward a woman who stood in front of one of the houses, wiping her hands on her apron. She watched the two strangers warily, before shooing the children into the house.
The men sitting on the benches also eyed them warily. Porthos was not wearing his pauldron. Sometimes the sight of it calmed nerves. Other times, he removed it to avoid aggravation.
Porthos considered door to door searches, but then looking once more at the smithy, he thought that any stranger entering such a village would do so for water, or help with horses.
First though, we walked casually over to the men and asked if they had seen any strangers. At first, he thought they would not be helpful, but then one pointed at the smithy and said they should ask the blacksmith. Leaving their horses standing next to the well, they walked the short distance to the smithy.
Aubin's father was a blacksmith, so he knew his way around a smithy and he quickly engaged the man in conversation. He learned that two strangers had come by a few days previously and had their horse's feet trimmed and shoes replaced. Apparently, one of these horses was a unusual colour and Porthos vaguely remembered seeing such a horse on the ambush. These two men did not speak, he told them. They just used gestures, and the blacksmith did the work for them and was happy to see them leave. They had made him uneasy, he told them. They had not made eye contact and had fumbled with the coins when paying him, as if they were unfamiliar with them.
Porthos gave the man some coins and he and Aubin walked back toward the small tavern, where they sat and shared a jug of ale with the men. Porthos wanted these men to remember them, so that they would be equally willing to speak to Athos and Aramis when they arrived.
It seemed the Englishmen were making their way west along the river. They obviously had a destination in mind, and it seemed it could be toward the Forest du Brotonne.
The assassins could be trailing the luggage wagon back toward Le Havre; if so, soon they would know the route that Henrietta Maria would take, as there was little alternative with a coach but to take the road. It did not matter how many guards she had, they would lie in wait, as they did for the Musketeers.
oOo
Porthos paid for everyone's ale, leaving the men in good spirits, and went back inside the smithy briefly. He left a message, telling his brothers cryptically where he was heading and that the first two assassins he had encountered had been killed.
He had no doubt they would see his marker back on the trail and stop at the Lion d'Or and the Landlord would tell them the whole story of the two killed there.
Now he could tell them through the blacksmith that two had passed through this village, before heading back into the countryside.
What Porthos cannot tell his brothers yet was how many were roaming the countryside.
oOo
They continued on their way, the horses watered, messages and markers left. The sun was at its highest now, and Porthos soon stopped at a stream, soaking his bandeau in the cool water and slapping it on the back of his neck.
He was itching to crack more skulls, but they needed to rest for a short while.
Aubin untied his cloak from where it had been rolled up on his saddle. He shook it out and laid it on the ground, while he removed his boots and set them aside. When he looked up, Porthos was looking at the cloak, with its red leather lining, with unconcealed distain.
oOo
The Garrison Stables
As Porthos and Aubin were leaving the village; back at the Garrison, Aramis had saddled their two horses and was now leaning against the open stable door, thinking about the Red Guard escort the Queen Consort would have and the men roaming the countryside.
His medical kit was well stocked with the herbs he may need during the mission, and provisions for a few days were stored in both saddle bags.
Hearing Treville's door open, he quickly busied himself with adjusting his horse's bit; aware of Athos's approach, but keeping his eyes averted. No doubt he would learn the plan in due course.
Athos's approach was slower than his usual purposeful stride; his mood all too obvious to Aramis. Too slow and deliberate to ask anything of him; in this case swallowing pain relief. The draft he had poured into the cup would have to wait for a more opportune moment, so he poured it back into the bottle before his brother could see, and secured it once more in his saddlebag as Athos approached.
The crate he had moved would stay there, however. He would not acquiesce on that.
Aramis eased Roger over to stand beside the crate, turning the stallion so that Athos would mount on its right side, using his right foot to step into the stirrup and then lever his injured hip over the saddle. No words were needed. They understood each other perfectly.
This was the opposite side to the one he usually mounted from; he would stand on the crate to mount, or he would not go. It had been his promise earlier; that he would listen to Aramis. Even Athos could see the sense in it as he stopped next to the horse and accepted the reins quietly.
It went better than either of them had expected, and Aramis stood looking up at him and was about to speak when Athos turned his head and growled, "saddle up," in no uncertain terms. He had accepted it, but that did not mean he had to like it.
Aramis bit back his words and swung himself into his saddle, looking across at Athos.
"We do not have to engage them; we just scout and report what we find, yes?" he said, looking at Athos, aware that his brother's stamina would be low.
When Athos just looked back at him in silence, Aramis sighed in resignation.
"We are going to engage them, aren't we," he said.
Athos turned his horse and rode out of the Garrison.
Aramis dug his heels into his horse's flanks and followed him out.
Half an hour into the ride, Aramis vowed never to ask Athos about his injuries again.
Not if he valued his life.
oOo
The Spanish assassins are no fools. The spymaster Vargas would expect no less. Once alerted by their spies in Paris, they know the luggage is being transported back to Le Havre, soon to be followed by the Royal party on their way home to England. They have waited patiently. And so, these assassins will set off from Le Havre, and travel east to meet and intercept them before they reach their destination. There is plenty of forest cover on the outskirts of Rouen, so they will not have to travel far, and will be rested by the time the Queen Consort finds herself trapped and at their mercy.
They are now all on a collision course.
The English heading west toward the forests; informed of the rendezvous at the Hunting Lodge.
The Spanish heading east; also to the forests, to lay in wait for the royal party.
But Porthos does not know this. He knows nothing of Spanish involvement.
Nor does Porthos know that Athos and Aramis are behind him.
But he knows them.
They are his brothers.
To be continued ...
oOo
A/N Lion d'or – Golden Lion