A/N: Many thanks for your reviews and comments. They are all very much appreciated.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Porthos shook his head ruefully, looking at Aubin Fabron as he placed a red tie on a branch, all the time looking down to see where he had trodden so he could wipe away his footprints; Aubin caught him looking and threw him an amused look and a cocky flick of his head.
Porthos laughed out loud.
"Cheeky beggar," he growled.
The boy is learning, but he is all heart and humour and fire. He will need some taming, if they are to get out of this alive.
Camp that night saw them eating the remainder of their dried rations. Aubin had foraged a crop of berries, which was a welcome treat. Tomorrow they would need to find fresh food. After a peaceful evening spent cleaning weapons and repacking saddlebags, they passed a quiet night. Porthos kept watch for a while now. He was beginning to prepare himself for what may come. These last few days had been a slow build up to the inevitable action awaiting them.
They disbanded camp in the early morning light to the song of the dawn chorus and prepared to leave. Aubin made a final trip into the woodland.
Throwing his saddle onto his horse, Porthos realised that Aubin had been gone for a while. He carefully made his way down the small trail that Aubin had disappeared down half an hour earlier. Drawing his sword, aware of the pistol secured at his back, he moved lightly toward a small clearing ahead. As he came up against a large oak on the edge of the trail, he kept his body behind it as he shifted his shoulder, craning his neck to scan the clearing ahead.
Aubin was sat with his back to a tree ahead, perfectly still; transfixed.
The early morning mist was stirring along the forest floor. All was still, save for the gentle rustle of leaves as a light breeze passed through the trees.
Porthos followed his eyes.
There, just inside the tree line, stood a magnificent, mature stag; quietly standing in a shaft of sunlight, against a backdrop of dark glossy leaves.
The sunlight was filtering down through the trees, highlighting the rich red gold of the stag's coat. The animal was facing to the right, away from Aubin, its head to the left, as though it had his scent, but was standing stock still. The large buck's black shiny nostrils flared as each breath was visible as a plume of mist. It was its magnificent antlers that seemed to have captivated Aubin. They were the same rich reddish brown colour as its coat; the ten pointed tines topped with white polished tips.
Aubin turned his head, and seeing Porthos half behind the tree, he put his finger to his lips, and smiled.
Porthos shook his head, turned and gently walked back up the trail.
"Don't let the King see it," he muttered to himself.
Later that day, sitting beside a stream, Aubin shyly showed Porthos a small, intricately carved horseshoe.
His father being a blacksmith, he told him, he had carved what he knew.
"From the antler horn of a buck," he had said in hushed tones; the stag they had seen that morning bringing back past memories of the childhood day his father had held out his hand, curled into a fist. Aubin had laughed and tried to open the large, strong hand. His father had laughed too, but had finally given way, and had slowly opened his hand.
There, in his palm, was Aubin's prize.
A talisman for his young son.
Around the edge, he had carved small perfectly formed ivy leaves, which twisted around the curve of the horseshoe.
The Smithy by the wood;
Their home.
That was what it represented.
It was only small, enough for a young boy to fit into his pocket; which he had done, and carried with him, as boy and man.
It now lay, small and delicate, in the palm of his hand, as perfect as the day it had been lovingly carved.
When Aubin handed it to Porthos, it looked even smaller. But Porthos thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
"Papa said it would bring good luck," Aubin said, smiling at the sight of the small token in the large hand; the contrast between the small white horseshoe and the large dark palm startling, making the talisman seem even more delicate.
"One day," he said, settling back against a log, remembering the tale his father had told him that day;
"The Devil walked into a Blacksmith's shop and asked him to shoe his horse.
The Blacksmith knew who he was, of course, but pretended not to, and agreed to do it.
But instead, he nailed the shoe to the Devil's foot, causing him pain."
Porthos growled a hum in his throat, and nodded; his eyes still on the talisman.
"The Blacksmith agreed to remove the horseshoe," Aubin continued, "but before he did, he made the Devil promise that he would never enter a house where a horseshoe was nailed over the door."
Porthos turned the small antler horseshoe over in his hand, and smiled.
"I like that," he said, in a low hushed voice, before handing it back, "You take care of it, yeah?"
"Always," said Aubin, tucking it away.
They both sat in silence for a while.
Suddenly, Aubin said, "What's the King like?"
Porthos thought for a few moments, trying to form an answer, before shaking his head and replying,
"Don't really 'ave anythin' to compare 'im with," he said, ruefully.
"And the Cardinal?" Aubin now asked.
That was an easier question.
"Hang on to that horseshoe, with any luck you'll never find out."
oOo
Fairly familiar with the area, Athos and Aramis soon found the first piece of red twine. They remained on their horses.
"He is following the river," said Athos, thoughtfully.
"Makes sense."
"What would you do if you were an assassin?" Athos posed to his companion.
"Well," Aramis said, thinking, taking his hat off and running his hand through his hair in a familiar gesture.
Athos sat patiently, looking thoughtfully at the red twine, blowing gently in the breeze.
"We know there are at least ten of them, as Treville counted them as they rode back into the trees after the ambush."
"There could have been more in the trees." Athos added in a low voice.
"True, but they would have put most of their force into the actual ambush, surely." Aramis replied.
"And obviously, such a large group would draw attention to themselves." Athos mused.
"So they split up ... obviously." Aramis added, with a smirk.
"Obviously. Standard practise in such a situation," Athos added, drily.
"In twos or threes, and work along the route to Le Havre."
"Where we will pick them off," Athos countered. "But they will expect that," he added grimly.
"And when the Queen's coaches cross their path, whoever is left alive does the honours and completes their mission."
They turned their horses and continued on their way.
Half an hour along the route, another piece of red twine indicated that Porthos has deviated again.
This time they dismounted; Athos awkwardly and somewhat painfully. He sank stiffly onto a fallen log, emitting a groan he tried hard to disguise, but failed miserably. Aramis unhooked his waterskin and his medical kit and brought them over, sitting down next to Athos.
"There is a village ahead," Aramis said. "Half an hour before Mantes. I remember riding through it last summer."
"Porthos will be working a circular route," he added, "and may be doubling back. What do we do if we meet him and his companion?"
Athos huffed. By now, Porthos will have probably strung his companion from the trees. No doubt they would find him, suspended by a piece of red twine. He kept his thoughts to himself.
"He is a day or two ahead of us," he replied. "But if we do, we join forces; as we've established, there are at least ten assassins that we know of, and they have had time to scope the area. We do not know where they intend to regroup; if indeed, that is their plan. Hopefully Porthos will reduce their numbers by the time the Royal party reach the hunting lodge."
Aramis paused, before looking over at his friend.
"And what of Treville; you are going against his orders. We should be working the second leg of the journey."
"Do not worry; I will say I coerced you." Athos said quietly, holding his gaze and giving him the faintest smirk.
Aramis laughed and shook his head,
"You are very persuasive, mon ami," he smiled.
Athos returned his smile; "And they were not orders; merely suggestions. At least, that is what I believe I heard after I had spoken to him," he added, tightening his gloves around his fingers.
Aramis shrugged. "As I say, you are very persuasive."
He gave Athos a mock bow, and when he straightened, he held out his hand.
He was holding a cup of herbal pain relief.
"As are you," Athos sighed quietly, eyeing the outstretched hand before taking the cup and swallowing the liquid down. Making a face, he then took hold of the outstretched hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, grimacing.
"Athos," Aramis said carefully; taking the cup back but not releasing his hand.
"You do realise you were lucky to survive the ambush?"
Athos looked down at their joined hands. After a few moments, he spoke;
"Like Porthos," he murmured, "I am not a lucky man."
He raised his head then, and held his friend's enquiring gaze.
"However," he continued quietly, "like him, I have found something more in our brotherhood. Luck does not create the bond that joins us three."
Athos placed his other hand on the top of Aramis's.
"It was not luck that ensured my survival, Aramis," he said. "But I do not have the word to describe it."
He smiled and tipped his head down, before his eyes betrayed him more than they already had. More than he was capable of withstanding.
Aramis let go then, and watched as his brother made his way back to his horse.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, he caught Athos up.
"On to the village, then," Aramis replied, cheerfully, forcing himself not to fuss.
Athos stopped and looked at him then;
"Lest we forget, Porthos and his "companion" are outnumbered. Heavily so."
It was at that moment that Athos saw his brother switch personas from the compassionate soul he had been for the last month to the hardened soldier – compassion to combat in the blink of an eye. Anyone else would have taken a step back.
Athos merely held his gaze once more, as mutual understanding passed between them.
And then it was gone, as in the next moment, Aramis was linking his fingers together and leaning forward to offer Athos a boost into his saddle.
This time, gratefully received.
Once seated, Athos looked at the cloudy skies above them.
"I think it may rain," he said.
To be continued ...