CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The following morning, Porthos was packing up camp, and getting breakfast together; making a final meal from the remnants of last night's pigeons. Aubin had lost his appetite after his revelations, but was happy to eat this morning. He was now wiping down the horses with dried grass and fixing their saddles and bridles. The dawn chorus had woken them early, their song rising to a crescendo as they rose. Now, it was less intense and the weak rays of the sun were beginning to send shafts of light down onto the woodland floor.
Suddenly, the birds stopped singing.
Remembering what Porthos had said about their sudden silence, Aubin turned in an instant to look at him.
Porthos was already aware. Holding a plate of food, he straightened and put one finger of his other hand to his lips, then held that hand up and straightened his fingers toward Aubin as a sign to still him.
It happened fast.
Porthos threw his plate down and leaped to his feet, moving towards Aubin.
Aubin turned his head as the sound of crashing filled the air.
Porthos moved quickly up behind him and pulled Aubin up under his arms and swung him around, like a child, out of the way; just as a huge wild boar came crashing through the undergrowth squealing, the whites of its small eyes clearly visible as it ran toward them. Its large, fearsome tusks clearly visible.
Someone was near.
They watched as the boar ran in panic past them and disappeared as quickly as it had come.
And that's when Aubin went crashing back into the forest, the way the beast had come.
Porthos groaned, looking longingly at the wasted food on the floor, before taking off after him.
For a big man, he could move fast, and was soon pushing through undergrowth and jumping over tree roots. Wading into a thorny bramble bush, he briefly became entangled, the thorns catching at his clothing. Attempting to pull himself free, he looked up and suddenly he realised two assassins had seen him and were now making their way determinedly toward him, evil etched on their faces as they reached for their swords and made ready to despatch him.
Porthos growled a curse, pulling his own sword free.
This wasn't good.
He steadied himself, ready for combat as the two bore down on him.
With a cry that startled everyone, and a crash of branches and leaves, Aubin suddenly dropped down from a tree behind the two.
The brigands both turned as one to face Aubin, but before they could attack, adrenaline spurred Porthos on and he pulled himself free and threw his weight forward, reaching out to them and knocking their heads soundly together; the weight of the sword still held tightly in his hand creating a massive force.
There was a sickening crunch and for the briefest of moments, everything stopped.
Then both men dropped bonelessly to the floor, still.
"Very nice!" laughed Aubin.
"I've 'ad practise," Porthos replied, sheathing his sword.
One of the assassins was already dead with a fractured skull, the other would soon join him.
Porthos bent to pick up limp feet and drag their owners into the undergrowth, after removing their weapons
In the distance, they heard the sounds of a horse's hooves making a hasty retreat.
One had escaped.
Before he could deride Aubin for his recklessness at charging off, Aubin was gone again.
"Bugger!" Porthos shouted angrily.
He called him back, but to no avail, so he had no choice but to pursue him once more.
There was no point in trying to be quiet now, whoever had escaped was gone; so for the next ten minutes, Porthos crashed through the undergrowth, his sword once more in hand, slashing at thorn bushes en route.
Up ahead, through the trees, he caught site of Aubin, sitting with his back against a large rock.
Slowing, he approached him, giving a quick scan around to make sure they were alone.
Aubin was sporting a large lump on his forehead. Sheepishly, he looked up at Porthos;
"Ran into a tree," he said.
"That'll teach ya," Porthos said, straightening.
"You're a fool," he added, before a chuckle started to bubble up from his chest and he began to laugh loudly. Aubin scowled at him, but at least he did not have to endure the big man's wrath.
Porthos recovered his composure and held out a hand to haul Aubin to his feet.
"I need to take a look at your head. And you need to rest," Porthos said quietly.
"But we need to catch him before he reaches his group!"Aubin cried.
"They ain't goin' anywhere." Porthos said. These men knew what they wanted.
Now though, four assassins were dead.
However, now they knew about Porthos and Aubin. And they had seen Porthos's pauldron.
He knew the race was on.
They headed back to their campsite, and Porthos made Aubin sit while he dipped a cloth into their pan and held a wet cloth over the lump on his head.
"Yer gonna have a nice bruise there," he muttered.
"Sorry, that was foolish," Aubin said, allowing Porthos to continue dabbing gently at his head.
"Yer just need to tone it down a bit. Recklessness never gets you anywhere," Porthos reached out and patted his shoulder, throwing the cloth back into the pan.
"Have you never been reckless, Porthos?" Aubin asked, pulling himself to his feet.
Porthos laughed.
"You know I have, you've seen me," he shook his head;
"But, when I was young, I had to learn the hard way," he muttered.
And then, he told Aubin about his childhood, growing up in the Court of Miracles. He told him of his mother, gone too soon; and his subsequent struggle to survive. The things he had had to do; that perhaps he should be ashamed of now, but that somehow he felt justified in doing; looked at with his adult eyes.
"But I know who I am; and I like who I am," he said defiantly, his look challenging this Red Guard to revert to his previous taunts.
But Aubin did not.
He had listened in awe and was surprised and impressed at how Porthos had bettered himself; they were alike in that they had lost mothers too soon. But where he had found a new family, due to the soldiers who found him; Porthos had been alone.
And so, Aubin had met Porthos's gaze, and he had smiled and called him "Miracle Boy."
They finished packing up and moved on, both now a little more aware of each other.
oOo
Friday noon.
Back in Paris, after making her farewells to her brother the King and his wife, Henrietta Maria prepared to take her leave.
Henrietta Maria, Sir Edmund Temple, Elizabeth Cromwell and Captain Treville set off in two coaches for the return journey, with Cardinal Richelieu and fifteen Red Guard.
Both the Cardinal and the Captain would have preferred an earlier start, but Henrietta Maria was not one to be hurried.
As before, the journey from Paris to Le Havre will be over thirty leagues. The Forest de Brotonne, west of Rouen is approximately half way. There will be other stops along the way but the Royal Hunting Lodge is the main stop over for the Royal party. It will afford them comfort and a chance to change their horses.
For Treville, it will be where he is reunited with his men, and will hear their report. They will then journey back to Paris, the Royal Party continuing on to Le Havre, where the Queen Consort would take her leave.
However, unbeknown to anyone, Henrietta Maria, disturbed by the ambush on the Musketeers, plans to order a detour. She will journey a little further along the route to stop at her cousin's residence, the Chateau de Saint-Paterne, a twenty five acre estate on the outskirts of Rouen. Here she believes she will be safer. Thus, she will bypass the main part of the Forest de Brotonne and the Hunting Lodge.
Her brother, the King, would strongly disagree with such a change of arrangements, so therefore she will not disclose it until the last moment.
Elizabeth Cromwell is the only person who knows her intentions.
oOo
It was mid afternoon now and Porthos was aiming to head to higher ground to get his bearings and scan the terrain. They were tracking the assassin who had escaped that morning. He was probably aiming to reach his comrades and regroup.
It was Aubin who picked up his trail and, as luck would have it, it appeared that he too was seeking higher ground. They wound their way up the steady rocky incline, still under cover of trees which grew tall from the valley floor. There were thin cascades of water flowing down the ridge, giving rise to rich vegetation, which sprouted from rocks on the cliff edge, and along the track below.
Not all Englishmen are fools.
This one had laid a trap.
Aubin was busy following the signs that would lead them to the top of the ridge. This was what the Englishman wanted.
He has made no attempt to cover his tracks.
Porthos would have known this, but he was behind Aubin, tying a piece of red twine to a branch, at the base of the first rise and Aubin has slipped away after catching sight of the first footprint, deep in the mud at the side of the track. Aubin reached the top of the ridge a few minutes ahead of Porthos and dismounted, moving forward, following the signs.
Porthos saw the footprints and cursed; realising Aubin has gone on ahead. The hothead was heading into a trap. Porthos followed, dismounting when he reached the top.
Hearing voices, Aubin had obviously found his quarry.
Circling away from the sound of the voices, Porthos was relieved when saw them through the trees ahead, sparse now so near to the edge of the ridge. He could hear the thunderous noise of a waterfall, as it tipped over the edge of the ridge nearby. Two horses stood patiently nearby.
Silently, he edged closer. Aubin and the man were facing each other but he could see no weapons. He realised why when the man made a grab for Aubin, intending to push him over the ridge.
Just as Aubin began to lose his footing, Porthos crashed out of the undergrowth, and ploughed across the flat rock leading to the edge, grabbing the Englishman. There was no finesse in his movements, but he had little choice.
The man let go of Aubin in surprise at the onslaught, and Aubin fell back, his feet going from under him on the slick stone, wet from the spray of the water tumbling over the edge.
At the last moment, Porthos realised in his urgency to free Aubin that the momentum and wetness underfoot was going to carry him over the edge.
Wrapped together, he roared as he and the Englishman disappeared over the edge into the unknown.
To be continued ...
oOo
A/N: Now that's what I call a cliff-hanger ... it just felt like the right place to stop. Sorry.
The Chateau de Saint Paterne is now a fabulous hotel, but was once a hideaway for Henry IV.
The Forest du Brotonne is real, but the hunting lodge is a figment of my imagination.