A/N: A coming together; a plan - and a problem.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The following morning, Athos and Aramis arrived at the Hunting Lodge, to find it shuttered and locked down. They dismounted quietly and made their way to the rear of the property to stable their horses.
Treville, Porthos and Aubin were in the garden room ensuring weapons were ready, when the door opened and Athos strode in.
"You're dead," he said, walking casually to the table and surveying the weapons.
"Knew it was you," Porthos grinned, walking forward and enveloping him in a hug;
"Brother," he breathed. "You alright?" he asked, pulling away and looking Athos up and down.
"I am fine, it is you who are suicidal," Athos replied; although he had a slight smile on his face.
He looked Porthos over then, before he relaxed, assured he was in good health.
"It is good to see you," he said quietly. "You left in a hurry, my friend."
"Yeah, sorry about that," Porthos said, looking towards Treville. He still felt bad about the way he had had to leave the Garrison that morning.
Athos gave a slight tilt of his head and raised his hand, indicating that there was nothing to be forgiven. He would never deride Porthos for doing his duty, despite the manner of his deployment and the warring emotions it had raised in him.
Athos looked at Aubin then and raised an eyebrow.
Before Porthos could make introductions, Aubin stepped forward, his hand outstretched.
"You must be Athos," he said boldly, to which Athos frowned.
"This is Aubin," Porthos said. "I told him you had a noble air."
At that, Athos rolled his eyes, and Aubin smiled.
He had now seen all the expressions Porthos had attributed to his Musketeer brother.
Aubin looked at Porthos and they both laughed. Athos rewarded them with one of his glares, before reaching out and shaking Aubin's hand.
Now that everyone was reacquainted, Treville came forward and took Athos's arm, drawing him away.
"It's good to see you, although I did not expect you so soon," he said, pinning his Lieutenant with steely blue eyes.
"My apologies for that, but we have encountered a Spanish group who are no more than a day behind us," he said, meeting his captain's gaze.
Treville frowned, and then nodded in acknowledgment of his previous fears.
He had a question before he sought more information.
"How are you Athos?"
"Better for this," replied Athos quietly.
Treville smiled. His men were always better when there was action to be had.
He reached out and briefly put his hand on Athos's shoulder, looking at the red scar on his Lieutenant's neck, visible above his scarf.
The former comte did not always allow such familiarity, but in this case he did not move.
"Better than the last time I saw you," Treville said pointedly, before roughly patting the man's shoulder and giving it a brief shake; allowing the memory of Athos's anger to surface once more.
Athos smiled at the acknowledgement and then stepped back and straightened; their positions of mutual respect delineated once more.
Any condemnation for disobedience quickly disappeared as Treville then sought more information.
"How many?"
"Eight," came a familiar voice from the doorway, as Aramis strolled into the room, his musket propped against his shoulder. He lowered it as Porthos came forward for another firm embrace, before being introduced to Aubin.
Aramis smiled brightly and shook Aubin's hand, "You seem relatively unscathed, my friend. Porthos and the Red Guard rarely see eye to eye."
Aubin coughed, and looked a little contrite.
"I think I have tested his patience a few times," he said, looking over at Porthos.
Porthos hummed in agreement.
Aramis then sat on the table, laying his weapon next to him, before continuing their report.
"They are soldiers, well armed and determined," he continued casually.
"So with the English, that is thirteen," Athos intoned, looking at Treville.
Treville had told them of last night's aborted attack and the death of the English assassin, and the death of five Englishmen at the hands of Porthos and Aubin.
"Although the English numbers are purely guesswork, we don't know if last night's visitor is part of the main group." Treville added. "He didn't look as if he had been sleeping in the open air for the past few weeks."
Porthos shook his head and growled in frustration.
"So, who are we fightin'?" he asked, hands on hips.
"We are fighting the Spanish and the English," Athos said in a bored voice, inspecting one of the pistols, before replacing it on the table. "And they are fighting us."
"At some point," he continued, leaning against the table and folding his arms, "they may fight each other."
"Seems fair," said Porthos.
oOo
Watching the Musketeers reunite, Aubin saw the moment where they were all three once more in accord. For a moment, he missed his own two brothers, unsure when they would eventually reunite.
And he envied these men their easy brotherhood.
oOo
"The Spanish are Tercios," Aramis explained as they all gathered in the Dining Room.
"They are Catalans. But they are soldiers; they will not be paid extra for this work, so they will make their bonus in other ways."
"What other ways?" asked Sir Edmund from the doorway, where he had been listening in on their conversation. He was now visibly shaken at the news that there were Spanish assassins in the vicinity.
Athos acknowledged him with a glance before continuing.
"For all this is a hunting lodge, it is a royal residence that the King maybe visits twice a year at most. He keeps a small staff. It is not well protected." Athos explained.
"There are paintings that can be ripped from their frames and rolled up," he waved his hand toward the end of the room, where several paintings were hung in ornate frames.
He picked up a silver candle stick, hefting its weight.
"There are precious metals," he said, returning it to its place on the table. "That can be hoarded in eight saddle bags," he finished.
"Even the cutlery will be worth more than we make in a month," said Porthos.
"Make that a year, my friend," said Aramis, clapping his hand on his shoulder.
Porthos growled. He had little patience with the extravagance he saw on a regular basis in royal households.
"The contents of this building will provide rich pickings," Athos finished.
Treville looked around.
"And that is why they did not attack her on the road," he said quietly.
"They can do both," Athos said.
"They expect her here – she arrives, stays the night and moves on. They make their move on the lodge and take what they can carry; and then ride ahead of the coach and kill her before she arrives in Le Havre. From where they depart."
"Even with the Red Guard in attendance?" Treville muted.
"They are criminals, now battle hardened soldiers," Aramis replied, he did not have to explain their determination and lack of conscience. Nor the ineptitude of the Red Guard to counteract them.
"Or they wait until she arrives, kill her and still take what they want." Treville offered.
Athos shrugged;
"It depends on whether they want to make it look like a robbery on the road, or an organised assassination. I would think the latter; for maximum impact." Athos replied.
"But now Her Majesty is not here, and they do not know it," Athos added.
"Neither do the English," Treville replied. "And they really do want to rid themselves of their French queen."
Aubin had been listening intently, and now he spoke up, thinking of his own paymaster.
"What of the Cardinal?"
Treville turned.
"Who knows?" he replied, looking at the young Red Guard.
"The Spanish may prefer to leave him alive to face the consequences with his King. He did, after all, insist on escorting her himself.
"He had no idea of Spanish involvement," Treville added. "I should have shared my fears."
"It was speculation; and he brings it upon himself," Athos replied coldly.
"These Spaniards are hardened soldiers," Aramis reminded them.
"As are we," Athos replied, "And we have honour," he added firmly.
Turning, he walked out onto the terrace and made his way to the stables to settle their horses.
oOo
Meanwhile, Sir Edmund was considering his options.
Henry Simmonds was dead, and could no longer incriminate him, thanks unwittingly to Treville. But Simmond's appearance strengthened his case against Elizabeth Cromwell. It would be easy to claim that it was to he that she had passed on information.
However, this was unravelling and he had to be sure he was clear of any accusations.
He had given up Mistress Cromwell and she was to be taken back to Paris; but she was a favourite of Henrietta Maria's, who would now wonder why she would not be rejoining the royal party. Perhaps a fall from an upper window would end his fears of discovery on that count, he thought.
He had found the key that Porthos had hung back on the hook in the room opposite the kitchen and now crept to the stairs whilst the others were discussing their plans in the reception room.
He took the back stairs from the kitchen and walked softly along the corridor. All the doors stood open, apart from one and it was to this one he walked, where Elizabeth Cromwell was held.
Just as he was about to put the key into the lock, he felt a presence behind him, and froze.
"Lost ya way?" came a low menacing voice and Sir Edmund turned and came eye to eye with the broad chest of his enquirer.
He drew himself up to his full height and attempted an imperious look but Porthos was not impressed. He had been stared at by better men than this one. He took a step back before Sir Edmund could speak and held his arm wide, back in the direction of the main stairs at the end of the corridor.
Porthos had seen how Sir Edmund had accused Elizabeth Cromwell, and how she had accepted her fate. None of them were able to intervene, and did not fully understand what had transpired between them, but all were agreed, they did not like this man.
"Lead on," he growled, ushering him back down the stairs.
oOo
Later:
Weapons checked, the Lodge made secure, they all took time to eat, before ensuring all the staff were safe upstairs. There was no-one among them who could be pressed into action. They were not trained and it was unfair to pit them against English assassins and Spanish soldiers.
Porthos had taken Elizabeth Cromwell a plate of food, which she had gratefully accepted. She did not attempt to talk to him and he was glad of it. He did not know what to make of this, but felt some sympathy for this young woman. He locked the door and went back downstairs and joined his comrades.
"So, do you have a plan?" Porthos asked Athos hopefully, throwing himself into a chair.
As much as he had enjoyed himself extracting vengeance on those who had killed his brothers, he was eager to finish the job and return to Paris now.
"I do."
"Like to let us in?" Aramis remarked as he appeared in the doorway.
"First of all, the Captain takes Mistress Cromwell and rides for Paris," Athos said. He expected his Captain to protest and he did, but once he explained that it would be the distraction they needed when the assassins hit, Treville relented. Richelieu would expect that she be delivered for questioning, and he doubted any assassins would remain alive after today.
"Let us presume there are five English and eight Spanish out there, yes?" Athos continued.
"Agreed," Porthos and Treville said at the same time.
"But not in the same place," Athos continued.
"Not the last time we looked," Aramis replied, intrigued.
"So, we lure them together and let them sort out their differences," he said quietly.
They all looked at each other and smiled.
oOo
An hour later, Porthos ran upstairs and began going angrily from room to room, cursing loudly.
Aramis was standing looking out toward the forest from a window at the end of the corridor, his eyes scanning the tree line. He turned as Porthos stomped toward him.
Porthos stopped and met his enquiring eyes.
"Where's Aubin?" Porthos growled.
"Haven't seen him since we discussed Athos's plan," Aramis replied.
Porthos looked through the window at the woodland beyond.
"Oh, bugger."
To be continued ...