The Key to Salvation
Chapter Six
The journey was frustratingly slow with multiple stops to rest aching muscles. Whenever he dismounted Aramis had to adjust to the unfamiliar weight of his weapons belt. Travelling unarmed hadn't been an option even though he knew he wouldn't be able to hold his own if he was attacked. With a sharp pang he realised how much he missed the comforting presence of his brothers. They would be angry with him when they returned and found out what he had done but he hoped he would have evidence with which to placate them. He ate sparingly to blunt the edges of his hunger even though he was wound too tightly to have any real appetite.
The journey would have been pleasant if not for his frailty and a driving need to discover the truth. Wild flowers were blooming at the edges of the road and the air was filled with birdsong. Fields of grain were beginning to sprout while cattle grazed peacefully in the pastures. It should have been idyllic when compared to his accommodation for the last ten months. He tried to enjoy it, to feel gratitude for his freedom, but a dark cloud continued to hover over his future. This was his last chance to prove his innocence and he feared the outcome if he was unsuccessful.
He was sagging with weariness by the time the walls surrounding Provins came into view. He rode through the gate and onto the main street. After dismounting stiffly he leaned against his horse, his breaths shallow and uneven.
"Are you alright, Monsieur?"
Aramis pulled his aching body upright and removed his hat, giving the young woman his best attempt at a smile. "Thank you for your concern, Mademoiselle. I am merely weary from my journey." She returned his smile tentatively and, once again, he cursed his haggard appearance. "I seek the home of Monsieur Lemaire. Do you know him?"
Her smile brightened. "He is our innkeeper and Mayor. I can show you the way if you'd like."
"I would be most grateful."
She indicated their direction and set off. "You are a friend of Monsieur Lemaire?"
"We are acquainted. I knew him when he was in Paris. Has he been here long?"
"He arrived about three months ago."
"And purchased the inn?"
"Yes. It is a good business. Then a month ago he was elected as Mayor."
"Whose land is this?"
"The Baron Neuville. He is Monsieur Lemaire's patron."
The name meant nothing to Aramis but that wasn't really surprising. So many nobles frequented the Court that it was impossible to know them all by name.
"Here we are."
The building housing the inn was in good repair and the sign, showing a stag, looked to be freshly painted. Aramis' heart rate sped up with excitement. It was unlikely that a former servant could afford a place like this.
"Thank you, Mademoiselle." He raised his hat and bowed with a hand across his heart.
"You are welcome." Her smile was mildly flirtatious.
Aramis stood still as she walked away, unaccountably nervous now that he was so close to gaining the answers he sought. He shook his head, annoyed with himself for hesitating and entered the building. There were half a dozen tables and enough chairs for twenty but only two were occupied. Aramis stopped in the entrance and looked towards the bar. A large man stood behind it polishing glasses. The man looked up briefly.
"Have a seat. I will be with you in a minute."
Aramis walked to the table furthest from the bar and sat. He kept his hat on, brim pulled down to shadow his face.
"What can I get you?"
He raised his head and saw the man's welcoming smile falter.
The innkeeper stepped back, colliding heavily with a chair. "You're supposed to be in prison."
"The King pardoned me."
"Are you…are you here to kill me?"
Aramis raised an eyebrow and smiled unpleasantly. "Why would I want to do that? You just told the court what you saw."
Lemaire relaxed fractionally. "Then why are you here?"
"I want to know who really stole the necklace and I believe you know something about that."
"I swear I know nothing."
Aramis didn't believe him but kept his expression neutral. "Tell me about Baron Neuville."
Lemaire began to fidget. "What about him?"
"I'm told he's your patron. Why would a noble take an interest in a man like you?"
"I did him some small services while he was at Court."
"Services such as framing me for a crime I didn't commit?" Aramis asked, his grip on his temper fraying.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I think you should leave."
"That's not very hospitable of you. Anyone would think you had something to hide." Aramis removed his hat and laid it on the table. "I'll have a tankard of ale."
"Then you'll leave?"
"For the moment. However, I plan to return with some of my friends to continue this conversation."
Lemaire's face turned ashen and his eyes widened. He looked exactly like a deer cornered by the huntsmen's hounds. Aramis leaned back in his chair, his hand caressing the hilt of his sword. He watched the innkeeper closely as the man scuttled back to the bar to fetch the ale. He was more convinced than ever that Lemaire knew who had set him up.
The innkeeper's hands were shaking so much that he spilt a substantial amount of the ale while carrying the tankard back to the table. Aramis laid down a coin and lifted the tankard to his lips. The whole time he kept his glacial stare fixed on his prey. He sipped the ale, which was surprisingly good, while he tried to decide on his next move. He was reluctant to leave without a confession but had no leverage to make the man talk. Lemaire crossed the room to one of the other patrons, bending down to whisper in his ear. Shortly after that the man got up and left with a furtive look in Aramis' direction. He considered his options. If Lemaire had sent for help it was unlikely that he would be able to leave the village without being accosted so he decided to stay where he was.
He was on his second tankard and Lemaire, under his intense scrutiny, was sweating profusely by the time two men entered the tavern. They were well-dressed and armed with an impressive array of weaponry. Aramis forced down his apprehension, knowing that he could not win a fight if they chose to initiate one.
The men joined him at his table and sat without invitation. Both looked to be in their thirties and at the peak of their physical condition. The larger of the two had shoulder length brown hair and pale blue eyes. He was the first to speak.
"What's a Musketeer doing in these parts?"
Aramis gestured toward his shoulder. "What makes you think I'm a Musketeer? Do you see a pauldron?"
"A disgraced Musketeer then."
"You seem to be very well informed."
"Word travels."
"Does it? Somehow I doubt that unless you have some knowledge of how I came to lose my commission."
"You shouldn't have come here." The second man pushed a strand of dark hair out of his eyes and leaned forward threateningly.
"I can assure you it wasn't a pleasure trip. I have some business with your innkeeper."
"Your business is at an end. The Baron wishes to see you." The larger man stood up and looked at him expectantly.
"I'm afraid I must decline his kind invitation. It's time I was heading back to Paris."
"It wasn't an invitation." The dark haired man stood beside his colleague and drew his pistol. "Are you going to come quietly?"
"Oh, I doubt it." His heart was racing and the palms of his hands were damp but he would be damned before he showed any fear to these men.
"Get him up, Gerrard." The pistol was brandished in his direction.
Gerrard stepped forward and took hold of Aramis' left arm, hauling him to his feet. Despite his frailty Aramis lashed out, catching his opponent on the jaw. The force was pitiful so Gerrard only growled but his grip didn't slacken. As he was pulled forward Aramis tried unsuccessfully to wriggle free. Gerrard stopped and dropped his hand, only to make a fist and punch Aramis in the stomach. He doubled over, wheezing painfully. The hand was back on his arm, the pressure bruising. He felt his sword and then his main gauche being removed. He tried to catch his breath as he was dragged outside where two more men were waiting with the horses.
"You finished?" Gerrard asked.
He bowed his head, knowing that he was outnumbered and that any fight could only have one outcome. Nonetheless he looked up quickly with a sardonic smile. "What do you think?"
That was when the pistol connected with the back of his head and he fell senseless onto the ground.
Tbc