My thanks to Deana who talked through the plot with me and helped me find my path.
The Key to Salvation
Chapter Eight
"How d'you think Aramis is copin' without us?" Porthos asked.
The three Musketeers were in their quarters at Fontainebleau. The King had retired early after a frustrating day of hunting claiming that he was suffering from a headache. It was a relief to be off duty after standing around watching the King and his guests ineffectually hunt deer for much of the day.
"I'm sure he's fine." Athos poured wine into their glasses. "After all, how much trouble can he get into in the garrison?"
"I'm more concerned by the fact that he no longer seems to have a care for his own well-being." D'Artagnan saluted his comrades with his glass before drinking.
"He needs to re-establish routines. I'm sure being around others will help with that."
"He forgets to eat." D'Artagnan ladled out the stew that had been prepared for their supper and handed out the bowls.
"Which is why I had a word with Serge before we left. He will make sure that Aramis eats regularly." The old cook had been only too happy to accede to Athos' request to keep an eye on Aramis.
"He's too thin," Porthos complained.
"Prison will do that to a man. It might take time but I am confident that physically he will be fine. I am more concerned about his emotional state."
"We still have that witness to interview." D'Artagnan broke off a piece of bread and dipped it in his stew.
"Yes, and I have hope that we will learn something positive." Athos took a mouthful of wine, savouring its quality. It was one of the advantages of staying in a royal palace. The wine was of the highest standard, far removed from the cheap alcohol that he was used to drinking. At one time he had been a connoisseur. Now he would consume whatever he could afford. "We have to be prepared, however, for disappointment."
"Aramis won't take it well if we learn nothin' new."
"I am aware of that, Porthos. What I don't know is how we persuade him to stay if he can't regain his commission."
"Is it fair to ask him to stay in those circumstances?"
"That's a good question, d'Artagnan. Are we being selfish in wanting him to remain at the garrison? It must be unbearably hard for him to see us go about our duties."
"You suggestin' we let him go." Porthos pushed his bowl away in irritation.
"It might be a kindness."
"No! I won't give up until we prove his innocence and persuade the King to restore his commission."
Athos couldn't fault Porthos' passion but they had to be realistic. If they learned nothing from the witness they were at the end of the road and it would be cruel to expect Aramis to stay. They would have to resign themselves to the loss of their brother even though it tore the heart out of them.
TMTMTM
Aramis huddled in a corner of his prison, his thoughts in turmoil. The prospect of becoming a galley slave was abhorrent but all he could think about was the loss of his daughter. A frail life had been created by his relationship with Louisa. He would like to think the child had been conceived in love but the truth was that he was incapable of loving anyone. He was a philanderer who moved from woman to woman without a pang of conscience. Yet he knew that he would have stood by her if he had known of her pregnancy. It hurt that she had not sought him out when she was cast aside by her husband. Somehow they would have made it work and the baby would have been born to parents that cared about her. Tears trickled down his face when he imagined the child, born in poverty, and dying without knowing the love of a father. He didn't even know how long she had lived. It could have been hours, or days or even weeks. That he would never get the chance to say goodbye was a heavy weight on his soul. He bent his head and said a prayer for his child. He wondered what Louisa had named her. She must have been baptised else she could not be buried in the churchyard. That was some comfort in his darkest hour.
The fact that this wasn't the first time he'd lost a child only added to his anguish. He had been so young when Isabelle miscarried and perhaps she had been right that there was some relief at not being forced to marry. There was, however, no sense of relief when he found he wasn't to be a father. He had recovered quickly from his distress as the young are wont to do. He had his whole life in front of him with the promise of excitement and adventure. He knew he wouldn't overcome his feelings of loss this time. He would carry them with him until the end, an end that appeared to be rapidly approaching. He would have liked to share the news with his brothers, to lean on them for support. Their absence hurt like an open wound.
His isolation wasn't, of itself, hard to bear. After all he was used to it. Meagre helpings of food arrived several times a day. He supposed the Baron didn't want him succumbing before he could make his profit from selling him to the Spanish. He ate what he was given. His hopes of surviving were almost non-existent but that didn't mean he wouldn't fight for every breath. He had heard stories of the hardships of rowing in the Spanish fleet. It was cruel unrelenting labour where no care was taken for the wellbeing of the captives. And, if he reached the Spanish ship, rescue would be nigh on impossible even if his friends discovered his fate before the ship left anchor.
He wrapped his arms around his body. The chill in the cellar had exacerbated his cough, which at times was so severe, that he feared vomiting the small amounts of food that he had consumed. It was impossible to ascertain the passing of the hours. On several occasions he fell asleep only to wake in a cold sweat as the reality of his fate came crashing down around him. His numerous bruises kept him company, throbbing in time to his heart beat. His left eye was swollen almost completely shut causing his vision to be distorted. He was physically and emotionally drained.
He was wretchedly weak when they came for him. His feeble efforts to defend himself resulted in mocking laughter and a punch in the side that left him retching. One of the guards held him still while another poured a vile concoction down his throat. He tried to resist, coughing and gagging on the liquid but his nose was held shut and he had no choice other than to swallow so that he could breathe. He recognised the taste. They were dosing him with a strong sleeping draught. It didn't take long for his senses to desert him. He wasn't aware of being lifted and placed in a wagon. Neither was he aware of the journey. Each time he started to rouse he was plied with more of the potion. He wasn't permitted to wake fully until just before they entered Le Havre by which time the sun was high in the sky and thunder clouds were massing on the horizon.
TMTMTM
It was approaching noon by the time the Musketeers arrived back at the garrison. The King had cut short his hunting party when he came down with a cold. For all the fuss he had made you would have thought he was dying. He had insisted on returning to the Louvre so that he could consult his personal physician. Athos, for one, was relieved. For all his positive words to his friends he was worried about Aramis so he was thankful they were getting back early. They had barely cleared the archway before Serge appeared. The old cook looked deeply troubled and Athos' stomach clenched with worry.
"What's wrong?" he asked, dismounting hastily.
"It's Aramis," Serge said. "He left here two days ago."
"Where did he go?" Athos asked sharply. He was aware of Porthos and d'Artagnan joining him.
"He said he was just going for a ride and that he'd be back before nightfall."
"You didn't try and stop him?" He took a deep breath to calm his fears. "No, of course not. It wasn't your place to do so. Don't worry. We will find him."
"Where could he have gone?" d'Artagnan asked.
"I can only think of one place. I believe he decided not to wait and went to Provins to talk to Monsieur Lemaire."
"Why would he do that?" Porthos asked, his concern masked by anger.
"Aramis never was very patient. The fact that he hasn't returned though does not bode well for what he found out. I will speak to Treville. We must set out to follow him."
"You think he has found trouble?"
"Almost certainly but we will find him and bring him home. D'Artagnan, arrange for fresh horses for us. Serge, can you pack enough food for two days?" He turned to Porthos. "I believe we need more pistols and shot. We could be riding straight into a fight."
"Anyone who's laid hands on him will have me to answer to," Porthos said aggressively.
Athos squeezed his shoulder. "They will answer to all of us. Come, gentlemen, we know what we have to do. I want to leave here within the next quarter of an hour." He headed for the stairs leading to Treville's office, a fear buried deep in his gut that they might arrive too late. Aramis wasn't fit to defend himself and, if he had stumbled upon the truth, there was at least one man with a motive to silence him for good.
Tbc