With thanks to Issai.
The Key to Salvation
Chapter Fifteen
When Aramis returned he looked to be more at peace. He was still unhealthily pale and thin but some of the stress lines had left his face. Athos wished he had the same capacity to find solace in prayer.
"What now?" Aramis asked.
"We should set out for Paris. It's dangerous for you to be in Provins. The Baron might take it into his head to come after you if he knew you were here." Athos had no qualms about fighting the Baron's men but he didn't want to expose Aramis to more violence if it could be avoided. His friend was too frail to protect himself and would only be a hindrance if they were forced to fight for their lives.
"I've been thinking," d'Artagnan said. "We should search Lemaire's rooms. He might have left something of use."
"That would draw too much unwanted attention." Athos wanted very badly to be away from this place. It only held bad memories for Aramis and he had more than enough of those to contend with.
"It wouldn't take long," d'Artagnan argued. "We might find something to connect him to the Baron."
"He's right," Porthos said. "It'd be a shame to waste the opportunity."
"Did Lemaire leave any family?" Athos asked Father Michel who had followed Aramis back to the study.
"His wife died several years ago and they were childless. The inn has been boarded up until a new innkeeper can be found."
Athos caught d'Artagnan's pleading look and the corner of his mouth turned up in a semblance of a smile. "Very well. We get in and out as fast as possible. I want to be on the road to Paris within the hour."
Aramis clasped the Priest's hand. "Thank you, Father. Will you watch over my daughter for me?"
"I will tend her grave, Aramis. Do not worry."
They made a hasty farewell and rode quickly into the village. Those people that they passed watched them with curiosity and a little fear. When they reached the inn Porthos dismounted and strode up to the door. A plank of wood had been nailed across it to keep it secure. He reached out, grasped both ends and pulled. The nails loosened but didn't completely give up their hold. He grunted and tried again. This time the left edge of the wood came free and he quickly removed it completely. The door was locked so he took a couple of steps back and kicked it in.
"Subtle!" Athos grumbled. "We're not supposed to be attracting attention."
"I forgot my lock picks," Porthos said, supremely unrepentant. "Are you just goin' to stand around or shall we get on with it?"
Athos gave a long suffering sigh and walked inside. They searched the main floor first, finding nothing out of the ordinary.
"His rooms must be upstairs," Aramis said.
They found a connecting bedroom and parlour and two rooms for guests. Athos and Aramis searched the parlour while the other two stayed in the bedroom. Both rooms were sparsely furnished. Two chairs covered in a faded green brocade, a low table and a chest was all that were in the room Athos and Aramis were in and the dirty windows let in little light which hindered their search. The chest yielded a pair of silver candlesticks, sheets and blankets, and a small coin purse containing fifteen livres.
"He wasn't exactly rewarded handsomely for his dishonesty," Athos said, pouring the coins into the palm of his hand.
"He was able to purchase this inn. It was a good business. I would say he did alright." There was an edge of bitterness in Aramis' voice. While Lemaire had been living in relative comfort he had been rotting in the Bastille.
"Athos! Aramis!" D'Artagnan called excitedly.
They glanced at each other before hurrying to the bedroom. D'Artagnan waved a piece of parchment at them.
"I found this under the mattress. It's his confession."
Aramis grabbed the paper and held it to the meagre light from the window. The writing was childishly unformed and the spelling was atrocious but he worked his way through the letter. When he had finished he read it again, soundlessly mouthing the words. He handed it to Athos. "D'Artagnan's right. He confesses to stealing the necklace and putting it in my room. He makes no mention of a reason and doesn't name the Baron."
"The Baron will be punished for selling you to the Spanish. This…this is enough to get you a pardon." Athos looked at him excitedly. "It should also guarantee the return of your commission."
Aramis turned away. "I would like to clear my name. As for my commission, that is not something I seek."
"Surely you will take this opportunity to rejoin the Regiment?" d'Artagnan asked. "It was your life before…"
"Before I was imprisoned for a crime I didn't commit? I thought I deserved the benefit of the doubt after all my service but I was wrong. Why would I want to return to that life?" He sat down on the bed, worn out both physically and emotionally. He'd made his mind up, hadn't he? Joining a monastery and living a life of contemplation would be a pleasant change after risking his life for so many years as a soldier. At least that was what he tried to tell himself. Suddenly he found he had a profound wish to leave Provins behind. "Now that we have the evidence we should leave."
Athos folded up the parchment and put it in his doublet for safe-keeping. "If we go now we will be back in Paris before nightfall." He held out his hand to Aramis. "Come. It's time to go home."
Aramis gripped his hand weakly and allowed Athos to pull him to his feet. He felt lightheaded and sick so the prospect of riding for a couple of hours was not attractive. Not that he would admit his frailty to his brothers. He let the others go ahead of him so that they wouldn't see the death grip he kept on the bannister as he descended the stairs.
They returned to their horses and found that a small crowd had gathered around the inn. The matching scowls on Athos' and Porthos' faces stopped any questions the townsfolk might have had. Aramis leaned heavily against his mount while he summoned up the energy to haul himself into the saddle. He knew the others were watching him and could only imagine what they must be thinking. He was weak and out of shape and not fit to be a Musketeer.
They stopped after an hour to water the horses. Aramis knew that they had only stopped to give him a chance to rest. He ate some bread and cold chicken, washed down with a mouthful of wine. His stomach still filled far too easily and he was wracked with cramps from having forced down too much food.
He barely noticed when they reached the outskirts of the city. His injuries were paining him and he was concealing an almost overwhelming urge to be sick. Athos and Porthos had moved their horses as close to him as they could on either side and he knew they were worried that he might slip from the saddle.
It was a relief when the garrison came into sight and he urged his horse to a fast trot. They were greeted by Treville who looked relieved to see them safely back.
"I got your message," Treville said. "I take it you didn't encounter any more trouble?"
"No, we managed to avoid the Baron." Athos dismounted and moved to help Aramis, steadying him as he reached the ground. "We also found the evidence that will clear Aramis' name."
The buzzing in his ears was becoming more persistent and Aramis knew he had to lie down before he fell in an undignified head. "Excuse me." He walked unsteadily over to the stairs and ascended slowly. He knew that every eye was on him and it made him feel embarrassed. He needed the sanctuary of his room to rest and think.
"He doesn't look well," Treville said.
"He isn't." Athos handed his horse over to the stable boy. "Despite the evidence proving his innocence he still seems to be intent upon leaving."
"We can't allow that to happen," Porthos said.
"I don't see how we can stop him. We can hardly lock him in his room until he comes to his senses." Treville turned to Athos. "Will you let me take the evidence to the King?"
"Of course." Athos pulled out the letter and handed it to his Captain. "The man who stole the necklace is dead but this is his confession. Unfortunately he doesn't implicate the Baron."
"We have more than enough evidence of treason against that man. He put the safety of France in jeopardy by letting the Spanish get their hands on a Musketeer. Aramis might have lost his commission but he had knowledge that could have brought down the Monarchy."
"Will you ask the King to restore Aramis' commission?" d'Artagnan asked.
"It doesn't seem to be what he wants."
"Maybe not," Athos conceded. "It will, however, give him another option."
"He isn't fit for duty."
"We can get him ready," Porthos asserted fiercely. "He just needs to give us the chance to help him."
"I will do what I can. Go and get something to eat. I will take this to the King in the morning."
After Treville had gone they went into the refectory where the evening meal was being served. Serge limped up to them.
"You brought him back?"
"We did. Can you put together a tray for him? He's too tired to join us down here." Athos looked longingly at the wine. He was running out of ideas as to how to keep Aramis with them and the craving to drink himself into oblivion was powerful.
"Course I can."
Athos grabbed a flask of wine and a cup and sat at the nearest table. "Nothing we say seems to be getting through to him." He poured the wine and drank deeply.
"He's endured too much." D'Artagnan piled a plate full of ham and vegetables. "I don't know how much more he can take."
"He'll be better once he's stronger." Porthos sat down heavily. "Perhaps then he'll start to think more clearly."
They contemplated each other in silence. They wanted to be optimistic but everything that Aramis had said suggested that they were deluding themselves.
"One day at a time," Athos said decisively. "We encourage him to eat and rest, then in time we can reintroduce some training. Once he holds a sword and pistol again he'll remember what gave his life meaning."
"What happens if we can't persuade him?" d'Artagnan asked, his meal forgotten.
Athos poured more wine, his hand unsteady. "Then we've lost him."
Tbc