"Aramis."
"Aramis…" a voice called from somewhere. "Aramis, open your eyes for me, sweetheart."
The marksman peeled his eyelids slightly open. Aramis stared into the darkness, blinking without focus. He watched with fascination as dark shadows danced in his blurry vision until slowly, almost disappointingly, the figures materialized into Cécile and Doctor Molyneux; the duo was seated beside his bed whispering by the light of a lantern.
"Well, it's about time you woke up, my medic friend." Doctor Molyneux patted Aramis' shoulder gently. "How are you feeling, hmm?"
"Mmm," the medic coughed to clear his throat before trying again. "I'mmm a li'l sore… my leg hurtsss. What…" he paused, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs.
"You don't remember?" Cécile asked with concern. "What's the last thing that you remember, Aramis?"
"I 'member…" he blinked, his brow creased with concentration. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he bolted upright until hands pushed him back down on the bed.
"Don't try sitting up," Molyneux scolded. "Just lie still and give your body time to recover."
"What do you remember?" Cécile asked, repeating her earlier question.
"I remember the soldiers, ejército de tierra!" Aramis hissed in anger and then winced as a sudden wave of pain coursed through his leg. "What happened to my leg?"
"You were shot," Molyneux replied succinctly.
"But there weren't any Spaniards…" Aramis stopped short as he remembered what happened in the hallway. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat as the memories flooded back. "A Frenchman shot me," he spat, balling his hands into angry fists. "Madre de Dios."
"It was an accident, Aramis," Cécile said, smoothing loose hair from the medic's forehead. "I heard Colonel de Créquy is dealing with the soldier personally; I don't know what will become of him, though."
"Athos!" Aramis gasped as he tried sitting up again at the thought of his friend. "Athos, his neck was hurt again," he recalled. "How is he?"
"He is doing fine, Aramis," the nurse assured softly. "He's sleeping now." Cécile motioned toward the sleeping Musketeer lying next to the medic. "Doctor Molyneux stitched up the wound, and your captain assisted him!"
"The captain assisted?" the medic repeated. "Captain Tréville did fine needlework on Athos' neck the first time he was…" Aramis stopped then let out a long sigh, deciding to change the subject. "Where is the captain?"
"He's resting also," Molyneux answered. "He and his group of Musketeers rode hard from Paris, suspecting there was trouble; it is a very good thing they arrived when they did. It's a miracle Colonel de Créquy and his soldiers showed up when they did as well; I hate to think of what would have happened to us had they not come. In fact, I would prefer to just not think of it," the doctor shuddered.
Aramis turned his head to look at Athos lying beside him, so still and pale. The lantern's burning fire highlighted the white bandage wrapped around his neck; the cloth seemed to emphasize the paleness of the Musketeer's skin. The lieutenant's slightly-wheezy breaths appeared to have improved enough to sleep without the steam tent, much to the medic's relief.
"We're hoping his lungs are beginning to clear sufficiently without having to keep him underneath the tent," Molyneux eerily chimed, as though reading the medic's mind. The physician huffed in amusement at Aramis' startled look. "I saw the question in your eyes, my friend," he chuckled. "Besides, I've been around you long enough to know the kind of questions and concerns you have regarding your brothers."
"Am I that predictable?" Aramis asked with raised eyebrows.
"Yes," both the doctor and nurse answered together.
"Yes, I guess I am." Aramis smiled at their reaction. "Do you think Athos will be alright, or is he right back where he started?"
"Well, he didn't lose a significant amount of blood this time," Molyneux assured. "I was able to staunch the bleeding rather quickly—thank God—or we might be having a very different conversation tonight. Athos could not have afforded to lose much more blood without it doing severe, if not permanent, damage. I should be able to better determine his condition in the morning when I examine him then."
"How are Porthos and d'Artagnan doing?" Aramis inquired of his other two wounded brothers. "I remember that Porthos had the stone pieces in his neck; and d'Artagnan had his head grazed by a ball above his ear."
"Yes, they are both just fine," Molyneux replied with a smile. "Porthos got all the shrapnel removed and, as you can see," the doctor looked over his shoulder at the cots behind him, "he is now sporting a bandage around his neck just like Athos."
"And d'Artagnan?" Aramis asked as he craned his neck to look at his young friend, now partially hidden by the doctor.
"Ah, Nurse Marta took very good care of his wound; she stitched him up quite nicely," Cécile complimented the nurse.
"So he's going to be alright?" Aramis swallowed hard. "They're all going to be alright?"
"I don't see any reason why they shouldn't all make a full recovery, despite the additional wounds," Molyneux encouraged. "We had plenty of help from the other nurses, so we were able to take good care of you all at the same time. None of the wounds sustained today were lethal," the doctor smiled. "I don't know how that is possible, considering how outnumbered we were, but I'm very grateful."
"Yes, we were very lucky today." Aramis blew out a long breath of relief. "It could have been… horrible."
"Lucky," Molyneux repeated with a huff of displeasure. "That is a word that keeps coming up in regard to you Musketeers and all your many injuries; I'm beginning to question anyone referring to it as luck. I don't know what else we should call all of this," he motioned with his hand to Athos and the medic lying on the bed, while tipping his head backward toward Porthos and d'Artagnan. "I don't know if you are cursed or lucky—maybe a little of both—but I've never seen injuries that are just severe enough to teeter a man on the brink of death… but yet death is avoided every time."
"Is that more of your psychology studies at work?" Aramis asked then yawned, suddenly feeling very tired. The medic snuggled down against the pillow and closed his eyes. He quickly reopened his eyes in search of Athos' right hand in the dark. The marksman intertwined his fingers with the cold fingers of his brother; he pulled their hands together, resting them on his chest, above his heart. Finally, he closed his eyes and went to sleep with a satisfied smile still gracing his face.
The Captain's Fury:
The next morning, the Musketeers awoke feeling refreshed and more rested than they had in weeks; the physicians had requested that the men be allowed to sleep until they awoke on their own.
Once the men stirred, Captain Tréville entered the room but stopped short in the doorway, observing his men sitting up and talking. He watched them quietly with a smile on his face until, at last, he stepped into the room with a warm greeting. "Good morning, gentlemen."
"Good morning, Captain," they greeted in unison.
"I trust that you had a good night's sleep and that you are well rested." The captain stated rather than questioned, though he still waited for a reply.
"Yes, Sir" they answered together.
"Good, because the steward is bringing up breakfast for all of you." Captain Tréville turned to his lieutenant, specifically. "I want you to eat something, Athos," he gently ordered. "At least try to get some solid food in your stomach; if you can't deal with the food just yet, the nurse is also bringing up some beef broth with soft potatoes as an alternative."
The table was set up for the men with a vast display of food, which the Musketeers dug into with much delight. Cécile brought a tray to Athos as he remained in bed, having decided on the beef broth with potatoes; the lieutenant was not yet trusting in his stomach's ability to hold down solid food.
As the men ate, Steward Fontaine stepped inside the doorway. "Captain Tréville, might I have a word with you?"
The men exchanged glances, but shrugged off concern as they returned to eating their meal.
The captain followed after Steward Fontaine into the hall. "What is it, Steward?"
"I…" the steward hesitated, frowning. "I have something important that I need to show you; something you absolutely must see for yourself."
Alarmed, Captain Tréville warily followed the steward to Duke Gaston's office. The captain stepped inside the office as Steward Fontaine shut the door behind them and locked it. "No one else can witness this," the steward warned as he walked to the desk then pulled out two folded letters.
"Is that what I think it is?" The captain raised his eyebrows. "So, there were two letters!"
"I think you should read this one from the king first." The steward handed Tréville the letter, then waited patiently.
The captain's eyes quickly scanned over the letter; his brow creased with confusion as he reached the end. He reread the letter to confirm the request written by the king's own hand. The few words written on the paper left Tréville feeling confused and angry.
"Is this the letter that my men risked their lives for?" the captain was incredulous. "This request to Mademoiselle de Hautefort to spy on Queen Anne- asking who the queen sees and who she talks to?" Tréville's voice raised an octave in disbelief. "This is the king's letter?"
"I apologize, Captain, but I thought you should see these for yourself." Steward Fontaine stepped closer to where the captain sat. "Duke Gaston left the château in such a hurry that he probably threw these letters in his desk drawer without a thought—very careless of my lord."
"Steward, I would assume that you have read both of these letters?" The captain waited for the steward to nod before he continued. "Where is this other letter, and why do I feel so reluctant to read it?"
Steward Fontaine hesitated as he pulled out the second piece of paper. "This letter is indeed a bombshell and, I do believe, is the cause of the events of late. It is not my place to take any action on this letter," the steward said, holding the letter in front of Tréville. "Considering the possible consequences, I will leave it to you to decide how it should be handled, if at all."
The captain took the letter and began to read; his eyes widened with surprise at the words. When finished reading, he dropped the letter then fell into a chair, his face drained of color. He stared ahead, appalled and disgusted.
"Captain. . .?"
The captain pinched the bridge of his nose as he crunched his eyes closed; his face creased into a grimace. "God, I don't believe this. Are you certain this is genuinely from the queen?"
"Captain Tréville, surely you don't think. . ."
"I'm sorry, Steward, I didn't mean anything by that comment," the captain waved his hand. "I suspected that the queen might be guilty of tampering with the letter but, I never thought she could be capable of this."
"Captain, I have worked with my lord, Duke Gaston, for years," the steward said to the captain. "I know of his plotting and of his scheming ways; he is quite capable of manipulating people in order to get what he wants. It is possible the queen didn't know the true extent of the consequences for going along with such a plan," Fontaine suggested, though he didn't believe it.
"It's possible, Steward?" Captain Tréville picked up the letter, then walked to the desk and slammed it down with his hand. "The queen was very well aware of the consequences, yet she was still willing to go forward with this conspiracy—mired as it was with deceit and foolery."
"Duke Gaston could be very persuasive…"
"My men were tortured because of this godforsaken letter!" Captain Tréville yelled, his face red with anger. "Because of the letter the queen wrote, my men were almost killed," he said, waving the letter in his hand. "I cannot imagine the hell my men went through because of this selfish greed for power!"
"I knew my lord had cravings for power," Steward Fontaine admitted. "However, I did not know that he would go to such extremes to achieve this power."
"As Captain of the King's Musketeers, I ordered two of my best men to carry a letter from the king and guard it with their lives, if necessary. Then I find out that a second letter was smuggled with the first. A second letter set out plans for a conspiracy against the very author of the first letter. This is utter insanity!"
"I understand…"
"If Porthos and d'Artagnan had been caught," the captain interrupted. "If they had been caught with that letter they would have been executed for treason—no questions asked. Two more of my men endangered themselves- and very nearly died- because of that cursed letter! I could have lost four of my best men… and for what?"
"Captain, I know your men experienced torture," the steward conceded with his head bowed. "Obviously, someone knew the letter from the queen was included with the king's correspondence –but who? Better yet, how?"
"The who is Rochefort," Tréville spat. "I would bet my life on it, Steward. It was Rochefort who gave a letter to His Majesty, after intercepting it from the queen's courier, Pierre La Porte; that letter could have caused the queen and La Porte to be charged with treason."
"That answers who; but how did Rochefort know the queen's letter was included with the king's?".
"Rochefort must be spying on the queen very intensely," the captain said, pausing. "Perhaps he has spies watching the queen's every move; it is the only way he could have known."
"How are you going to handle this, Captain?" Steward Fontaine asked softly.
"What can I do?" Captain Tréville asked, exasperated. His arms fell loosely by his side, smacking against his thighs in resignation. "I can't say or do anything; the queen has already been cleared of treason, since La Porte corroborated her story. If I say something now, the queen would be killed for treason and for lying to the king. The queen's death would literally be on my hands!"
"So we keep quiet," Steward Fontaine surmised.
"We have no choice, Steward," Captain Tréville replied with resignation. "Unless I want the queen's death to be on my conscience, this letter can never again see the light of day. We must destroy these now. No… first, I will tell my men the truth of these letters."
"Are you sure that is wise, Captain?"
"I would prefer to throw these letters in the fire right now, but once the men find out about the conspiracy—and they will find out—they're going to start asking questions," the captain shook his head. "They already know Rochefort was involved, and when they find out about the conspiracy, they're going to put two and two together and figure it out themselves. I cannot keep this secret from them; they deserve to know the truth. They deserve to know about the letter that almost got them killed."
~§~
Captain Tréville stopped outside the door of the bedchamber, with the letters clutched in his hand, and took a deep breath. Inside the room he could hear the men talking; he smiled as he heard the boisterous laugh of Porthos drown the softer giggles of d'Artagnan.
Am I making the right decision in telling the men about these letters? Do they really need to know the truth just yet? Hell, I asked myself the same questions after Savoy; I thought I was protecting Aramis by hiding the truth, but all I did was hurt him. No, I will not make that same mistake again—the men must know the truth.
The captain took a deep breath and opened the door.
~§~
Captain Tréville stepped into the room with his chin tilted upward in a determined manner. However, the dour appearance of the captain was an immediate cause of concern for his men.
"Captain?" Porthos stood from his chair; he took a step toward the captain, but stopped. The large man exchanged anxious glances with his brothers before turning back to his leader. "Captain, what's wrong?"
"Gentlemen," the captain said with hesitation. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then rested his head against his fingers and took in a deep breath. "I have something I must discuss with you." He took another deep breath. "What I say here today must never leave this room; you must never speak of it again in your lifetime. I repeat, you must go to your graves with this knowledge and never speak of it to anyone—not your sweethearts, family… no one."
The captain paused to look at each of his four Musketeers to make certain they understood what was said. "Do I make myself clear?" Tréville looked to each man individually for verbal confirmation.
"Yes, sir," the men acknowledged in turn.
Once again, the captain took a deep breath before he reached into his doublet pocket and pulled out two folded letters.
The Musketeers took in a sharp breath as the captain pulled out the letters. Almost instantaneously, the expressions on the men's faces changed from surprise to anger. "Is 'at wha' I think it is?" Porthos asked, finally.
"Yes, it is," the captain answered with a sigh. "I do not take pleasure in revealing what is in these letters. However, considering everything that you have been through—especially you, Porthos and d'Artagnan—I believe you deserve to know the truth. Some unimaginable events have taken place while you men have been incommunicado and it's time you learned what has happened as a result of these letters."
"I don't think I like the sound of this," Aramis voiced with dread.
"Nor do I," d'Artagnan agreed. He swallowed hard; his brown eyes were wide with anticipation and dread. The Gascon was about to find out the reason for his torture.
The captain unfolded both letters and arranged them in the proper order for reading, then he took another deep breath. Captain Tréville read the letter from the king asking Mademoiselle de Hautefort to spy on the queen, while requesting details of every person the queen visited with and corresponded with.
That was the easy one.
The captain slid the letter from the king underneath the second letter, then paused to watch his men. The Musketeers were stunned silent. Athos stared down at the bed, shaking his head; d'Artagnan stared out the window, his focus appeared to be a thousand miles away; Porthos leaned forward to rest his head on his hands, covering his face.
Aramis tightly fisted the blanket in both hands, wringing at the fabric as his temper burned inside him. "The king sent Porthos and d'Artagnan on a near-fatal mission to deliver a letter asking the queen's confidant to spy on her?" he yelled in disbelief.
"Aramis, keep your voice down," the captain warned. "I do not want anyone else to overhear what is being discussed in here! If you cannot control your temper, there is no point in you hearing anything further."
Athos turned to Aramis, giving him an almost imperceptible shake of the head as a warning to hold his peace.
"Yes, sir. I will control myself, Captain," Aramis acquiesced, as he met the eyes of his leader.
"Now, I want each of you to promise to keep your voices down; this next letter and the information I have to tell you will not be easy to hear," the captain warned.
"We're ready, Captain," Athos spoke for the group.
"Dear Gaston," the captain paused at the sharp intakes of breath. He nodded, then continued to read. "Please forward this letter to my brother, Cardinal-Infante Ferdinand, as he has the influence to persuade Ambassador Mirabel to raise sufficient troops for the invasion."
"Dear God," Aramis muttered under his breath. The medic knew the Cardinal-Infante was the brother of Queen Anne.
"My dearest Brother…" Captain Tréville read the letter to the men as they sat in stunned silence. Their eyes grew wide, listening as the queen herself had asked her brother to muster and move an army against the King of France. When the captain was finished, he folded the letters then tucked them into his pocket as he watched his men.
The captain's heart broke as he watched the reactions of each man deal with such a traitorous revelation- that their queen had asked for help in attacking the king. The conspiracy was not yet revealed, but he could see the emotions stirring as he watched disappointment, sadness and rage roll across their faces as plainly as if they had voiced them.
"I don't. . ." Aramis shook his head. "I don't believe it, how could she? Why would she. . . why would she do something like this? Why?"
"So 'at is the letter Rochefort wanted so desperately 'at he was willing to 'ave me 'n my li'l brother tortured?" Porthos raised his head up, the rage he felt colored his face a deep shade of red. "We carried a letter askin' for an attack on the king we serve…" the large Musketeer stood, his fists balled tightly.
Captain Tréville took a step forward. "Porthos, sit back down," he warned.
"We were whipped to a bloody mess!" Porthos seethed. "We were nearly drowned, and we nearly had our limbs pulled from their sockets. . . just to protect a letter of treason!"
"Porthos, I said to sit back down," the captain ordered. "If you cannot listen, you can leave this room right now."
"Oh God," d'Artagnan gasped, choking down a sob. "If we had told the goons where that letter was we could have been executed for treason." Sudden realization of the severity of keeping that letter hidden hit the Gascon like a fist to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. "That's why you didn't tell me," he said to Porthos. "Even if you didn't know what the letter said… Oh God… Oh God…"
Aramis couldn't stifle the cry that escaped from his lips; his sorrow was pronounced with tears rolling down his cheeks. Athos reached over to grab the medic's hand, then squeezed. Without words spoken, the lieutenant conveyed his support and understanding with a simple squeeze of the hand.
"That's not all," the captain sighed. Tréville proceeded to fill the Musketeers in on the events resulting from the letter, that they were unaware of. He explained how the conspiracy to remove the king from his throne had unraveled due to troops confronting them in the east and the south.
The captain outlined the battles that took place, and the embarrassing losses for the rebellion; he informed the men that Duke Gaston had fled France for the Spanish Netherlands and hadn't been seen since. He spoke of Pierre La Porte corroborating the queen's explanation of her letter, freeing her from the charge of treason and saving her life. Finally, the captain mentioned Duke Henri II de Montmorency, who was currently awaiting execution with the charge of treason.
"Oh God…" Athos gasped and then coughed at the news. He knew of the duke, as his father had mentioned Duke Henri in conversation; he also knew the highly esteemed man was an excellent officer and soldier of France. "Why… ?" his question was cut off as he was overcome with a coughing fit. He turned to smother his coughs in his pillow until they passed; he kept his face there to hide the tears slipping from his eyes.
"So that's why all those Spanish soldiers attacked the château," d'Artagnan whispered aloud. "They knew Duke Gaston ran away, but they didn't know we would be here."
"Bloody hell, I canno' believe this," Porthos growled.
The captain stayed with the group for quite some time, talking about what the men had just learned. Questions were asked, with answers truthfully given. Tears were cried, and eventually dried, but the conversation wore on. Despite the lack of detail, the men continued hashing over their concerns until they were drained, both physically and emotionally.
Hours later, the captain stood wearily and sighed. "I'm going to leave you men alone now. Why don't you get some rest; I'll come wake you before dinner."
Captain Tréville reached for the doorknob but was stopped short with a question.
"Captain, what are you going to do with the letters?" Aramis asked.
"I'm going to burn them," he deadpanned. "From this moment forward, we will not speak of the letters again. Never again."