Once again, thank you all for the awesome feedback! I'm posting a bit early today. I won't be posting until after sundown tomorrow but I hope you enjoy these next two chapters.
On with the show...
Souders men had forced Louis onto the back of an old bay mare, and to make the situation more humiliating, they had forced him to ride backward. With his wrists bound, he grasped the cantle with tightened fingers, and felt the stirrup irons hit his ankles. The pommel of the saddle chafed his backside and every step forward caused him to wince. The bandits had blindfolded him and instructed him not to remove it until the monk leading the old bay mare tapped his thigh.
Louis tried to talk to the monk that led the horse over the rough pathway and weather-worn roads, but he said nothing. Instead, the monk, with short gray hair and robes that dusted the ground while he walked, stayed silent. He was willing to suffer the king's wrath, knowing if he disobeyed the orders given him, his brothers would suffer an ill fate. There was a reason they had chosen him for such a task.
The old horse walked slowly and calmly over leaves, broken branches, and through brush. She flickered her ears when she heard or saw something that interested her. Age had broken her spirit, and fear was no longer a part of her disposition.
A gust of wind caused the tree branches to sway and leaves to lose their temporary hold and fly, only to land on the ground and tumble until they came to a rest against the long dried grasses and weeds. The cold air caused Louis to shiver, and he silently wondered how long he could survive his ordeal. The humiliation of arriving to their destination backward on a horse was bad enough, but bound and blindfolded, was enough to send him reeling. He was a proud man, a vain man, and a man who took pride in who he was as a king. He had lived with threats his entire life and he understood the consequences, but this was different. This was an attack on his policies, on his queen, and on the needs of France as war loomed.
Louis asked himself if this would this forever define him? Is this would be the event that would tarnish his legacy… is this how the people of France would remember him? The foolish king returned to his men while riding backward on a horse. Louis shifted, felt the discomfort of his position, and leaned forward to ease the tension of his lower back.
Time passed slowly, painfully so.
He heard the rushed sounds of horses' thundering hooves, the shouts and demands of soldiers, and then suddenly the old bay mare was pulled to a stop.
"Majesty?" Aramis shouted. He pulled on his horse's reins, bringing the big black to a sliding stop, and before the animal came to a rest Aramis was off and running toward the king.
Several other musketeers followed and Porthos and d'Artagnan quickly dismounted, abandoned their horses and followed.
Aramis gently grasped Louis' arm, spoke softly to him, and then carefully untied his wrists. With a quick sweep of his hand, Louis tossed away the blindfold, and looked at those around him before being helped off the horse. The monk led the horse and stood away from the others as the reunion took place. Louis quickly straightened his doublet and adjusted the cloak over his shoulders and tried to hide his chill. He was hungry, angry, dirty, and miserable. The situation had made him vulnerable, and he would not rest until his queen was safe.
Louis, with his chin up, cleared his throat and looked at those around him. "Take me to the cardinal," he said and looked from Aramis to Porthos. "I must see him."
"The queen?" Aramis asked, and then looked in the direction the king had ridden from.
"Still being held by those… those traitors," Louis snapped and looked at the monk, who stood silently by the bay mare's head. "Ask him where she is being held," he snarled and pushed a long curl behind his shoulder. "He didn't speak a word — not even to his king, and he knows who I am! My queen is back there — somewhere — with my unborn child." He looked desperately at d'Artagnan and then at Aramis. "They wouldn't even let me see her before they shoved me onto the back of that… that old nag."
"The cardinal and Treville are following —"
"I don't care!" Louis snapped. "I want to see him now." He looked at Aramis. "Those men have my queen!"
Aramis frowned, looked at the monk, and then bowed before the king. He turned toward Porthos and said, "Find a mount for the king to ride." He turned toward d'Artagnan. "Stay with him."
"Where are you going?" d'Artagnan asked Aramis and then watched Porthos walk away to find a mount for the king.
"I'm going to speak with the monk," Aramis replied.
"You may need to use your blade to untie his tongue!" Louis took a deep breath, looked at those around him, a collection of red guards and musketeers who stood in formation around their king to protect him from the unknown.
"Are you injured, Your Majesty?" d'Artagnan asked with a look of concern.
Louis forced himself to quirk a subtle but unconvincing shake of his head. He was physically fine. He hadn't been hurt, other than his pride, but in the moment an injury could be treated, nursed, and a glass of wine might even take away a bit of the pain. The pain of his injured pride would live in his mind for months, if not years. Louis looked away to hide his eyes and watched Porthos secure a mount for him.
Aramis cleared his throat and tilted his head as he walked toward the monk, who continued to run his hand gently along the bay's head. The mare had cocked her hind left hoof and slowly blinked. The monk was short with a rounded girth that lapped the ropes tied around his waist. He had short gray hair that was slightly darker near his temples, a clean-shaven face, and crows feet and laugh lines exaggerated his age. Mournful blue eyes stared back at Aramis.
"What order are you from?" Aramis asked. He didn't want to sound rushed or angry, but he couldn't help but feel his tone was harsh.
The monk shook his head and pointed down the road.
Curiously, Aramis asked, "Have you taken a vow of silence?" He glanced in the direction and then looked back.
The monk grunted, shook his head, and then looked at the soldiers around him. A few gazed in his direction, others looked away while watching for threats.
Aramis frowned, not understanding, and then said, "Did the men threaten you? Perhaps they threatened your order… your brothers?"
The monk frowned, pulled his eyebrows together, and rubbed his temple with two fingers. He looked at Aramis and grunted several times. He then pointed toward his mouth and carefully wiped away the drool that slipped past his parted lips when he failed to speak.
Aramis paused, and then suddenly closed his eyes in understanding. "You don't have a tongue?" he said and then exhaled slowly.
The monk nodded and then looked away. His habit of lying in his younger years had earned him a punishment that had followed him for decades. Though he could still eat and swallow, he did so in private to avoid the curious looks of even his brothers at the monastery. His cheeks reddened, and he nervously flattened the forelock of the mare's mane.
Aramis, unbothered by the man's deformity, asked, "Can you draw a map in the mud to help us find the monastery? And, do you know how many men are there — not including the other brothers?"
The man nodded and then with the shape of his hands formed a boat and then made a motion of it flowing over harsh waters. He then pointed to his chest with a hint of a smile.
Aramis pulled his eyebrows together in concentration and then said, "Noah," he smiled when the man nodded, "your name is Brother Noah."
Brother Noah nodded, watched Aramis motion with his hand toward the king and then asked him to follow. Noah knew nothing of the queen, of Athos, or where they were being held. He drew detailed instructions of the whereabouts of the monastery, and then shared through hand signals, and grunts, and through handwriting that the monastery housed many violent, mentally vacant souls whose families had housed them there for care. There were others, simple-minded and deformed, that would not survive in society or outside the walls of the monastery. Noah shared that there were many men who entered and left frequently, more than he could count. Some were soldiers, farmers, criminals, and even a few miners. The men held meetings in the nave.
King Louis listened and spoke of what he could, what he knew, and what he feared. He grew stronger the more he discussed, even as he shared the promises of retribution from Souder should Louis and his men attack the monastery. He spoke of the threats to the queen and the status of his people.
They all turned when they heard the pounding of more horses galloping toward them. Even the cardinal, with his cloak flying around his shoulders and legs, looked dangerous as he rode beside Treville.
King Louis exhaled and closed his eyes as Treville and Richelieu dismounted and strode toward him. Both men, with looks of relief, bowed in greeting.
"Salt and land taxes," Louis said before questions could be asked. "The people have turned on me because of salt and land taxes." He rubbed his brow and looked at Richelieu. "If we do not rescind the taxes," he paused and inhaled a shaking breath, "they will not release her." His voice grew panicked as Richelieu pursed his lips in annoyance.
"Rescinding the taxes will only encourage men of like minds to attempt something similar in the future," Richelieu said and squared his jaw.
"We need a plan," Porthos said. "Instead of strikin' 'em 'ead on… why don't we try an' sneak in?" He looked at Treville. "Noah knows the monastery… 'e knows where the weaknesses are, an' where we might enter."
"We cannot risk the queen," Treville said and scratched his jaw. "Given the severity of the situation, she could lose the child."
Louis pressed his chin to his shoulder and took a sudden breath. "I cannot bear the thought of it."
"Athos is with her," Aramis said. "He'll do what he can—"
"One man against Souder's army of fools and degenerates," Louis huffed. "If we rescind the taxes and I agree to meet with Souder to inform him of the decision —"
"What proof will you give that those same taxes will not be reinstated?" d'Artagnan asked. "And will Sauder believe you?"
"These are peasants," Richelieu said. He smoothed his mustache and took a deep breath as he crossed his arms over his chest. "We do not negotiate with the lower class. They will pay their taxes, and we will rescue the queen. Anyone who defies the orders of the king will be punished accordingly." He looked at Treville. "Order one of your men to find the advanced detachment. Have them set up camp outside the gates of the monastery. Make sure the camp is far enough away that we have protection. You, Sire, should return to Paris immediately —"
"I am not leaving!" Louis shouted and pointed toward the ground in defiance.
"You must," Richelieu said and cleared his throat. "If they attack us, you might get caught up in the melee and I will not — as the First Minister — have the death of a king placed upon my legacy."
"On horseback, we are just over a day from the chateau," King Louis said. "Paris is too far to travel and I refuse to return until I know Anne is safe."
"D'Artagnan," Treville said with a quick nod, "find seven of the fastest and strongest horses. Aramis," he motioned, "I'm placing you in charge of getting the king to the chateau. Find the strongest and most trusted men to travel with you." He looked at Porthos and said, "I need you to help me organize the men… those unable to assist will need to return to Paris. They can take the prisoners with them."
Porthos clenched his jaw and looked at Aramis.
"Captain?" Aramis said.
"Do not delay. Get the king to safety. Porthos, organize the men in bands of eight and we need to find out where the weakest parts of the monastery are at. When we enter, we need to know where we're going, who we will face, and where we can defend ourselves should we get cornered."
"Save her, Treville," Louis said. "I don't care what it costs us… just save her. I will not lose her, I cannot… I almost did a few months ago, and it nearly destroyed me."
"We'll do everything we can, Your Majesty. Just get to the chateau."