The red hen had an attitude, and one that Athos quietly despised. They didn't know each other well, but within a few brief minutes, she had proven herself as assertive, manipulative, and dodgy. The moment Athos tied the mare to a post, loosened the cinch, and took a deep breath, the hen looked at him and he at her. There was a brief stare-down before the hen cocked her head to the right, jumped as though she would run toward the house and then quickly spun and rushed for the lean-to. She hopped from one log to the next, and then tried to hide behind the stump. She didn't realize her tail feathers gave away her position.
The goose watched, arched its long neck, and puffed its feathers once more.
If Athos had his pistol, he would simply shoot her, regardless of the meat that would be wasted. Chasing a chicken around in the yard with a sword, particularly around stumps of wood, would risk dulling the blade. He tied his weapons belt to the saddle and removed his dagger. He turned, glanced at the goose, pointed the blade toward it in threat, and then walked confidently toward the lean-to.
He was tired, sore, and had little patience for rogue chickens, particularly as his stomach growled. If he was feeling the effects of a lack of food, he knew Anne had to be as well. The chicken, despite her determination to live, would even satisfy Porthos.
The hen was going down.
As quietly as Athos could, he crept toward the stored wood and winced when a piece of kindling snapped beneath his weight. "Shit," he muttered and watched with a wince as the chicken squawked and jumped atop an upright log. Athos muttered, gripped the handle of his blade, and then quickly and precisely threw it. The chicken screamed, feathers flew, and the animal rushed toward the coop with her wings flapping and her neck stretched. She paused, the prerogative of changing her mind, and ran back toward the stored wood.
Athos hadn't technically missed, but the hen had darted just as the blade was thrown. He narrowed his eyes, looked toward the blade that trembled while sticking from the heart of a stacked log.
The hen was fat, which prevented her from squeezing through the narrow passageways between the well-positioned cuts of firewood. She ducked, flapped her wings, and scratched at the ground as she desperately tried to escape. Her avoidance of the henhouse had been a good decision, but she had underestimated the volume of her waistline. The orange tabby, content to watch, seemingly knew what was coming. Chicken liver, gizzard and heart; a feline's dream meal.
Instead of grabbing his dagger, Athos grabbed the axe stuck in a support pole and strode toward the hen. She continued to try to force the width of her girth through the narrow gap. Athos grabbed a handful of tail feathers and then her legs, listened to her squawk, and then watched several panicked hens and ducks run for the coop. The goose honked, spread its wings and charged him.
Athos paused with one hand clutching the chicken's legs, the other on the axe. He pointed it toward the goose in warning. "You're next!"
The look on Athos' face and the threat of his voice had the goose backing down. It continued to honk, but diverted its progression and waddled toward the coop, where it finally settled near the steps leading to the small door.
Athos had hunted since he was a boy. It was a part of his duty to learn, to participate, and it was a part of growing up. He preferred not to engage in the cleaning process, and many times he had strategically avoided it, since many of those duties fell to the cooks at the estate. Though the concept was the same with all animals, the actual action of performing the task differed greatly. While he had beheaded several chickens over the course of his years, the task of plucking and cleaning had usually fallen to the apprentice cooks. It wasn't that he was queasy about it, but rather it was a messy business. Whereas with rabbits, deer, and the occasional wild boar, the skinning process was fairly straightforward. Feathers, however, were a challenge.
The hen squawked once more and then, in a swift motion, she lost her head. Athos groaned, but fought through his frustration as he took a seat on a stump of wood when the process of beheading and draining of the blood was complete. He slowly started the tedious process of plucking. Feathers flew everywhere. A few were caught in the breeze and landed against the home, pieces of firewood, and at the base of trees and weeds. Many landed at Athos' feet and a few of the short white tufts from the hen's belly had fluttered and landed in his hair.
He looked to his right when Amelia left her home and collected water from her well. She nodded toward him and then returned to the house. When he completed the plucking process, he cleaned the bird and then carried it to the house.
Athos knocked on the door and smelled the aroma of freshly cut onions and garlic. His stomach growled in response.
Amelia opened the door and smiled. "I can only hope, Monsieur Athos, that you're more skilled at protecting the king and queen than you are at preparing a chicken." She looked at the bird as he handed it to her. The old hen would need some attention before she was ready for the pot.
Athos raised the right side of his mouth into an acknowledging smile. "I hope so as well." He looked toward Anne, who remained by the fireplace while seated in a chair. Color had returned to her cheeks, and she looked much more comfortable than she had just an hour before.
"Please come in," Amelia said, as she took the chicken.
Athos looked around the room and shook his head. "I'll stay by the lean-to. It would be inappropriate for me to impose, Madame."
Amelia frowned, looked at Anne, and then back at Athos and said, "Get a fire going. You'll need to stay warm. It's going to get cold tonight. I'll bring you some soup when it's ready."
Athos nodded. He looked critically at Anne, who quirked the right side of her mouth into a warm, appreciative smile. He bowed slightly, and then turned and walked back to the lean-to. He dusted his hands against his thighs and then ran his fingers through his hair and dislodged several feathers. He looked toward the goose that continued to watch him, and the chickens that slowly ventured from the coop with the ducks following close behind. They all looked at him warily.
The queen needed her privacy and not the presence of a man. They had been confined together for long enough and while Athos wanted to protect her, he also understood her need to remain dignified despite their situation. He unsaddled the mare, hobbled her, and allowed her to graze on the last of the grass that had yet to suffer the effects of the cold weather. With his flint and steel, he started a fire and warmed his hands and then positioned the saddle and pad to lie against. He wanted to return to the journey as quickly as possible, but understood the ramifications if the queen pushed herself too hard. The loss of her child would fall heavily on her, on Athos, and would devastate the king.