Thank you all so much! I've really enjoyed your comments and thoughts as we progress.

On with the story...

Chapter 9

Porthos shoved his last bite of bread into his mouth. With his tongue, he maneuvered it into his cheek, forcing it outward like a pregnancy, and slowly chewed as he released his horse's reins from the tie post. He nodded to the others, who were already mounted, and then gracefully slipped into his saddle. He wiped his mouth, adjusted his seat for the long ride ahead, and took a deep breath of the early morning air.

The horses were readied, and saddle-packs were loaded with supplies for the journey. The trip would take them over two weeks. Together they would ride toward Nevers, a small community that rested at the fork in the Loire River. From there, d'Artagnan and Aramis would travel east to Autun, while Athos and Porthos traveled west to Allier. Both communities were small, but well established. Once their packages were retrieved, they would regroup again near Nevers and return to Paris.

It was a long but comfortable ride. Summer was upon them, and while the early morning air was inviting with its cooler temperatures and dew that rested in droplets along the edges of flowers, leaves, and stems, by late afternoon it had turned quickly to an unbearable heat. There had been little rain during the month of July, and even less in August, resulting in dry grasses and briar bushes that were thick with thistle. Wildlife searched for food, blended into the scenery, and watched the riders with curious interest and alertness. Birds sang and chirped, flew in flocks from their perches in trees to locations in the distance.

Aramis shifted uncomfortably when he spotted several vultures perched within the skeletal branches of a tall pine. One stretched its wings wide in an impressive display of size. He wasn't sure why the captain of the red guards came to mind, or why he associated him with the vultures. But he looked at the dead branches that seemed out of place amongst the surrounding green needles and blue sky. "Rochefort," Aramis said, while looking at the birds, animals that feasted on the dead, not the living. "The king seems enamored with him." He frowned, looked up the road and then looked at Porthos, who rode to his right and nodded.

"King Louis' new shiny jewel," Porthos angrily huffed. His mood had severely changed once Treville had informed them of their duty. Retrieving gems and fabric for the queen's new dress. They were members of the king's elite guards, not errand boys.

Aramis winced and then frowned. "I don't think so." He turned in his saddle and looked at Athos, who rode quietly behind him and then at d'Artagnan, who leaned to his right to grab an apple from the branch of a tree.

The branch bowed, but held strong against the pull, and once the apple released its hold, the branch whipped back with a snap and leaves fluttered. D'Artagnan wiped the apple on the thigh of his britches and took a healthy bite. Juice sprayed in droplets from his mouth, and he wiped his lips with the back of his wrist and nodded with a smile.

"They're ripe." He winced at the tartness. "Almost ripe," he said as he chewed.

Aramis turned in his seat, grasped the cantle, and looked at Athos. "What do you think about him? About Rochefort?"

"The man saved my life —"

As though the weather had suddenly turned violent during a relatively quiet and uneventful ride, the storm of an angry Porthos appeared. He yanked on the reins, forcing his horse to a sudden stop, and turned to look at Athos. Porthos huffed and looked at him with his nose flared and his lips pursed. "You c'n fool the others with your trite responses, Athos, but you're not foolin' us." His anger frustrated himself, let alone those riding beside him. Something inside him had been ignited since their last mission. Treville was hiding something from him, and though he couldn't prove it, he knew in his gut that something was amiss. His anger manifested in moments he least expected it. And while the others knew Porthos was frustrated, Porthos himself was disheartened for not understanding why.

They all pulled their mounts to a stop.

D'Artagnan took another bite of his apple and looked at Athos and then at Porthos curiously. Disagreements were not uncommon, even amongst the four of them, but outright anger and frustration were rarely seen.

"The way I see it," Porthos said in an unfamiliar, and concerning tone, "he almost killed you twice." He raised his index finger and thrust it in Athos' direction. "When we were ambushed an' 'e claimed 'e couldn't get a clear shot," he widened his eyes to emphasize his point, "I'm not sure 'ow clear 'e needed it to be unless 'e's blind!" He turned to his right, spat, and turned back. "And he looks to me like a man who can see just fine." He then raised his middle finger to join the index and thrust it forward. "An' two… right before you both crossed the river — 'e 'ad you dead in 'is sights, Athos…" Porthos clenched his jaw. "Dead in 'is sights. The only reason 'e didn't kill you is because the rest of us were watchin' an' General De Foix needed attention." He lowered his hand and squared his shoulders. "The man's as trustworthy as a velvet chair spiked with nails." Porthos flipped his hand, and the reins swayed. "You 'ave to admit…" he turned suddenly and looked at Athos, "you thought 'e was goin' to shoot you, didn't you?"

Athos clenched his teeth and moved his wrist to shift the reins in his hand. "You cannot prove that… and right now, he is in the king's favor—"

"That was our plan… Rescuin' General De Foix was our plan!" Porthos emphasized by pointing his finger toward his own chest and then at the rest of them. He ground his teeth and looked ahead. He knew Aramis was looking at him. "We do all of this… all this for the king…" he turned in his saddle and looked at Athos again, "an' Rochefort gets praised for it? An' 'e accepts the praise as though 'e's earned it." He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. "An' we get sent to pick up…" he growled "cloth," he raised his hand and pulled at the sleeve of his blouse beneath his doublet and motioned it toward Athos, "an' gems for the queen." He craned his neck in an effort to look away from them and rubbed his thumb against the leather reins.

D'Artagnan looked wide-eyed at his brothers and took another bite of his apple to hide his concern. When Porthos got angry, he controlled it, but this… d'Artagnan glanced at Aramis, was unfamiliar.

Aramis exhaled through puffed cheeks and then twisted his mouth into a grimace. "So, would now be a bad time to ask you about Rochefort?" He looked at Porthos, who narrowed his eyes and looked at him.

"You need evidence, Porthos," Athos said. "Assumptions and perceptions will not win you any arguments. If Rochefort is a threat to the king or to any of us, it will take time and careful consideration on how we plan an approach. Like I said, Rochefort has ingratiated himself and King Louis' is not in a state of mind to hear our concerns nor Treville's —"

"Ha!" Aramis choked, and then turned his seat to look at Athos. "He's never in a state of mind to hear our concerns." He raised his arms to his sides, the curve of the reins straightening. "He's the king!" He turned back around and shifted his feet in his stirrups. "And Treville not accepting the position at King Louis' side will not end well… He should have accepted it."

Athos nodded, but nudged Roger's sides and the big horse stepped forward.

D'Artagnan tossed the apple-core into the bush and then wiped his mouth. "What will happen to the Musketeers with Treville's refusal to be minister and Rochefort's acceptance as Captain of the Red Guards?"

"I hope that man's pistol and bollocks shrivel up and fall off," Porthos said in a huff and then trotted ahead.

Aramis turned toward Athos and shrugged.

Athos waved him off. "Go after him," he said. "Find us a spot to stop for the night."