Chapter 25

Muscles relaxed beneath the heat of the water. The round bath, made of treated wood, wasn't large enough for Aramis to slip beneath, but he used a ladle to pour water over his head, shoulders, and down his back. His elbows rested on raised knees, and his toes were forced upward as he pressed the balls of feet against the bath's seam. D'Artagnan had retrieved a clean blouse, braies, and while Aramis' britches needed a hearty cleaning, they would have to wait. All items lay draped across the bed. His boots sat next to the bedpost on the floor below his doublet. Aramis ran a hand along his left arm and gently squeezed his bicep. His muscle protested with a dull ache that reminded him how closely he had come to losing whatever battle he fought. Steam billowed upward, and he allowed himself a reinvigorating deep inhale when he looked at the door that opened.

D'Artagnan entered with a tray of food and a port of wine. "Madame Sabot said this was from her private stock," he said. He rested the tray on the table next to the bed and poured himself a cup. He swirled it in his mouth and swallowed. "Flavorful… with hint of cinnamon, flowers, and…" he smacked his lips, frowned as he looked at the wine, "peaches, I think." He shoved Aramis' britches aside and took a seat on the bed.

Aramis raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Drying cloth?" He scooped water into his hands and rinsed his face. He focused a moment longer on his eyes before he lowered his hands to his knees.

D'Artagnan tossed a cloth toward him. Aramis caught it, dried his face, and rubbed his wet head, before he slowly stood with a low moan.

"The horses are saddled and ready to go," d'Artagnan said and walked to the window. He peered toward the waterfalls and glanced back at Aramis as he slipped into his clothing. "Your exotic beauty is back — I saw her earlier."

Aramis quirked a half smile and nodded. "I would like to visit her before we depart." He took a seat on the edge of the bed, rested his elbows on his knees, and ran a hand through his wet hair. Every fiber of his being wanted to sleep, to lay back, and allow the day to fade into history. "Maybe she has something I can take for this —"

"For what?"

Aramis looked puzzled at d'Artagnan and said, "Sore muscles." He lifted his hand and spread his fingers and displayed the uncontrollable shaking. "The tremors are gone… but this… lingers."

"You're fatigued… my hands shake too when I've worked too hard for too long." D'Artagnan turned from the window, and crossing his arms over his chest he leaned against the wall. "You haven't had any sleep, Aramis," he raised his right shoulder with a shrug, "your body was battling that poison." He rubbed his brow and then bit at a hangnail on his thumb. "Even when I thought you were sleeping, you weren't."

Aramis nodded. He reached for the plate of food, dipped the bread into the heavy gravy, and took a healthy bite. He couldn't remember a time when he was so hungry and his stomach growled in response. He slipped into his stockings and then his boots. Aramis took another bite and then reached for his weapons belt. Between chews, he looked at d'Artagnan and said, "I've never experienced anything like that before."

"Venom from snakes, spiders, and fish, and poisons from plants and who knows what else," d'Artagnan said. He pursed his lips in disbelief and shrugged. "Had you finished that wine…" he winced, "it may have killed you."

Aramis looked at him and saw a hint of fear in d'Artagnan's eyes. "Burdock root?"

"And charcoal…" d'Artagnan shrugged, "helped purify your blood."

"So simple for something so…"

"Wicked?"

Aramis looked at d'Artagnan and nodded.

The silence in the room grew uncomfortably long as Aramis finished his meal, wiped his plate with the rest of his bread, and then took a healthy drink of wine. He finally stood, stretched his shoulders, and felt his blood circulate and burn as muscles starved for air finally began to relax. Aramis slipped his weapons belt around his waist, grabbed his coin-purse from the table, and feeling its lightness, looked toward d'Artagnan who shrugged.

"I owe you a few sous," he said with a grimace.

Aramis quirked another smile and nodded. "I have a feeling, d'Artagnan, it is I who owes you." He opened the door, paused a moment as a sudden feeling of uncertainty hit his chest, and slowly exhaled when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Buy me some more cannon balls," he quirked a knowing smile and raised his eyebrows.

Aramis turned and watched d'Artagnan grab the rest of the supplies and then follow him from the room.

"Monsieur Aramis," Mademoiselle Sabot said as she stood from her chair and hit the edge of the desk with her thigh and then suddenly reached for her drink to keep it from spilling. "It's so good to see you're feeling better. We have all been worried for you." She grasped her hands beneath her breasts and smiled. "When I heard you were ill," she shrugged her shoulders as though chilled, "I grew concerned."

Aramis pressed his hand to his chest and bowed. "I appreciate your concern, Mademoiselle, but I am feeling much better."

"Well, I can see that," she giggled and looked at d'Artagnan, who gently forced Aramis to the door.

"Take care, Mademoiselle," d'Artagnan said. "And thank your mother once again for me."

"Come back and see us…" she moved from behind her desk and grabbed her skirt as she shuffled toward the door. "We don't get musketeers visiting us very often… but," she continued while they untied their horses, "we'll always make room for you."

"Tell your mother," Aramis said with a long pause. He placed his hand on his chest and said, "Tell her thank you."

"Yes, yes," she said. "I will. She will be sorry she missed you."

Aramis bowed his head, and led his horse down the road, while d'Artagnan rode behind. The merchants were busy with sales. Chickens squawked, lambs and goats bleated, and a white and brown speckled Pineywood milking cow lay on her right side chewing her cud. She flickered her ears to scare off the flies. Two men bartered, but they stopped momentarily and tipped their hats toward the musketeers when they passed and then continued their heated conversation. A black and white dog stood between the two men and looked from one to the other depending on who was talking.

Four children stood in a circle near the end of a porch and poked at a pile of ants.

Aramis smiled when Maya looked his way and raised her eyebrows in question. She helped an elderly woman and placed several tins of spices into her basket. The old woman nodded and then, with her hand in the crook of her husband's arm, slowly walked away. Aramis handed his horse's reins to d'Artagnan, who chuckled.

"Don't be long… we need to get on the road. Porthos and Athos might be waiting for us."

Aramis nodded, took a refreshing breath, and said, "She's married."

D'Artagnan leaned forward and looked at Aramis. "Does that matter to a libertine?"

Aramis contemplated the question and said while ignoring the twitching of his lips, "No." He ran his hand along the length of the horse's neck and walked toward the cart. "Madame Maya," he said as he approached the table. The display was different, as were the spices, and he looked at her when she grinned. Her father stood off to the side, waved, and then carefully continued to sort seeds.

"It's good to see you again, Monsieur," Maya said. She tilted her head, noticed the dark circles beneath Aramis' eyes, the paleness of his skin, and the slight shake of his hands. "You've been ill?"

Aramis winced and said, "Is it that obvious?"

"To those who know what to look for, yes."

Aramis pursed his lips and nodded. "Do you have anything —"

"That might help?" Maya said. "She grabbed several tins. My husband is a spice trader," she shrugged, "he just returned from the Orient. He's leaving for Africa in the next few days… He's the one who taught me to speak French."

"He was a good teacher," Aramis said, and watched her add several herbs to a cloth bag and then carefully mix it. "Is that how you met?"

Maya quirked a half smile and nodded. "I was trading local herbs and spices," she shrugged and continued to add several more to her concoction. "We met on the docks… I traveled with him for several years, until my father became ill." She tied the bag closed. "We decided that Autun would be home.

"Make this into a tea… the herbs will help with your recovery," Maya said and handed the bag to Aramis. "If you can find some grapes and beets, eat as many as you can. They will feed your blood." She smiled warmly at him. She then reached for a small bottle with the label wormwood written on the tag. "Rub this onto your skin where you're feeling the most pain or discomfort… it will help with the shaking, too."

Aramis reached into his coin-purse and handed Maya more coins than needed to pay for the items. She shook her head and tried to hand the extra back, but Aramis refused.

"Your husband is a very fortunate man," Aramis said and looked toward Kalidasa, who looked at his daughter.

"I know," Maya said, and motioned with her hand toward d'Artagnan. "Your friend is waiting."

Aramis, with his hands full, nodded and returned to his horse. He slipped the items into his saddlebag, grabbed his horse's reins, and then mounted with a long, uncomfortable, groan. He took a deep breath, looked at Maya, her father, and the other merchants before he nudged his horse's sides.

"She is beautiful," d'Artagnan said and looked at Aramis.

"All women are beautiful," Aramis said, and looked at d'Artagnan. "In one way or another, they're all beautiful."