Chapter 36
Athos froze. Tentatively, he tilted his head, hoping to identify the man with a gun pressed to the base of his skull. The face peering back at him through the thickening gloom had the appearance of a gruesome mask, inhuman and unhinged.
'Not pretty is it? I'll do you a favour so you don't have to look.' Athos was aware of the sudden movement, but had no time to retaliate; instead he barely managed a piercing whistle, just as pain exploded and his world ceased to matter.
Before anyone could stop him, Roger reared, snorting clouds of furious breath into the freezing air. The men hurriedly backed away from the horse's flying hooves, allowing the animal to thunder away from the ambush, galloping back the way they had come.
Treville could do nothing to prevent the unfolding attack. Jobin had lain in the road whilst Beau dealt with Athos, and all the time Peloir held a gun on the Musketeer Captain. Beau was not happy to lose the stallion, but there was nothing he could do to bring it back. With Athos up before Peloir and Treville secured to his horse, the party began to make their way through the woods, as quickly as the murky smog would allow.
Milady rolled her eyes. Was this really happening again? What was it about her husband that found him in such awkward circumstances so regularly? But there was little point debating the logic of it, Athos was once again in need, and it appeared she would have to involve herself in his capture. After all, she had once vowed that if anyone were to kill the man, it would be her.
Athos had turned his beast of a horse loose, and she knew it would head for the stables at the château. Hopefully, that would bring his faithful bloodhounds to his rescue, though how they would manage that in this fog she had no idea, for she doubted she could leave a trail, such as she had managed in the past. Frustrated with her situation and the complication of the weather, Milady fought down her irritation and spurred her horse through the trees once more, following as close as she dared.
Between the trees, the fog moved with all the appearance of a living thing, concealing and revealing trees and branches without warning. Twigs cracked and lashed at her face, whilst leafless branches plucked at her hair and clothing like beggars' desperate hands.
Luckily, her quarry was making no effort to employ stealth and the men were easy to follow, crashing and cursing their way through the suffocating soup, providing ample cover for the noise of her pursuit.
'How much further?' Beau spat, swiping an offending twig from his face yet again.
'Hard to tell. We should start to come across the outer walls soon, then it's just a few more minutes.' Jobin hoped he was right, but he could not even be sure he was headed toward their destination in this bloody fog. They may even have turned back toward the road – a concern he decided best kept to himself.
Anne suspected she knew the structure the men were making for, though her memory of this area of the wood was vague. Athos had once taken her to an old, ruined monastery, a picturesque spot in a large clearing in amongst the trees, where they had picnicked on a warm spring afternoon. The edifice had fallen into disrepair many, many years before, though there were still rooms intact, and probably cellars too. How safe the whole structure was she dared not consider.
A sudden cry of relief told her the party had finally achieved success and she slipped silently from the saddle.
Jobin was more than thankful – he had begun to think they were headed in the completely wrong direction, but the sight of the outer monastery walls calmed his increasingly ragged breathing. He did not know anything about the man with the scars, but he was astute enough to suspect their lives would mean little to Beau now that they had helped secure his prize.
Milady tethered her horse near the outer walls and made her way toward what was left of the main structure. Huge, random archways loomed out of the fog, afternoon was drawing near and already twilight was approaching. The wind, which had lessened between the cover of the trees, now whistled around the ruins like the ancient cries of the once penitent inhabitants. She pulled her cloak closer, it was growing colder and the leaves between her feet still crunched from the previous night's frost. Anne had a decision to make, and she was not happy with her options. It appeared she had two choices, and the one with the most chance of success was possibly also the most stupid. Still, what had she really got to lose?
When Athos came to, he was lying on a very hard, cold floor. He was aware of voices, but they were a long, long way away. The sting of a hard slap to his face suddenly bought his situation into focus. Spitting the blood that filled his mouth onto the floor, the Musketeer stared up into the face of his captor. The same gruesome visage he had seen in the fog glared at him yet again in the dark gloom of his prison – and the lack of fog did not improve the effect.
'Take a good look. You should be proud of your own handiwork.' Beau's eyes glared with pure hatred as he stared at the prone man before him. 'Not so lordly now, are you?'
Athos frowned, the movement causing him to wince as fresh blood flowed from a cut located, judging by the discomfort the gesture had produced, somewhere above his eye. He was about to protest his ignorance, but somewhere deep in the recess of his past, something about this man was familiar – some deep, dark memory, told him the man may indeed be telling the truth.
'I have no recollection of what you speak.' Athos played for time, his head was muzzy, and he needed to talk to Treville – he needed a plan.
Beau pulled back his fist and really let fly. This time, Athos' head snapped back so hard it bounced off the wall behind him. Stars danced in his vision and blackness began to descend once again, but the cascade of freezing water that followed brought him back to his senses with a vengeance. The swordsman gasped for breath beneath the bitter cold deluge; his ears were still ringing but he could just about acknowledge someone was speaking. He tried to make sense of the sounds, but the roaring inside his head made them muffled and incoherent. Somewhere outside, a cry penetrated his foggy brain, a familiar cry, a voice he knew, a voice that should not be here.
Milady crept closer to the only walls still standing to create anything resembling an enclosed room. The windows were now open to the elements and the voices within travelled easily through the frigid air.
'We need to watch our step, he won't hesitate to be rid of us now he has his lordship.'
Jobin nodded in agreement. 'He's not right, crazy eyes. Reckon whatever caused those scars turned his upper works. All we need is the Comte's head and we've done what we came to do. Get it back to Paris and we can be on our way.'
'Trouble is,' Peloir added, 'I don't get the feeling he wants his death to be quick!' Though both men acknowledged the supposition, neither appeared particularly comfortable with the prospect.
Milady considered the men's words and stored them away for later. Now needing to be discovered as soon as she could, she scraped her boot against the outer wall. Neither man appeared to hear the sound. Gritting her teeth in frustration at their idiocy she coughed, not subtle, but it appeared subtle simply wasn't going to work.
'What was that?' Jobin and Peloir made for the doorway together; there was no longer anything to bar their way, the wood having long ago rotted or been stolen away.
Milady pretended to stumble, allowing the men to catch her easily.
'I've see her before,' said Peloir decisively.
'Perhaps she was staying at the inn.'
'No.' Peloir began to grin. 'I know where I know her from. Nice to meet you, my Lady, you will forgive me if I don't bow.'
Anne glared at her captors, though she was relieved they had recognised her, as hopefully it would help her in this ridiculous plan.
Gradually the deafening sound of waves began to cease inside Athos' head, only to be replaced with a steady pounding. The water had soaked to his skin, and he was beginning to shiver violently. In this weather it was likely he would freeze to death long before the disfigured man found the opportunity to exact whatever revenge he felt he was due.
The muffled sound of bootsteps sounded from above and to Athos' horror, two men appeared out of the darkness. However, it was not the sight of Jobin and Peloir that elicited the horrified reaction, but the woman they held forcibly between them.
'You!' Treville cried. 'I knew you were involved.'
Milady raised her eyes to heaven. 'Yes, of course, this is all my doing – that is why these two gentlemen are currently attempting to wring my arms from my body.' Her sarcasm was delivered with a derisive sneer in response to the Musketeer Captain's assumption of her complicity.
'What are you doing here?' Athos croaked. 'You are supposed to be in Paris.'
'What is she doing here?' Beau shouted. 'Did she follow us?'
'Found her sneaking around outside, but that's not all, I've remembered why she looked familiar.' Peloir smirked, hoping the information would restore a little of their usefulness in the eyes of the man, who had now quite clearly taken charge.
Athos gave a moan of dismay, whist all the time Anne fought to retain an air of indifference. 'She's his wife.'
Beau looked between Athos and the captive woman, then a slightly mad smile split his ruined face. 'Well, well, now isn't that cosy.' He approached Milady and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look him in the face. 'Not so haughty now are we, my pretty?' he smirked, harking back to their previous encounter at the inn. 'Perhaps I could do a little work on you and then we could make a perfect pair. Perhaps I'll take a whip to your beautiful face and make him watch.'
A flash of fear flitted in the depth of her green eyes, but she refused to react to his threats. Instead she arched her brow and adopted a haughty expression akin to her station as lady of the manor.
'Go ahead, my husband will not care, he tried to have me killed once before. Athos will only enjoy watching you torture me. However, if it is pain you wish to inflict upon him, I have a much better solution.'
Treville pulled at his restraints. 'We should never have trusted you, never given you the benefit of the doubt!'
Milady did not glance at either the Captain or her husband, concentrating on the man who held her jaw in his painful grip. Beau's hand fell away, and his eyes flared with interest.
'Go ahead, I'm listening.'
'There is really only one thing in this life that Athos truly loves, and that is his horse.'
Athos stiffened. 'Anne, no, that is enough.'
'You see, he did not challenge the idea of you disfiguring me. Get his horse.'
'No!' cried the stricken Musketeer. 'Tell me your story, tell me what you want,' Athos demanded of Beau as he struggled with his manacles. His rage gave him strength, but the age old iron was still strong.
Beau laughed. 'Oh, you have no idea how the suggestion fills me with joy. Unfortunately the horse bolted.'
'I know, I watched it, but I have him. I tied him up just beyond the tree line. But he is strong and wilful – I am not sure you would be able to control him.' Milady managed to use just the right amount of condescension in her voice, and the man reacted exactly as she had hoped.
'Oh, don't worry, I'll make the brute do as I say, just as I did all those years ago.' The light of madness flickered in his eyes and the possibility this was not the same horse never entered his head. 'Tie her up, nice and cosy like.' He nodded to Athos, and Peloir and Jobin tied her up next to the Musketeer.
Anne wanted to cry with joy. The chances of her ploy working had been infinitesimal, but the idiot had fallen for it. When the three men exited the room Athos rounded on his wife.
'You are lying, what are you up to?'
'Can you not think of a new crime to lay at my door? That one is getting very old. Now put your hand up my dress.'
On hearing her request Treville almost choked, but Athos merely frowned.
'Oh please, do I really look that desperate? Even if I were, this would hardly be the time or place. Now, reach along my thigh and remove my knife.' She looked Athos in the eye, and the two remained still for an unseemly length of time.
'Athos, don't trust her,' Treville growled.
The Musketeer merely sighed and nodded. 'Move your legs behind my back so that my chains will allow me to reach.' Anne nodded and wriggled her way along the stone floor so that they were sitting side-by-side facing each other. Athos reached out and found the hem of her dress. Slowly he reached along the soft skin of her leg.
To Anne, Athos was moving far too slowly. She held eye contact with her husband, struggling to control her breathing as his hand moved agonisingly closer to its target. The fingers were no longer soft, strong and sensual, they were now calloused with hard work and fighting – a fact that somehow made her heart race even more than it once had. Suddenly the chain pulled tight, refusing to allow him to progress any further.
'Damn, come closer, bend your knee!' Athos barked.
Milady did as he instructed, their faces now only inches apart, and still they did not break eye contact. The act of retrieving a knife from under his wife's dress should not have been quite so erotic, but Athos felt the age-old thrumming of blood in his veins and focussed on the green eyes – quite clearly mirroring his own struggle – attempting to retain hold of his reason.
Anne licked her lips, suddenly aware of how dry her throat had become. The simple act entranced her husband, and she felt his hand pause in its agonising journey. She felt as though she were staring into her Athos' soul and the prospect of seeing what it held was far more terrifying than any weapon.
Athos watched the pink tongue glide across those sensual lips, and for a split second he remembered a whole different scenario. His memory intruded on the moment and his hand stilled. He noted the fleeting change in his wife's expression and understood she too was reacting to the suggestion of the moment. With a herculean effort he forced his hand to slide along Anne's warm thigh, each second sending his rapidly beating heart further out of control.
Both were grateful when his fingers finally closed around the small knife in the sheath secured to her leg. As the knife pulled free, Anne gave a thankful sigh, the subtle sound of which was almost enough to send the swordsman spiralling out of control, ignoring whatever residual sense remained. Luckily Treville was aware of the tension, and ensured his man did not lose his head.
'Athos, hurry, we don't have much time.' The harsh sound of his Captain's voice halted the Musketeer's rampaging emotions, and he gripped the knife with firm intent.
The swordsman indicated Anne should move. 'Turn around, your hands are only secured with rope; I hope you are as handy with a lock as you used to be.'
Anne smiled and arched a well-shaped brow, ignoring the continued furious thumping of her heart. 'I still have clever hands.' Athos ignored the barbed remark and sawed at the rope around his wife's wrists.
Once free, Anne pulled a pin from her hair and began to work on Athos' manacles. 'Hurry, they will soon realise Roger is not where you said,' Athos hissed.
'The iron is old and rusty, and how do you know the horse is not there?'
'For one, he would never stop for anyone but me and two, even you would not stoop so low as to harm my horse.'
For a second, she paused in her endeavour, and Athos could feel her breath on the back of his neck. He told himself it was simply the welcome warmth against the freezing cold of his wet body that made him shiver, but lying to himself was by now second nature when it came to his wife.
Milady resumed her work, wanting it over quickly so she could remove herself from Athos' proximity which, as usual, was unsettling her focus. Hanging his wife was acceptable but harming his horse… she pushed the hurt aside and stored it with all the rest.
'So what grievance does this man have against you? Did you scar him?'
Athos hung his head and sighed. 'Yes, I rather think I did. Do you remember my father giving me the first Roger, on my sixteenth birthday?'
Anne frowned. 'The one he then planned to take from you?'
Athos nodded. 'The only reason he allowed me to keep it, was because I lost my temper and struck out at the young lad who was trying to control him. The stable lad was whipping him hard and I grabbed the whip and lashed out in anger.'
Treville had been listening carefully. 'But that was ten years ago, why now?'
Athos shrugged. 'Why not?' Just then the manacles fell away and Milady helped him to his feet.
'Are you alright?' She reached up and stroked the thick curls, frowning as her hand came away wet and sticky. Athos lurched slightly, but years of over-drinking always came in handy on such occasions and he took a deep breath and steadied himself.
'I am fine. Treville, if you please,' he said, indicating the still-shackled Captain.
It did not please, but she knelt beside the Musketeer Captain and began working at his manacles. But unfortunately they had run out of time. The door was flung open and a furious Beau strode into the room. Athos reached for his sword, and groaning as he realised it was no longer there, he spotted Jobin and Peloir approaching right behind the scarred lunatic. Now Athos knew he was good with a knife and could throw it with a high degree of accuracy, but if he used that skill now, he would be unarmed. Nobody liked a knife fight, they were close and dirty, but he had no choice. The swordsman noted Beau take a step toward Anne, and wasting no time he lunged. His weapon caught Beau unawares and he felt the blade slice through the man's forearm.
Beau screamed with rage and pulled out his sword. Now sword against knife was never a good position to be in, and noting the move, Anne abandoned a furious and frustrated Treville, grabbed a piece of wood from the floor and tossed it to her husband – at least it was longer than her knife. She searched desperately around the gloomy cell for any sign of a weapon.
'Let me lose,' Treville demanded, shaking his chained hands.
'No time,' came the muffled reply.
'Just give me the pin.' Anne gave the Musketeer Captain a curious glance and passed him the pin.
Jobin and Peloir had remained by the door, somewhat taken aback by the current turn of events. They had searched the two men thoroughly and were sure they had removed all of their weapons. Where the knife had come from, they had no idea. If only they had known.
Emboldened by Athos' meagre ability to hold off all three of them, they began to make their way forward. In a last desperate bid to help, Milady flew at the two men and, throwing herself in their path, knocked them both back toward the doorway. To her astonishment, tossed in the far corner she spied the two soldier's weapons. With a cry of amusement, she picked up the all-too-familiar sword, along with the Captain's, and Athos' knife. If she recognised it as having once belonged to his brother, she did not stop to acknowledge it.
'Athos!' Her husband caught the sword in his left hand, hurling the wood at his adversary. Now he was armed, Beau did not look so confident. Before he had been sure of Athos' identity, the man had spent enough time in Paris making enquiries to be aware of the stories concerning the swordsman's prowess.
'What are you two waiting for?' he screamed. Peloir and Jobin hurried forward, though clearly reluctant to engage the Musketeer.
Treville had now managed to free himself from his shackles and gladly took the sword Milady was holding out to him.
As Athos struck the sword of Jobin, Beau moved slowly backward toward the door. With both Musketeers on their feet and armed he had no intention of hanging around. He had waited this long, he would leave the two idiots to keep them busy and live to fight another day. Milady watched him slip through the door and followed.
Night had now fallen, and the air was frigid. The fog had lifted, though it still swam around the base of the trees like lapping waves, bare trunks rising from the weaving mist like a swamp. She held the pistol aloft and peered into the night. A sudden movement to her left caused her to swivel and fire. A cry echoed in the silent wood but the noise of movement through the trees indicated the recipient still lived. Anne looked back toward the monastery and, hesitating for only a moment, she ran to the treeline and retrieved her horse. Experience had taught her she would not receive a pat on the back or thankful platitudes for her efforts – more likely Treville would still insist she had been part of the plot – so perhaps it was time to retreat and leave Athos to his own devices. Either way, she was not going to wait around, Treville and Athos were more than capable of dealing with the two men – she was leaving.
ooOoo
Aramis and Porthos had heard the thundering hooves and taken up position amongst the trees. When Roger came hurtling toward them they moved as one, revealing themselves to the frantic horse. Porthos called out to the animal and though the stallion pricked his ears at the familiar voice, he still forged on. The Musketeers urged their horses forward and galloped alongside the frantic horse, finally bringing the animal to a halt. It tossed its mane and foam flew as it rolled its eyes, stamping its hooves in distress.
'There boy, you're safe now. Where's your master?' Porthos stroked the horse's sweat-slicked neck and steadily calmed the beast down.
'Where indeed?' Aramis echoed. They tied Roger to Porthos' horse and made their way slowly along the road, unable to gallop with Athos' tired horse, nor wishing to ride into a situation they could not control.
'I knew it, I knew we shouldn't 'ave let 'im go,' Porthos growled.
'The Captain was with him, they should have been fine.'
'Tell that to the 'orse.'
They had not travelled far when the sound of muffled hooves echoed in the unnatural silence; evening was upon them, and the mist and gloom made it impossible to see what approached. With unspoken signals the two riders secreted themselves either side of the road between the barren trees, waiting.
The rider was trotting, obviously taking care in the poor visibility. Not a local then, for the road was well worn and maintained, and a local would have been more confident.
Yet when the horse and rider finally revealed themselves, emerging out of the lowered clouds, both Porthos and Aramis were astounded.
As one they expressed their surprise. 'What on earth are you doing here?' 'Bloody 'ell, you!'
The Red Guard Captain balked at his reception, but quickly re-grouped. 'The Cardinal sent me to fetch Athos back to Paris.'
'What for? What's 'e supposed to 'ave done now?' Porthos bristled.
'As far as I know, nothing. I am not detaining him, I have merely been sent to make sure he returns to Paris at once.' His eyes shifted from one Musketeer to the other, assessing their reaction. He was no fool, the possibility of removing him from this earth and denying all knowledge of ever meeting him, could only be tempting, a fear Porthos was all too happy to confirm.
'We could just shoot 'im and be rid of 'im, no one would ever know.'
'That is a tempting suggestion, but unfortunately we cannot kill a man in cold blood.'
Giroux looked relieved.
'We can't? Why not?' Porthos scowled.
'It is not honourable.'
The big Musketeer considered his friend's remark. ''E's not 'onourable.'
'That is also true, but we are Musketeers,' Aramis stated, smiling.
'What if I took my pauldron off before I shot 'im?'
Aramis paused. 'I suppose that might work.'
'Look, I promise you I have not come to cause Athos any harm, I have simply been sent to see him back to Paris safely. The King wants to speak with him.'
Both Porthos and Aramis stilled at the explanation – this new revelation was even more worrying – the King knew far too much about Athos' true identity for the two men to be comfortable with this latest information.
Porthos turned to the marksman. 'The King, that can't be good.'
'No, my friend, it certainly does not fill me with confidence. Still, it probably means we had better not shoot him… yet.'
Porthos' miserable countenance brightened at the final words.
'However, Giroux, there is a slight problem.' Aramis was now serious. 'We have Athos' horse, but not Athos. Which leads us to believe something must have befallen him.'
Giroux scowled, unsure whether the two Musketeers were stalling him. 'Is Treville with you? He is not at the garrison.'
The two Musketeers exchanged a glance before deciding at this stage only the truth would help Athos.
'Yes, the Captain was with Athos, what has happened we do not know. We encountered Roger thundering along the road, minutes before you appeared.'
'I had nothing to do with that.' Giroux insisted. 'Though there was some sort of commotion ahead of me. I stopped to listen, but all I could hear was a cry and muffled voices – oh, and a sharp whistle.'
'Athos!' They both cried as one.
'How do you know?' asked Giroux, sceptical at their certainty.
'It would explain Roger's reaction; that horse understands Athos' every word. I have witnessed him whistle to call or send the horse away before. That is what he was doing...'
'Sendin' the 'orse for 'elp,' Porthos grinned.
'Exactly!' Aramis slapped his friend on the back. 'Now all we have to do is work out where he went.' Both men became more thoughtful. 'I do not suppose you could locate where you were when you heard the cry?'
Giroux frowned. 'In this fog… but… I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but as I walked on, I could have sworn I could smell jasmine.' The guard appealed to the two men's understanding, though he was aware of how ridiculous he sounded.
Porthos growled. 'I knew it!'
Aramis closed his eyes and sighed. 'Very well, let us proceed with caution. It is unlikely the scent will remain, but I suppose it is all we have to go on. Keep close to the trees on both sides, it is obvious they escaped into the wood somewhere.'
'What does it mean?' Giroux persisted.
'Let us say, we have our suspicions.' No matter what they thought of Milady, they were not about to share Athos' past with one of his worst enemies.
Slowly and steadily they made their way along the tree line; between the trees the wind no longer blew, and the smell of dampness and mud was the only aroma in the air. They travelled for what felt like hours, though it could not have been anything like, when suddenly Porthos cried out. 'Over 'ere , smell this!'
The other two riders whirled round and joined the Musketeer amongst the trees. Porthos had travelled a little further into the warped vegetation, and here, where the wind no longer moved the mist so vigorously, mixed with the rotting scent remained the trace of something sweeter, the memory of warm, late summer evenings.
'That's it!' Giroux exclaimed triumphantly. 'It is fainter, but that is what I could smell.'
'Then let us follow,' Aramis stated, somewhat subdued at this new discovery.
They lost and found the rapidly diminishing aroma repeatedly, the hard ground and the mist making tracking any prints impossible – occasionally a broken branch told of a hurried passage, but the going was frustratingly slow.
It was the whinny of a horse and the crack of a pistol, that gave them their final clue. Hitching their horses they silently crept through the poor light toward the sound of the incident.
ooOoo
Milady had just taken hold of her horse's reins, when something cold and hard was pressed into the back of her neck. She was considering her options, when a familiar voice stopped her.
'I would rather you did not move, though sadly my friend here would much rather you did. That way he would have an excuse to shoot you.'
