No one spoke as the party set out for Paris; they were all too aware that they were leaving a man behind – even if that man had actually been little more than a green, misguided boy.
As for Giroux, he was bursting with questions, but how to begin such a conversation was beyond his subtlety; if he were patient, perhaps the right opportunity would arise.
Snow lay in a thin veil over the lonely landscape, only the plodding of the horses' hooves making any noise in the breaking dawn; yet the air thrummed with a sense of anticipation, an unspoken conversation that rode between them on an unseen mount. Everyone knew Aramis found it difficult to keep quiet for long, but under the present conditions even he had the perfect excuse for silence. It was well known by those who knew the marksman well, that snow brought back painful memories of Savoy. Aramis still had nightmares about being abandoned in the snowy duchy, the sole survivor of a tragic training exercise where all his comrades were butchered in the night – betrayed as a political gambit.
Normally, it would have been Porthos who attempted to jolt Aramis from his melancholy, but to the big Musketeer's surprise Athos beat him to it.
Aramis was aware of the large black stallion trotting beside him – any faster and they risked their mounts sliding on the frozen floor. Even though the swordsman said nothing, Aramis was heartened by the gesture, Athos normally preferring to ride alone.
Eventually Aramis spoke. 'Thank you.'
'No need.' Both statements were terse but heartfelt, though Aramis was not so lost in his own hurt that he did not recognise the pain in his friend's voice.
'You have to wonder why we remember such horrific events so clearly and painfully as though they had happened only a moment ago, and yet many wonderful moments in our lifetimes merely slip away into the mist of the past and are lost to us. Why is that?'
Athos did not reply immediately. After all, it was a question that he had asked himself a million times, so who was he to provide his friend with the answer he sought, when such deliberation had yielded no answer? Still, Aramis had asked, and he would try to provide the solace the medic needed.
'I discovered long ago that pain is the strongest emotion of all. Even love and passion are nothing compared to the sense of loss and betrayal. Love, passion, anger, all have the potential to burn intensely – but just like fire, they need feeding to do so. Death, guilt, treachery, they are endless; the loss and inability to right the wrong provide perpetual fuel to feed the fire of pain.'
Despite the frigid air, Aramis felt the tears burn in his eyes. No one understood loss like Athos, and to hear him voice such an emotive justification was both reassuring and heart-wrenching. The explanation itself was far too close to the truth and explained much of Athos' personality.
Considering his two friends had probably wallowed in their own darkness for long enough, Porthos decided a change of topic would be timely.
'You know that ugly bastard is still out there somewhere? In fact 'e might be watchin' us right now.'
'Why do I feel you said that with rather too much anticipation?' Aramis quipped.
'He is bored, he has not had the opportunity to shoot someone for a while,' was Athos' droll reply.
'Yes, and whose fault was that?' Porthos mumbled in response.
'Shooting my wife would not have solved our current problem, and she was instrumental in our escape.'
Porthos scowled. 'Convenient she just 'appened to be there. Why did she follow us from Paris? In fact why is she even back in France?'
Aramis was aware that they had never really had a frank conversation about Milady de Winter before, and he hoped Athos' willingness to discuss her was indicative of his waning feelings for the woman, rather than suggestive that they were rekindling their relationship.
Athos suspected he knew exactly why his wife continued to insert herself into his life, and in particular her frequent attempts to save it. Like him, the bond appeared to be unbreakable, the emotion of love and hate continually warring with each other for precedence. He understood her reluctance to see him killed by any other hand but her own, knowing that deep down he had to be the one to bring about her end. It was his duty – if he could ever bring himself to such a point again.
'All indications were that she had fled to England. Rochefort recently returned from the damp and pompous country, so perhaps she came with him.' Aramis mused.
Both men turned to face him. 'Why on earth would she come with 'im? Though I suppose they both 'ave the honour of a snake. If they are workin' together, it don't bear thinkin' about.'
'What reason could she have for returning with Rochefort? She is aware the Cardinal would have her killed should she come within his reach. No, if she went to so much trouble to warn me, then she is troubled. There was no indication of her usual enjoyment at my predicament. Helping me was probably also helping herself. If she is involved with Rochefort, then I suspect she is not comfortable with the arrangement.'
'You think she's sleepin' with 'im?' Even Aramis winced at Porthos' question.
Athos stilled but answered his friend. 'The past indicates my wife will do whatever she must to survive.' The implications in that statement were multiple: his own marriage, the death of his brother, her relationship with the First Minister – a horrific catalogue of alleged self-serving crimes. 'I may not be the best judge, but I cannot see how Rochefort would serve her needs. If he has been instrumental in her return, then he must have used a powerful incentive, one she is not happy to be party to.'
The three men considered the ramification of such a partnership in silence. The future of such a pairing was not reassuring.
Giroux and Treville had been aware of the conversation behind them, though unfortunately for him, the Red Guard could not make out the precise nature of their discourse. Giroux had been racking his brains for a way to elicit more information from Treville, which he could pass on to the Cardinal, without making him clam up. Last night, the Musketeer had fed him a story about an acquaintance of Athos who owned the château, but was currently travelling. It had been very vague, and though it had fitted with what he had heard about the vacant Comte, it had rung false.
He had witnessed how Athos had dealt with the situation upon entering the building; the air of authority with which he had addressed the debacle had been clear. The Musketeer had displayed no deference to Treville – in fact the Captain had been happy to allow Athos to take charge. Of course, the death of Dubois had been rather timely. The boy had shown signs of wavering in his mission and had become a liability, so to have him removed before he could unmask Giroux's own part in the conspiracy was a bonus.
'We should stop soon and rest the horses. The way ahead winds through the trees and there is a chance the road will not be quite such hard going beneath such shelter, and we should be able to increase our pace.' The men acknowledged Treville's decision, and Giroux noted how the change of leadership had reverted to the Musketeer Captain now they were on the road.
Interesting!
Giroux decided a conversation with Athos might be easier to instigate than with Treville and dropped back to ride alongside him.
'I am sorry for the loss of the boy.' Athos was taken aback by the remark but had enough memory of the previous day's events to know Giroux had not been witness to the actual event, and so guarded his reply carefully.
'It was tragic. However, the boy was already fatally wounded from a previous ambush and would not have lasted more than a few days.'
'Did you find any sign of the highway robbers?'
'No.'
Giroux cursed under his breath. The swordsman had always been a morose bastard; perhaps he would be better off with Aramis, who was known to be more approachable. Still, he had one more question, one that genuinely puzzled him.
'What was the Cardinal's whore doing there? Richelieu wants her head. All our enquiries indicated she had fled the country after her part in the King's abduction. Lord knows why she would come back, let alone what she was doing in an out of the way place such as Pinot.'
Athos' heard the genuine confusion in the soldier's question and was forced to acknowledge he was pleased to have his suspicions confirmed; Anne had no current connection to the First Minister. Still, the guard's condemnation of his wife rankled, despite the accuracy of her crimes – though she had never been a part of the plan to abduct Louis. In fact, once again she had been a great help in aiding their escape.
Athos remained silent. There was no answer that would explain her appearance, only his own mystification.
'Perhaps that's where she is from. I'm sure the Cardinal will be interested to hear that.' With his parting comment ringing in Athos' ears Giroux slid from his horse and led it toward the half-frozen stream.
Athos did not want Anne associated with Pinot, yet he could see no way of silencing the Guard Captain. They hated each other with every fibre of their being, and no half hint or recommendation of silence from Athos would stop him from imparting all he had learned – just the opposite. He wished they would be ambushed, then he could just shoot the man and rid him of the burden. That would be one death that would not weigh heavily upon his shoulders.
ooOoo
Anne had ridden hard, her anger hot and raw. How dare they judge her, how dare they! A back street urchin from the Court of Miracles and a God-fearing womaniser. What right did they have to think themselves above her?
She wasted no time resting, and grabbing the meagre things she had bought with her she remounted and headed for Paris. They would have to spend the night at the château before they travelled back to the garrison, so she would not risk meeting them on the road. There were things to be dealt with in Paris before they returned.
Try as she might, she could not be angry at Athos. She wanted to rage at him along with the other two, and to rebuild that fiery fury she had harboured for so long before they had reunited. That hatred had fuelled her very being, allowing her to bed the First Minister, and others, in the fulfilment of her obligations to the spymaster. She had been a first-class fool to reveal herself to Athos. She should have stayed in the shadows and stabbed him in the back – just as she had fantasised for so long.
That night she had lured him into the alleyway, believing she was strong enough to re-enact her revenge, her world had turned upside down. Instead of putting a knife through her husband's heart she had destroyed what remained of her own, and now she could no longer find the intensity of anger to sustain her resentment.
When she had been forced to recognise her feelings for Athos were as strong as ever – if tainted by their past – she had found herself lost without a cause. At least awakening her stifled emotions and making her feel again was a new crime to level upon him, and hopefully it would allow her to maintain a level of anger at the Musketeer.
But despite her desperation for the return of her old hatred, she remembered his hand moving along her thigh and the fight to prevent herself from moaning at the slow thrill of his fingers on her skin, the wanton way her body had betrayed her as she moved closer, as she felt his warm breath upon her skin, and the scent that was purely Athos. If Treville had not been there…
It was the early hours of the morning, just before dawn when she finally slid from her horse, exhausted and spent of all emotion.
The house was silent and cold as she threw her cloak to the floor and mounted the stairs. She pulled the pins from her hair and rested her head back against the bedroom door, closing herself off from the world. As she began to unfasten the ties of her gown, she cursed herself for sending the girl away – now she would have to find another. Milady was just about to slide the dress from her shoulders when a shadowy movement in the corner made her gasp.
'Oh please continue, I must confess I was enjoying the show.' The sarcastic drawl made her cold skin crawl, and she pulled the gown tight. 'Shy?' he asked 'I did not think you experienced such an emotion. Still, I suppose we have more urgent things to discuss. Like where you have been and why you defied me.' He was on his feet now and had come so close their noses were almost touching, all traces of sarcasm gone, only the cold, hard accusation of her treachery.
He traced the line of her collar bone with his finger. There was nothing sexual to the gesture, the movement being imbued with a strong sense of impending pain, causing her to shiver. 'You are scared, good.' He took her jaw hard in his hand and suddenly pushed her against the door and kissed her hard and violently. 'Just remember, you are my creature to use or break as I see fit.' He backed away and retook his seat. 'Take a seat, we have much to discuss.'
Milady resisted the urge to wipe her hand across her mouth, though she could feel the bile rise up in her throat. She was no shrinking virgin, but the touch of this man made her desperate to scrub herself all over to remove the taint of him from her skin.
Anne had often thought the man merciless, but she now had to consider if he was slightly unhinged. Had she underestimated him?
'So, where have you been?' He had poured himself a glass of wine but made no offer of one to Anne. This was no time to prevaricate, so she opted for the truth.
'I have been to a village called Pinot. I followed the Musketeers. I thought you might be interested to know what they were up to, especially when Treville went after them,' she added hurriedly. 'After all, you wanted to know about Athos, and there was no time to ask.'
She noted the spark of interest in his eyes and felt an immediate sense of relief.
'Really, where did they go?'
'First of all they visited Anet, where they made enquiries about highway robbery, though they appeared to garner no response. Then they moved on to Pinot.' If the name meant anything to Rochefort, he gave nothing away. 'I heard there had been some form of ambush as they left Anet, some locals foolishly chancing their luck. The cadet was shot and is not expected to recover.'
'Local thugs, taking a chance against four Musketeers? Were they really that stupid? Intriguing. Continue.'
'There is not much else to tell.' She had to consider her next words extremely carefully. 'They had permission to stay at the château in Pinot; the Comte is away on his travels and the place stands empty apart from a skeleton household. They made several enquiries and bought medication consistent with the young Musketeer's wounds – other than that Athos hardly left the building. When I heard they intended to return to Paris, I left, wanting to brief you before they arrived.' As soon as she spoke the lie, she knew she would have to leave. The chances of Giroux's account reaching Rochefort's ears were extremely high and she would be caught out in her brazen deception. Yet she could think of no explanation that would deceive him regarding her involvement in Athos' escape. Had she only had more time – that was the story of her life.
The weasel watched her closely; he was a spy and a survivor. He had not stayed alive and in favour this long without knowing a liar when he saw one, and he knew she was lying now. Still, he would wait and humour her for a little while longer. He knew the Red Guard Captain had been dispatched to bring Athos to Paris, and it would be interesting to hear his account of the events that had taken place in Pinot.
As to having received permission from the Comte to stay at the château, if the man were truly travelling, he doubted permission could have been obtained at such short notice. Part of him wanted to ring the truth out of her and part of him wanted to wait and watch her reaction when he caught her out in her lie. He would wait – there was nothing he enjoyed more than a game of cat and mouse.
'Very well, I cannot say you have found out much of use to me. You need to try harder – I know you were far more successful with the Cardinal. Perhaps you are losing your touch, beauty does not last forever. I will return.' With that he stood and made for the door, only pausing as he drew level with her. 'Do not disappoint me, and if you double cross me, you know how this will end.' That being said, he left the room and the house with no further word.
Milady sank onto the bed and poured herself a glass of wine, from which she drank deeply. The man repulsed her, but she had never truly underestimated him. Rochefort was cruel and power-hungry; once her lies were uncovered, he would not stop until he had killed her, and if the Cardinal assisted him, there would be nowhere in Paris she could hide.
She moved to the darkened window and looked out at the lights reflecting on the Seine. Paris was not perfect, but it was her home, and she was tired of running, tired of trying to make a new life, tired of inventing a new identity. Perhaps her final judgement was nearing, maybe this was where it would end. Somehow, instead of feeling afraid she experienced a sudden sense of acceptance, which was far more disturbing.
ooOoo
Rochefort had much to think about. Whilst Milady stared out over the icy waters of the Seine, so the cold-hearted Comte watched the flames flicker and dance in the fireplace of his palace apartments, swilling the wine around the goblet in his hand with the absent-mindedness of a man with a great deal upon his mind. The Comte's face reflected the light and shadow of the firelight, making him appear in the flesh like the very demon he represented – a description he would have found most amusing.
Currently, there were many things at play inside that vicious mind. Uppermost was the potential to out-manoeuvre his mentor, Richelieu, and secure a place upon the King's council. To have a hand in such decision making would only elevate his status, whilst simultaneously irking the Cardinal a great deal. And then, of course, there was the Musketeer Athos. Rochefort knew the history of the soldier; he had been present in the beginning, when Athos had been nothing more than a criminal sentenced to hang. Since then the man had cropped up at every awkward moment, somehow securing the apparent respect of the King – not an easy achievement, and yet he had managed to maintain it. No, there was more to this story than was currently known to him.
Richelieu had sent for Athos with a sense of urgency, and it was well known he had no liking for the Musketeer. That it should have been mentioned in the very same conversation as the search for new blood for Louis' council, was most concerning indeed; what did the Cardinal know that he did not? To see how this was going to play out would be fascinating, but he needed to be able to maintain a hand in the power play.
Finally he had to deal with Milady de Winter. She was proving to be another thorn in his side, one of his own making he had to admit, and he was forced to acknowledge he may have underestimated the woman. He should have known Milady would not be easily cowed, after all she had been Richelieu's assassin, a job she had performed very well.
Such a role required intelligence and he was persuaded she had plenty, so why was the woman deliberately lying to him? What did she know about the Musketeer that she was not prepared to tell? It was not the first time he had noted her interest in the man Athos, but he had been unable to discover any connection between them, so he would simply have to play a waiting game. Time would tell, and it would not hinder his own cause to keep silent, so with no other irons in the fire, he would pass on what he had learnt and observe how the Cardinal reacted.
ooOoo
The journey to Paris had proved uneventful; there had been no sign of anyone following the party, nor any indication of being observed. However, it had not gone unnoticed that Giroux watched Athos' every move, though fortunately the guard had never been able to get near the man without one of the other Musketeers being by his side, fuelling his frustration and anger.
As they had neared the city, Athos had been itching to detour to the Baron's estate, but with Giroux present, it would give rise to more unnecessary explanations, so he had ridden into Paris with nearly as many questions as when he had left.
Giroux had no good reason to follow the Musketeers to the garrison, with a promise from Treville that he and Athos would present themselves to their King as soon as they were in a fit state for the palace – he could only accept the Captain's word and return to his own barracks.
To say Blanchard, the man left in charge of the garrison, was glad to see his Captain, was an understatement. He had been beleaguered with messages from the palace ever since the Musketeers had left, and he had long since run out of reasonable excuses.
'Captain, am I glad to see you.' The older soldier's remark caused all parties to hesitate as they prepared to dismount. 'His Highness says Athos is to report to the palace as soon as he returns, and he says he will know if he is not punctual.' The Musketeer adopted a most apologetic mien as he delivered the message, fully aware it would not be received well. 'I tried to fob them off as long as I could, but I fear there are men watching the garrison, and by now they will have reported your arrival. I wouldn't be surprised if a message arrives within the next few minutes.'
Treville clapped his man on the back to indicate he should feel no responsibility for the situation. 'Thank you, Blanchard. I will come to the office for a full briefing in a few moments.'
Before Treville could even turn to address his men, a rider burst through the garrison gateway.
'Captain Treville, I am to escort you and the Musketeer Athos straight to the King.'
'Can we not at least freshen up from our ride?' the Captain demanded.
The messenger appeared sheepish. 'I am afraid my orders are to bring you directly to the palace, sir, with no delay.' He was obviously just a messenger, not a member of the Red Guard, and could not be held responsible for the whims of his King.
'I am sorry Athos,' was all Treville said before remounting his horse. The other three Musketeers had not even dismounted, and when Athos wheeled his horse to follow the Captain, the other two filed in behind.
ooOoo
The Queen had been made fully aware of all that had transpired when Athos and the King had been taken hostage in the spring. She also knew about Athos' past. How Louis had been able to keep the secret so long had been a great surprise, as she had worried that it would be revealed within days of their return. However, Louis was a constant surprise. If he hadn't led such a feted and pampered life, perhaps the man would have shown more of the backbone and sense that lay beneath the childish façade – a presence too frequently on show to the court.
She had been proud of her husband, for Athos had served the King well and deserved Louis' silence. Why he should want such anonymity was slightly concerning, but as long as he had not committed some heinous crime then the man was entitled to lead his own life.
However, with her husband still insisting on fresh blood for his council – a move the Queen personally could not support – she feared Louis would not hold his tongue much longer. It would seem her thoughts and fate were about to align. There was a knock on the door to her apartments and it opened at once.
There was only one person who would not await an invitation to enter, and Louis burst into the room like an excited child, whereupon Anne gestured for her ladies in waiting to leave them alone.
'What is it Louis, what has happened?'
'Treville and Athos are returned, they are riding to the palace as I speak. Finally I will have the sense for my council that I seek, it will be perfect.' The King was obviously delighted, and Anne would have to choose her words carefully.
'I thought you had said Athos did not wish for his true identity to be revealed?'
Louis pouted. 'Indeed, but when he hears what I need from him it will be his duty to admit his true background and take up the role I offer. I am his King.' Anne saw the fleeting expression of defiance that passed across her husband's face.
'Then might I make a suggestion?'
'Of course, my dear, though I will have Athos upon my council,' Louis countered with a sulky response.
'Perhaps it would be wise to at least conduct the conversation in private, and not before a full court. I think we at least owe him that.'
Louis pondered the suggestion and then to Anne's relief grinned with excitement. 'An excellent notion, my dear. With no one to observe our conversation, how can he refuse?'
Anne suspected Athos would be horrified by such a request, but other than providing an environment where his identity would be protected, there was little else she could do.
ooOoo
Richelieu was in a sour mood, it would appear every errand he put in motion, every emissary he sent to complete a task, had failed. Brousard was not to be found at his estate, Treville had yet to return from wherever he had gone – possibly Pinot – and Giroux had not presented him with Athos soon enough. No, the First Minister was seething.
When the first knock came, he snarled admittance to the poor sot on the other side of the door. The sight of Rochefort did little to douse his resentment at being interrupted, for the sight before him was none of the people he wished to see.
'Rochefort, tell me you have something interesting to tell me or I may have to have you returned to Spain.' Rochefort took note of the threat and the lack of any sarcasm in its delivery.
'Your Eminence, indeed I may have information you will find of value.' The Cardinal indicated the Comte should sit, flouncing into his own chair on the other side of the barren slab of a desk. This room was designed to intimidate; large and austere it was meant to inspire discomfort on those invited within, whilst the room adjoining the vast cell of a space was far more intimate and comfortable, containing all the usual items to be found in a gentlemen's study. However, it would not be seemly for a man of the cloth to appear to be so materialistic, and nor would it suit the Cardinal to make any of his visitors feel at home.
Rochefort made the First Minister wait as long as he dared before speaking. 'My sources have informed me that Giroux should be returning to Paris any day. It would appear they found no trace of raiders but were unfortunately set upon by chancers as they left Anet. Reynard Dubois was badly injured, though he apparently lingers on.'
The Cardinal narrowed his eyes at this news. 'Do we know who the raiders were?'
'Apparently men from Anet who followed them as they left the village, they were all disposed of during the ambush.' Rochefort feigned mild interest and waited for the Cardinal to speak. He could see the man ruminating over the information and waited to see if he would reach the same conclusion he had when Milady had first informed him of the event.
'So a group of peasants decided to ambush a party of armed Musketeers. What for? They rarely carry anything of wealth upon their person, and Musketeers… were they insane?'
'Who knows, they are dead, and the town's magistrate did not feel the need to take it any further.' Rochefort knew what the next question would be, and he could not deny the enjoyment he would receive from the revelation.
'Who is the overlord of the region and why was he not involved?' So here it was, the question everyone was asking, and the one piece of information Milady de Winter had deliberately not revealed.
'Apparently the local landowner is away travelling; my informant did not know the name.' He really was drip-feeding the information to the First Minister and Rochefort was enjoying every second.
Then came the second knock at the door.
Neither man was pleased to be interrupted.
'Go away,' was the Cardinal's immediate response. Whoever was on the other side was either brave or stupid for they knocked again.
'My God, must I be surrounded by idiots! What is it?'
Giroux entered, and if he had been sure of himself when he knocked upon the door, he was not so comfortable now, not with both Richelieu and the Comte de Rochefort scowling in his direction.
'Minister, Comte, forgive the interruption, but I suspected you may wish to be informed of my return as soon as possible.' He flicked his gaze from one to the other, noting the Comte's flash of anger.
'Can you not see we are busy?' Rochefort snapped.
Richelieu, however, was far too intrigued. 'What have you to say, and where is Athos?'
'All of the Musketeers, including Captain Treville, are at the garrison. I have the Captain's word of honour that both he and Athos will present themselves to His Majesty as soon as they have made themselves presentable.' He felt a frisson of fear as he began to question his judgement of allowing the soldiers time, and not insisting they return with him.
'Excellent, where did you find them?'
Giroux puffed out his chest, he was confident his information would be well received by his commander.
'In a village called Pinot. I do not know for sure what had gone on before I arrived, other than the young cadet, Dubois, was badly injured in some form of skirmish. I came across Aramis and Porthos searching for Athos and the Captain – they suspected something untoward had occurred to the two men. We followed through the woods and came across a monastery in the middle of a clearing...'
'Yes, yes, Captain, I do not need a geography lesson. What happened?'
Giroux licked his lips and noted the wine the two men were drinking; what he wouldn't have given for a jug of ale right now. 'Athos and Treville had been taken hostage by an unknown group of men. Just as we arrived there was a shot fired and we discovered a woman attempting to flee.' He was not without a sense of the dramatic and suspected his next piece of information was worthy of the risk. So he paused.
'What woman?'
Giroux stumbled over his words; it would not do to call her the Cardinal's whore, as he had to Athos. 'I believe it was Milady de Winter, Your Eminence.' The expression upon the First Minister's face was worth the effort. For once Richelieu was genuinely surprised, and that did not happen often. No word of the woman's return to Paris had reached his ears and his information suggested she remained in England.
He cast a glance at Rochefort and noted the emotionless expression, perhaps too void of interest. Had he already known of her presence? After all it had to be noted they had both been on that benighted island.
Rochefort employed every skill he had ever learnt to keep the interest from showing upon his face. So that was the lie she was keeping, she had been with Athos yet again.
'Milady de Winter. Now I must admit I was not expecting that. And where were Athos and Treville?'
Giroux had basked in the Cardinal's reaction, but he was not about to push his luck. 'Both men escaped and the man responsible shot.' He did not point out that it had been him that had done the deed – no, that he would keep to himself.
'They were being held by one man?' The First Minister was incredulous and becoming somewhat irritated.
'No, it would appear one had already escaped, hence the shot we heard, apparently from the woman attempting to apprehend him. The other had been killed by Athos. Porthos wanted to shoot her, but Aramis prevented him.'
'Then what happened?' Richelieu was staring at the guard intently, his eyes narrow and penetrating. Giroux realised he needed to be succinct with the rest of his tale, as he could sense the First Minister's patience was growing thin.
Milady escaped, though I suspect Athos did nothing to prevent her from leaving, and the others were not pleased. We returned to the château where they had been staying. I had already been told the landowner was absent. When we arrived, there was a situation unfolding – the young cadet was being taken away by a blustering older man. At that point Athos sent me and Porthos away to see to the horses and the man outside.' Suddenly the guard felt the absurdity of his statement stick in his throat.
'Athos sent you and Porthos outside to look after some horses, and you went? What was Treville doing?' Richelieu had now risen and was pacing behind his desk.
Giroux took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice steady. 'He did not do or say anything, Athos was in charge. The next thing we knew, there was a shot, and the older man and the men with him burst from the house. We ran inside and found Athos sitting on the floor holding the young cadet. He had been shot and was dead. After that it was quiet, and we decided to return to Paris. The cadet was left at the château, to be brought back to the garrison later.'
'Who was this older man?' Richelieu asked, his voice low and deliberate.
'I do not know his name, but I know he was here with you some months ago for a meeting.' Giroux prayed he had not said the wrong thing.
Richelieu narrowed his eyes. 'You have done well, Captain. I have one more job for you to do; it must be done right, and done very quickly.' With that he explained the task he wished the Guard Captain to perform and then left the room, his robes swishing in his wake, indicating Rochefort should accompany him.