The King admired his reflection, smoothing down the dark cloth of the plain doublet. He smiled as his hands went to the cuffs ready to straighten the frill on the shirt sleeves. But there was no frill. His shirt was also plain.
He nodded to himself. He would do. He would not stand out. He was one of his people.
At least for a few hours.
Whenever he expressed a wish to walk amongst his people his ministers would roll their eyes and come up with all manner of excuses to stop him. Sometimes he would acquiesce and remain in his throne room and sometimes he would hold his ground and remind them that he was the King and would do as he wished.
This was one of those times.
It would be him and one of his loyal Musketeers.
Aramis was the man he had chosen. He had seen the reaction of relief in the other Musketeers in the room. Aramis had simply been the man standing closest to him. Aramis had schooled his expression of despair well, but the King knew. He knew it was not a duty his men enjoyed doing.
But it was a duty they had to do on occasion.
The King demanded it. He had to see his subjects from their world, not from the comfort of the Royal carriage or on one of those carefully coordinated walks from the carriage to the cathedral.
No.
The King wanted to be amongst his people.
He would leave the Palace in a plane carriage, with Aramis. They would alight somewhere quiet and then walk the streets. He knew Aramis would try to steer his monarch to the safer streets and to a certain extent he would allow that, but he would not want Aramis thinking he had any sway over the King. That would not do. Unless he was genuinely in danger then he would allow his Musketeer to take the lead, but Aramis would not know that he had been allowed to take charge. That would not do either.
He nodded to himself and smiled, he patted his pocket, feeling the reassurance of the money bag he had slipped in there. Aramis would have been given money to use should the monarch desire it, but the King liked to know that he had the means to pay for things himself if he wanted to. It made him feel more like his subjects. He was so used to everything being done for him; it was rather fun to have to make decisions for a change.
A light knock at the door to his chambers indicated that all was ready for him. After one final glance at his reflection, the King turned on the heels of his plain shoes and walked from the room.
MMMM
Aramis watched his friends walking into the distance. They had come up with a plan quickly, they were good at strategizing quickly. And it was not as if this was the first time they had been forced into this situation. The last time the King had picked on d'Artagnan as his close escort for a wander around the city, the rest of them had fanned out in hastily arranged plain clothes so that they could offer further protections for the monarch. They were never sure if the King knew it was never truly just him and one guard, but rather one man offering close protection and three others keeping an eye on their surroundings.
The plain carriage was ready, the driver, also plainly dressed, had been briefed on his duty. He was to stop the carriage near a quiet side street so that the King and Aramis could exit. The carriage was to then take a circuitous route to the agreed meeting place and wait.
Aramis pulled at the dark brown cape he was wearing, making sure he covered his concealed weapons. It was not unusual for the citizens of Paris to be armed, but Aramis was, perhaps, a little more armed than most men would be. He was looking after the King after all.
He wondered what the man would want to do. Having simply taken a turn in one of the gardens with d'Artagnan last time, Aramis wondered if he would be that lucky.
The King appeared at the steps, he looked up at the sky and smiled. Aramis opened the carriage door.
The King thanked him as he stepped into the carriage. That in itself was always strange, but it seemed as though the King could turn off the usual etiquette of courtly life when he went on his private wanderings. In some small way, he was able to behave as his people did for a while. Perhaps that was why the King liked to be amongst his people so that he could be more like them, even for a little while.
Aramis stepped into the carriage and pulled the door closed; he sat opposite the King.
'It like to see the traders,' stated the King. 'I'd like to walk along the streets and markets where people buy and sell.'
Aramis nodded, 'of course, majesty.'
'And remember to call me monsieur whilst we are in public.'
'Yes, majesty,' replied Aramis.
The carriage moved off. Aramis watched the palace disappear as they rounded a corner.
They reached the agreed stopping point within a few minutes. The closer to the palace they remained the safer they would be. The area would still be dangerous for the monarch but there was a better chance of getting the King away from any danger quickly. There were plenty of wealthy people and nobles living in the area who would recognise their King and offer shelter should the worst happen.
Aramis hoped he would not have to seek shelter.
Aramis was about to step out of the carriage and hold the door for his master, but the King stopped him.
'I can do it,' he said.
Aramis sat back and allowed the King to step out before following him, he closed the door and tapped the side indicating to the driver he could go.
'Monsieur,' said Aramis, 'there is a market a couple of streets from here.'
The King nodded. Aramis indicated the direction. The King did not move, simply tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. Aramis realised what he was doing. He was falling back to the usual etiquette. He was expecting the King to walk ahead of him.
'My apologies,' he said and began to walk, finding the King falling in step with him.
'I know it is difficult, Aramis,' said the King, 'but even you will agree we won't stand out as much if we walk as equals.'
'Very sensible, monsieur.'
The King looked about him, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. As they reached the first street with traders he paused occasionally to peer in the windows. He asked questions about the goods on sale. Aramis answered truthfully, pointing out the prices of the goods and what people bought things for. The King seemed genuinely interested. Aramis began to relax a little with his conversations, occasionally offering unsolicited insights and information.
He kept a careful eye on his surroundings but did not make it obvious. He spotted d'Artagnan, wearing a wide-brimmed hat loitering under a stairwell watching them and the people around them. Athos was following several yards away, doing his best to keep to the shadows. Porthos was ahead of them, skulking around a corner.
'Aramis,' said the King quietly, 'I need to take a private moment.'
Aramis nodded, seeing to the King's personal needs when they were in such vulnerable positions was never easy. He glanced around, annoyed at how busy the street had become in the previous few minutes. He wanted to signal to at least one of his friends that they would be deviating from the planned route temporarily. He could not see his friends, he hoped they could see him and the King and see where they went. Aramis had to trust that one of them was watching them.
'I will only need a few moments of privacy,' said the King.
'Of course, monsieur. Perhaps this alleyway; it won't be what you are used to-'
The King chuckled, 'when I was a younger man,' he said, 'I once relieved myself on a pile of manure when I was trying to hide from my father and some dull courtly duty.'
Aramis tried to hide a smirk, the King smiled and led the way towards the alleyway Aramis had indicated. The narrow street was dark compared to the main road. The smell of urine indicated the King was not the first person to slip out of sight to find relief.
'Don't worry I will not go far,' said the King as he strolled further along the alley.
Aramis remained a respectful few yards away and turned slightly away; he was reluctant to turn his back on the King but equally did not want to intrude. The King walked a little further along the alleyway than Aramis would have liked. He could still see the road, but people walking past would not be able to see them. His friends would have to break their cover to search for them.
An unexpected noise behind him made Aramis return his attention fully to his King.
MMMM
The King rebuttoned his breeches and straightened his doublet. He may have been trying to look like one of his subjects, but he still had some standards. It always amused him on his little trips out of the palace that whichever man he was with would be apologetic about their surroundings. As if the King did not know what his own country was like. He knew he was privileged. He did not need his men to remind him of that fact.
A shuffling noise to his right distracted him. Something moved. A shadow detached itself from the wall and stepped forward. The dim light meant the King could not see the man properly, but he could tell the man was dressed scruffily and he smelt awful. The King could not help wrinkling his nose and partially turning away. The man stepped closer; the King stepped back finding himself pressed against the dirty wall of the alleyway.
'Step away from him,' said Aramis, his voice full of authority.
'Or what?' said the scruffy man.
The man was close enough for the King to smell his breath. The smell made him feel a little nauseous.
'Or you will regret it,' said Aramis, who had drawn his gun and was aiming it at the man.
'Will I?'
The King spotted two figures walking along the alleyway. The King could tell they were not the other men who would have been watching him on his walk. If it was his other Musketeers, they would have been walking with purpose. These men were creeping, making no sound. Aramis would not know they were there, and his focus was on the man threatening his master. The King tried to warn Aramis, but it was too late, the two creeping men grabbed him from behind and pushed him forcefully against the wall. Aramis could not prevent his head from smacking into the wall. He slumped to the ground. He was not unconscious but stunned enough to be unable to get up.
The King realised he had no one to protect him. The other Musketeers might not know where they were. He knew Aramis would have tried to let them know, but the street had been busy, and the other Musketeers were probably more interested in watching the surroundings than scrutinising the monarchs' every move.
One of the men who pushed Aramis leaned over the prone man, he braced his hand against the wall before kicking out, twice. The blows caught Aramis in the chest and head, he was still for a few seconds before slowly pushing himself up to lean against the wall.
'What you got on you then?' asked the man with the bad breath.
The King stared at the man.
The man grabbed him and pushed him against the wall, pinning him there. The King was about to protest but stopped himself. If he were to tell the man who he was it would only make the situation worse. He was aware of Aramis trying to get to his feet, the other two men were laughing at his efforts.
'Your man wants to help you, he's loyal,' said the man who kicked Aramis.
'What do you want from me?' asked the King, trying to emulate Aramis and speak with authority.
'Whatever you've got.'
'Leave him alone,' said Aramis. 'He doesn't have anything. I have the money.'
'See,' said the bad-breath man, 'loyal.'
The man nodded to his accomplices. The man that kicked Aramis and the third man grabbed him and pulled him up. They pinned him to the wall and began searching him.
'He's well armed,' said the third man, as he pulled Aramis' second gun from its holster and pushed it into his own belt.
'Here. Not a bad haul.'
The other man found the money that Aramis was carrying. He held it up. Bad breath man chuckled.
'Is that it?'
Aramis nodded, 'that's all we have,' he said.
'He telling the truth? Your loyal man,' asked one of the men pinning Aramis to the wall.
The King nodded before pausing as he remembered the money in his pocket. The man with the bad breath noticed his hesitation.
'Is your loyal man lying?'
'No,' stuttered the King. 'That's all we have.'
'Now you're lying.'
'Leave him alone,' said Aramis.
But it was too late, the man pinning the King to the wall riffled through his pockets and found the money bag. He weighed it up in his hand and nodded.
'He shouldn't lie,' said the man. 'That's just bad manners.'
'We'll just teach him a lesson for you.'
The two men pinning Aramis to the wall tripped him to the ground and kicked him again. The King wanted to protest but knew he could not. He knew that if he protested the thugs might turn their attention on him and he did not want to be beaten. He reluctantly let the men beat his Musketeer. He glanced to the entrance of the alleyway and hoped the other Musketeers would find them.
He could not help a relieved smile when three silhouetted figures appeared. All running at pace, weapons drawn.
The men heard the approaching Musketeers and did not hesitate to run in the opposite direction. Porthos charged off after them, Athos stopped by Aramis, and d'Artagnan took up the role of protecting his monarch.
His ordeal was over.
The King would privately apologise to Aramis when he recovered from the assault. He would also insist that Treville allow the man to rest on full pay until he was fully recovered. And he vowed not to take one of his walks amongst the people for a long time.
The End.
Whumpee: Aramis. Featuring: The King.