*** Ch11 pt2 Philippe's rescue

The shadows of the four fighters stretched on the avenue scarred by the races of the previous battles. Long black furrows, traces of the wagons, of the struggle of the barricades, of the fleeing troops, made their way towards that distant west, towards a rocky and sunny island, better known among the maritime troops for its impregnability. A port nearby that was not entirely unknown to them. Messages were often forwarded from there to counterattack the most distant sieges or contact the royal Iberian troops, but for this very reason it seemed even more difficult to reach those coasts in that short time.

As they walked in respectful silence, the sun set among the bushes and the trampled roses of those deserted gardens. The barracks began to light up, rearm and firing on the evening lights, they boiled with the voices of the soldiers and the armies slowly united, but not yet ready to leave. Even the servants of the court fearfully returned to the kitchens, the cellars and their rooms.

So the whole city still seemed unaware and unaffected by this new siege, among those jagged western coasts. A great fortress, on the long, twisting beach of an island that seemed so remote, yet not too far away for the city's business.

"Find yourselves at the Hill of the Mill, on the side facing the bell tower, at the stroke of the third night hour" - D'artagnan's words interrupted a silence still full of questions. The three turned towards the young man and their thoughtful faces gave way to half a smile.

"I'm pleased to note that your plan involves something else that we haven't heard from for a long time. Well then, pack light, it means that we will arm ourselves with the weapons of our enemies!"- added Porthos.

The young man nodded.

"And who should we ask about?"- said Aramis.

"Not whose, but what! Bread and beer, for now. If our comrade's words coincide with his actions, we are above all the troops. Faster than any coach. We will travel light and arrive before everybody. So it means that now we will have plenty of time to sit and talk!"- said Athos.

Thus, in spite of the insurrectionist rebels and the royal armaments, the four combatants said goodbye and separated with the promise of meeting again just outside the city gates. On the road again, towards Quiberon and the west coast, a journey which for all the armaments involved could not have lasted less than five days, and yet they had the freedom and the audacity of leaving and arriving three days earlier than everyone.

They made use of the first by reaching that place secluded from city affairs, sleeping and resting outside the walls of Paris to discuss together what had not yet been said.

Unlike the long silences of some time before, it was Athos who opened the first speech:

"Until today I knew everything that is known about court affairs and what I have told you many times. The Good King was baptized, to marry his Queen. For love? We don't know. He never abandoned his closest alliances: the Monsorot were among his family's favorites and perhaps that was one of the very few things in common between the two spouses".

The campfire shone on his eyes, unconcerned at first, but little by little more and more sad, while the others still listened in silence.

"Rouen and Beauvais are not too far from each other and for years there was talk about further alliances. There was so much admiration and envy between our two families that some of my ancestors adjusted their tastes and life to the wishes of the marquises, even before the Queen. In hindsight, a business seen so badly".

At the words of their companion, Porthos and D'Artagnan showed vague indifference. A bit of boredom for those distant policies settled on their arms. A speech perhaps heard too many times, from one mouth or another, more or less well-known rumors and affairs. It was perhaps stranger to hear it again and in so much detail from Athos's, but not so much as to take his words to heart or notice how much they weighed and had now changed so much value even for their own companion. Aramis turned, perhaps more attentive to those long pauses, to the fingers nervously tightened on the hilt guard or his closed teeth, in that long sigh of resentment.

"Envy and jealousy reigned among our families, it was difficult to remain impartial when the next favor was given, a grace was granted or a gift was received. At the time I was still young and few rights had been given to me. That world weighed on me and my duty was to keep it upright and carry it throughout my life: I was part of my lineage and mine would have been the choice".

The campfire danced lightly on the branch that shook the burning coals. Memory of the Greek fire, the one that killed and razed the Normandy court to the ground.

"Of course, the tragedy of those years changed all this. My house could be the next victim of those mysterious conspiracies. The alliances with the Dukes of Orléans were no longer in our favor. The same conspiracies that led to the massacre and Richelieu's rise to power" – he continued.

"What did the attackers steal, really?"- asked D'Artagnan.

"Few things of value, but the news of who was killed caused a sensation. I always thought that the robbery was just a pretext and all this was done on purpose to oust the marquises of their power".

At that moment Aramis continued that conversation, as if their words were completed from an all-too-repeated rumor to a story never told before.

"Few were made aware that the King's brother, Prince Philippe, was hiding in their care".

"That night the prince was also taken from his old home in Normandy. The fact that he was never found made all the survivors think that Philippe was still alive. At the same time, the absence of a legacy and an official declaration from the King's possible enemies gradually extinguished our hopes".

"Yours?"- asked Porthos.

"The prince and myself. We were both welcomed with open arms by that family, treated like children, we lived our adolescence in that house almost like brothers"– she replied.

"Brothers? And who would you be, then? Who would you really be?".

Porthos lowered his guard for a moment. No challenge or provocation was hidden in the question. Aramis continued:

"As soon as they heard the terrible news, the D'Herblays immediately asked for my return to Brittany, they arranged a hasty wedding to save what could be saved, but I never came back. They thought I had died in the pain of a broken heart. I believed they were right".

"Renée was the bride promised to her murdered son of the marquis"– the distant court voices, once uttered so anonymously and tactlessly, brought another tone to Athos's voice, squealed with a remote resentment. That bleak hindrance of not having been able to do anything as not being aware of what had happened...

"That ghost that never sleeps and still cries today, when the wind blows across the green plains of Buneaux? It is a beautiful song, it blows in many valleys and has many names..."- nodded D'Artagnan.

"Uh… So, all court rumors?"

"What do you think?"- Aramis narrowed her gaze at Porthos' question.

"Good to know"– he replied.

"A childhood friend can always grow up changing his mind, biting the hand that fed him, people change, especially in their youth. What if this man had grown up in league with the rebels, educated in betrayal of his mentors?- he soon continued.

"It is so naive to base all this loyalty on a distant memory, to fish for the rare possibility that everything has remained exactly as it was..." - said D'Artagnan.

"I will accept this risk, in the belief that the judgment of my predecessors has foreseen for him the same honest future that they tried to teach. If that were the case I would have nothing to fear" – she replied.

"How can I wake yourself up from this eternal nightmare and explain to you how all this is just an illusion?".

"Porthos is right, the court has always been a den of vipers. The favors of one family over another will certainly not change the nature that raised and cultivated them!"- said Athos.

"Giving this character free rein would only get us into trouble again".

D'Artagnan interrupted them:

"Nor should you. It is not our job to judge this man. Once in the presence of the King, the judgment will be his could infiltrate between the rebels and kidnap Philippe the same way our enemies did, deprive him of any power and hand him over to the King without him having the possibility to act. If he's in charge of this and it's his intention to continue, we'll leave him right where he is. In the meantime, we will remain faithful to our word of honor, without losing our grip on those criminals. If Aramis is right, we will reap the benefits of our efforts".

"But what if she's wrong?"- asked Porthos.

"There would still be time to abandon the mission, return to the camp and blend in with the attacking troops".

"If this Prince is therefore only an innocent victim of the same infernal machine of the rebels, how was he bewitched into the illusion of being on the right side? Who is really hiding in Belle Ile?".

"He is the first man behind the Iron Mask who holds the threads of this conspiracy that has been going on for years. He was behind all these attacks, behind the mercenary robberies and the arrest of Richelieu. Milady is also under his power, she is the one who ultimately managed to take Richelieu's position at court and was his first tool to keep everyone under his thumb. And yet he never got his hands dirty with a single crime, but he set up lines and murderers everywhere".

Aramis remembered the powerful, agile man he had fought against. She remembered their conversation and the secrets that the mysterious man carried inside and would never have revealed to his bitterest enemy.

"This man carries within himself a very great pain. Perhaps he too is afflicted by a past that still does not abandon him... He too is afflicted by the eternal desire for revenge".

"A man destroyed by his own past who has been granted nothing, willing to claim all his rights by force if necessary"- said D'Artagnan.

"His violence makes us different, but may his story serve as an example to you. This is how those who live in the past are reduced, rotting in the putrid of their wounds. Yesterday he was the assassin you already killed and today he is the man hiding behind the iron mask. Tomorrow who will stop us from living?" - Athos' question was not answered.

"This will be the end of us if we never stop seeking revenge, Aramis."

The man behind the Iron Mask took a breath and looked around. A large and cold room, where an array of soldiers and mercenaries on tow, were attending to his needs. The troops had carried out his orders admirably: the speed with which they had managed to return and besiege Belle Ile en Mer seemed an impossible task for the fastest messengers. The surviving prisoners of the fortress had been confined to the basement, the Prince confined in one of the turrets on the upper floors. Impossible for him to escape and ask for help.

"With the royal loot we will be able to live comfortably for years" - he said, turning to his accomplice.

"But this would mean surrender and escape. Disappear like cowards before the Spanish troops will reach the coast"– she replied.

The man put his hands on his hips and sighed. In front of him, between the flames of a candelabra and those of the fireplace, the memories of a silent and untold past were revealed. A severe and atrocious commander of all those troops, yet in the humble service of the woman he himself had hired. Subject of his own creation.

"Disappear forever, disappear from the sight of judgment, live forever in peace and love, wasn't this our distant dream, Milady?" - he said, his voice was no more than an inaudible whisper that only she was allowed to listen to.

"And thus lose the vision of those families on their knees amidst desperation and blood? Not at all! You are the one who was pardoned! I'm the one who was put on trial and punished! May divine punishment return to these people, all of them without distinction of class, gender, race and cult, with the same impetus with which it was hurled at me! We will wait for the arrival of the Spanish troops and fight to the death. If all is lost, we will still have the head of a king".

The man came to his senses and nodded.

"At your command, Milady".

"And yet it's not a bad island at all! On the contrary..."

"Otherwise they wouldn't have called it Belle Ile!"

The voices of Porthos and D'Artagnan were still audible, although Aramis and Athos realized that the two companions were slowing their pace and moving away from them. They remembered leaving the two in the lead, in the direction of the high peaks of the turret, but little by little their movements seemed band behind them, in their same direction, towards the basements and kitchens of that fortress that was growing bigger and more twisted with every step they took.

Porthos and D'Artagnan had changed their direction, having noticed a camp of some men on the beach. Weak fire and distracted guards hid their advance. The few weapons and light shoulder straps necessary for that short journey on the flyingtool, became the first obstacle to overcome. For this reason, finding new weapons and disguises to move forward became a necessity.

Few distracted and tired men, easier to overwhelm in a moment, but at Porthos' call up towards that camp not too far away, only the boy replied.

"Where are the others?"- asked Athos.

Aramis looked behind, it seemed like there was no one behind her. The two were briefly distracted towards the fortress courtyard, looking for D'Artagnan and Porthos, but not noticing the two behind themselves, they continued to proceed slowly forward.

"They will arrive" - Athos turned towards her and motioned for her to follow him.

There was no exit from that path of the high walls, trapped in a labyrinth of rock. They heard the sound of more footsteps as they realized they had reached a courtyard that led nowhere. Alone, unarmed, trapped.

Late at night, the two prisoners were led towards an underground cell of the fortress, one into each other's arms. A scene that caused the ridicule of some men, but the attention of their tyrants, ready for threats from atop the walls.

Milady reacted to that laughter by moving away from her ally, leaning for a moment on the balcony of the upper rooms. Belle Ile was a fortress, not a reception hall. The man at her side had done everything to make it suitable for the tastes of a noblewoman, but its walls and towers were corroded by ocean salt, rust stained the white stone, reminding them how in a fortress one must defend their life, must fight and not rejoice in the victory of a simple battle. They had lost Philippe's trust and had gained two completely anonymous prisoners for their social power.

Could their lives, after all, have such an important value at court?

Iron Mask looked at them with much less interest, downed another bottle and threw it against those much hated walls, a forced conquest, symbol and fear of imminent defeat.

A breeze blew over the walls and turret. The lantern that Milady was holding in her hand shone with a feeble light, almost extinguished, and then immediately turned back bright again. At that distant light, Athos seemed to turn his gaze towards them, in the emptiness of the distance he certainly didn't recognize anything, but something in her jumped. She felt a tremor of melancholy as she watched the face of that man in the darkness, in chains, reaching out to Renée and being carried away by the band of their mercenary fighters. Impossible as it was, in that moment she seemed to see his blue eyes on her one last time. The anger of revenge merged into desire, love, hate, memories and the present.

The man next to her noticed her leaning over and leaned against the balustrade of the terrace, sighing.

"Do you know him?"- he asked sternly.

She shook her head, but continued to dreamily observe the space in front and the procession of prisoners disappearing. The memory of what had been, what would have been and will never be again.

He took off his mask completely, his intense gaze stopping at the woman's hesitation. The gray eyes of that much coveted man, once so desired and so remembered in her distant memories of such a painful youth.

"Look at me"- the man said to Milady, but she did not fix her gaze on him for more than a brief moment, and then lowered it again.

"Do you feel contempt? Are you ashamed to accompany someone like me?"- he asked in a challenging tone, she shook her head, thus denying his words.

"And I, who in all these years have never stopped thinking, not a single minute. But it wasn't like that for you. I am reduced to this only because of you, and yet someone else has taken my place in your heart!" - he said without hesitation. He sighed, his voice became more fragile than it might appear, but he didn't break into tears. He did not fall into despair. When Milady exchanged one last look with him, there was no desire, there was no longer that hope of the past, it was no longer the same thing.

In a revenge that had motivated him for decades, he had finally regained with the blood of fallen victims everything he had lost, but everything comes with a price. And the price paid this time was perhaps the dearest.

Like a broken glass bottle. Impossible to put all the pieces back together.

She looked up at the empty square, a breath of cold wind blew between the two.

"How can you think something like that?"- Milady whispered, no longer looking at him.