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So, is Athos any closer to finding out what bothers the Captain?
ATHOS 36 days earlier
The Captain says nothing all the way back to the garrison and when my one casual comment referring to our meeting with the Cardinal is greeted with an indecipherable grunt, I sink into silence as well, but my mind is racing at the unexpected things the day has brought.
First there is the revelation that the King's mother is up to her dastardly tricks again. I cannot believe the arrogance of the woman that she dares to take up residence within the palace, ostensibly to repair the broken relationship that she has with her son, only to reignite plans for seizing his throne. Either she is sorely deluded or is convinced that she has might on her side in the form of Bircann's fighting force and that this time, her efforts will prevail.
Or is she the pawn in a game being played by a power-hungry noble who thinks that by manipulating and restoring her to the throne, he will gain significant favour and influence? There can be no doubt that he is expecting something in return for his troubles and for assuming such risks, particularly since he has had to maintain a low profile after the last debacle.
I am amazed that he was allowed to live after his previous treachery, but live he did. When I asked about him earlier, in the confines of the office as we settled to make our plans to deal properly with the man, Tréville was obviously reluctant to say anything beyond what was necessary. With the little he did impart, I tried to put the pieces together.
Bircann had been a prominent figure in an uprising that had been sudden, bloody and brutal and had taken the King's men by surprise. Their loss of control had been shocking and brief and during that time, Tréville, already an officer, had been taken prisoner. Bircann had initially tried to use him and other captives as a bargaining tool to exert more power, but Richelieu had persuaded Louis to stand firm and not to capitulate to blackmail.
As I sat there in the Captain's office, listening to him, watching him, something came over him that I had never seen before and I'm struggling to put it into words even now, as he rides slightly ahead of me. The rigid set of the shoulders and the grim expression that has not changed for several hours all speak of something so serious, so different from anything that I have known in him thus far. He could never be described as being an open book and there are many occasions when he successfully masks what he is feeling, endeavouring to distance himself from most of the men, but my rank means that I work more closely with him than the majority, am privy to more of his innermost thoughts and I have long believed that I know him well enough to be able to determine his moods … until now.
We ride in silence through the archway into the garrison yard and the stable boy runs to meet us, taking the horses' reins from us as we dismount. Without a word, Tréville strides away from me and I look from him to the table at the base of the stairs where Aramis and Porthos are sitting waiting. They, in their turn, look from him to me and Aramis mouths a question, but all I can do is give a slight shrug.
Without doubt, something is troubling Tréville, and I have no idea how I can help.
Halfway up the stairs, he stops, turns and looks down at me.
"We have work to do," and with that, he is gone.
Aramis leaves his seat on the bench to intercept me, his brow furrowed with concern, but I shake my head and raise a hand to stop him. He wants to know more, but I do not have the answers to his questions for they are my questions as well.
When I reach the balcony, the Captain has left the door open for me, but I still tap on it lightly to announce my presence before I walk straight in. He is standing behind his desk, two glasses set before him as he uncorks a bottle and pours a generous helping of brandy into each. Sighing loudly, he runs a hand through his hair, raises one of the glasses to his lips and downs its contents without a second thought. I watch as he pours a refill, sits down, gestures with an index finger to the other drink for me to help myself, and then stares morosely into the top of his glass, turning it absent-mindedly in his hands.
No, this is definitely not the man I have come to know and the change in him worries me.
"How long were you Bircann's prisoner?" I ask quietly after several minutes have elapsed. He refills our glasses again and avoids making eye contact with me so that I wonder if he is ever going to answer.
"Seventeen days and eight hours." Taking another drink, he swills the burning, amber liquid around in his mouth before swallowing.
"That is very precise," I say slowly, hoping to prompt him to elaborate. The fact that he has not hesitated in his specific response suggests that his incarceration had a profound effect upon him and that he has thought of little else since Bircann's return.
He takes a deep breath. "It was … memorable, for all the wrong reasons."
I cannot bring myself to ask directly if there was any ill-usage by Bircann so settle for working around to the subject. "Were conditions that bad?"
He pauses and then gives a humourless chuckle.
"Conditions, prisoner treatment …" His voice trails off and his face darkens. His comment has ignited an unpleasant recollection. "Bircann is inventive with his punishments."
A chill runs down my back but no matter how much I want to know, I recognise that I cannot push him further on that point. If he is to tell me, he must do it in his own time. Something else occurs to me, something relating to the long-standing rivalry and tensions between the Captain and the Cardinal.
I take a deep breath. "You said earlier that Richelieu persuaded the King not to give in to Bircann; that would have had a dire impact upon the prisoners, including you. Is his action what lies between the two of you after all this time?"
Now, a little surprised, he raises his eyes and looks directly at me. "You misunderstand. Richelieu saved my life; I am beholden to him."