CHAPTER 2

The present

Serge

"Just 'ow you like it," I say, knowin' the fixed grin I'm wearin' only makes me look like a mad man, but I ladle a generous portion of pottage into a bowl for the soldier standing in front of me as I desperately try to remember 'is name, Dupont? Dubois? Duplantier? No, Dutil. That's it – Dutil.

There once was a time when I easily knew everyone in the regiment but not now. It's certainly grown in number since the Musketeers were formed back in 1622 – doubled in size even. Nearly eight years ago now since it started; it'd be hard to believe were it not for the fact that I'm eight years older an' it feels like it – in my bones and in my 'ead. The memory's not what it was.

It pains me enough that I can't bring to mind the names an' faces of all the men I've served with before the Musketeers an' back in the days when ol' Cleopatra an' me fought for King an' country; those men deserve better from me, yet I seem to recollect fewer of 'em with every passin' year. Then I knew all the Musketeers at one time; prided myself that I could greet everyone by name when they came in for food, but now … now there's just too many of 'em an' there are young 'uns joinin' the regiment all the time.

An' it doesn't 'elp when all their names start with the same letter! It just makes it confusin'. Except for Delacroix, of course. Can't mix 'im up with anybody else; nasty piece of work that 'e is. Now what's that word? E's full of duplicity, 'e is. The word suits 'im. Learned it from Athos. 'Eard 'im use it one day when 'e was talkin' about somethin' else. Asked 'im what it meant. That's when I started thinkin' about Delacroix in that way; it seemed fittin' somehow with 'ow he did all 'e could to be a trouble to Athos.

Someone clears their throat. Dutil's still standin' there starin' at me, his 'and outstretched for the bowl that I'm still holdin'.

I manage to widen my grin, give 'im another half ladleful but 'e just scowls, grunts, snatches up a thick wedge of fresh bread from the basket an' strides over to a corner table. Slammin' 'is bowl down, 'e drops 'eavily into 'is seat, lifts 'is spoon an' just glares at 'is food.

My heart sinks. 'E's not usually like that; 'e's usually smilin' an' has the odd joke. Couldn't repeat any of 'em, mind; proper soldier's crude jokes that're only good shared among men an' they all laugh.

'Cept no-one's laughin' now. I look round the room at the men already gathered there, eatin' in near silence. If anyone does say anythin', their voices are hushed as if they're not wantin' to disturb anyone else. The feelin' is bad an' their spirits are not liftin'; if anythin', it's gettin' worse.

It's always bad when they lose one of their own, but it 'elps when there's a body. When they can bring a boy 'ome an' lay 'im to rest with 'is brothers an' say their goodbyes.

But not this time.

Of course, whilst there's no body, there's still 'ope that 'e's alive somewhere an'll come stridin' through that gateway one day. That's the best outcome, although there're some who've already given up on that notion. 'E'd be walkin' because 'is horse came back all on its own that day; that's when we first knew somethin' was badly wrong. Those sparrin' in the yard just stopped an' stared, all quiet like, an' then someone yelled for the Captain. That's when I came out o' my kitchen to see what was goin' on.

You get used to the sounds at different times of the day. You know when the men are trainin', either in the yard or on the grounds out the back. There's the noise of musket fire, of swords clashin', an' the grunts, thuds an' shouts when they're sparrin'. An' then there's the laughter but like I said, there's been little or none of that around 'ere an' that day was the start of it.

I looked up just as the Captain came out onto 'is balcony to see what was goin' on. 'E knew that horse immediately an' came down those stairs at such a run, I was afeared 'e was goin' to pitch face first into the dirt, but 'e stopped 'imself just in time. That big beast was so agitated that the stable boy wouldn't go near 'im, but the animal calmed when the Captain spoke softly to 'im and ran 'is hand down the nose an' neck. The stallion stilled as if 'e knew the Captain was the man in charge and would know what to do to find the missin' master. As Tréville patted the 'orse, 'e found the blood by the saddle. Dried, it was, lots of it an' it was mattin' the animal's hair.

There was more on the saddle too an' that's when the Cap'n found the note. Readin' it, 'is face was grim. 'E screwed that note up into a tight ball in 'is fist an' started back up the stairs to the office but 'e hadn't gone far when 'e stopped an' turned.

"Jacques." 'E was talkin' to the stable boy. "Look after the horse well; he deserves it."

The boy nodded an' led it away. All sense of wariness gone as the animal was placid now.

"Training is ended for the day; somebody tell those on the practice grounds out the back. Get cleaned up and properly dressed and be back here in fifteen minutes when I will divide you into teams of four and give you a search area."

Then 'e saw me.

"Serge, keep an eye out for his brothers. They should return in the next couple of hours. Send them straight to me and I will be the one to tell them. Get food ready and keep it hot, for the men will eat as and when they return from their search and before I send them out again … if necessary."

It was an afterthought but there was somethin' in the way 'e said it that worried me. I've known 'im years, since long before the Musketeers began. Me an' Claude taught 'im everythin' 'e knew in the early days, when 'e was nowt but a raw recruit 'imself in the regiment we were all in. I've seen 'im grow into the man 'e is now, the leader 'e's become, an' I'm so proud of 'im -not that I've ever told 'im, mind - but I also know 'is moods.

When 'e saw that riderless 'orse, found that boy's blood an' read the note, it was as if 'e was expectin' it.

That was over five weeks ago and there's been neither sight nor sound of the boy. Morale's dropped so much in the garrison that it doesn't exist anymore. The Captain is angry, tearin' 'imself apart for some reason an' I don't like to see it, but I reckon 'e's fightin' with 'imself because 'e knows 'e's got to call off the search soon.

'E's going' to 'ave to declare another musketeer dead.