Morning, all. Thank you for reading and leaving comments. Apologies for any errors that might have crept through.

This chapter, we're back with Athos and he is struggling.

ATHOS

I think I have been asleep, but I do not know any more and I try to avoid falling into a deep sleep as it is never restful. How can it be? I cannot lie flat even if I wanted to. Granted I could curl up on my side, but there is no comfort, not with the rough, uneven surface and when I doze, my back against the bare rock, protrusions dig into me, no matter how many times I shift my position, and I feel the cold and dampness. It is ever-present, seeping into my very core. It began shortly after I was put down here, encroaching through my clothes, crawling under my skin and burying itself deeper and deeper through flesh and into my bones. There is no escape from the discomfort and my muscles cramp and stiffen more frequently.

I confess that I do not try to stand and flex muscles as often as I should or as much as I did when I was first forced down here. What is the point? And it is getting more of a struggle to get to my feet.

When I do sleep, the dreams flood in; there is no alcohol to keep them at bay and thoughts of her flood my mind. Ann: the moment we met; the dizzy, heady rush of our love. She intoxicated me; more effective than any best bottle of claret. Those early days were beyond heavenly so that our swift marriage was inevitable. Life with my new countess was perfect. She was always smiling and my tenants accepted and loved her from the start. Loved her, but not as much as I did. Her happiness was infectious, and I cannot recall a time when I smiled or laughed as much, either before and certainly not since.

But there was that smile that she reserved just for me. That smile that spoke volumes: there was the one that was so innocent and beguiling; the teasing, alluring smile during a candlelit dinner and then the one filled with unbridled lust in our marriage bed.

She haunts my dreams even here and I swear I hear her voice, whispering to me out of the darkness; those sultry, enthralling tones of a temptress.

And then I think of Thomas, cut down by a knife blow, the scene burned into my mind. He lies crumpled on the floor of the salon, red blood staining and spreading across his pristine white shirt. He is already dead as I burst through the doorway, rudely summoned by the screams of terrified servants. She stands over him, the murder weapon still in her hand, dripping blood – my brother's blood. More of it fouls the white dress she wears, blossoming from miniature buds into macabre roses and the irony of dress colour hits me. White represents purity, innocence, and there she stands – a murderess and liar.

Strong accusations and it fell to me as Comte to act, to administer justice for my fallen brother. I represented the law and so I condemned her.

But the decision has plagued me ever since, that and her screams forever seared into my memory, begging me to believe her story that my beloved brother tried to force himself upon her. My doubt as to whether I acted correctly or in haste, and the guilt about it being the right decision have tortured me ever since and now, as I sit trapped in this hellhole and await a certain death, she is here, in the darkness, taunting me. Thomas comes occasionally but she drowns him out with her insistence.

My temptress and my brother; both dead because of me. It was me who fell hopelessly in love with her almost to the exclusion of all else. I wanted to be with her all day, every day, so that I struggled to ensure that I maintained my responsibilities to the estate. I introduced her to my home, my brother, my people.

My brother found out things about her, about her past, things that she denied. I could have forgiven her but then she killed him, making the most damning accusation of all. I cannot believe it of him. That is not the Thomas I knew for years: the babe I held, the inquisitive little boy who followed me around, such was his adoration for me, and with whom I played whenever I was not learning how to step into my father's shoes. The fun-loving young man who laughed all the time, lit up any room he entered and was loved by all; loved by me.

I think I was asleep when they both came to me, crowding in with their pleas, arguments against each other and now that I am awake – at least I think I am – they are still here, crouched amongst the Three Gs, whispering to them, telling them about what I did, turning them against me.

"Go away. Leave me alone," I beg, but my voice is hoarse. When was the last time I had reason to speak aloud?

There are more voices. Above me, this time. I look up and see a lantern. Is it water and bread time? I hope so and watch expectantly as my water bag is currently empty and the cramps are returning. The food is not enough to blunt the edge of my hunger and it galls me that I now await the delivery with eagerness.

But the sack is not lowered, and an irrational fear grips me. Have they changed their minds and decided to starve me to death after all? I take deep breaths and concentrate on slowing my heart rate.

"He tried to climb up a few times, but it didn't get 'im anywhere," a voice says and I recognise it as being one of the men who brought me here. He is the main one who brings me the bread and water, but he never says anything more than ordering me to stand back from the sack as it's lowered, empty it, put the previous empty water skin inside it and stand back again. I can usually see its movement because someone holds aloft a lighted torch or lantern so they can see what they are doing.

I am intrigued by the different comment. He's referring to me, of course, but to whom is he speaking? Who has arrived and needs to know? It cannot be Bircann for I know he will be under heavy guard in the Chatelet.

"Has he caused any trouble otherwise?" It's a new voice; rich, deep and well-spoken. Whoever it is sounds like a member of the nobility but, try as I might, I cannot recognise the owner.

"No. He's doin' as he's told at the moment, but how long do we carry on with this, feedin' him and such? This is goin' to drive 'im mad first before it kills him."

My heart skips a beat in panic as I strain to hear the answer.

"All the better then. Bircann's orders are unchanged; you are to keep him alive at all costs. It is his punishment."

Punishment? For my catching a traitor? And how does he still give instructions from inside the Chatelet? This new person must have access to him in prison to relay orders. It is no problem if he is from the nobility, for he then has the means to bribe his way to see the prisoner.

Looking up, all I can see is the light from the lantern and they conceal themselves behind its glow. Disembodied voices that discuss me as if I cannot discern their words and meaning, as if I am not here.

"You still see 'im then?" That's another of the men who brought me here.

"Of course. The Cardinal and the Musketeer Captain are misguided in assuming that they have secured Bircann from the outside world. Of course, the first person who facilitated that contact could not keep his mouth shut, but there is nothing to worry about. He has been taken care of and will not present any further problems so let that be a warning to all of you here. One word to the wrong person and you will end up like him. I have a far more reliable person in place now; someone who knows when to speak and when to remain silent."

There is an awkward pause and I know my captors are digesting the undisguised threat.

"Your 'guest' is held in high esteem by his colleagues," the nobleman continues, and I imagine him peering down at me.

In response, I do my best to straighten my back and stare up at the lantern defiantly, refusing to display any sign of weakness, although I wonder what I must look like now. I am unkempt, filthy, cut and bruised from my climbing attempts and must stink. My unwelcome accommodation is nothing but a hole in the ground and I have to relieve myself when necessary, although it is not much given the paltry amount of what I am eating and drinking. My cell must stink too, but I do not know how long it has been since I stopped noticing.

The voice goes on, arrogant and loud for he wants me to hear. "His absence is already having a negative impact upon the King's regiment. They are a high presence on the Paris streets as they search high and low for this one, asking their questions and going back more than once to the same places, checking and checking again as they gradually extend their search area. They will come here looking for him sooner rather than later-"

"They might not," the lead captor interrupts, and I detect a whine of concern in in his tone.

"They will, believe me," the noble insists. "I know for a fact that even now the Musketeer Captain prepares his men to ride out of the city to search this residence and the country piles of the King's council members. Richelieu must have his suspicions so this will be my last visit here in case I am being watched. I will find a way to send word if anything changes."

My heart skips a beat and hope envelopes me for the first time since I was put down here. My brothers have not given up on me. They are coming. I will be strong.

The noble speaks again.

"Heed my warning. Post lookouts for the Musketeers and be ready for they will tear this place apart. You must ensure that they do not find him!"