Another chapter so soon! Just like London buses - wait for ages and then three come along at once!

Like I think I said at the top of the last chapter, I am desperate to reach a certain point before I head to Australia for three weeks and my days are fast running out!

Apologies for any errors that have crept through this hastily written chapter, although it has been checked at least twice.

Thanks for staying with this story.

CHAPTER 43

TREVILLE

11 DAYS EARLIER

"This is not good enough, Cardinal. You tell me that there is a traitor on my Council and yet you still have not found out who it is! I will not sit with them until the matter is resolved, for I cannot look any of them in the eye. It is a dark day when a King cannot trust the members of his council. What are you doing about it? Tell me that!"

Louis throws himself down into a chair, his eyes blazing with an undisguised fury and I note that I am experiencing a gamut of wildly fluctuating feelings.

Firstly, I am angry. Angry that I have been summoned yet again to the palace for one more futile meeting where the King vents his wrath and Richelieu creates another wild task, probably for the Musketeers to carry out, for he does not seem to be demanding much of his own men these days.

It pulls me away from the garrison at a time when I am needed there the most for I have never known morale to be so low, not even after the events of Savoy when I lost over twenty men in a massacre that haunts me to this day and pierces me with shame that I allowed myself to be manoeuvred into a helpless position by Richelieu. It was for the King, for France and to protect his sister's position as spy in her ducal husband's court. A necessary sacrifice, I was told. A few men might be lost, I was told.

What I was not told was that almost all the men I sent on a training exercise would die, slain in their sleep or cut down before they were able to arm and thereby defend themselves. It was a bloody slaughter of the worst kind and all dead, all save two. Marsac disappeared, never to be seen again. All I know is that he was not amongst the dead we fetched back to Paris and laid to rest in the garrison's small cemetery, swelling its existing numbers by over half.

The other was Aramis with his head injury, traumatised into an amnesiac state, helpless and with resultant night terrors so violent that his screams after dark chilled the hearts of those who heard. It was Porthos who spent the time with him. It was at a time before he, Aramis and Athos developed a formidable brotherhood, but it was the beginning. He unstintingly cared for Aramis, calming him when needed and encouraging him so that little by little, he came back to us. He will never forget those events but has found a way to cope, to move on with his life.

Until now.

Aramis wears a constantly haunted look, dark eyes filled with an unspeakable pain that cannot abate until we find his brother, until he has answers. Yes, he attempts to put on a buoyant front and is full of optimism but I think that is more for Porthos' sake and I can see that it is a poorly executed façade; no doubt Porthos can see through it too. He opts to accept it, and I see that they are fooling each other, as well as themselves, circling around the other as if in some elaborate dance and never quite making contact. Aramis occupies himself with doing his work, continuing the search, forever seeking out people to answer questions, going over the same ground again and again for fear that he has missed something vital and is the one who tries to maintain some control over Porthos, to instil some calm in him and drag him back from the edge of the abyss of explosive outbursts of anger, for if the big Musketeer loses his temper again at this stage, I dare not think what the outcome might be. I saw a look in his eyes when he argued with me a few days ago; eyes that had gone a coal black with long-fermented rage.

I knew Porthos' mood then and I do not know to this day how I would have responded had he struck me, for that was what I believed he was going to do. I would be torn, knowing that I would have to sanction him and yet understanding that his action was the result of an indescribable agony. It was a wild fury born of helpless terror for his missing brother, a refusal to accept the worst and yet, as each day passes, that niggling doubt, that dying fire that was once hope both serve to make him feel a traitor towards Athos.

Do I not feel it too? And yet I try to be strong for them as I see them crumble a little more each day. It's there each time I have to tell them of the latest task set by King and Cardinal; anything that prevents them from continuing their search.

So I am angry towards my King. Admittedly, he has had to face yet another plot to overthrow him, but it has been foiled, even though we still seek to ascertain the identities of all involved. I know what must be going through his mind. An attempted coup today, perhaps an assassin's bullet tomorrow like his father before him, although this time there is no son in the line of succession. It is a factor that deeply troubles him, but I hold fast to the belief that he would not go as far as the behaviour of the English King Henry in the previous century and put aside his Spanish wife for another of child-bearing capabilities. And yes, I do feel some sympathy for Louis in that his mother has demonstrated her lack of love for him by actively turning on him once more, but still he wants to exonerate her and receive her back in Paris. There are some things that he is worryingly quick to forget and others for which he is like the hunting terrier; he sinks his teeth in and refuses to let go.

But I am tired of hearing yet another self-absorbed tirade. I am the King's sworn servant. I took that oath of fealty and yet I loathe him when he is like this.

As for Richelieu? I have no words that adequately express my current contempt for the man who is determined to go out of his way to thwart our searches for Athos and to demand that my Musketeers do the work that could so easily be undertaken by his Red Guard.

No! Forget that notion. I've said it before and will say it again; his soldiers may have the brawn, but they are severely lacking in the brain. Perhaps he insists that the King supports him in demanding the use of my men because he knows the Musketeers will get things done, find out what there is to be discovered and actually accomplish what they are sent out to do. Most of the time.

I am frustrated that we seem to be no further forward than the day we arrested Bircann; frustrated that we have not found Athos and desperately fearful for him and praying that he is still alive somewhere.

"Tréville's men have concluded their visits to the properties, both here and in the countryside, of the shortlisted council members. I am sorry to say that their searches have not produced any evidence," Richelieu patiently explains.

"On what grounds do you accuse my council, Cardinal? They are men who have served my father and me very well."

I give a deep sigh. Here we go again. Richelieu has already said – more than once – that he received exceedingly reliable information from his intelligencers but that all on-going investigations have so far failed to produce a name. He reiterates the incident of someone eavesdropping on our conversation in his office, that Athos went in pursuit and returned with a torn scrap of exquisite cloth.

Louis' eyes narrow. "That hardly implicates a member of the council, Cardinal. There are plenty of well-dressed courtiers here at the palace."

True, I think, but with Richelieu's information, the fact that this person seems to remain one step ahead of us, that Bircann is getting his own information in prison and that he has not denied council involvement when Richelieu has put it to him during questioning, it looks more than likely. He just remains silent on the subject and refuses to part with any names at all.

Richelieu reminds the King of all this.

"And what of your questioning of Bircann?" Louis demands. "What state is he in? Do you need to increase your methods?"

I cannot stop my eyes widening in surprise. Never has the King openly spoken of Richelieu's use of torture. He has known of its existence on some occasions, when it has been deemed necessary, but he has never alluded to it.

Richelieu takes a deep breath and prepares his answer.

"The prisoner is strong in mind, Your Majesty, but the persistent questioning is taking a toll on his body."

I bet it is!

"However, he remains steadfast in his silence in the face of pain, threats and bribes. I have instructed my interrogators to hold back on anything that might cause him to succumb to the methods. It is just that he is taking a lot longer than expected to break under questioning and furnishing us with the information that we require. A dead man can, unfortunately, tell us nothing."

The King looks thoughtful and then slams a fist down hard on the arm of his chair. If the action has hurt him, he gives no sign of it.

"Then arrest the other two rebels that started out on this venture with Bircann and my mother. I was prepared to show them leniency as they saw the error of their ways, turned around and went home again, tails between their legs and without doing anything, but there will be no more mercy. I will not have them or their like taking me for a fool. Bring them before me. They will learn what it means to incur the wrath of their king. They will be an example to others who dare to believe that they can defy the rightful monarch of this land and stand against me. Remind me of their names, Armand."

"The Comte d'Aubrey and Baron Deauville, Your Majesty." The names slip easily from the Cardinal's tongue as if he has been awaiting this moment for he has made little attempt to hide the fact that he considers Louis' proposed clemency a rash decision.

The King turns to me. "Send my Musketeers to get them at once, Captain. Send the friends of your former lieutenant in one of the groups so that they may be kept occupied and feel that they are doing something useful in memory of their comrade. Tell them their King wishes it so. I trust your new second-in-command is settling well into his new role."

The next few minutes pass in a haze for a leaden weight crushes me at the thought of sending Aramis and Porthos out again, but at least this will have a definite outcome – they will be arresting someone. I vaguely recall telling Louis that Claude Béranger is supportive and efficient, just as I expect with his being a seasoned soldier of many years. Richelieu asks that I accompany him to his office whilst he draws up the documents that will seal the rebels' fates and give my men the authority to seize them.

I sit uncomfortably on a chair, the sound of his quill scratching across the paper the only thing breaking the silence that lies heavily between us. My mind is racing as I try to recall where the nobles come from. Deauville's estate is directly west of Paris towards the coast. Just outside Rennes, if my memory serves me. It is a long ride, a week to get there and the same back.

The Comte d'Aubrey's property is closer. Lying to the south-east of the city, it is in Auxerre, just over three days away. I will send Porthos and Aramis in that direction. They will be gone one week as opposed to two. It is when I begin to select men to accompany them that another thought occurs to me.

"I take it that it was d'Aubrey on the march in the south-east with his men when all this began?"

Richelieu nods affirmatively without raising his eyes from what he is writing.

"When was it that he turned around and went home?"

I wait as the Cardinal sands the paper to prevent the ink from smudging, tips the tiny grains back into a glass container, folds the document, heats the end of a stick of sealing wax and lets the blood red droplets congeal on the paper's edges to hold them fast and uses his unmistakable seal on the ring on his forefinger.

"He and his men had broken camp by the end of the day."

"The same day that Athos disappeared," I mutter.

"You think that it is possible that d'Aubrey holds your man prisoner?" Richelieu's brows furrow.

"Why not? We've been unsuccessful everywhere else. We know that Bircann had a visitor shortly after his incarceration there and that he probably had other contact with the outside world through the gaoler. Whatever else transpired in that meeting, it targeted Athos. D'Aubrey must have been informed of Bircann's arrest to leave by the end of the day. Why not have Athos apprehended and delivered to d'Aubrey to get him away from Paris?

Richelieu finishes his second command and sets down his quill as he sits there, steepling his fingers and thoughtful.

"It's possible," he admits. "I wonder at Bircann's obsession with this Athos, his daily inquiries as to whether he has been located."

"Daily?" I frown. "That is bizarre."

"I thought so also. He then usually moves on to asking after yourself."

"And your reply?" I have a definite feeling of unease with Bircann's interest.

Richelieu does one of his indeterminate gestures. "I am as vague as possible and tell my interrogators to act likewise."

He pauses before speaking again.

"I did not want to say anything in front of His Majesty, but I will tell you. Your man is another reason why I have not stepped up the interrogation. I am curious as to Bircann's persistent fascination in him. Even in his cell and facing execution at some point, Bircann still wants to feel that he has the superiority in his sick game, and I believe that he has found a new pastime, for want of a better word."

Where is Richelieu going with this?

"I'm afraid I don't follow you," I admit.

"Wherever this Athos is being held, he is a prisoner and probably in undesirable conditions. Bircann is likewise a prisoner, although his circumstances are likely to be far more comfortable."

"You're ignoring the torture," I interrupt.

Richelieu's eyes narrow. "I prefer to call it questioning and yes, that can definitely be taken into consideration now. From what Bircann has said to us, we know that he believed the Musketeer to be alive still, certainly up until a couple of days ago. What if, as part of this twisted game he appears to be playing, he needs ongoing information from me about the search for Athos? From now on, I will only supply him with that if he helps me by divulging a little more about your man. That is how it has to be if he wants his challenge to work."

"Challenge?" I am more than a little confused.

"Naturally. Him against the Musketeer who arrested him. Who lives the longest?"

My eyes widen. "That's madness!"

"Is it?" Richelieu stays deceptively calm. "We both know from past experience that he likes to break people and will do it any way he can."

This is the first time in many years that he has referred to that time when he rescued me from being Bircann's prisoner.

"We know he is playing a game. At one point, you likened it to chess. For him to continue playing, he needs information from me as well as his other source, for I have long suspected that he continues to get occasional messages from the outside."

"But the gaoler, Gondy, who was acting as the go-between is dead."

"And replaced," Richelieu says pointedly. "We know the first one opened his mouth too much. That's what got him killed. Bircann needed someone to bribe who was discreet."

"Perhaps we need to lean on the new chief gaoler then," I suggest, but then I see the familiar self-satisfied expression spread across the Cardinal's face and sigh. "You've already leaned on him."

"Not as yet. That may come very soon, but I have installed one of my people as a new guard working the same hours and he is keeping a very close eye on the man, both in the prison and outside."

I dredge my memory for what Aramis and Porthos told me after they had met with the man. "Ferel. Philippes Ferel, that was the chief gaoler's name. He despised Gondy for his indiscretion, greed and inability to do his job properly. Ferel had a sick child at home and resented having to work longer hours when Gondy first failed to turn up at the prison." Suddenly I recall something else Porthos said; a throw away comment. "Ferel was thankful for the extra money though. If his child has an ongoing illness, he'll need money to pay a doctor."

"Even better," Richelieu says, smiling in that unnatural way he has, when it doesn't reach his eyes. "I think we have our new link to the world beyond the prison walls which subsequently could lead us to identifying the council member if there are communications going back and forth, and a possible means of getting more information out of Bircann the regarding the whereabouts of your missing lieutenant."

Richelieu is making a huge leap if he assumes that the person communicating with Bircann is the rogue council member but we have precious little else to go on and as for his theory that Bircann is playing a game of 'who gives up first' with Athos? Well, it's preposterous but when Bircann is at the centre, it is strangely plausible. Can Richelieu get him to give us more information regarding Athos' whereabouts? That remains to be seen and I am a little suspicious of the Cardinal's motives in appearing to be so helpful to me. I am sure that, if successful, he will be looking for some sort of reciprocal gesture from me in the future.

Right now, I cannot think on that and I do not care. All I know is that I feel the first stirrings of hope that have not been there for many days.