Many thanks to all who read the last chapter and to those of you who left a comment
Now for the long-awaited confrontation between the Captain and Bircann.
CHAPTER 50
1 DAY EARLIER
TREVILLE
I sit waiting impatiently in what passes for the gaoler's office in the wing where Bircann is being held. For some reason Philippes Ferel has insisted that he go ahead to warn the prisoner of my arrival! Bircann might be nobility and, as such, incarcerated with significantly more privileges than the vast majority of the Chatelet's inmates, but I doubt very much that it should extend to the courtesy of notifying him in advance that someone has come to question him. It smacks of giving him a choice that he does not have.
My thoughts stray to Gondy who had earned more by being a go-between for Bircann and the outside world. Somehow, Bircann is still receiving information, and the only link can be this Ferel or whoever is Gondy's replacement. I make a mental note to investigate further, chastising myself for not thinking of applying pressure and asking questions earlier. There is little comfort and no excuse in the memory of the Paris flooding, being sent to arrest various people and, of prime concern, the ongoing hunt for Athos.
Ferel returns with an air of certainty and arrogance that immediately riles me.
"The prisoner will see you now," he announces imperiously.
"Oh he will, will he?" I reply, sarcasm dripping from my every word. "And since when has it been up to the prisoner 'to be ready' to see anyone?" I give voice to my angry thoughts, stepping closer to the man and looming over him, which gives me some satisfaction. I would not consider myself a tall man – in fact, many of the Musketeers tower over me; Porthos, Aramis and Athos included – but I am pleased when Ferel flinches and takes a step backwards to maintain the distance between us.
"I just meant that I wanted to see that he was awake and properly attired before I let you go in, more for your sake and to spare you any offence."
"Thank you," I acknowledge caustically, "but I am a soldier of many years standing, and it would take a lot more than a partially clad man to bother or offend me. I have spoken to prisoners in far worse conditions than Bircann."
Ferel takes a breath before continuing. "I would like to warn you that the treatment he has received has left him weak and in a lot of pain."
"I'm not in the least bit surprised, but I dare say that I have seen far worse injuries on the battlefield. No more procrastination. I want to see Bircann now," and I make to move past him, concerned now with the delay and wonder if there is more to it than this absurd concern for my feelings! Is he leaving Bircann time to do something? Conceal something? Or, worse still, time for him to hurt himself further?
I experience a jolt of fear that I may be too late and that I have missed an opportunity to get valuable information so that I have to restrain myself from breaking into a run.
"I know the way," I growl as I push past Ferel and stride to the barred door to Bircann. I hear the gaoler's feet scurrying along behind me and I stand to one side, schooling my features so that they are expressionless by the time he unlocks the door for me.
Even though I am prepared for the state of the prisoner as he slowly pushes himself into a sitting position and swings his legs around with a grunt to place his feet on the floor, I am still shocked and fight to suppress it.
With one arm held protectively across his body – he has damaged ribs then – he tilts his head back and angles it so that he stares at me through the slit of one eye, the other swollen shut and black with bruising.
He gives me a lopsided smile that makes him appear feral.
"I have been expecting you, Captain."
"Then I'm delighted not to have disappointed you," I respond gruffly.
"And to what do I owe this pleasure?" he asks, his mock pleasantries grating on me.
"You know damned well why I'm here," I snap.
He regards me thoughtfully through the slit of his eye.
"Hmm, I had thought you might pay me another visit before now," he complains.
"Unlikely, as you were entertaining the Cardinal."
He gives a humourless chuckle which transforms into a cough, ending with him spitting on the rushes on the floor. I notice that the gob is flecked with blood.
"I am pleased to see you," he says when he recovers himself. "It is quite diverting after all the time I have spent with the Cardinal and his men. I am quite bored with them; it is refreshing to see a different face."
"I'm not here to be a diversion, Bircann, and well you know it. Where is he?"
"That's very direct, Captain, and here am I, thinking that you are visiting merely to pass the time of day."
My hands are at my sides and ball into fists as I resist the urge to punch him. He is, even now, goading me, trying to manipulate me and I must stand firm, resisting his efforts to preserve the superiority.
"I am a busy man, Bircann. I have no time to waste on your flippancy."
"Busy! Ah yes, you are busily searching for a Musketeer who seems to have gone out of his way to remain elusive." The lightness leaves him, his demeanour changes in an instant to become cold, distant. "You and your men have not made a very good job of your search, have you?"
I will not rise to the bait.
"And what would you know about it?" I ask as casually as possible.
He eases himself forward to the edge of the cot. Hands on the mattress either side of him and arms locked to brace himself. He is badly injured after the hours of interrogation and is doing his utmost to conceal the fact as he clutches at his futile shreds of power.
"Oh, I know everything, Tréville. Every place your Musketeers have been, sometimes twice, in the search for your precious lieutenant." His tone is taunting, bitter, and his next words seem to come from between gritted teeth.
"Pity they didn't go back a second time to where he is locked up."
His eye studies me and gleams in victory when I fail to contain my shock.
We have been to where Athos is being held! That means we could have ended his captivity before this.
It is as if Bircann has reached in to read my mind.
"Yes, Tréville, your man could have been rescued before now had you and your men searched more diligently. You came within feet of him."
It is as if someone has just doused me with cold water and I feel sick at the realisation that my failings have prolonged whatever it is that Athos has been enduring. Worse still, it may have killed him!
"Tell me where he is, Bircann," I grind out and then add, as an afterthought, "please."
It amuses Bircann immensely and I want to throw myself at him, to wipe the smirk from his face.
"'Please' is it now? Are you resorting to begging, Tréville?"
I draw myself up to my full height, stiffen my back and glare at him. "If begging is what it takes for you to tell me where my lieutenant is being held, then I am not ashamed and, yes, I will beg for that information."
He frowns, seemingly puzzled by my reaction. "You are prepared to beg for your subordinate? Why?"
"He does not deserve whatever it is that you have done with him."
"But he deserves everything!" Bircann explodes. "He is the reason I am here, why I was captured."
I shake my head vehemently. "No. You are the one solely responsible for what has happened to you; it is the direct result of the decisions and choices you made and no-one else. If it were not Athos, then it would have been someone else. He was doing his job and following orders, my orders. If anything, your grievance is with me; me and Richelieu."
"But I could not get to either of you, so I had to choose the second best," he pouts. He is like a spoilt child caught out in some minor misdemeanour rather than an adult playing god with a man's life.
"Second best!" My anger surfaces. "There is nothing 'second best' about Athos…"
"Oh no, I forget," Bircann interrupts. "This Athos is the best swordsman in the regiment and possibly all of Paris. That is quite a claim, but I have to agree; he is not bad with a sword in his hand. And he is a good lieutenant, so I hear. His absence has caused a lot of angst within the regiment and," he pauses, "for you. Just as I anticipated."
"So you have what you wanted," I persist. "Now do something good at the last and let us have him back." I can hear the entreaty in my own voice, as does Bircann.
"Perhaps death for him would be a blessing," he suddenly says cryptically.
My heart is pounding for I know that Bircann never says things casually; there is always some significance. "What do you mean?"
"What would you and your men do if the man you know is broken beyond healing and could never function as a Musketeer again?"
He waits for my answer, but I don't know what to say for I do not understand.
"Supposing, after all this time, his mind is gone?"
The bile rushes unbidden to the back of my throat and I swallow rapidly, desperate to maintain some composure even as I break out in a cold sweat for this is not a scenario I had ever considered. A physical hurt? In all probability, yes. But his mind?
"What would you do?" he repeats.
I clear my throat. "That we have him back would give us the answer we seek. If he is damaged as you say, our rejoicing would be muted, but we would look after him in every way we can and if we cannot nurse him back to being the man we know, then we would ensure that he has the relevant care for however long it is required. He will not be lost to us again. I have never knowingly turned my back on one of my men who is in need and I do not intend starting now."
Bircann falls silent, contemplating my words and I wonder what is going through that twisted mind of his. I decide to press my advantage.
"It is up to you now, Bircann. You can make that rescue a swift one by telling me where he is, but I will find him, and soon. You have told me enough in that it is somewhere we have already been. I know all the places where we have searched either once or twice. It is only a matter of time now. Where is Athos?"
An hour later, I dismount in the garrison yard, hand the reins over to one of the stable boys and stride into the busy room where Serge is serving the evening meal. At my sudden appearance, the conversation dies away and all eyes settle on me for word will have spread that I have spent much of the past two days at the palace waiting for Richelieu to grant me permission to see Bircann and that, at last, I had secured that precious meeting. They will not have much longer for the outcome. I look around to find Claude sitting at a table and eating with Aramis and Porthos. I ignore Athos' brothers and immediately begin issuing my temporary lieutenant with the orders that I have been considering on my ride from the Chatelet.
"Claude, select thirty men. I want them heavily armed and ready to ride at first light. Give me a list of the men accompanying us and make sure the stable boys know which horses to have saddled and ready."
He nods and surveys the room, his choice in its initial stages as a low buzz of anticipation breaks out and men signal their willingness to ride, even though they do not know their destination.
"Serge," I continue, and the old cook almost snaps to attention. "Make sure there is food prepared for them before dawn to break their fast; they'll eat in the saddle. I want a cart harnessed and you will drive it. It'll hold more food for one more cold meal, blankets and medical supplies. You'll also carry spare ammunition and weapons from the armoury."
The buzz has risen in intensity and volume and at last I look directly at Aramis and Porthos causing them both to half rise.
I dare not tell them all of what Bircann told me but I can give them the first hope for a long time.
"I know where Athos is."