Many thanks to all who have been reading and leaving messages. Apologies as always if any errors have crept through here, despite proof reading and editing.

So, the days are passing. How are Porthos and Aramis dealing with the King's ban on further searches in regiment time?

CHAPTER 41

12 DAYS EARLIER

ARAMIS

An elbow nudges me gently in the ribs and a voice is gruffly calling me by name. Prising my eyes open, I am momentarily disorientated, but then realise I am sitting on a bench, hunched over so that my head is bowed inches above a scrubbed wooden tabletop. A bowl of steaming food sits in front of me, fortunately placed beyond my head but the warmth and the smell of the beef and herbs assaults my senses. I straighten up, blink blearily and accept the spoon that Porthos is holding out to me; it was he who poked me in the side.

"You need to get that down you and then away to your bed," Serge orders. He's standing beside me, arms folded across his body, a frown on the face of the grizzled old soldier and I know his clipped order stems from his concern for me … and for Porthos.

The cook glances around him at the near empty room. Most of the Musketeers have been in, eaten and departed. No more than half a dozen remain, sitting at a couple of tables and talking quietly. They are the ones who have been out all day with Porthos and me. All is under control and Serge's kitchen boy can be heard out the back washing up the dishes and pots from the evening meal, so he lowers himself onto the bench opposite us and nods approvingly as we ravenously tuck into what he has set before us.

"There's more where that came from," he tells us and, reaching for the loaf of bread he has also put down, he tears it roughly in half and holds it out to us.

He pauses and then begins warily. "I take it you 'ave no news."

I shake my head, a wave of misery suddenly drowning out the joy of the hot meal, but I keep on eating. I need the strength after the past few days and anyway, it would be rude to waste Serge's food and efforts. Besides, wherever Athos is being kept, he will not have had the likes of this for a long while now and it somehow feels like a betrayal of him to carelessly disregard that which he cannot have.

"No," Porthos answers for me, "an' a total waste of time the past five days 'ave been an' all."

We have been out long hours every day, from sun-up until long past sunset and there was one day when we were too far away to get back to Paris and so we ended up sleeping under the stars and hunting rabbit for our supper.

The Cardinal had a list of five council members whose properties he wanted searched for anything that might incriminate them as traitors, as if they were going to have any such evidence either lying about or hidden at the back of a drawer which we might stumble across if we were diligent enough.

Of course, the five he named all had country properties as well as ones in Paris itself. Other Musketeers were sent in groups to the city homes whilst Porthos and I were sent out into the countryside with six other men, supposedly to affect a speedy and more thorough search.

For a while, Porthos was convinced Tréville just wanted us out of the way as he didn't want to see us and possibly argue with us anymore. It had all come to a head the day after we came back from Bircann's estate. The Captain had been at the palace for an entire morning and he called us up to his office on his return. It was then that he told us of the King's order, that the official search for Athos was to be called off, that he should be presumed dead and that his successor as second-in-command was to be announced by nightfall.

The ensuing argument was bitter; things were said that would have been better left unsaid and I was terrified that Porthos might forget where he was and make matters much worse by striking the Captain. Somehow, I held him back, begging him to get a grip of himself and at last he calmed, eyes brimming with tears of anger. I could distance myself enough to see that the row had been a release of long pent-up emotions, of a feeling of utter helplessness and desperation regarding Athos' plight, and I knew Tréville was experiencing those same sentiments.

All three of us held firm to the belief that Athos was still alive somewhere and that we just had to keep on looking. We were neither ready nor willing to give up on him yet and we were hoping and praying that he would not give up on us. When Tréville told us that any subsequent searches would have to be in off-duty hours, Porthos immediately demanded that we be granted some leave, but the Captain shook his head.

"That will not do. You have already been asked for by name by Richelieu when we accompanied him to Marie de Medici. I would not put it past him to request you again for a task. Your absence would be an obvious sign that I have disobeyed the King's direct order and that would not bode well for each of us or the regiment."

He then went on to explain that the King had threatened to remove him from command. There was no telling as to whom a potential replacement might be.

"At least in position, I can endeavour to arrange missions that might facilitate an ongoing search. We just have to employ some subterfuge, which is why I am giving you your orders for the next few days."

And so he sent us out to the country estates of the five council members, putting us in charge to lead the searches for the evidence Richelieu demanded, but also to spread those searches a little wider in our hunt for Athos. He was trying to help us, to give us some leeway as well as keeping us occupied, but it was a while before Porthos willingly accepted the opportunity.

We could not help but wonder at some of Richelieu's selection for the short list though and suspected that he had not told Tréville everything. That was only the Cardinal being true to form. Why should he tell us everything? Keeping some sliver of information from us, no matter how relevant or vital, ensured that he still had control; of us, of the Captain and of the Musketeers as a regiment.

On the first day, Robert de Ravenel was old and creaking – or so it seemed. How or why would he turn traitor? His was a small estate, the fields planted and bountiful, but the manor house was in dire need of some maintenance. The décor and furnishings screamed of another time and there was the obvious lack of a woman's touch, his wife having passed away some years ago. He was alarmed at our arrival, his distress mounting as he realised that, despite his unrelenting flattery at court, he may have said or done something that gave rise to Richelieu's suspicions regarding his loyalty. As we expected, there was nothing to suggest deception and certainly no sign of Athos, and I feared that our apparent intrusion into de Ravenel's little world in the countryside might unravel the old man completely.

It seemed the reach that Bircann proclaimed so proudly continued to extend, drawing more innocents into a web of suffering.

The second day, we went to Philippe Villart, a gruff fellow in his fifties with a passion for the good life, as evidenced by his rotund physique. I had to smother my amusement at Porthos' expression as, fascinated, he watched Villart's facial twitch worsen significantly when we informed him of the reason for our visit. As incredulity gave way to ire, the man blustered and fumed, the side of his face dancing and twitching its own indignation.

Again, our search was fruitless.

It was the same with Pierre Daumont on the third day. One of the Musketeers with us – Bortel, I think – had to keep him to one side under armed guard as he was determined to halt our search. I assumed a charming smile and apologised repeatedly for the inconvenience, although my heart wasn't in it. We were running out of people and places to search and if Richelieu was determined to upset a large group of the King's council with what looked like wild accusations, then he could be the one to mollify them afterwards. That was the night we were too far away from Paris to return.

On our journey back yesterday, we made a detour to Charles Jolivet who railed for a few minutes at our arrival, and then decided that he really couldn't do enough to assist us. The change was so extreme and so sudden that Porthos and I were both immediately wary. We knew, according to his claims, that Athos had never arrived to deliver Richelieu's invitation, a fact compounded by his failure to attend the meeting on the given day so that the Cardinal had to summon him from his Paris dwelling. He could well have been lying but, despite all our attempts, we could not find a chink in his story, which remained unchanged.

From Athos' likely route, we knew that the last place he visited was the building belonging to Antoine Soubert so today, we went out to his country estate. He was not welcoming when we arrived but did nothing obstructive, preferring to follow us around the property and watching our search with a cold disdain, arms folded across his chest and his annoyance simmering below the surface.

We found nothing there either and it was as we had expected all the time; a dead end and a waste of time. Soubert was our fifth and final council member.

"Do you think Richelieu has any genuine grounds for suspecting the men we have hounded over the past few days?" I ask Porthos as I lay down my spoon and push the empty bowl away from me, reaching instead for the pitcher of ale Serge brought, and refilling our cups.

Porthos takes a mouthful of his drink before answering. "I think 'e's clutchin' at straws. Somehow, 'e knows it's one of 'em at least that's in league with Bircann, but 'e hasn't any evidence. I think 'e's just picked five for us to go an' annoy so's he can show the council that 'e can, that 'e has all the power an' for them to get the message that they can't get away with it; 'e'll find whoever it is eventually and there's no escapin' punishment."

"It's a wild move if he expects them to suddenly raise their hands and confess," I point out.

Porthos shrugs. "I think 'e wants to frighten 'em into makin' a mistake. 'E's just used us to exert a little pressure after their meetin's with him."

The door opens and a blast of cold air enters the room along with Claude* a veteran of many campaigns and someone who served with Serge and the Captain before the inception of the Musketeers. He sees us, nods a brief greeting and moves to the long table from which Serge does his serving, unless he's feeling generous or concerned and brings the food and drink directly to a table, as he's done with Porthos and me this evening. Claude picks up a cup of ale and heads towards us.

"Mind if I join you boys?" he asks, standing in front of us, seemingly anxious. He's never felt the need to ask permission before, but I believe I know the reason for his reticence this time and want to put him at his ease, so I indicate the bench opposite us.

He sits and takes a long drink from his cup which, when he's finished, he turns round and round in his hands, staring at it all the while as though he is thinking about what to say and how to begin. Porthos and I both wait.

"I've been wantin' to catch up with the two of you for the past few days, but you've been on the road doin' the Cardinal's biddin'."

Well, that's one way of putting it.

He runs his tongue over his lips in a nervous gesture and clears his throat.

"I need to know that the two of you are all right with my bein' made up to lieutenant the other day. You know, what with Athos not bein' here at the moment." His voice dies away, and his eyes take in the room around him before settling back on us. "I told the Captain that I'd only be takin' it temporarily, you know, until Athos comes back. Just to help out. I've never been one to want promotion; I've always been 'appy doin' what I do. I expected the Captain to ask one of you two, but then I thought you wouldn't be comfortable with that, you know, what with everythin' an' things bein' as they are. Besides, with the added responsibility, you boys wouldn't be able to continue your search, would you?"

His eyes widen and he suddenly acts as though he has said too much. He reaches across the table and grabs my forearm. "Not that you're actively searchin' in Musketeer time, I know. The captain told me by way of explainin' your absence. He said about the King's ban on any of us continuin' an official search. That's downright mean, that is, given how loyal Athos' as been in Louis' service."

He pauses for breath, realising that we have not yet spoken, not that we have had the chance.

"You are acceptin' of me, aren't you? For a little while?"

He's almost begging us for our approval and part of me wants to reply in the negative. If we do, then it's tantamount to Porthos and I acknowledging that Athos has gone for good and will not be returning. But Louis gave Tréville a direct order; he had to announce Athos' replacement before the day had ended. Claude is an old friend of the Captain and has never sought advancement, just as he has claimed and he is insistent that it is only a temporary measure.

I smile, and it's genuine as I reach across the table to pat his shoulder.

"We know it's only for a short while, Claude, and we are both fine with it. The Captain needs the support and we couldn't want for a better man. We know you'll do a good job."

He grins lopsidedly and relaxes on the bench, the tension draining away from him.

"Just temporary," the seasoned soldier reiterates. "Just till Athos comes back."

Author's note:

* Claude is an original character who first makes an appearance in 'Renegade' but who has been included in other stories.