If you've been keeping an eye on the number of 'earlier days', you will realise that this is day zero! The race to Athos is on!
Thank you to those still reading this and thanks for the comments. Apologies in advance for any errors that have crept through this afternoon.
CHAPTER 51
TREVILLE
The column rides in a heavy silence and the fault for that lies directly at my feet.
The initial euphoria in the garrison last evening quickly faded when I informed those gathered that Athos was being held at Bircann's estate and the significance of those words was not lost on anyone. Athos had been there the whole time and Porthos, Aramis and I had missed him.
That was eighteen days ago. Eighteen days that we have added to his suffering and misery. The blood on his horse's saddle indicated that he was injured at the point when he was taken, but I have no way of knowing how badly. His captors might have seen fit to give him enough food and water to keep him alive, but I doubt they would have extended their generosity to include any medical treatment. Could he have survived this long if infection set in? I doubt that too, but Bircann seems convinced that he still lives.
What bothers me most, enough to keep me awake for much of the short night, is what Bircann hinted at regarding Athos being affected mentally. I still have not dared share any of this with his brothers. From their brooding quietness as they ride just behind me and their fixed expressions, guilt is eating away at them just as it is me. That our inability to find him when the opportunity presented itself and what that might have done to him as a result will haunt us for the rest of our days if he is no longer sound in spirit, mind or body.
But where on Bircann's estate is he being held? We were thorough – or so I thought – in our search of the main part of the manor house as we went through the rooms, cupboards and the attic. We were systematic and looked everywhere and there was no sign of him. Besides, as a prisoner, Athos would not be held in the comfort and luxury that the house offers. The traitor is unaware of Athos' identity as Comte de la Fère. Had he known, no doubt he would have acted differently for he would assume, erroneously, that Athos might be worth a high ransom for hailing from one of France's oldest families.
No, he was not in the house and there was no evidence that he had been held in the outbuildings for any length of time. They were filled with what I would expect for a working estate that farms the land and raises animals for food. Did we happen to miss any hiding places there though?
If I were a gambling man, I would hazard a stake on him being down in the cellars and dungeons somewhere. Poorly lit and like a warren, they would have made it easy for us to have missed something, especially as there were two different entrances to that level. And there we were thinking that Henri Durand, the steward, was being helpful to us in our search.
Is he even the steward? The reaction to him of the mother and daughter servants suggested to me that he was, but I could be wrong. Perhaps he was one of Bircann's henchmen whose role was to distract us as much as possible. If so, then he succeeded.
Aramis had his suspicions as to a handful of men skulking around the outbuildings. More of Bircann's men, no doubt. I do wonder at Durand's claim that there are only seven or eight men remaining to work the estate until such time as it is transferred into new hands. Hence my reason for taking thirty Musketeers with me on this occasion. I will not be taken by surprise and am prepared to put up a fight if need be. I am fairly confident there will not be many more opponents than that, if any. They are not going to hang around if there is no guarantee that they will be adequately compensated for their troubles and they will have disbanded. Bircann may have made provision for a few but not an army as such. At least, that is what I am hoping.
In truth, I am beginning to doubt my judgement and I am losing confidence. How could I have made such a serious error when we were last there? I know there were only the three of us searching the place. It came as an unexpected suggestion mooted by Richelieu, and I had not realised that we were as close as we were. It seemed an opportunity that could not be missed and I was desperate to do something to give Porthos and Aramis some hope. How could we have got it so wrong?
The thoughts are going around my head in circles and I have to remind myself that we did the best we could with such a small number. Should we have ridden back to Paris and got more men in case we faced opposition then?
I confess that I did not want the delay and huff quietly at the irony. What difference would a few hours have made to Athos? We would have had the manpower to search the place more thoroughly than we did; we could have torn it apart, but instead of a few hours, we condemned him to an additional eighteen days!
The countryside through which we are riding becomes increasingly familiar and I halt the column along a river bank about a league from Bircann's property, giving orders for the men to dismount and for Serge, who is bringing up the rear with the cart, to hand out the cold fare he has brought. As the horses rest and drink, the men sit on the ground or a fallen tree, eating and listening as I issue final orders, and hope that I am right this time.
"There is a high wall and gateway to the front of the property, and I do not know how far around the property that extends. I do not intend for any of to start scaling walls. Instead, we will ride through the gates and immediately peel off in pairs. Aramis, Porthos and I will head to the front door, the next pair to the right, the next to the left, the next after us and then the right and so on. Keep it moving and fluid. There is access around the back on either side of the main house to another large courtyard where there are several outbuildings and the stable block. Eight of you prepare to enter the main house from the back as we go in the front. The rest of you will check all the outbuildings for any of Bircann's men. It is inevitable that they will see us coming from a distance and I want to give them as little time as possible to prepare.
"I do not know how many of them are still there. We were told the time that there were about eight men; that could be an understatement, or some of them have subsequently left; we have no idea. Just be on your guard. There were two female servants last time we were here. If they are there today, keep them safe and together in one room. The one I want is Durand."
"You an' me both," Porthos mutters just loud enough for me to hear and I turn to him.
"Don't use any excessive force. I want him to save us time and tell us where Athos is. He is down in the cellars and dungeons somewhere and that is where we will focus our search once we have got the rest of the estate buildings under control."
His expression as he looks at me is surly and I try to make light of the situation.
"If he is reluctant to help us, then I promise he is all yours."
The mood Porthos is in, I can see that I may have just signed Durand's death warrant, but I actually don't care.
Once the quick meal is eaten, the men check their weapons, remount and we cover the final league first at a canter and then at a full gallop until we near the gateway. I meant it when I said I wanted to give them as little time as possible to prepare themselves for our arrival.
Athos was hidden away, and the men had roughly secreted themselves about the property when we came before. I suspect they might have had a lookout and were waiting for us at some point. It is probably that Bircann got word to them that we were hinting for our missing Musketeer. The three of us posed little threat until we found Athos and then, I fear, we would have been attacked. If Durand were telling us the truth, we would have been outnumbered, but we would have taken on the eight or so men to get out with our injured man. I am hoping that the fact that we have been once to the estate might make them lackadaisical and that we might have a little element of surprise on our side, but the manor house is well situated and there can be no sneaking up on the building. That surprise is going to be very limited.
I am also counting on Bircann not having had the time to get a message out of his prison to warn them of our impending return and hurriedly sent a message to Richelieu in the hope that his man at the prison could be alerted to be extra vigilant, my dislike and suspicions of Ferel having deepened.
Our manoeuvre through the gate is swift and smooth and we meet with no immediate opposition. I am out of the saddle, up the steps and hammering on the front door and, at first, there is no answer, but just as I give the order to break down the door, it opens slowly to reveal Durand.
The shocked look at seeing almost a dozen Musketeers only intensifies as Porthos is past me before I can stop him. One large hand has Durand round the throat as Porthos' momentum moves him and the steward into the entrance hall until Durand's route comes to a sudden halt when he is slammed up against a pillar.
"I'm not askin' twice. Where are you holdin' Athos?" Porthos snarls as the man he holds squirms in his grip and makes strange squeaking noises.
I hear a pistol primed and Aramis holds it against Durand's right temple.
"You'd better answer him by the time I count to ten or it'll be a question as to which kills you first. Being choked or having your neck broken by Porthos here or a bullet in the skull from me. One … two …"
It is said so conversationally, and they have used this ploy so many times before – the sheer menace of Porthos versus the deceptive lightness of Aramis - but I can see the danger presented by both and I step forward.
"You will do well to take heed, Durand. It is over," I say as Aramis continues to count aloud. "I saw Bircann yesterday at the Chatelet and he has confirmed that our Musketeer is here and presumably still alive. Make it easier on yourself and tell is what we want to know."
Eyes bulging with terror and hands scrabbling ineffectively at Porthos, Durand makes another unintelligible noise.
"Stand down, Aramis. Porthos, loosen your grip," I order as the other Musketeers finish investigating the ground floor rooms and begin to stream up the stairs. "I think Monsieur Durand would like to say something."
Aramis takes a step back and lowers his weapon as Porthos releases Durand's throat but keeps another firm hand upon the wheezing man's shoulder. He is not going anywhere.
He coughs and rubs at his neck. "He is down below the dungeons. I will show you."
As he leads us through to the back of the house, one of the men is locking a door and pocketing the key.
"Windowless cupboard," he explains as I approach. "The two women are in there for safekeeping. I found them in the kitchen."
I nod approval. "Stay on guard here."
Out in the back courtyard, the Musketeers have rounded up five men and are in the process of binding their wrists behind them as they sit on the ground whilst Claude approaches me. They've been disarmed without a shot fired and a small pile of firearms and daggers is being inspected by two more of my men.
"That's all we found out here," Claude announces, and I glare at Durand.
"Eight men, you said. Are these all estate workers or hired men to guard the Musketeer?" I demand.
"Both," he replies submissively. "Three more rode away last week. Those two," and he nods to specific individuals, "are workers, as were their fathers before them, but the other three are all that remain of the Master's militia."
"And what are you?" I ask, feeling sure that I know the answer, given how he has just referred to Bircann.
"I am as I said. The steward of the house. My job has been to ensure that your man continued to receive bread and water. One or more of them," and he nodded again towards the men who were nothing more than mercenaries, "always accompanied me. I do not agree with what has been done to the Musketeer, but I could do no more as they know who my family are in the village and threatened them if I tried to help the soldier."
Damn Bircann! Durand is a frightened man, another victim of the nobleman's machinations.
"Is Athos still alive?" Aramis asks quietly, a catch in his voice.
Durand nods, "Well, he was yesterday when I lowered food and water to him, but he did not take it."
"Lowered?" It was Porthos who picked up on the word.
The steward merely sighs. "Let me take you to him."
He leads the way to the back entrance and I follow, with Porthos and Aramis close behind me and Claude after them. Two more men are at the back and, as we light all the torches in the sconces as we come to them, I instruct one of the men to go to Serge at the cart and bring back the lanthorns I added to the equipment we brought with us.
In the flickering torchlight, I remember the narrow passage, the steep stairs and the next passage to the locked door. Durand's hands are trembling as he fumbles with the keys so that he drops them.
"'Ere, let me," Porthos insists and stoops to pick them up before unlocking the door. Aramis and I use the torches we are holding to light all that we find in the large space that houses the dungeon cells.
The increased light immediately throws up the change from our first visit. At the far end of the vast room, barrels and wooden boxes are piled either side of an open doorway and Aramis hurries forward, letting out a low, agonised groan as he studies the floor and realises our former error.
"These were in that small room," he gasps. "Look at the drag marks in the dust." He glances at the darkness beyond the doorless opening and turns to look questioningly at Durand who can do no more than weakly nod.
Aramis is first through the door, the first to spy the grate in the floor and the first to drop abruptly to his knees, torch held so that he might stand a chance of looking into the deep dark hole.
"Athos!" he cries, as Porthos joins him and sinks down on the other side of the grate. "Athos!
The despair in his voice is apparent. "I can see him, but he's not moving. Athos!"