Reaching the camp was effortless, and even infiltrating it was unnervingly simple. For all their watchers and numbers, Aramis and I slipped inside unnoticed, hooded and cloaked against the darkness where we entered their number as just two more nameless people come to follow the word of the reincarnated Joan. Naturally, Aramis kept me close to him, moving first as to act as my shield should we be discovered, but I moved seamlessly amongst the gathered commoners without any real concern. The more suspicious we appeared, the more likely we were to be noticed.
Since he knew where Emilie of Duras kept to her tent, Aramis went directly there, quiet and stealthy as a mouse with me constantly upon his heel. Every now and then his hand reached behind him to grasp at my own, ensuring that I was still with him, conscious of my safety. He truly was a dear man. I would have laughed were it not for the fact we were keeping quiet for a reason. I studied our surroundings instead. It was a motley medley of tents and tarps, men and women clustered around fires whilst children dreamed in their makeshift beds.
It looked more like a ragged gathering of farmers and labourers rather than an army, but I was not going to underestimate the power of goldy devotion, and I saw weapons a plenty in the form of knives, hooks, clubs and axes. The weapons of commoners, but no less deadly than the sword. I continued to follow Aramis to a nondescript tent which looked much the same as any other, only slightly larger in size and better maintained from what I observed. We slipped through the opening, where I began to hear the soft voice of a woman inside speaking, lamenting even to another.
Moving silently around Aramis, I looked into the tent to see a young woman sat beside another with more advanced years, huddled close to one another as the younger spoke. I presumed this rather plain and unimpressive girl to be Emilie. "Now I remember everything," she was saying, so I harkened unto her voice to listen. "The anguish and suffering, the cries for help. I feel I'm in hell."
"God is showing you the agonies of the damned," the other lady interpreted, but I heard no sympathy or understanding in her tone. Were someone to confess to be in hell to me, I would have taken them into my arms and tried to console them with all my capability. This woman did no such thing, focused only upon the meaning of the accursed visions. "So you know what will happen if you fail." I sensed a vague threat in the air from the elder woman's words. Perhaps the mother of Emile. I had not the time to consider it.
Next I knew, Aramis had thrust me to the ground without warning, sending me sprawling onto my belly as I heard several grunts from behind. Swiftly I turned, looking to find someone else had entered the tent and discovered us. Aramis had pushed me out of the way of the blade, protecting me from harm. Suddenly other men rushed inside, hearing the commotion. Drawing his blade and sweeping aside his cloak, Aramis stood over me and fended off our assailants as I rushed to my feet and attempted to assist.
In the confined space, we were swiftly overcome and forced back to the ground, restrained and overpowered, dragged before Emilie and the woman who glowered down upon us. "We've captured two assassins." The man who had attacked us first spoke as I hissed through my teeth and gripped the wrist of the man who had fisted his fingers into my hair. My scalp prickled in protest, my neck forced to arch towards the pain to try and lessen it.
"Kill them!"
"No!" Shouting in protest and even with a little fear, I turned my gaze towards Aramis as he struggled against his captors and leaned towards me, seeking to protect me even in his own predicament. "We mean no harm. We are here to see Emilie."
"We come in peace, honourable maiden, please forgive our rude approach," speaking also, I looked to the younger woman, Emilie, who stared back at me with large, owl-like eyes. The elder woman ignored our pleas.
"Let God's work be done," she declared, unwilling to hear our cause. Such barbaric impertinence. For a moment I allowed myself to feel the steady rush of fear as a long handled haft was lifted over Aramis's neck, a rudimentary blade lashed to the end to form a crude polearm. I was ready to fight. Ready to howl and rage and unleash everything upon these acolytes of chaos, all to defend Aramis. I released an anguished scream of rage and terror, twisting violently with a jerk of my head to knock against the tender parts of the man holding me. He released me with a choke of pain and I flung myself over Aramis to cover his neck, thinking only to shield him, when Emilie cried out imperiously.
"Wait!" All froze at her command, as if she had cast a spell upon us all. "I know you," looking upon Aramis, I carefully removed myself from where I had cast myself over him, whereby Aramis swiftly angled himself towards me, cheek pressing against my head to lower me away from the threat of danger. "You're one of the musketeers." Thank God she had stopped them. We both laboured for breath, recovering from the spike of terror which had overcome us. We knew this had been a risk, but it had been one we were willing to take.
"I heard you preach. I…I was inspired," Aramis started, trembling against me as I remained still and silent for the time being. "I want to hear more." Behind Emilie, the other woman sneered in disapproval.
"He looks Spanish."
"I'm French!" The sharp protest jolted me as Aramis moved, our bodies pressed firmly together but when Emilie knelt herself down, I allowed myself to look upon her as she stared rather mysteriously at Aramis.
"They've sent him to kill you," again the woman interfered, thinking of us as nothing more than lawless assassins. Perhaps I could understand the misconception, but I was a little too rattled and angered to feel any sympathy towards her fears. Assassins or no, we did not deserve to be so unjustly slaughtered without first being heard.
"What are you doing here?" Questioning our intentions, Emilie continued to focus upon Aramis who readily maintained her gaze.
"I've deserted to join your cause." Then I felt him press his face against the top of my head, nudging me gently as I continued to cower beneath him, maintaining the ruse of a frightened woman ready to faint. "This is my wife, Madeleine. When I spoke of you, she agreed to follow me." It was fortunate for Aramis that I was excellent at masking my emotions, for we had not discussed any such ruse as pretending to be husband and wife. I made no protest, for it would only be our undoing, but I made note to scold him for this later.
"Please, honourable maiden," I begged softly, and finally her gaze flickered towards me. Perhaps my skills in pretence were more excellent than I believed, for she softened her expression upon seeing my fearfulness. Rising to her feet, Emilie then waved back her men and offered her hand to Aramis, helping him stand upon his feet. He dutifully kept an arm wrapped around me as I turned into him, adopting the role of a meek, devoted wife.
"Have a seat." Finally, we breathed. Seizing my face in his hands, Aramis looked me over quickly, searching for any sign of injury only to find none.
"I am alright," I assured him in a quiet whisper, calm despite the severity of the moments preceding our release. "Are you hurt?"
"No, my sweet," each were as relieved as the other to be thus untouched, and Aramis smoothed back my hair which had come free of its bindings, the cloth now slackened against my neck which he carefully drew aside then arranged my hair so that it draped neatly over one shoulder. "You should not have tried to shield me, Madeleine."
"I'll not stand idly by and see you harmed, Aramis. I would gladly have taken the blade myself." Perhaps it was fortunate that we were so naturally familiar with one another, so devotedly affectionate, for it played into the roles of husband and wife so effortlessly. Any stranger observing us would have believed us to be very much in love. Of course, there was love present, but not of the romantic kind. All the same, I allowed myself to indulge in the sensation when Aramis drew my face towards him and kissed my brow softly.
"You must be hungry. Join me for some supper, we have plenty to share," Emilie interrupted us, either not noticing or not caring for the intimate moment. Bashfully, we moved towards the seats she had invited us to take, Aramis now firmly holding my hand which he refused to let go, even when he was passed a bowl of broth. He balanced the bowl upon his legs, watching as I did the same after failing to twist my hand free.
He tasted his first before I had even lifted the spoon, blowing away the heat and sampling the offered food whilst considering it carefully. It took me a moment, but I realised he was testing it for poison. He tested it before I could partake, to see how he would react to consuming the food. I scowled at him slightly, flustered that he would be so reckless, but after several long moments, he nodded his head discreetly. I allowed myself to sample the broth. "Are you really a deserter, Aramis?" Emilie finally questioned, the three of us sat together before the crackling fire which seared my skin with a fierce warmth.
"When I heard you preach I knew this was where I belonged," he answered, not hesitating in his reply which he delivered carefully and rather believably, in my opinion. Emilie seemed utterly enchanted. "As a soldier, I'm used to following orders but sometimes a man must follow his conscience instead."
"Even though they might hang you?" Inclining his head, Aramis affirmed that even against the threat of death, a man's mind was his own. Emilie's gaze then turned to me. "And what of you? You have not heard me preach, yet you have come willingly only upon the word of your husband. What do you think of your husband's desertion?"
"Aramis is my husband, and my duty to him falls only behind my duty to God," I also answered promptly, the lies rolling smoothly from my tongue as readily as if they were the truth. "Wherever he goes, I go. I trust his judgement, I know he will not lead me astray." Judging from Emilie's reaction, it seemed she believed me.
"I will ask the King to pardon you," she promised, looking to Aramis before her gaze then steadily moved between us equally. "I'm expecting an audience very soon. I've dreamed it will happen." Straightening a little, I lowered the spoon which had been halfway to my mouth as a thousand questions burst to the forefront of my mind at the mention of visions.
"Do your dreams always come true?" Nodding, Emilie assured us they did.
"What are they like, these dreams?" I ventured to ask, innately curious by this strange affliction which seemed to be possessing Emilie with enough ardour that she had convinced herself she was directly hearing from God. The Pope would call her blasphemous and burn her for a witch, no doubt.
"Sometimes they tell me of good things which are to happen, but other times they forewarn me of perils and trials we are to face, but always I am prompted to see my direction to its end and uproot the evil which has taken hold in this mortal realm." Silently, I noted to myself how very vague and convenient this answer was, yet Emilie spoke with such sincerity that I was certain she truly believed these visions of hers.
"People are calling you Joan of Arc reborn," continuing our subtle interrogation under the guise of small talk, Aramis finally released my hand in order to help himself to another serving of the broth, looking to see if I also wanted more. I politely declined.
"I am not Joan," Emilie flushed at the moniker, "I lack the courage to face the flames as she did."
"It will not come to such things, if God guides you then He shall also protect you. I hear that Joan felt no pain when she was burned, for God shielded her with his grace." Venturing to comfort the girl, I smiled to her when she glanced to me with an appreciative nod. Feeling Aramis's touch to my shoulder as he returned to his seat, he asked if Emilie had always received the word of God.
"When I sleep." Then she brightened, looking to us both but chiefly at Aramis. "I'm glad you're here, Aramis. You will be at my side when we ride into Madrid." Inwardly, I prayed it would not come to that. We finished our meal and were invited to remain in the camp for the night. The elder woman dismissed us curtly, having watched us all the while we ate until the food sat uncomfortably in my stomach. We had no tent of our own, not even a blanket between us, so we had to make do with the ground.
"Here, my sweet. Rest yourself against me." Aramis invited as he descended first, resting himself against a wooden ladder which led up into a tree beside the goat pen. I would have preferred to be a little further away from the animals, but it was the closest we could remain to Emilie's tent.
"Of course, husband," the intent of my tone was not lost upon Aramis, who smirked mischievously at me as I settled myself beside him only to find his arm curl around me and draw me close against his chest. His chin settled neatly atop my head, and I found myself naturally turning into him as he used his cloak to cover me so that I would not feel a chill in the night. "What do you think of her?"
"I think that she believes her own mind."
"I agree, but does that make her innocent, or all the more dangerous?" Neither of us wished to deliberate upon the answer, so Aramis took out his little pocketbook Bible and began to read aloud, intending to lull me to sleep with the verses. The smooth rumble of his chest against me gradually reverberated throughout my frame, Aramis's voice gradually quietening as I felt my mind slip away. I slept peacefully, but awoke each time Emilie cried out in terror for her visions which sounded more like night terrors.
Each time, I would start awake and lift my head to listen, but time and again Aramis would hush me gently. I do not think he slept at all, but rather kept watch over me and Emilie's tent throughout the night. He truly was the perfect gentleman, at times.