Happy New Year to you all.

A slightly longer chapter today as I have made you all wait. Here, the Captain has to face the King's wrath.

CHAPTER 55

TREVILLE

I take the stairs two at a time up to Richelieu's office, surprised that, after the day I have had, I can manage to be so energetic for the body is seriously complaining. It would be wrong to think that I am in a hurry to see the Cardinal, but it is a summons that I cannot ignore and, on my ride here, I resolved to get it over with as soon as possible.

I am under no illusions that Delacroix has created a problem for me and I doubt that he was totally honest when he delighted in reporting what he had told the messenger. I dare say he embellished it more than he later admitted and suspect that I am walking into a storm, but there is no avoiding it. I only hope that I can reason with His Majesty or perhaps, given the time of the evening, I will not have an audience with him after all.

The Red Guard outside Richelieu's office sees me striding along the corridor towards him. He knocks on the door and opens it in readiness for my arrival.

Richelieu is sitting at his desk and as I sweep into the room, he's on his feet, his face like thunder. At least he's not pretending to be so engrossed in his paperwork that he intends keeping me waiting.

"Where have you been?" he demands. "The King has been expecting you to attend upon him all day."

"You know where I have been," I snap, for I had sent him a missive informing him that the meeting yesterday with the prisoner had been successful and that I intended leading a group of men to go to Bircann's estate to retrieve Athos, so it should not have come as a surprise.

It has been a day filled with its own tensions. In finding my lieutenant, one worry has been alleviated, only to be replaced by more as we wonder what the effect his imprisonment has had upon him, if any. I really could do without this summons and know that I must endeavour to keep my temper in check. It would not do to alienate the King or the Cardinal any further than it appears I have done after my absence from Paris today.

"Ah yes," he admits, sounding bored. "I did receive your little note late last evening.

"And then one of the Musketeers informed the palace messenger."

"Indeed. A helpful individual. He should go far," Richelieu responds.

If only Delacroix would go far, I think unkindly, but not in the direction the Cardinal is meaning. It's wrong of me to think negatively about any of my men, but I cannot take to Delacroix and never have since the day he was granted his commission by the King. I would never have had him in the regiment had I had any choice in the matter and my objections fell upon deaf ears, so I hate to think just how much money his father parted with to gain his youngest son's position within the Musketeers.

Richelieu pushes himself to his feet. "I will send word to His Majesty that you have, at last, deigned to honour him with your presence," and he heads to the door to issue orders to his guard before turning back to me. "Come along then. Don't dawdle."

Don't dawdle! I am quietly seething and ready to strangle the man as I follow him through the Louvre's labyrinthine corridors. How dare he treat me like an errant adolescent! However, I will not react for that is what he wants but, rather, I will bide my time and endure Louis' ire until I can give a good account of myself.

We wait in the library until the doors burst open. That's not a promising sign as Louis has not waited for any servants to do the opening for him and he strides towards me, his face apoplectic. This is not quite how I wanted this meeting to begin.

"Captain Tréville," he says loudly, each syllable drawn out. "You had better have a good reason for ignoring the several messages I have sent to the garrison expecting your presence and by making me, your King, wait until now. Do you realise that you have interrupted my dinner. This is totally unacceptable!" At last, he pauses to take a breath.

"My apologies, Your Majesty, but I …"

I don't get any further.

"No 'buts', Tréville. You have deliberately disobeyed me. Did I not tell you to desist from searching for your lieutenant? Nay, I commanded you to replace him and to carry on. As tragic as it is to lose any of those within my regiment, it is a loss that one has to bear and to go on fulfilling one's duty. You are all expert soldiers with responsibilities. Men die on the battlefield and sometimes in their daily assignments. It is unfortunate admittedly, but the regiment cannot allow itself to sink into a deep hole of depression and grief, thus reneging upon what is required of them. I have suffered incalculable sorrows in my past and yet I could not disregard my obligations! What kind of monarch would I be? I have a country to lead and subjects who look up to me. What kind of message would I be sending to them if I allowed myself to wallow in a mire of sorrow?"

I don't know how I manage to remain silent for it is not too long ago that Louis drowned those same sorrows in alcohol and refused to come out of his apartments for days when it was proven that his mother was involved in this latest proposed insurrection.

He is in the throes of a tirade though and it is best to let him say what he has to say and tire himself out. He stands close to me, almost toe to toe, spittle on his lips as he vents his wrath at me. Now I know how the Inseparables feel when I am giving them a dressing down for their latest misdemeanour and I find myself wishing that the three of them were back to their old ways. Athos was gone for far too long and the other two have been too exhausted and wrapped up in their misery to attract any trouble. Now, all I can do is take a leaf out of their book and stand to attention, back ramrod straight, staring forward just over the top of Louis' mass of dark curls to a fixed point on the wall behind him.

His words are temporarily lost on me as my focus becomes absorbed with a crack in the plasterwork that snakes its way for several inches up the wall beside a window and ends in a small, round patch where both paint and gold leaf work have become detached. What has happened to the missing piece? Has anyone other than me noticed that it is gone and the resultant creeping damage? Will repairs be undertaken before its impact worsens?

"Are you even listening to me, Tréville?"

I make eye contact and realise Louis' brow is deeply furrowed as he stares intently at me.

"Yes, Sire," I lie, hoping that I am too old and exhausted for a flush of ashamed colour to creep over my face.

"You need to man-up, Captain. Lead by example and the Musketeers will follow. It's time for them to move on from this unhappy episode. They have a new lieutenant and new challenges to face. Enough of this morose behaviour. I will not repeat myself. Are they not my élite regiment? Then they must conduct themselves as such. Any more of this nonsense, Tréville, and I will have you replaced."

I cannot ignore this unreasonable threat and Louis has my undivided attention now.

"They are men; trained soldiers and not a group of women succumbing to irrational emotions. If you cannot demand that they pull themselves together, then I will find another who is up to the task. I am sure there must be someone worthy of promotion within the ranks. In your unexpected absence, Captain, there was one individual who was most helpful to my messenger. What did you say his name was, Armand?"

If I have not yet got the message that I am out of favour, then that throwaway question to Richelieu is proof; the familiar use of his first name whilst I am addressed by rank or surname.

I see the momentary smirk on the Cardinal's face and I am in no doubt that it is solely for my benefit for he swiftly rearranges his features.

"Delacroix," he answers almost immediately, his tone and dip of the head utterly obsequious and my stomach churns.

"Delacroix," Louis repeats. "Now where do I know that name?" and he taps his mouth with a forefinger as he attempts to remember. "I know now. I am acquainted with his father; a minor baron if I recall," and he turns jubilantly to Richelieu, "but very generous when it comes to making contributions to the coffers."

"Indeed he is, Your Majesty," Richelieu confirms, his head dipping yet again.

I cannot hit the King – unless I have a death wish – but I would dearly love to punch Richelieu and, not for the first time, my fingers are itching. I ball my hands into tight fists and let them hang rigidly by my sides.

Louis turns back to me, scowling again. "And if there isn't someone else to take over from you, what on earth have you been doing, Tréville? You must have seen to it that there is a soldier appropriately trained to assume the mantle of Captain. It is unreasonable of you to expect to stay in your position ad infinitum."

When I speak, it takes every ounce of self-control to keep the furious tremor from my voice and to maintain a low but clear volume. It would not do to shout at the King, as much as the idea appeals to me right at this moment.

"I assure you that I do not expect any such thing, Your Majesty, but the man in whom I had a vested interest and whom I had been training to succeed me is the same man who has been missing for these past five weeks," I grind out.

"Then perhaps you should have had the foresight to be concentrating on more than the one man, Tréville. You should not have put all your eggs into one basket!"

Suddenly his face transforms from anger to delight and he claps his hands together in glee as he turns once more to the Cardinal.

"Do you see what I did there, my dear Armand? I love that expression and have wanted to use it for so long now. I came across it in a wonderful book by an author called Miguel de Cervantes. His main character, Don Quixote, comes out with it. My translator, Oudin, is responsible for putting the work into French. 'All his eggs into one basket'," he repeats. "Just like Tréville here. Do you understand it?"

Richelieu nods enthusiastically. He is enjoying this at my expense and they both laugh, but I am far from willing to share in their entertainment and prepare myself to exact a small revenge.

"I accept that it is my mistake, Your Majesty, but it is therefore fortuitous that we have, this very day, released my lieutenant from where he was being held and brought him back to the garrison."

Their laughter stops abruptly and Louis studies me, open-mouthed, for a moment. "You have him?" Before I can answer though, his face darkens again as he remembers my perceived defiance. "As I said before, you went looking for him despite my orders to the contrary."

This time, I stand tall and take a deep breath. "Actually, Sire, that is not strictly true."

Louis looks like he is about to explode at my daring to contradict him, but I press on regardless.

"My men and I were not actively searching for Athos because we knew exactly where he was, so it was a mission of retrieval."

Louis' jaw drops in a combination of amazement and confusion. "How did you know where to go after all this time?"

I feign innocence and gesture towards Richelieu and note with pleasure that it is now his turn to look discomfited.

"I am surprised that the Cardinal did not share with you that he had given me permission to speak once more with the prisoner Bircann. This was yesterday and it was a highly successful encounter where he finally admitted that he was instrumental in Athos being imprisoned at his estate from the very beginning. I did send word to the Cardinal last night that I had the information necessary to locate Athos and that was where my men and I were going this morning."

Louis is far from happy at this revelation, but I am just relieved that the angry glares are directed elsewhere for the first time in this meeting.

"And you did not see fit to inform me fully of this, Cardinal? You deliberately misled me into thinking my dear Captain Tréville had flouted my instructions and allowed me to reach an erroneous conclusion without correction."

Richelieu's mouth moves but no sound emanates from him in the face of the King's renewed rage, and I make no effort to suppress the smile I wear. With the King's attention on him, Richelieu is the only one to witness my satisfaction. Louis continues to rail at him for a few minutes more, but I am past caring. Now that the King has a better understanding of events so that he is no longer directing his anger at me, and I have escaped being replaced by the vile Delacroix, I relax, but my tiredness is in danger of overwhelming me.

"So you have brought the lieutenant safely home to us again? How is the poor man? How soon will he be back on duty here at the palace?" Louis asks me. "I would speak with him and hear of his experience firsthand."

I do not hold back and describe to the pair of them how and where we found Athos and how we freed him from the pit in the ground. The King noticeably blanches when I give as much detail as I can as to Athos' condition, that I pray I am wrong but fear he will not be ready to resume his duties as my second-in command anytime soon. If nothing else, we have severe malnutrition and dehydration to overcome in the first instance. It all serves to remind me that I want nothing more than to be back at the garrison; to go to the Infirmary to see how he is responding to Aramis' ministrations.

"My physician will follow you to the garrison," Louis declares, and I know he is eager to make amends to me for his prior outburst. "It is the least I can do under the circumstances. No expense will be spared in ensuring his recovery for he is a brave soldier of France, brought down in the execution of his duty."

Richelieu clears his throat. "Speaking of executions, Sir. Will we be setting a date for Bircann's trial to begin now that the Captain has rescued his man?"

Louis pauses to glance in my direction. My slight shake of the head is pure instinct rather than anything else as I wonder if the chance of witnessing Bircann's conviction and inevitable execution might help Athos in his recovery.

But the King has already made up his mind. "No, Cardinal. You will do all in your power to extract any more information you can from the prisoner – I will not lower myself to use his name - before we take him to trial. Do I make myself clear? Everything you can."

It is abundantly obvious to the two of us that Louis is giving his tacit approval for Richelieu to use any means necessary to squeeze the last vestiges of information from the traitor and if he breathes his last before having the opportunity of entering a court room, then so be it. There will be no other questions asked as to the Cardinal's methods. The word 'torture' is carefully avoided.

Richelieu and I are dismissed shortly after this and I hastily return to the garrison, eager to find out how Athos fares.

As I dismount in the garrison yard and hand the reins to a stable boy, it occurs to me that I am still none the wiser as to why the King was so insistent upon seeing me. It seems to have been forgotten but I am quickly distracted by the ambience of the infirmary which is welcoming and comfortable; a fire burns in the grate, the log basket stands full and the area immediately around Athos' bed glows in the warmth of flickering candlelight. Porthos sits beside the bed, holding one of Athos' limp hands in his whilst Aramis sits at the central table, trying to pound something quietly in a pestle and mortar, no doubt for one of his herbal concoctions. He looks up as I approach him.

"How is he?" I ask softly, inclining my head to where Athos lies so still and pale.

"No change," Aramis replies. "He hasn't woken at all and there was no response when we attempted to wash more of the grime from him. The dirt is ingrained after all these weeks, but I do not want to disturb him by scrubbing at his skin. There will be time enough for that. We moisten his lips frequently, but he does not even stir for us to attempt to get any fluids inside him. With the fire going and adequate blankets, he is at least warmer to the touch now. I have again treated every cut, scrape and sore, making sure they are as clean as they can be, but some are older than others."

"The King is sending his physician over; we can expect him this evening."

Aramis grimaces. He does not hold the man in high esteem but at least we can press him for a second opinion.

"Any sign of infection?" I persist.

"Not that I can find at the moment, but there is a deep gash on one hand that has wept a little since we brought him back here and seems to have been slow to heal. With good food and water inside him, we should be able to rectify that. Unfortunately, his hair and beard are so matted, we're going to have to cut them short. He won't thank us for that but needs must."

"They'll grow quickly enough," I reassure him and we both glance towards the bed in time to see Porthos stiffen and sit forward, his hand resting first on Athos' forehead and then against his cheek.

"Aramis," he begins, his voice suggesting that he does not like what he has found.

"What is it?" Aramis asks as we move to join him.

Porthos is a picture of concern. "Considerin' how cold he was when we got 'im out that hole, he's burnin' up right now."

Author's note (a while since I've done one of these.)

'Don Quixote' by Miguel de Cervantes was published in 1605, translated into English in 1612 and into French in 1614 by Cesar Oudin, translator to Louis XIII.