"Your Majesty," Athos said, voicing the relief of them all. He bowed deeply, and the others followed.
"Oh, my friends," the Queen said in her soft voice. "How relieved I am that you have finally returned to us. D’Artagnan, Aramis—how fare your injuries?"
D’Artagnan felt himself flush with pride and loyalty that such a thing would be Her Majesty’s first question of them, given all that she must have been through recently.
"Much improved, Your Majesty," Aramis answered. "Young d’Artagnan is nearly recovered, and I will not be far behind."
"Indeed, Your Majesty, Aramis speaks the truth," d’Artagnan said. "It is very kind of you to ask."
"I am very pleased to hear it," said the Queen. "The bravery and sacrifices made by all of you on my behalf have been much on my mind since we parted."
De Tréville cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "Gentlemen; Milady. I, too, am relieved to see you here safe and whole. However, as you will certainly have realized by now, we have important matters to discuss."
Athos’ gaze flicked to their hosts, and de Tréville followed the gesture with his single eye. "You may speak freely before M. Rougeux and his wife. They know everything, and I will vouch for their loyalty."
"Forgive me, madame; monsieur," Athos said. "These days it pays to be cautious."
"Indeed it does, young man," Mme Rougeux said, smiling. "No offense was given or taken, I assure you."
Athos turned back to de Tréville. "Sir, we are aware that you sent Porthos and Grimaud out with different messages—"
"Something that I would like to have a word with you about at some point, sir," Porthos put in.
"And so you shall, Porthos," de Tréville said. "I’d feel the same in your position, but you must understand that the Queen’s safety is paramount. I had to act with that in mind, not whether I might cause offense to a loyal man."
"Porthos is indeed loyal," Athos said. "To no one’s surprise, sir, the inn at Châteaudun remains unmolested, proving his innocence. I would like your permission to ride for the other location—the one you gave to Grimaud—and see what has become of it. If, as seems likely, it has been attacked, I will ride on to Blois to deal with Grimaud personally."
"Athos, you don’t have to do that," Aramis said from his position by the wall.
"I believe that I do," Athos replied immediately.
"You really don’t, you know," said Porthos.
"And yet I still insist upon it," Athos said.
"If you are serious about doing this, I will come with you," Milady said.
"You will not," Athos replied, his eyes flying to hers, with some heat behind his voice for the first time.
Milady opened her mouth to argue, but was cut off by the Queen’s low voice. "Milady, I am sorry to keep you from your husband, but I need you here with me. Mme Rougeux has been unfailingly kind and helpful, but I believe my time is coming soon, and I confess that I fear to face it without you at my side."
Milady turned to her, softening as the other woman smoothed a hand protectively over her full belly. She looked back to Athos, visibly torn.
"You’re not going alone," she told him firmly.
De Tréville spoke from beside the Queen. "D’Artagnan, you will accompany Athos to the second decoy location at Illiers-Combray and then, if necessary, to Blois. Milady will assist the Queen, and Aramis and Porthos will stay to guard all of us here."
Athos looked pensively from de Tréville to d’Artagnan before nodding his agreement, and d’Artagnan quickly replied, "Yes, sir."
"I told Grimaud that we would be at the abandoned manor house that belonged to the Comte de Thimerais," said de Tréville. "It’s ten minutes south of the crossroads in Illiers-Combray, just past a large stone bridge. The estate is less than six leagues from here; if you leave now, you might arrive there before you lose the light this evening."
No one looked truly happy with the plan, d’Artagnan noticed, but they all moved quickly nonetheless. He and Athos were given food and wine, which they ate and drank efficiently before heading to the stable. Athos moved to saddle Aramis’ mare, which had been on loan to de Tréville and was, therefore, fresh.
"You don’t have to do this, you know," said the older man without turning around, unconsciously echoing what the others had tried to tell him shortly before.
D’Artagnan couldn’t contain a small snort of humor. "Given that I was just ordered to do so by the person who gave me a position in the Queen’s Musketeers, I believe you are mistaken, Athos. Additionally, there’s the small matter of Milady most likely killing me in my sleep if I let you ride out of here alone."
His attention was distracted by a familiar nicker before Athos could do more than frown in answer, and he crossed to a roomy box stall where a very familiar furry head in an unlikely shade of buttercup yellow hung over the door. His father’s pony shook himself and snorted loudly as he approached, spraying d’Artagnan with a fine mist of snot.
I’ve missed you, too, you little brute, he thought silently, scratching the double cowlick of hair on the gelding’s forehead and trying, irrationally, to connect with his father’s presence somehow through the old animal. He became aware of Athos watching him, and cleared his throat.
"Should I take my own horse, then?" he asked.
Athos paused for a moment of thought before shaking his head. "No, best not. We should leave the pony for the Queen, on the off chance that something happens and she needs to leave this place. Besides, an ambler is fine for steady travel, but we may need to move quickly."
D’Artagnan nodded, accepting the logic, and moved to the stall housing Grimaud’s mare instead.
Athos said, "I’m sure Porthos or de Tréville wouldn’t mind if you’d prefer to use one of their mounts for the journey."
D’Artagnan shrugged and continued to halter the mare, digging in his pocket for the crust of bread he’d secreted there earlier as a peace offering. "It’s all right. I suppose I’ve become used to her, and you have to admit that she’s a tough little thing." He smiled faintly, trying for humor. "Besides, who knows? Perhaps we’ll meet bandits on the road and find ourselves in need of her protection."
The two men finished saddling and packing in silence, emerging to find a small group waiting to send them off. Aramis and Porthos embraced them both and wished them well; de Tréville clasped their hands firmly in turn. Milady kissed Athos and told him to be careful, before turning to d'Artagnan and telling him not to let Athos do anything stupid. The pair mounted up and clattered away down the cobbled drive, heading east out of the town.
The path they followed was little more than a grassy track, and Athos explained that they would be skirting south of Chassant and rejoining a better road at Montigny-le-Chartif. Remembering the discussion at Thiron Abbey where Aramis had called Chassant a village of ghosts, d’Artagnan nodded his agreement with the plan. They rode hard, d’Artagnan assuring Athos that he was fit enough to do so when the older man hesitated. Grimaud’s mare flapped her short little broom tail in irritation and tossed her head occasionally at the unusually fast pace, but for the most part seemed content enough to canter along beside Aramis’ horse.
Athos was a taciturn companion without the others to draw him out, so the ride was largely silent, the sun sinking slowly at their backs as first Montigny-le-Chartif, and then Méréglise came and went. Dusk was approaching as they turned south at the crossroads on the western edge of Illiers-Combray and covered the last few minutes of travel at a brisk trot. A stone bridge loomed in front of them, and beyond it, a large drive flanked by stone gateposts. The wind was at their backs, so they were almost to the driveway before the now familiar smell of smoke reached them.
Athos twisted in the saddle, meeting d’Artagnan’s eyes as they cautiously turned onto the property and followed the line of tangled, overgrown trees around a curve.
"Well. I’d say that’s fairly conclusive," d’Artagnan said faintly as the burning rubble that was all that remained of the Com
te de Thimerais’ manor house came into view. They slowed to a halt, surveying the wreckage. Grimaud’s mare twisted her head to the side and whinnied nervously, attempting to turn away from the pile of scorched timbers and stone. D’Artagnan pulled her back around impatiently.
"While it is not what I had hoped to find, I believe we do have our answer," agreed Athos.
Leaves rustled behind them, and a new voice said, "That is good to hear, my new friends. Perhaps you will be able to provide us some answers as well."
Athos and d’Artagnan whirled, reaching for their weapons only to be confronted by two armed men on horseback with pistols already trained on them. Men dressed all in black.
Chapter VII: July 4th, 1631
"AH, AH, AH," SAID THE MAN who had spoken before, as his companion let out a sharp whistle. "None of that, now. While we would only be aiming to wound you, shooting from horseback is an uncertain business and it would be a shame for either of you to die before we’ve even had a chance to talk."
"If you are responsible for the wanton property destruction behind us, monsieur, I am confident that we have nothing to discuss," Athos said.
"And I am confident that we do," said the man. "Now, both of you dismount, and throw your weapons to the ground, if you please."
D’Artagnan looked at Athos, silently trying to ask if they should run or fight. Just then, however, two more riders emerged from the trees, having been attracted by their colleague’s whistle. Athos took in the two additional firearms now pointed at them, and shook his head minutely. To d’Artagnan’s surprise, the older man dismounted slowly and unbuckled his weapons belt.
"Ath—" d’Artagnan started to protest.
"Charles," Athos interrupted instantly, his frown thunderous. "Get off your horse and throw your weapons away unless you want to find yourself dead by the side of the road."
D’Artagnan closed his mouth with a click of teeth, realizing belatedly that he should not have used Athos’ name in front of their captors. To surrender went against every instinct he possessed, but with Athos’ eyes burning holes into him, he reluctantly stepped down from the mare and threw his sword, daggers, and pistol away.
"Very good," said the stranger. "I see that you are both reasonable men. Now, if you will allow Hughes to bind your hands, we will proceed to somewhere a little more comfortable, where we can all become acquainted."
Hughes—a strong-looking man easily as broad as Porthos, though not quite as tall—removed lengths of rope from his saddlebag and dismounted. D'Artagnan tensed in readiness as the man pushed Athos around and began to tie his wrists tightly behind his back, but three pistols remained trained on him the entire time. When Hughes turned to him, he gritted his teeth as the larger man grabbed him roughly and bound him.
Once he was released, he tried to twist his wrists within the confines of the rough rope, but the knots held tightly. Hughes gathered up their horses’ reins and remounted, leading the two mares behind his own gelding.
The man who had spoken to them gestured them forward with his pistol. "Proceed ahead of us to the stable yard. The barn is undamaged, and we can talk there."
Darkness was falling around them, and the interior of the large barn appeared as an unwelcoming murky blackness. The man d'Artagnan was starting to think of as the leader of their captors dismounted and stepped behind Athos, pressing the barrel of his pistol to Athos’ neck, while a second man did the same to him; the metal cold and unyielding against his flesh in the warm evening air.
Hughes gathered all of the horses and led them into the large structure, while the fourth man hurried ahead and began to light lanterns inside the barn. With the interior of the building now illuminated by flickering light, their captors forced Athos and d’Artagnan inside. A long line of horse stalls stood along the far wall, and d’Artagnan could hear Hughes moving around, unsaddling the animals one at a time, buckles jingling. A pile of old, moldering hay filled the far corner, with a large open space in the middle for harnessing a team.
"Run a chain with a hook over one of the rafters, Thierry," the leader told the man who had lit the lanterns. "Make sure you pick a sturdy beam."
D’Artagnan did not much like the sound of that, but was prevented from dwelling on it when the leader turned his attention back to them.
"Now, my friends, we will have a little chat, you and I," he said, for all the world as if they were ensconced in a cozy parlor somewhere. "My colleagues and I were expecting to find a certain person here, only to discover that the house was empty. We thought perhaps the one we sought was merely being shy, but setting fire to the building did not smoke out any pretty little doves hiding in the eaves; only some flea-bitten mice and a few ugly rats."
"If you are after doves, you would have better luck hunting in the woods," Athos said, sounding almost bored.
"Ah, but it is one dove in particular that I seek," said the man, "as I’m certain you’re well aware. My employer is becoming quite impatient with the difficulty of finding her. She is supposed to be in one place. I go; she is not there. She is supposed to be in another place... again she is not there. It is becoming rather vexing."
"Perhaps you need a better hunting dog," Athos said.
Their captor laughed, visibly amused. "Yes, yes, I think you have the truth of it there. A better hunting dog, indeed. Still, I believe a simpler answer presents itself just now." All trace of jocularity vanished in an instant, replaced with cold menace, and d’Artagnan tensed. "You and your companion will tell me the current location of Anne of Austria, and describe to me her defenses and the level of support she enjoys."
"I have no idea what you’re talking about," said Athos, still sounding as though he found the entire conversation dreadfully tedious. "Wasn’t Anne of Austria driven out of France years ago?"
Their captor sighed. "Goodness. How terribly tiresome." He turned his attention to d’Artagnan. "And you, young man? Perhaps you would like to avoid the potential unpleasantness and talk with me frankly?"
D’Artagnan curled his lip in disdain and twisted against his bonds once more. "Untie my hands and give me a sword, and I’ll be happy to ‘talk’ to all four of you."
There were guffaws from a couple of the other men, who had returned to watch the proceedings.
"Oh, dear," said the leader, as if d’Artagnan had accidentally spilled brandy on his rug, rather than threatening to kill him. "I don’t know about the sword or the untying, but it sounds as though you’ve just volunteered to come and have a word with us in private."
His eyes flicked to the chain and hook now dangling from a stout rafter behind them, and d’Artagnan forced himself not to swallow as he realized, at least in a vague and nebulous way, what was coming.
I will not tell them anything, no matter what happens, he told himself firmly. I will not tell them anything. I will not betray the Queen, even at the cost of my own life.
"Wait," Athos said, as Hughes moved forward toward d’Artagnan with a grin. The leader raised a hand, and the large man paused.
"You have something to say?" their captor asked.
"The boy does not have the information you seek," said Athos. After a short pause, he added, "But I do."
D’Artagnan jerked his head around to stare at Athos in dismay.
"Do go on," said the other man, looking intrigued.
"My name is Olivier, Comte de la Fère. As you have already determined, I am here on the business of Anne of Austria. The boy is merely a lackey. I hired him in Orléans only two weeks ago and have trusted him with no details of my undertakings."
Athos, no, d’Artagnan thought in despair. Surely this fell under the category of stupid things that Milady had made him promise not to let Athos do... but to speak up now would almost certainly make things even worse.
The leader circled the two of them, peering at them speculatively, and d’Artagnan’s neck prickled as he passed behind them.
"Surely you realize that you would have had a better chance of keeping your secrets if
you’d let us take the boy first as we’d planned," the man said, rounding on Athos once more.
Athos met his gaze unflinchingly. "I promised the lad’s father that I would see no harm come to him. Sentimentality has always been my downfall."
D’Artagnan was caught between the lump that rose in his throat, and the bizarre and utterly inappropriate desire to laugh at the idea of Athos being sentimental. The end result was a faint, but mildly embarrassing, choking noise.
"You seem an oddly honorable man, for a traitor," said their captor. "Very well. Thierry, bring the Comte. Hughes, tie the boy up in one of the empty stalls and patrol outside the house and barn on foot, in case our new friends were planning on meeting anyone else here. Nicolas, go find the others and inform them of developments. Continue checking the perimeter on horseback."
D’Artagnan had a quick view of Thierry taking Athos away at gunpoint and shouted, "No! Leave him alone!" before Hughes forced him around and shoved him forward, toward the stalls. D’Artagnan set his feet and tried to ram a shoulder into Hughes’ stomach, but the large man stepped out of the way easily and landed a cuff to d’Artagnan’s temple that sent him reeling. He righted himself and growled in anger as a meaty hand grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket and propelled him forward once more.
He kicked out, hoping to catch the other man in the shin or knee, and the punch that slammed into his cheek in retaliation caused his ears to ring and a gray fog to cloud his vision. When he regained his senses, it was to find himself already in the stall, slumped forward with his bound wrists angled agonizingly upward behind his back as Hughes tied them tightly to the heavy iron ring where a horse would normally be tied.
He groaned as the awkward and painful position twisted the newly healed scar tissue in his shoulder, staggering to get his feet underneath himself. Hughes tugged on the ropes a final time and left without a word, closing the door behind him and leaving d’Artagnan alone in near-total darkness. The tie ring was at head height for a horse, which translated to slightly above waist level for him. It was just about tolerable if he stood a little way away from the wall with his arms stretched out behind him, but there was no possibility of kneeling or sitting to rest.
Book 2: The Queen's Musketeers, #2 Page 10
