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fredbassettTitle : A Dangerous Delivery, Part 6 of 7
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : The Musketeers
Rating : 18
Characters : Athos/Treville, Porthos, Aramis, d’Artagnan, Anne, Louis, Richelieu
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count : 26,700 in seven approximately equal parts
Summary : When the Queen decides to visit a childhood friend in the country, the Musketeers are tasked with her safety.
As the men and women from the château made their way down the track, the sun was sinking behind the hills and the shadows started to lengthen around them. Clouds were already massing in the sky and the moon was new and would cast little light. If, as seemed likely, it started to rain hard, they would have little chance of keeping torches alight and would be unable to use the defenders standard trick of using torchlight to draw an enemy’s shot to the wrong place.
The attack would come as dusk passed into night, Athos was sure of that, and Treville, a veteran of countless campaigns, agreed. Night attacks were notoriously risky, but in this case, some aspects were simple, if you were an attacker attempting to storm the castle, everyone inside was your enemy, and by the same token, everyone outside it your friend.
Treville had stationed men at strategic points around the walls, enabling the defenders to keep watch on all sides, no matter how difficult the approach might seem. The captain was fond of recounting the story of how the gates of the famous fortress Château Gaillard had been opened from within by one man who had scaled chalk cliffs nearly 400 feet high and then inched his way up the outside of the walls and then in through the filth and slime of a midden chute, thus giving the lie to King Richard’s proud boast that he could hold the castle against an enemy even were its walls had been made of cheese.
As soon as they had gone into defensive mode, the captain had promptly ordered every midden hole nailed shut with stout board. As Treville was fond of pointing out, no matter how improbable a line of attack might be, there was still no excuse for leaving it uncovered. His second order had been for buckets to be placed at equally strategic positions. From now on, the need to take a piss or a shit could be put to good use and the results rained down on the heads of anyone who got too close. They’d learned that trick the hard way from the defenders at La Rochelle.
“How goes it with the Comtesse?” Athos asked as Treville appeared at his shoulder on one of his tours of the battlements.
“Wailing like a stuck pig, according to Matty. I’ve succumbed to his pleading and given him the job of carrying messages instead of waiting on the Queen.”
Athos nodded. “He’s earned that privilege for his performance on the way here. The lad has a level head.”
Treville grinned in the growing darkness. “He’ll need it when the lead starts flying. But the male of the species is very definitely not wanted in the Comtesse’s chambers at the moment. I hear tell our fragile-looking lady has been heard to say that if she ever sees her husband’s cock again, she’ll cut it off at the root and feed it to her lap-dog.”
Athos winced. He had little experience of the act of childbirth and preferred to remain in ignorance of what went on behind closed doors at such times. Battlefield injuries he could take in his stride, but the thought of a woman trying to extrude something the size of a baby’s head from between her legs was enough to drive him to drink.
“What do you think of our chances?” he asked, in a voice too low to be heard by anyone else.
“I’d be happier if we had a means of getting a messenger out of here,” Treville admitted. “But they will be watching the castle like hawks, and have probably been doing so since our arrival. I doubt they have the means to take this place by storm, but even if we had the whole of the Regiment here, rather than just a quarter of its strength, I would still prefer to know that a relief force is on its way.”
“This place is as defensible as any I’ve seen,” Athos said. “We are well-armed, with plentiful power and shot. And I doubt we’ll run out of food before either the King or the Comte send word to enquire of their ladies’ well-being.”
Treville clapped him on the shoulder. “Optimism suits you. You should try it more often.”
A piercing whistle, akin to that of a finch in search of seed, reverberated around the castle walls. Aramis had seen movement from somewhere below them. Athos pulled his spyglass from his belt and scanned the killing ground in front of the gates, gradually widening the scope of his search. He caught sight of someone dodging behind a rock… A moment later a musket ball sent chips flying from a wall no more than an arm’s length from where Athos was standing.
It appeared the attack was now under way.
“Hold your fire!” Treville bellowed in a voice that carried along the walls with ease. “Unless you have a clear target, waste no shot!”
The defenders heeded his words and waited, watchful and tense.
The silence that followed the captain’s words stretched to breaking point.
A musket report shattered the tension. More stone chips flew off the wall but the defenders heeded Treville’s words and there was no answering fire. Everyone on the castle walls kept their heads down and waited until they could choose their target.
First blood fell – unsurprisingly – to Aramis. The sharpshooter caught sight of movement down the track and exploited the moment of weakness. A pained cry carried to their ears and Athos saw a dark shape slump to the ground. Hands reached out and pulled him back into cover but Athos knew the man was beyond help.
A volley of answering shots flew around them. One of the castle’s defenders was sloppy enough to present a target, recoiling a moment later, clutching his arm. Treville’s verbal response was as blistering as the musket ball. The man dropped to his knees, white-faced and shaking, clutching his arm. If he expected sympathy from Treville, he was sorely mistaken. The man was hauled off to have his arm dressed and then instructed to reload for his companions. Treville had no intention of allowing anyone to shirk their duties, as those in the castle would soon learn.
The attackers had constructed large shields of thick woven hay, light to carry, but surprisingly effective against musket fire. Using them to aid their advance, they were able to keep up a barrage of shots whilst still gaining ground, but Aramis had them in his sights and was ready to exploit any sign of weakness.
Leaving Treville to keep watch over the main gate, Athos toured the castle walls, checking that they had left no weak points uncovered, ready with an encouraging word where needed. With him walked the Vicomte de Beaune. The young man had displayed admirable qualities of leadership, and the castle folk clearly looked up to their young lord.
On impulse, Athos remarked quietly, “Your pranks certainly kept us on our toes. If we survive this night, you must show me how it was all done.”
Philippe stopped, one hand on the wall, his handsome face turned to Athos, suddenly looking more like an uncertain schoolboy than a young lord. “My apologies. I meant no harm. They were simple tricks: a clockwork device concealed behind a panel in the wall of the music room; a secret tunnel leading to the Queen’s rooms…”
“The books?”
“Moving sections in the shelves. Easy to push the books and then pull the panels back into place.”
“You played us for fools,” Athos said, smiling ruefully. “We should have looked harder at the walls.”
“The castle guards its secrets well. But believe me, I’m truly sorry. It was nothing but a childish prank. I should have known better.”
Even in the gathering gloom, Athos could see that the boy’s handsome face was scarlet with shame. Before he could reply, a volley of shots from outside the gate caused them both to duck down, sighting between the battlements for a target.
“Hold,” Athos said. “We’ll do no good at this range, not while they’re behind those damn shields.”
“Can we fire them?” Philippe asked.
“Unlikely. They will have soaked the straw in water.”
“But even if they reach the gate, there’s little they can do. It won’t yield easily and they have no means of forcing a passage.”
Athos stared down at the attackers, pressing forward, straw shields held in front of them and above their heads. Philippe was right, even if they reached the gate, they could hardly bring it down with a few well-aimed kicks. At first he’d wondered if they’d been carrying gunpowder, but there had been no sign of that – not yet, at least. So why were they braving musket shot from above simply to get closer to the gate? The main gate was the most heavily guarded approach to the castle. To make up for the lack of natural defences on that side, the gate-towers had been constructed to provide a perfect killing ground, with arrow-slit windows covering every inch of the approach.
It made no sense.
Unless it actually made perfect sense.
Athos turned to Philippe de Beaune and grasped the young man’s shoulders. “There’s something we don’t know that they do. What is it?” He tightened his grip. “You know all the castle’s secrets. What do they know that we don’t? Answer me truthfully, our lives depend on it. This is no time for tricks or games.”
Philippe’s eyes widened and Athos saw the heat drain from the boy’s face leaving it as pale as the hidden moon. “There is nothing,” he said, but there was no mistaking the uncertainty in his voice.
“There is,” Athos said. “I know there is. I just don’t know what it is. This attack is a cleverly constructed feint and nothing more. Where do they intend to strike that will hit us hard?”
“It’s impossible,” Philippe said hesitantly. “None other than the Beaunes know all the secrets of the Château de la Lune.”
“You weren’t acting alone in your pranks,” Athos said, pressing home his advantage against the Vicomte’s uncertainty. “Who helped you? Was it Madame Boucher?” The sour-faced housekeeper was the most likely suspect.
Philippe’s eyes widened. “They were jokes, nothing more. Boucher has served my father for many years… she would never…”
“Betray her Queen? I think you’re wrong. What secret does she know that this feint is designed to draw us away from?”
“There is something, a secret known only to the family…”
“Tell me!”
“The tunnels,” Philippe said, not meeting Athos’ eyes. “There is a secret way from the lower levels of the castle to the base of the hill. It connects with a network of caves. But the way out at the bottom is closed. It is for use when all our defences have failed. But Boucher does not…”
Athos shook his head. “Assume she knows. And assume she is a traitor.”
“Then the Queen’s life is at risk!” Philippe looked shocked, his dark eyes pleading with Athos to allay his fears. “Hélène’s too.”
“Come, we need to find Treville!”
The captain was directing the defence from the courtyard. He heard what Athos had to say, a frown forming on his face. “We need to send men to these tunnels, but if we draw too many men from here, we will do half their work for them. They have kegs of gunpowder waiting now.”
“The caves are not large,” Philippe said. “A small force could hold out down there against larger numbers.”
“Aramis!” Treville called. “The defence of the castle walls is in your hands.” He turned to young Matty Fournier. “Take a message to d’Artagnan. The Queen and the Comtesse de Beaune are to remain in his charge. Warn him that the castle might be under attack from within. Find five musketeers and ensure they remain with Her Majesty.”
Matty bobbed his head in acknowledgment and took to his heels.
“Captain?” Porthos appeared at Treville’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Maybe everything, maybe nothing,” Treville said. “Vicomte, take us to these tunnels.”
Philippe nodded and took the stone steps to the courtyard two at a time, Athos, Treville and Porthos behind him. He led them into a series of storerooms below the castle, snatching up a lighted lantern on the way, gesturing to them to do likewise.
With vaulted stone above their heads and echoing stone flags beneath their boots, they ran through the warren of cellars beneath the castle. Ahead, Athos could see the light of another lantern. He swept his sword from its sheath, even though he was facing a woman.
The housekeeper stared defiantly at him. “You are too late, Musketeer!”
Athos rolled his eyes. “Theatrical, but I think you’re wrong. You might have betrayed your Queen and your Lord, but the castle’s defences have not yet been breached.”
“Why, Boucher?” Philippe asked, his voice breaking on the question.
The woman glared defiantly at him and then spat on the floor at his feet. “That is as much as I care for your Catholic queen, may she rot in Hell!”
“Athos, secure her! Vicomte, lead us on,” Treville ordered.
Athos sheathed his sword, but used his dagger to cut a length of cloth from the hem of the woman’s skirt. She spat at him like a cornered cat and tried to rake him with her nails, but he was in haste and she had endangered the life of the woman he was sworn to protect. Athos was not gentle, but he was quick. He bound her hand and foot and left her trussed on the stone floor. As an afterthought, he cut some more material from her skirt and wadded it into a ball in her mouth. Her eyes flashed defiance at him. He inclined his hat to her and hurried after the other three.
At the far end of the cellar, a flagstone stood up against the wall, below it a gaping, dark hole. With the lantern held in his left hand, Athos could see a narrow flight of stone steps leading down into the ground. Knowing that the others had gone that way before him, Athos quickly followed. With the feint on the gate well advanced, Athos was sure that the force hoping to take the castle by guile would not be far away.
The steps wound down into the rock beneath the castle, finally levelling out on a dry, sandy floor that reminded him of the many stone quarries beneath the streets of Paris, but then the walls took on a rougher look and Athos realised he was now in a natural cavern, hung with fantastic pale rock formations that cast ominous shadows in the light of the lantern. Lamps burned in carved niches in the rock. Boucher had clearly lit the way for her fellow conspirators.
He heard a cry up ahead and a pistol shot echoed off the walls. Athos drew his sword again and ran forward. The passage narrowed and he saw Porthos grappling with two assailants. The big musketeer had his hands full, but it was impossible for anyone to come to his aid without endangering him as well. Treville, a pistol in either hand, slipped past the mêlée, drawing a shot from further down the passage, which he evaded by ducking into a recess in the rock.
Philippe de Beaune, sword in hand, waited in the wider cavern, ready to engage anyone who was able to pass Porthos and Treville. The young Vicomte was right in his assessment that a small force could hold off larger numbers here. The tunnel was a natural bottleneck for any attackers and one that the Queen’s enemies had clearly been hoping to have gone through unhindered thanks to Boucher’s treachery. Athos presumed from the woman’s words that she was a Huguenot and that the Queen’s visit had proved too good an opportunity to be missed. In view of the speed with which the visit had been put together, he hoped that there had been little time to assemble a large force.
A sharp crack signalled that Porthos had managed to put one of his assailants out of the fight. The sound of a skull meeting rock made Philippe blanch but his sword was steady in his hand. He was ready to play his own part in the defence of his Queen and his family. Athos motioned with his free hand for Philippe to stay out of pistol shot.
With a roar like an angry bull, Porthos hurled his remaining opponent at his fellow conspirators then promptly ducked as Treville discharged his pistol down the passage, sure of a hit in the narrow tunnel. A cry of pain rewarded the captain’s efforts. To draw their opponents’ fire and give Treville time to reload, Athos sheathed his sword and took his own pistol in hand.
There was a confused jumble of shadowy forms in a passage too narrow for two to walk abreast. An injured comrade is harder to deal with than a dead one. Athos hoped he could add to their difficulties…
He fired. Another cry followed. Their returned shots flew harmlessly past him. He counted three. Undisciplined, just what he’d been hoping for. He tossed his second pistol to Philippe, who caught it deftly. Athos had not seen the vicomte use firearms but the boy could hardly miss in the confined space of the tunnel, and Athos could reload his own weapon faster than he would trust anyone else to do it.
Porthos bellowed again, his voice as much of a weapon in the confined space as his sword or pistol, and fired two shots in close succession before barrelling back into the chamber, with Treville hard on his heels, discharging his pistols in the confined space, adding to the acrid gun smoke now filling the passage.
Athos and Philippe each had a shot left. Porthos and Treville started to reload as soon as they’d ducked into cover, hands moving surely in the near darkness. Treville insisted on regular drills, blindfolded, until his men were as sure of reloading in the dark as they were in daylight.
There was only one way Athos could think of that their attackers could manage to make progress up the killing ground of the tunnel. Whether they would take it remained to be seen. But if this deadlock wasn’t broken soon, the attempt on the castle would be doomed and they would know that as well as he did.
Athos nodded to Philippe.
The Vicomte de Beaune dropped to one knee and leaned into the mouth of the tunnel, carefully not presenting a target where it would be looked for first. His reactions had the speed of youth and he was able to fire and duck back before being seen. Without having to be asked, he quickly tossed the pistol back to be reloaded.
Athos caught it, poured in a measure of power, rammed the shot and wadding home, primed the flashpan and it was ready to fire again. Throwing a loaded pistol carried a high risk of triggering an accidental discharge, but that was a risk they would just have to take. Even in the smoky semi-darkness, Philippe’s catches were deft and fortune was clearly smiling on them. The boy went down on his stomach, ready to take another unexpected line of fire.
A volley of shots in tunnel signified that their attackers had grown tired of waiting.
“Hold!” Treville ordered, his command just audible over the echoing gunshots.
Athos allowed himself a swift look into the passage. A man, his head lolling forwards onto his chest, spilling blood and brains down himself, lurched towards them. The dead body provided an effective but grisly shield, preventing a shot reaching anyone behind it in the narrow passage. It was a brave attempt, but the person holding the body upright would be exposed as soon as he came into the chamber. What happened next would depend on how willing their attackers were to take losses.
This was a desperate throw of the dice to get them out of the narrow passage and into the chamber where they could fight on more equal terms. Boucher had no doubt briefed them well on what to expect under the Château de la Lune, but they had not been expecting determined opposition – or even any opposition at all.
Treville wheeled out in front of the tunnel opening, firing over the shoulder of the corpse in the hope of hitting someone behind. Whether he had been successful, Athos had no idea. Moments later, the body was thrown forward into their midst and in the swirling smoke from their pistol shots, men leaped across the lifeless form now sprawled on the rough sandy floor of the chamber.
Their attacker’s gamble had paid off. No shots could now be fired for fear of catching their own comrades in the crossfire.
Philippe de Beaune, prone on the floor, went unnoticed, and while Athos and the others swept out their swords and engaged the enemy, he fired down the passage, a grunt of pain barely audible over the sudden noise of blade on blade. One less enemy to engage with, Athos presumed. The boy had an admirably cool head.
The conditions were not ideal for swordplay. Acrid smoke had billowed into the chamber, stinging eyes and throats, and the light of the lanterns in the wall niches was at best poor, casting treacherous shadows. The man Athos had engaged had more height and reach, but lacked technique. At his side, Porthos had taken on two opponents, wielding his sword with such power that neither could come close to him. Treville had one man pressed back up against the rough rock wall while nearby, Philippe danced nimbly around a larger, heavier attacker, holding his own calmly despite the fact that this was almost certainly his first experience of close-quarter combat against an opponent who would not pull his blows at the last moment.
A stone turned under Athos’s heel and he lurched sideways. The man he was engaged with jumped forwards, sword outstretched to take advantage of the momentary weakness in Athos’ defence. Athos used his own momentum to his advantage, dropping under the strike and rolling on the uneven floor, forcing the man to over-extend his lunge. Athos came to his feet fast, crouching in a stance that owed more to a knife-fight than an encounter with swords. He struck for the man’s exposed stomach with his sword point while at the same time slashing with his dagger at his opponent’s thigh. Both blows connected.
Athos pulled his sword free and struck quickly for the man’s throat. A gush of blood bore witness to his success. He took a moment to take stock of the chaos in the chamber. One of Porthos’ assailants was down and wouldn’t rise again. Treville had killed one man and engaged another and, as he watched, Philippe de Beaune’s blade buried itself deep in his opponent’s chest and the man crumpled to his knees.
They were holding their own, but there were others to take the place of the dead. It was vital that they allowed none to pass them and gain the interior of the castle, which allowed no room for error.
Athos quickly sheathed his dagger and tossed his sword to his left hand as he pulled his pistol free and fired at a man emerging from the tunnel. The shot was in haste and wounded rather than killed, but Treville was close enough to take advantage of the damage done and dispatch the man with a quick, brutal strike from his dagger.
The Captain of the Musketeers had lost none of his edge when it came to combat.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : The Musketeers
Rating : 18
Characters : Athos/Treville, Porthos, Aramis, d’Artagnan, Anne, Louis, Richelieu
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count : 26,700 in seven approximately equal parts
Summary : When the Queen decides to visit a childhood friend in the country, the Musketeers are tasked with her safety.
As the men and women from the château made their way down the track, the sun was sinking behind the hills and the shadows started to lengthen around them. Clouds were already massing in the sky and the moon was new and would cast little light. If, as seemed likely, it started to rain hard, they would have little chance of keeping torches alight and would be unable to use the defenders standard trick of using torchlight to draw an enemy’s shot to the wrong place.
The attack would come as dusk passed into night, Athos was sure of that, and Treville, a veteran of countless campaigns, agreed. Night attacks were notoriously risky, but in this case, some aspects were simple, if you were an attacker attempting to storm the castle, everyone inside was your enemy, and by the same token, everyone outside it your friend.
Treville had stationed men at strategic points around the walls, enabling the defenders to keep watch on all sides, no matter how difficult the approach might seem. The captain was fond of recounting the story of how the gates of the famous fortress Château Gaillard had been opened from within by one man who had scaled chalk cliffs nearly 400 feet high and then inched his way up the outside of the walls and then in through the filth and slime of a midden chute, thus giving the lie to King Richard’s proud boast that he could hold the castle against an enemy even were its walls had been made of cheese.
As soon as they had gone into defensive mode, the captain had promptly ordered every midden hole nailed shut with stout board. As Treville was fond of pointing out, no matter how improbable a line of attack might be, there was still no excuse for leaving it uncovered. His second order had been for buckets to be placed at equally strategic positions. From now on, the need to take a piss or a shit could be put to good use and the results rained down on the heads of anyone who got too close. They’d learned that trick the hard way from the defenders at La Rochelle.
“How goes it with the Comtesse?” Athos asked as Treville appeared at his shoulder on one of his tours of the battlements.
“Wailing like a stuck pig, according to Matty. I’ve succumbed to his pleading and given him the job of carrying messages instead of waiting on the Queen.”
Athos nodded. “He’s earned that privilege for his performance on the way here. The lad has a level head.”
Treville grinned in the growing darkness. “He’ll need it when the lead starts flying. But the male of the species is very definitely not wanted in the Comtesse’s chambers at the moment. I hear tell our fragile-looking lady has been heard to say that if she ever sees her husband’s cock again, she’ll cut it off at the root and feed it to her lap-dog.”
Athos winced. He had little experience of the act of childbirth and preferred to remain in ignorance of what went on behind closed doors at such times. Battlefield injuries he could take in his stride, but the thought of a woman trying to extrude something the size of a baby’s head from between her legs was enough to drive him to drink.
“What do you think of our chances?” he asked, in a voice too low to be heard by anyone else.
“I’d be happier if we had a means of getting a messenger out of here,” Treville admitted. “But they will be watching the castle like hawks, and have probably been doing so since our arrival. I doubt they have the means to take this place by storm, but even if we had the whole of the Regiment here, rather than just a quarter of its strength, I would still prefer to know that a relief force is on its way.”
“This place is as defensible as any I’ve seen,” Athos said. “We are well-armed, with plentiful power and shot. And I doubt we’ll run out of food before either the King or the Comte send word to enquire of their ladies’ well-being.”
Treville clapped him on the shoulder. “Optimism suits you. You should try it more often.”
A piercing whistle, akin to that of a finch in search of seed, reverberated around the castle walls. Aramis had seen movement from somewhere below them. Athos pulled his spyglass from his belt and scanned the killing ground in front of the gates, gradually widening the scope of his search. He caught sight of someone dodging behind a rock… A moment later a musket ball sent chips flying from a wall no more than an arm’s length from where Athos was standing.
It appeared the attack was now under way.
“Hold your fire!” Treville bellowed in a voice that carried along the walls with ease. “Unless you have a clear target, waste no shot!”
The defenders heeded his words and waited, watchful and tense.
The silence that followed the captain’s words stretched to breaking point.
A musket report shattered the tension. More stone chips flew off the wall but the defenders heeded Treville’s words and there was no answering fire. Everyone on the castle walls kept their heads down and waited until they could choose their target.
First blood fell – unsurprisingly – to Aramis. The sharpshooter caught sight of movement down the track and exploited the moment of weakness. A pained cry carried to their ears and Athos saw a dark shape slump to the ground. Hands reached out and pulled him back into cover but Athos knew the man was beyond help.
A volley of answering shots flew around them. One of the castle’s defenders was sloppy enough to present a target, recoiling a moment later, clutching his arm. Treville’s verbal response was as blistering as the musket ball. The man dropped to his knees, white-faced and shaking, clutching his arm. If he expected sympathy from Treville, he was sorely mistaken. The man was hauled off to have his arm dressed and then instructed to reload for his companions. Treville had no intention of allowing anyone to shirk their duties, as those in the castle would soon learn.
The attackers had constructed large shields of thick woven hay, light to carry, but surprisingly effective against musket fire. Using them to aid their advance, they were able to keep up a barrage of shots whilst still gaining ground, but Aramis had them in his sights and was ready to exploit any sign of weakness.
Leaving Treville to keep watch over the main gate, Athos toured the castle walls, checking that they had left no weak points uncovered, ready with an encouraging word where needed. With him walked the Vicomte de Beaune. The young man had displayed admirable qualities of leadership, and the castle folk clearly looked up to their young lord.
On impulse, Athos remarked quietly, “Your pranks certainly kept us on our toes. If we survive this night, you must show me how it was all done.”
Philippe stopped, one hand on the wall, his handsome face turned to Athos, suddenly looking more like an uncertain schoolboy than a young lord. “My apologies. I meant no harm. They were simple tricks: a clockwork device concealed behind a panel in the wall of the music room; a secret tunnel leading to the Queen’s rooms…”
“The books?”
“Moving sections in the shelves. Easy to push the books and then pull the panels back into place.”
“You played us for fools,” Athos said, smiling ruefully. “We should have looked harder at the walls.”
“The castle guards its secrets well. But believe me, I’m truly sorry. It was nothing but a childish prank. I should have known better.”
Even in the gathering gloom, Athos could see that the boy’s handsome face was scarlet with shame. Before he could reply, a volley of shots from outside the gate caused them both to duck down, sighting between the battlements for a target.
“Hold,” Athos said. “We’ll do no good at this range, not while they’re behind those damn shields.”
“Can we fire them?” Philippe asked.
“Unlikely. They will have soaked the straw in water.”
“But even if they reach the gate, there’s little they can do. It won’t yield easily and they have no means of forcing a passage.”
Athos stared down at the attackers, pressing forward, straw shields held in front of them and above their heads. Philippe was right, even if they reached the gate, they could hardly bring it down with a few well-aimed kicks. At first he’d wondered if they’d been carrying gunpowder, but there had been no sign of that – not yet, at least. So why were they braving musket shot from above simply to get closer to the gate? The main gate was the most heavily guarded approach to the castle. To make up for the lack of natural defences on that side, the gate-towers had been constructed to provide a perfect killing ground, with arrow-slit windows covering every inch of the approach.
It made no sense.
Unless it actually made perfect sense.
Athos turned to Philippe de Beaune and grasped the young man’s shoulders. “There’s something we don’t know that they do. What is it?” He tightened his grip. “You know all the castle’s secrets. What do they know that we don’t? Answer me truthfully, our lives depend on it. This is no time for tricks or games.”
Philippe’s eyes widened and Athos saw the heat drain from the boy’s face leaving it as pale as the hidden moon. “There is nothing,” he said, but there was no mistaking the uncertainty in his voice.
“There is,” Athos said. “I know there is. I just don’t know what it is. This attack is a cleverly constructed feint and nothing more. Where do they intend to strike that will hit us hard?”
“It’s impossible,” Philippe said hesitantly. “None other than the Beaunes know all the secrets of the Château de la Lune.”
“You weren’t acting alone in your pranks,” Athos said, pressing home his advantage against the Vicomte’s uncertainty. “Who helped you? Was it Madame Boucher?” The sour-faced housekeeper was the most likely suspect.
Philippe’s eyes widened. “They were jokes, nothing more. Boucher has served my father for many years… she would never…”
“Betray her Queen? I think you’re wrong. What secret does she know that this feint is designed to draw us away from?”
“There is something, a secret known only to the family…”
“Tell me!”
“The tunnels,” Philippe said, not meeting Athos’ eyes. “There is a secret way from the lower levels of the castle to the base of the hill. It connects with a network of caves. But the way out at the bottom is closed. It is for use when all our defences have failed. But Boucher does not…”
Athos shook his head. “Assume she knows. And assume she is a traitor.”
“Then the Queen’s life is at risk!” Philippe looked shocked, his dark eyes pleading with Athos to allay his fears. “Hélène’s too.”
“Come, we need to find Treville!”
The captain was directing the defence from the courtyard. He heard what Athos had to say, a frown forming on his face. “We need to send men to these tunnels, but if we draw too many men from here, we will do half their work for them. They have kegs of gunpowder waiting now.”
“The caves are not large,” Philippe said. “A small force could hold out down there against larger numbers.”
“Aramis!” Treville called. “The defence of the castle walls is in your hands.” He turned to young Matty Fournier. “Take a message to d’Artagnan. The Queen and the Comtesse de Beaune are to remain in his charge. Warn him that the castle might be under attack from within. Find five musketeers and ensure they remain with Her Majesty.”
Matty bobbed his head in acknowledgment and took to his heels.
“Captain?” Porthos appeared at Treville’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Maybe everything, maybe nothing,” Treville said. “Vicomte, take us to these tunnels.”
Philippe nodded and took the stone steps to the courtyard two at a time, Athos, Treville and Porthos behind him. He led them into a series of storerooms below the castle, snatching up a lighted lantern on the way, gesturing to them to do likewise.
With vaulted stone above their heads and echoing stone flags beneath their boots, they ran through the warren of cellars beneath the castle. Ahead, Athos could see the light of another lantern. He swept his sword from its sheath, even though he was facing a woman.
The housekeeper stared defiantly at him. “You are too late, Musketeer!”
Athos rolled his eyes. “Theatrical, but I think you’re wrong. You might have betrayed your Queen and your Lord, but the castle’s defences have not yet been breached.”
“Why, Boucher?” Philippe asked, his voice breaking on the question.
The woman glared defiantly at him and then spat on the floor at his feet. “That is as much as I care for your Catholic queen, may she rot in Hell!”
“Athos, secure her! Vicomte, lead us on,” Treville ordered.
Athos sheathed his sword, but used his dagger to cut a length of cloth from the hem of the woman’s skirt. She spat at him like a cornered cat and tried to rake him with her nails, but he was in haste and she had endangered the life of the woman he was sworn to protect. Athos was not gentle, but he was quick. He bound her hand and foot and left her trussed on the stone floor. As an afterthought, he cut some more material from her skirt and wadded it into a ball in her mouth. Her eyes flashed defiance at him. He inclined his hat to her and hurried after the other three.
At the far end of the cellar, a flagstone stood up against the wall, below it a gaping, dark hole. With the lantern held in his left hand, Athos could see a narrow flight of stone steps leading down into the ground. Knowing that the others had gone that way before him, Athos quickly followed. With the feint on the gate well advanced, Athos was sure that the force hoping to take the castle by guile would not be far away.
The steps wound down into the rock beneath the castle, finally levelling out on a dry, sandy floor that reminded him of the many stone quarries beneath the streets of Paris, but then the walls took on a rougher look and Athos realised he was now in a natural cavern, hung with fantastic pale rock formations that cast ominous shadows in the light of the lantern. Lamps burned in carved niches in the rock. Boucher had clearly lit the way for her fellow conspirators.
He heard a cry up ahead and a pistol shot echoed off the walls. Athos drew his sword again and ran forward. The passage narrowed and he saw Porthos grappling with two assailants. The big musketeer had his hands full, but it was impossible for anyone to come to his aid without endangering him as well. Treville, a pistol in either hand, slipped past the mêlée, drawing a shot from further down the passage, which he evaded by ducking into a recess in the rock.
Philippe de Beaune, sword in hand, waited in the wider cavern, ready to engage anyone who was able to pass Porthos and Treville. The young Vicomte was right in his assessment that a small force could hold off larger numbers here. The tunnel was a natural bottleneck for any attackers and one that the Queen’s enemies had clearly been hoping to have gone through unhindered thanks to Boucher’s treachery. Athos presumed from the woman’s words that she was a Huguenot and that the Queen’s visit had proved too good an opportunity to be missed. In view of the speed with which the visit had been put together, he hoped that there had been little time to assemble a large force.
A sharp crack signalled that Porthos had managed to put one of his assailants out of the fight. The sound of a skull meeting rock made Philippe blanch but his sword was steady in his hand. He was ready to play his own part in the defence of his Queen and his family. Athos motioned with his free hand for Philippe to stay out of pistol shot.
With a roar like an angry bull, Porthos hurled his remaining opponent at his fellow conspirators then promptly ducked as Treville discharged his pistol down the passage, sure of a hit in the narrow tunnel. A cry of pain rewarded the captain’s efforts. To draw their opponents’ fire and give Treville time to reload, Athos sheathed his sword and took his own pistol in hand.
There was a confused jumble of shadowy forms in a passage too narrow for two to walk abreast. An injured comrade is harder to deal with than a dead one. Athos hoped he could add to their difficulties…
He fired. Another cry followed. Their returned shots flew harmlessly past him. He counted three. Undisciplined, just what he’d been hoping for. He tossed his second pistol to Philippe, who caught it deftly. Athos had not seen the vicomte use firearms but the boy could hardly miss in the confined space of the tunnel, and Athos could reload his own weapon faster than he would trust anyone else to do it.
Porthos bellowed again, his voice as much of a weapon in the confined space as his sword or pistol, and fired two shots in close succession before barrelling back into the chamber, with Treville hard on his heels, discharging his pistols in the confined space, adding to the acrid gun smoke now filling the passage.
Athos and Philippe each had a shot left. Porthos and Treville started to reload as soon as they’d ducked into cover, hands moving surely in the near darkness. Treville insisted on regular drills, blindfolded, until his men were as sure of reloading in the dark as they were in daylight.
There was only one way Athos could think of that their attackers could manage to make progress up the killing ground of the tunnel. Whether they would take it remained to be seen. But if this deadlock wasn’t broken soon, the attempt on the castle would be doomed and they would know that as well as he did.
Athos nodded to Philippe.
The Vicomte de Beaune dropped to one knee and leaned into the mouth of the tunnel, carefully not presenting a target where it would be looked for first. His reactions had the speed of youth and he was able to fire and duck back before being seen. Without having to be asked, he quickly tossed the pistol back to be reloaded.
Athos caught it, poured in a measure of power, rammed the shot and wadding home, primed the flashpan and it was ready to fire again. Throwing a loaded pistol carried a high risk of triggering an accidental discharge, but that was a risk they would just have to take. Even in the smoky semi-darkness, Philippe’s catches were deft and fortune was clearly smiling on them. The boy went down on his stomach, ready to take another unexpected line of fire.
A volley of shots in tunnel signified that their attackers had grown tired of waiting.
“Hold!” Treville ordered, his command just audible over the echoing gunshots.
Athos allowed himself a swift look into the passage. A man, his head lolling forwards onto his chest, spilling blood and brains down himself, lurched towards them. The dead body provided an effective but grisly shield, preventing a shot reaching anyone behind it in the narrow passage. It was a brave attempt, but the person holding the body upright would be exposed as soon as he came into the chamber. What happened next would depend on how willing their attackers were to take losses.
This was a desperate throw of the dice to get them out of the narrow passage and into the chamber where they could fight on more equal terms. Boucher had no doubt briefed them well on what to expect under the Château de la Lune, but they had not been expecting determined opposition – or even any opposition at all.
Treville wheeled out in front of the tunnel opening, firing over the shoulder of the corpse in the hope of hitting someone behind. Whether he had been successful, Athos had no idea. Moments later, the body was thrown forward into their midst and in the swirling smoke from their pistol shots, men leaped across the lifeless form now sprawled on the rough sandy floor of the chamber.
Their attacker’s gamble had paid off. No shots could now be fired for fear of catching their own comrades in the crossfire.
Philippe de Beaune, prone on the floor, went unnoticed, and while Athos and the others swept out their swords and engaged the enemy, he fired down the passage, a grunt of pain barely audible over the sudden noise of blade on blade. One less enemy to engage with, Athos presumed. The boy had an admirably cool head.
The conditions were not ideal for swordplay. Acrid smoke had billowed into the chamber, stinging eyes and throats, and the light of the lanterns in the wall niches was at best poor, casting treacherous shadows. The man Athos had engaged had more height and reach, but lacked technique. At his side, Porthos had taken on two opponents, wielding his sword with such power that neither could come close to him. Treville had one man pressed back up against the rough rock wall while nearby, Philippe danced nimbly around a larger, heavier attacker, holding his own calmly despite the fact that this was almost certainly his first experience of close-quarter combat against an opponent who would not pull his blows at the last moment.
A stone turned under Athos’s heel and he lurched sideways. The man he was engaged with jumped forwards, sword outstretched to take advantage of the momentary weakness in Athos’ defence. Athos used his own momentum to his advantage, dropping under the strike and rolling on the uneven floor, forcing the man to over-extend his lunge. Athos came to his feet fast, crouching in a stance that owed more to a knife-fight than an encounter with swords. He struck for the man’s exposed stomach with his sword point while at the same time slashing with his dagger at his opponent’s thigh. Both blows connected.
Athos pulled his sword free and struck quickly for the man’s throat. A gush of blood bore witness to his success. He took a moment to take stock of the chaos in the chamber. One of Porthos’ assailants was down and wouldn’t rise again. Treville had killed one man and engaged another and, as he watched, Philippe de Beaune’s blade buried itself deep in his opponent’s chest and the man crumpled to his knees.
They were holding their own, but there were others to take the place of the dead. It was vital that they allowed none to pass them and gain the interior of the castle, which allowed no room for error.
Athos quickly sheathed his dagger and tossed his sword to his left hand as he pulled his pistol free and fired at a man emerging from the tunnel. The shot was in haste and wounded rather than killed, but Treville was close enough to take advantage of the damage done and dispatch the man with a quick, brutal strike from his dagger.
The Captain of the Musketeers had lost none of his edge when it came to combat.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-02-19 04:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-19 09:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-19 06:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-19 09:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-19 08:38 pm (UTC)Can't wait to see what's behind it all!
no subject
Date: 2016-02-19 09:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-21 06:00 pm (UTC)I've had visitors all weekend and so I waited for the moment they were gone and then jumped on this like a mad thing.
On to the last part.
XXXX
no subject
Date: 2016-02-21 06:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-21 09:17 pm (UTC)And very exciting waiting for it to happen. Silly Vicomte, with his pranks :)
no subject
Date: 2016-02-21 09:23 pm (UTC)