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fredbassettTitle : A Dangerous Contract, Part 6 of 8
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : The Musketeers
Rating : 18
Characters : Athos/Treville, Gallagher, Aramis, Porthos and others
Disclaimer : Not mine (apart from some OCs), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count : 25,500, split into approximately equal parts.
Summary : Athos learns an assassination contract has been taken out on Treville’s life.
A/N : Written for luthorchickv2 on AO3 who kindly commented on all my Dangerous Liaison stories.
The four horsemen had a head start on their pursuers as they galloped across the meadow to the east of Pinon.
As far as Treville could see from glances cast back over his shoulder, the whole of the attacking force was now following them, although a riderless horse indicated that one of their marksmen had succeeded in picking off another.
His reading of the situation was that Boucher could not be certain how many men he had to contend with, but if the man was as good as Gallagher claimed, he would have been able to make a reasonably accurate estimate. Treville knew Athos had been right in his view that holing up and defending the fire-damaged house itself was not an option as there were too many points of approach for a large force to exploit, but it went against the grain to run before assassins and mercenaries.
A sudden yell made him snap his eyes to the front, in time to see Athos’ normally surefooted mount stumble heavily, throwing his rider from the saddle, Treville wheeled his own mount to the stricken rider as the horse scrambled to its feet, limping heavily off its righthand front leg. A glance down told him that the horse had been brought low by a molehill dug into the soft ground. An unlucky accident that left them desperately exposed.
Treville leaped from his horse and went to one knee at Athos’ side.
“Left shoulder,” panted his lover, his face white with pain. “Dislocated.”
“Your horse is lame,” Treville told him, pulling Athos to his feet with his good arm. “Onto mine, quickly.” He cupped his hands for one booted foot and boosted Athos into the saddle.
A volley of pistol shots came as the pursuing riders closed the distance between them.
Treville got his foot in the stirrup and hauled himself up behind Athos, urging his horse on, setting its head down a long slope to gain an overgrown trackway shadowed by old yew trees. Behind them he heard Jussac and Cahusac discharging their weapons to buy them some time.
“That wasn’t in the plan,” Athos said, his teeth clenched against the pain. “Roger?”
“Lame, but no broken bones, I think.”
“Damned moles.”
Treville’s horse jumped a fallen tree and he felt Athos’ tense, but he gave no other outward sign of pain, even though Treville knew all too well the agony of a dislocated shoulder. Around them, a rocky valley with deep branching paths into the trees spoke of old quarrying for stone. The ground was soft underfoot with fallen leaves and rotting branches. Treville pulled up his horse and slithered to the ground, helping Athos from the tall mount, then he slapped the horse’s rump hard. “Go!
The animal bounded away, scrambling up a path that wound out of the far side of the deep dell.
Behind them, Treville heard hooves and turned, sweeping his pistol from his belt.
Cahusac rode into view, closely followed by Jussac. The Red Guards dismounted quickly, sending their horses on their way to follow Treville’s out of the valley.
Jussac was limping from a gash in his thigh. “Caught a stray shot. Too far for accuracy but near enough to do damage.”
They made their way to a cliff at the far side of the dell overhung by a trailing yew clinging to the fractured rock face. A large, dark entrance stood out starkly against green ferns clustering thickly around the square opening. Despite his injury, Athos made his way quickly over fallen branches to slip inside. Treville followed, with Jussac’s arm thrown over his shoulders while Cahusac guarded their backs.
“They’re coming!” the young swordsman hissed, following them into darkness.
The floor was flat but littered with fallen stone. They moved as quickly as they could, heading deeper into the mine. Daylight dimmed, leaving them in twilight that quickly gave way to darkness. As Athos had shown them on their first visit two days ago, they stuck to the left-hand wall where they had taken the time to clear the obstacles from their path, enabling them to move on quickly without light to guide their way. An earthy smell enveloped them and the sweat that had broken out on Treville’s body during their headlong ride quickly cooled.
Cahusac brought up the rear, facing outward, moving backwards, as surefooted as an alley cat. Treville heard him stop to reload his pistol, recognising the sound of the wadding being tamped down over the shot. All good soldiers practised blindfolded until their fingers could fly nimbly between their ammunition pouches and their pistols without fear of a slip even in full darkness. He was quickly learning that both Jussac and Cahusac were very good soldiers.
Shouts echoed in from the entrance, making it clear that their whereabouts were known, but Treville was banking on Boucher not being in any position to send his men in after them. Not yet, anyway.
A pistol shot reverberated in the mine, followed by a cry of pain outside. One of the men out there had made the mistake of silhouetting himself against the light and had fallen victim to a well-aimed shot from Cahusac. The slide of metal on metal told him that the young man was immediately reloading.
More pistol shots followed, this time from the attackers, but they were just wasting ammunition. Athos had already led his companions around a corner where they were safe from return fire and no doubt Cahusac had taken cover behind one of the large fallen blocks in the wide passageway.
A cry of “Hold your damned fire!” told Treville that at least someone out there had a reasonable grasp of strategy.
He drew his pistol from his belt, not to shoot but to use the slow burning matchcord to light the tallow candle to which Athos was guiding his hands. A moment later, flickering yellow light illuminated a small chamber, with several passages leading off into darkness.
“Jussac, how bad’s that leg?” he demanded.
“It’ll wait until Athos has the use of both arms. See to him first.”
Treville promptly set to work removing Athos’ weapons belt and unfastening his leather doublet. Drawing it down his lover’s arms caused sweat to break out on Athos’ forehead but apart from a slight hitch in his breathing, he betrayed no other sign of pain. By removing Athos’ good arm first, he was able to get the shirt off, leaving him stripped to the waist in the cool air of the stone mine. An ugly bulge on the shoulder confirmed that the shoulder joint had been dislodged when he’d hit the ground.
Treville probed the muscles around the injury, doing his best to work some movement back into them. Like all soldiers, he’d been around field medics long enough to have learned some of their skills.
“You’re going to tell me to relax, aren’t you?” Athos said, his cultured voice holding amusement, in spite of the pain.
“Would it do any good if I did?”
“Probably not.”
Time was against them, but the injury would cause less problem if the muscles didn’t tear when he worked the joint back into place. Treville drew his fingers over his lover’s upper arm in long, smooth strokes then did the same on the corded muscles from neck to shoulder, working closer and closer to the obscene bulge.
Without needing to be asked, Jussac limped behind Athos and slipped one arm around his waist, holding him firmly. With his other hand, he gripped the muscular forearm.
“It’s fortunate we’ve been properly introduced,” Athos drawled.
Treville put both thumbs over the bulge and pressed hard saying, “Now.” As he continued to push down, Jussac drew Athos’ arm firmly across his body. The shoulder joint slid smoothly back into place. Treville continued to massage the shoulder as Athos momentarily sagged against Jussac in relief.
“My thanks, gentlemen.”
While Athos pulled his shirt and jacket back on, Treville examined the wound in Jussac’s thigh. Blood ran sluggishly from a ragged groove, a finger’s depth in the red guard’s flesh.
Jussac looked down dispassionately. “Bind it tightly.” He untied his belt and shoved down his torn breeches and undergarment to allow Treville unhindered access to his leg.
Athos handed him a bandage roll that they had stowed in the mine along with supplies of weapons, ammunition, food and water. Treville bound the linen strips tightly around Jussac’s leg. It was a flesh wound only; the muscle remained intact. Painful, but not incapacitating, proving they didn’t have to run far, as the limp would slow him down.
“Jacket and shirt off, I need to bind your arm as well otherwise you risk blood fouling your grip.”
The wound on Jussac’s arm turned out to be shallow, the blood already crusting around the wound. Treville quickly wound a bandage around the arm and pronounced himself satisfied.
“My thanks,” Jussac said quietly. “So, what now?”
“We wait,” Athos said. “My guess is that they will try to smoke us out, but time is now on our side. While they’re deciding whether to follow us in here, the others can move into position, and so can we.”
As Athos had demonstrated over the past two days, the land on this side of the Pinon estate was honeycombed with passages left behind when the building stone was removed. Quarries had operated there for several hundred years, pitting the ground with deep channels formed by the first workings before moving underground to leave a labyrinth of passages extending over a wide area. The early wealth of the la Fère family had been built on foundations of high-quality honey-coloured building stone hewn from the ground. There were multiple entrances to the underground complex several of which were obvious from the dell into which Athos had led their pursuers, but there were others on the hillside that would be less easily found.
A light footfall warned of Cahusac’s approach. “I got close enough to overhear,” he said quietly. “They’re debating what to do. A couple of hotheads want to make torches and rush us. They know we’ve taken injury.” He hesitated then added, “They say they’ve notched up a kill.”
Treville closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath. “Who?”
“I heard a man called Jacques being praised for taking down someone they referred to as ‘the big bastard’. It could be Bernajoux or Porthos.”
“I’ll believe it when I see a body,” Jussac said, his tone brisk. “Neither of them is easy to kill.”
“A lucky shot can lay anyone low,” Treville said, his heart heavy at the thought that anyone might have been killed in his defence. “But like you, I’ll believe it when I see a body. Athos, we are in your hands. Do we stay here or change position?”
“If there’s a possibility that they might try to rush us, we wait here. Their torches will give away their advance and the advantage will be with us. No sane commander would risk more than a small force on a risky endeavour, but it might give us the opportunity to reduce their number even further.”
Time passed slowly in the dark or the mine. Cahusac crept back into the main passage where he could catch some of what was happening outside. His plan was to lie prone behind a pile of broken stone and wait to see if he could catch the enemy unawares if they did decide on a frontal assault.
Treville tried not to dwell on what had been overheard. He’d lost men in battle before, many times, and it never got any easier. Dwelling on the served no good purpose, though. There would be time to grieve when this was over.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Porthos lives,” Athos murmured, his breath warm on Treville’s ear. “I am sure of it.”
“I’m sure I’m not so easily rid of any of you,” he responded, in an attempt at lightness.
“I can see torchlight!” Jussac hissed, stepping back from his position at the corner.
Treville and Athos drew their pistols and stood in readiness, waiting for Jussac’s word. In the silence of the mine even their own breathing sounded load, but not as loud as the sudden noise of booted feet clambering over rocks.
“They’re carrying some form of shield,” Jussac warned. “Don’t waste your shot. I think they’ve woven saplings together.”
“Clever,” Athos commented. “But they’ve not had time to make much, and as long as they don’t spot Cahusac, the advantage will lie with us. Hold fire until they are very close and let them spend their shot first.” He blew out the tallow candle, plunging the chamber into total darkness.
Treville slowed his breathing, careful to make no noise in the enveloping blackness. The mercenaries were not so silent. The approaching boots were heavy on the broken floor and he could hear the occasional curse as one of the men stumbled. Soon he could see flicker of burning brands. The attackers had not had the time to fashion better torches. It was a risky move, one that he would not have countenanced, but from what he had seen, the Butcher held the lives of his men cheaply.
A pistol shot shattered the silence. One of the men screamed and pitched forward, the burning torch flying to one side. A moment later, Treville stepped out from cover, flanked by Athos and Jussac, their eyes already dark-attuned as they verified their targets before firing. Treville’s shot hit one of the improvised shields at centre mass and the man behind it staggered but did not fall. Athos aimed low, below the woven wood, hitting one man in the knee. He collapsed, screaming. Jussac’s shot also hit a shield, but what damage it did, Treville couldn’t tell.
He swept his sword from its scabbard and closed on their opponents in three long strides. Athos’ blade dispatched the man writhing on the ground clutching his leg and he wheeled to meet one of the others, steel to steel. A woven shield thrust at Treville pushed him on the backfoot for a moment them with a roar, his attacker threw the shield forward and drew a long, heavy blade. Treville sidestepped, but his foot turned on a rock and he overbalanced. As the sword flashed down, Treville rolled, scrambling to his feet, his sword raised to block the blow.
Before the sword fell, Jussac lunged at the man in a classic salon manoeuvre, rapier angled upwards so it took the man between the ribs and penetrated his heart in one smooth movement. The man died without a sound.
The clash of blade on blade told Treville that Athos had engaged the fourth man, but by now the light of the torches was guttering and dying, casting no more than treacherous shadows as the two swordsmen engaged in a grim dance of death.
“Scream, and make it sound good,” Jussac urged, at Treville’s side. “We need them to think one of us is down…”
Treville didn’t need telling twice. He let out a gurgling cry, trying to imbue it with pain and despair.
“Captain!” Jussac’s cry was equally urgent. “Athos, he’s down! Help me!”
Athos, his back to Jussac, took advantage of the distraction to circle his enemy’s blade, tossing it to one side in a movement that could only be achieved by a master swordsman with wrists of steel. One lunge was all it took to finish the man as Treville and Jussac headed back to the chamber, heaving one of the dead men between them, his booted feet dragging on the dry floor.
“Nice charade,” Athos said, following hard on their heels. “A warning next time would be helpful.”
“You were fooled?” Jussac sounded amused.
“Only for a moment. Let’s hope the ruse fares better with our friends out there.”
A musket report reverberated around the mine and chips of stone flew everywhere.
“Shooting blind,” Jussac said. The red guard captain pursed his lips and let out a low whistle.
A few moments later, Cahusac came back into the chamber, crouched over and moving backwards. “Their boss isn’t happy. I could hear him telling them to fetch something, but I’m not sure what. My guess is they won’t try that stunt again, though.
They waited in silence again, with Cahusac standing watch at the corner as Athos crept forward and relieved the dead men of what ammunition they carried. The pistols he left behind, as none of them wanted to trust their lives to a strange weapon except in the direst need. Soon the crackle of dry wood told its own tale, even without Cahusac’s soft commentary.
“Fire.”
“As I predicted, they are trying to smoke us out.” Athos sounded pleased. “Time to move while their attention is on that.” He re-lit the candle and took another three off a rock shelf, passing one to each of them. “Aramis and the others have had time to close on our position now, we should be able to rely on their backup.”
With the squat, flickering candle in hand, he led the way down a narrow passage, stacked on each side with broken stone. Ahead, a rotting timber prop was holding up an unstable-looking section of roof. They made sure not to dislodge it was they passed.
Athos had played in these mines as a boy and seemed as sure of finding his way as a cat in the dark. He had shown them this route the day before and although Treville had done his best to commit the various junctions to memory, he was very glad they still had their guide. In front of him, Jussac was limping, but still managing to stay close to Athos. The problem came a few minutes later when they had to first drop to their knees and crawl on their bellies through a jumble of fallen blocks.
Treville could feel the weight of the rock pressing on him from all sides as he wriggled through the tight space, pushing his sword and pistol ahead of him. They had taken the precaution of not reloading their weapons in the chamber in case of an accidental discharge as they traversed the most dangerous section of the mine. Apart from Athos, they had snuffed out their candles for the same reason, and were burrowing like blind moles, moving only by touch. In front of him he could hear Jussac’s laboured breathing as the red guard captain fought against the pain from his injured leg. Behind him, Cahusac seemed to flow through the rock like an eel in water. Treville envied the younger man’s supple body and seemingly boundless energy as he fought against the feeling that he was going to be pressed to death by shifting rocks in this hellhole.
In front of him, Jussac swore luridly and stopped moving, magnifying Treville’s unease.
“Take a moment,” Athos said, in a reassuring tone. “Only one more body length and we’re through.”
“I swear I’ll never look at a stone building the same way again,” Jussac said, his voice harsh with dust. “You really used to play here as a child?”
“Yes. My father thrashed me for it if he knew.”
“Wise man. I know how he feels.”
“Take heart. This is going to bring us out behind their lines. They can’t watch every one of the gullies. One more body length, I promise you.”
Jussac’s grunted reply was inaudible, but Treville strongly suspected he was questioning Athos’ parentage. In front of his, he heard the scrape of a weapons belt as the red guard captain started moving again, then it was Treville’s turn as inch by body-wrecking inch, he dragged himself forward on his elbows, shoving at the rock with his heels to gain any possible purchase. The previous day, Athos hadn’t led them through this section, saying that it was impossible to lose their way in the passage and as soon as they emerged from the low tunnel, they would see daylight. Treville now suspected he had not wanted to provoke a mutiny.
A gasp of relief told him that Jussac had started to emerge from the rat hole, then he caught a glimpse of a yellow glow ahead and took heart, dragging himself the final, tortuous body length until he was able to stand up without even having to stoop.
Behind him, Cahusac popped out, an irrepressible grin on his mud-streaked face. “You bring us to all the nicest places, musketeer.”
Athos held down his hand, pulling the young red guard to his feet. “Now we shall see if any of the others have made it to the rendezvous spot.” He turned to Treville. “Captain, remain in the mine with Jussac. I will leave you at a point where you will be able to hear what is happening in the camp. See if you can gauge their remaining strength. They won’t spot you. The exit from the mine is above them in the quarry face and it’s heavily overhung with vegetation. Cahusac and I will stay out of sight and look for the others. We’ll return when we have news.”
He led them on to a fork in the passage and indicated that they should take the left-hand way and he would take the right.
“Be careful,” Treville ordered in a low voice.
“When am I other than careful?” Athos’ well-bred drawl held all his usual self-assurance and without waiting for an answer, he moved off again.
Treville watched the candlelight fade from view then he and Jussac made their way up a sloping passage that ended in a short ascending climb. Handing his sword to Jussac, he eyed up the latest challenge. The climb looked considerably easier than the one they’d had to endure at the Chateau de la Lune, but any slip could give away their position. To his relief, it proved not to be problematic and, as Athos had said, he now had a view out over the wide dell occupied by Boucher and his men.
The mercenaries had dragged fallen wood into the mouth of the mine and had a fire blazing brightly.
“Start smothering it with leaves,” a man ordered.
The way the others jumped to obey his command, Treville presumed he was the man who had taken the assassination contract. He looked to be in his late thirties, no more than average height, with dirty blond hair tied back at the nape of his neck. The sort of man who could pass unnoticed in a crowded street or one of Paris’ less salubrious taverns. A useful trait in an assassin.
With smoke now billowing into the mine, the men stood back to admire their handiwork.
“Little bunnies won’t be liking that,” one of them laughed.
“If they’re still in there,” Boucher said. “I want men everywhere in these damned woods. There are still at least two of their marksmen out there somewhere. I want ‘em dead and I want ‘em dead fast.”
As he spoke, a yell came from the direction of the track they’d ridden along to reach the dell, followed by a cry of pain and a scuffle.
“None of that, you little fucker!” a raised voice ordered, followed by the sound of a pained grunt then an open-handed slap that ricocheted off the quarry face. “Boss, we’ve got a present for you!”
Treville drew in a silent breath, more than half expecting to see young Philippe de Beaune being dragged into view.
A heartbeat later, Athos’ carefully laid plans lay in ruins.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : The Musketeers
Rating : 18
Characters : Athos/Treville, Gallagher, Aramis, Porthos and others
Disclaimer : Not mine (apart from some OCs), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count : 25,500, split into approximately equal parts.
Summary : Athos learns an assassination contract has been taken out on Treville’s life.
A/N : Written for luthorchickv2 on AO3 who kindly commented on all my Dangerous Liaison stories.
The four horsemen had a head start on their pursuers as they galloped across the meadow to the east of Pinon.
As far as Treville could see from glances cast back over his shoulder, the whole of the attacking force was now following them, although a riderless horse indicated that one of their marksmen had succeeded in picking off another.
His reading of the situation was that Boucher could not be certain how many men he had to contend with, but if the man was as good as Gallagher claimed, he would have been able to make a reasonably accurate estimate. Treville knew Athos had been right in his view that holing up and defending the fire-damaged house itself was not an option as there were too many points of approach for a large force to exploit, but it went against the grain to run before assassins and mercenaries.
A sudden yell made him snap his eyes to the front, in time to see Athos’ normally surefooted mount stumble heavily, throwing his rider from the saddle, Treville wheeled his own mount to the stricken rider as the horse scrambled to its feet, limping heavily off its righthand front leg. A glance down told him that the horse had been brought low by a molehill dug into the soft ground. An unlucky accident that left them desperately exposed.
Treville leaped from his horse and went to one knee at Athos’ side.
“Left shoulder,” panted his lover, his face white with pain. “Dislocated.”
“Your horse is lame,” Treville told him, pulling Athos to his feet with his good arm. “Onto mine, quickly.” He cupped his hands for one booted foot and boosted Athos into the saddle.
A volley of pistol shots came as the pursuing riders closed the distance between them.
Treville got his foot in the stirrup and hauled himself up behind Athos, urging his horse on, setting its head down a long slope to gain an overgrown trackway shadowed by old yew trees. Behind them he heard Jussac and Cahusac discharging their weapons to buy them some time.
“That wasn’t in the plan,” Athos said, his teeth clenched against the pain. “Roger?”
“Lame, but no broken bones, I think.”
“Damned moles.”
Treville’s horse jumped a fallen tree and he felt Athos’ tense, but he gave no other outward sign of pain, even though Treville knew all too well the agony of a dislocated shoulder. Around them, a rocky valley with deep branching paths into the trees spoke of old quarrying for stone. The ground was soft underfoot with fallen leaves and rotting branches. Treville pulled up his horse and slithered to the ground, helping Athos from the tall mount, then he slapped the horse’s rump hard. “Go!
The animal bounded away, scrambling up a path that wound out of the far side of the deep dell.
Behind them, Treville heard hooves and turned, sweeping his pistol from his belt.
Cahusac rode into view, closely followed by Jussac. The Red Guards dismounted quickly, sending their horses on their way to follow Treville’s out of the valley.
Jussac was limping from a gash in his thigh. “Caught a stray shot. Too far for accuracy but near enough to do damage.”
They made their way to a cliff at the far side of the dell overhung by a trailing yew clinging to the fractured rock face. A large, dark entrance stood out starkly against green ferns clustering thickly around the square opening. Despite his injury, Athos made his way quickly over fallen branches to slip inside. Treville followed, with Jussac’s arm thrown over his shoulders while Cahusac guarded their backs.
“They’re coming!” the young swordsman hissed, following them into darkness.
The floor was flat but littered with fallen stone. They moved as quickly as they could, heading deeper into the mine. Daylight dimmed, leaving them in twilight that quickly gave way to darkness. As Athos had shown them on their first visit two days ago, they stuck to the left-hand wall where they had taken the time to clear the obstacles from their path, enabling them to move on quickly without light to guide their way. An earthy smell enveloped them and the sweat that had broken out on Treville’s body during their headlong ride quickly cooled.
Cahusac brought up the rear, facing outward, moving backwards, as surefooted as an alley cat. Treville heard him stop to reload his pistol, recognising the sound of the wadding being tamped down over the shot. All good soldiers practised blindfolded until their fingers could fly nimbly between their ammunition pouches and their pistols without fear of a slip even in full darkness. He was quickly learning that both Jussac and Cahusac were very good soldiers.
Shouts echoed in from the entrance, making it clear that their whereabouts were known, but Treville was banking on Boucher not being in any position to send his men in after them. Not yet, anyway.
A pistol shot reverberated in the mine, followed by a cry of pain outside. One of the men out there had made the mistake of silhouetting himself against the light and had fallen victim to a well-aimed shot from Cahusac. The slide of metal on metal told him that the young man was immediately reloading.
More pistol shots followed, this time from the attackers, but they were just wasting ammunition. Athos had already led his companions around a corner where they were safe from return fire and no doubt Cahusac had taken cover behind one of the large fallen blocks in the wide passageway.
A cry of “Hold your damned fire!” told Treville that at least someone out there had a reasonable grasp of strategy.
He drew his pistol from his belt, not to shoot but to use the slow burning matchcord to light the tallow candle to which Athos was guiding his hands. A moment later, flickering yellow light illuminated a small chamber, with several passages leading off into darkness.
“Jussac, how bad’s that leg?” he demanded.
“It’ll wait until Athos has the use of both arms. See to him first.”
Treville promptly set to work removing Athos’ weapons belt and unfastening his leather doublet. Drawing it down his lover’s arms caused sweat to break out on Athos’ forehead but apart from a slight hitch in his breathing, he betrayed no other sign of pain. By removing Athos’ good arm first, he was able to get the shirt off, leaving him stripped to the waist in the cool air of the stone mine. An ugly bulge on the shoulder confirmed that the shoulder joint had been dislodged when he’d hit the ground.
Treville probed the muscles around the injury, doing his best to work some movement back into them. Like all soldiers, he’d been around field medics long enough to have learned some of their skills.
“You’re going to tell me to relax, aren’t you?” Athos said, his cultured voice holding amusement, in spite of the pain.
“Would it do any good if I did?”
“Probably not.”
Time was against them, but the injury would cause less problem if the muscles didn’t tear when he worked the joint back into place. Treville drew his fingers over his lover’s upper arm in long, smooth strokes then did the same on the corded muscles from neck to shoulder, working closer and closer to the obscene bulge.
Without needing to be asked, Jussac limped behind Athos and slipped one arm around his waist, holding him firmly. With his other hand, he gripped the muscular forearm.
“It’s fortunate we’ve been properly introduced,” Athos drawled.
Treville put both thumbs over the bulge and pressed hard saying, “Now.” As he continued to push down, Jussac drew Athos’ arm firmly across his body. The shoulder joint slid smoothly back into place. Treville continued to massage the shoulder as Athos momentarily sagged against Jussac in relief.
“My thanks, gentlemen.”
While Athos pulled his shirt and jacket back on, Treville examined the wound in Jussac’s thigh. Blood ran sluggishly from a ragged groove, a finger’s depth in the red guard’s flesh.
Jussac looked down dispassionately. “Bind it tightly.” He untied his belt and shoved down his torn breeches and undergarment to allow Treville unhindered access to his leg.
Athos handed him a bandage roll that they had stowed in the mine along with supplies of weapons, ammunition, food and water. Treville bound the linen strips tightly around Jussac’s leg. It was a flesh wound only; the muscle remained intact. Painful, but not incapacitating, proving they didn’t have to run far, as the limp would slow him down.
“Jacket and shirt off, I need to bind your arm as well otherwise you risk blood fouling your grip.”
The wound on Jussac’s arm turned out to be shallow, the blood already crusting around the wound. Treville quickly wound a bandage around the arm and pronounced himself satisfied.
“My thanks,” Jussac said quietly. “So, what now?”
“We wait,” Athos said. “My guess is that they will try to smoke us out, but time is now on our side. While they’re deciding whether to follow us in here, the others can move into position, and so can we.”
As Athos had demonstrated over the past two days, the land on this side of the Pinon estate was honeycombed with passages left behind when the building stone was removed. Quarries had operated there for several hundred years, pitting the ground with deep channels formed by the first workings before moving underground to leave a labyrinth of passages extending over a wide area. The early wealth of the la Fère family had been built on foundations of high-quality honey-coloured building stone hewn from the ground. There were multiple entrances to the underground complex several of which were obvious from the dell into which Athos had led their pursuers, but there were others on the hillside that would be less easily found.
A light footfall warned of Cahusac’s approach. “I got close enough to overhear,” he said quietly. “They’re debating what to do. A couple of hotheads want to make torches and rush us. They know we’ve taken injury.” He hesitated then added, “They say they’ve notched up a kill.”
Treville closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath. “Who?”
“I heard a man called Jacques being praised for taking down someone they referred to as ‘the big bastard’. It could be Bernajoux or Porthos.”
“I’ll believe it when I see a body,” Jussac said, his tone brisk. “Neither of them is easy to kill.”
“A lucky shot can lay anyone low,” Treville said, his heart heavy at the thought that anyone might have been killed in his defence. “But like you, I’ll believe it when I see a body. Athos, we are in your hands. Do we stay here or change position?”
“If there’s a possibility that they might try to rush us, we wait here. Their torches will give away their advance and the advantage will be with us. No sane commander would risk more than a small force on a risky endeavour, but it might give us the opportunity to reduce their number even further.”
Time passed slowly in the dark or the mine. Cahusac crept back into the main passage where he could catch some of what was happening outside. His plan was to lie prone behind a pile of broken stone and wait to see if he could catch the enemy unawares if they did decide on a frontal assault.
Treville tried not to dwell on what had been overheard. He’d lost men in battle before, many times, and it never got any easier. Dwelling on the served no good purpose, though. There would be time to grieve when this was over.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Porthos lives,” Athos murmured, his breath warm on Treville’s ear. “I am sure of it.”
“I’m sure I’m not so easily rid of any of you,” he responded, in an attempt at lightness.
“I can see torchlight!” Jussac hissed, stepping back from his position at the corner.
Treville and Athos drew their pistols and stood in readiness, waiting for Jussac’s word. In the silence of the mine even their own breathing sounded load, but not as loud as the sudden noise of booted feet clambering over rocks.
“They’re carrying some form of shield,” Jussac warned. “Don’t waste your shot. I think they’ve woven saplings together.”
“Clever,” Athos commented. “But they’ve not had time to make much, and as long as they don’t spot Cahusac, the advantage will lie with us. Hold fire until they are very close and let them spend their shot first.” He blew out the tallow candle, plunging the chamber into total darkness.
Treville slowed his breathing, careful to make no noise in the enveloping blackness. The mercenaries were not so silent. The approaching boots were heavy on the broken floor and he could hear the occasional curse as one of the men stumbled. Soon he could see flicker of burning brands. The attackers had not had the time to fashion better torches. It was a risky move, one that he would not have countenanced, but from what he had seen, the Butcher held the lives of his men cheaply.
A pistol shot shattered the silence. One of the men screamed and pitched forward, the burning torch flying to one side. A moment later, Treville stepped out from cover, flanked by Athos and Jussac, their eyes already dark-attuned as they verified their targets before firing. Treville’s shot hit one of the improvised shields at centre mass and the man behind it staggered but did not fall. Athos aimed low, below the woven wood, hitting one man in the knee. He collapsed, screaming. Jussac’s shot also hit a shield, but what damage it did, Treville couldn’t tell.
He swept his sword from its scabbard and closed on their opponents in three long strides. Athos’ blade dispatched the man writhing on the ground clutching his leg and he wheeled to meet one of the others, steel to steel. A woven shield thrust at Treville pushed him on the backfoot for a moment them with a roar, his attacker threw the shield forward and drew a long, heavy blade. Treville sidestepped, but his foot turned on a rock and he overbalanced. As the sword flashed down, Treville rolled, scrambling to his feet, his sword raised to block the blow.
Before the sword fell, Jussac lunged at the man in a classic salon manoeuvre, rapier angled upwards so it took the man between the ribs and penetrated his heart in one smooth movement. The man died without a sound.
The clash of blade on blade told Treville that Athos had engaged the fourth man, but by now the light of the torches was guttering and dying, casting no more than treacherous shadows as the two swordsmen engaged in a grim dance of death.
“Scream, and make it sound good,” Jussac urged, at Treville’s side. “We need them to think one of us is down…”
Treville didn’t need telling twice. He let out a gurgling cry, trying to imbue it with pain and despair.
“Captain!” Jussac’s cry was equally urgent. “Athos, he’s down! Help me!”
Athos, his back to Jussac, took advantage of the distraction to circle his enemy’s blade, tossing it to one side in a movement that could only be achieved by a master swordsman with wrists of steel. One lunge was all it took to finish the man as Treville and Jussac headed back to the chamber, heaving one of the dead men between them, his booted feet dragging on the dry floor.
“Nice charade,” Athos said, following hard on their heels. “A warning next time would be helpful.”
“You were fooled?” Jussac sounded amused.
“Only for a moment. Let’s hope the ruse fares better with our friends out there.”
A musket report reverberated around the mine and chips of stone flew everywhere.
“Shooting blind,” Jussac said. The red guard captain pursed his lips and let out a low whistle.
A few moments later, Cahusac came back into the chamber, crouched over and moving backwards. “Their boss isn’t happy. I could hear him telling them to fetch something, but I’m not sure what. My guess is they won’t try that stunt again, though.
They waited in silence again, with Cahusac standing watch at the corner as Athos crept forward and relieved the dead men of what ammunition they carried. The pistols he left behind, as none of them wanted to trust their lives to a strange weapon except in the direst need. Soon the crackle of dry wood told its own tale, even without Cahusac’s soft commentary.
“Fire.”
“As I predicted, they are trying to smoke us out.” Athos sounded pleased. “Time to move while their attention is on that.” He re-lit the candle and took another three off a rock shelf, passing one to each of them. “Aramis and the others have had time to close on our position now, we should be able to rely on their backup.”
With the squat, flickering candle in hand, he led the way down a narrow passage, stacked on each side with broken stone. Ahead, a rotting timber prop was holding up an unstable-looking section of roof. They made sure not to dislodge it was they passed.
Athos had played in these mines as a boy and seemed as sure of finding his way as a cat in the dark. He had shown them this route the day before and although Treville had done his best to commit the various junctions to memory, he was very glad they still had their guide. In front of him, Jussac was limping, but still managing to stay close to Athos. The problem came a few minutes later when they had to first drop to their knees and crawl on their bellies through a jumble of fallen blocks.
Treville could feel the weight of the rock pressing on him from all sides as he wriggled through the tight space, pushing his sword and pistol ahead of him. They had taken the precaution of not reloading their weapons in the chamber in case of an accidental discharge as they traversed the most dangerous section of the mine. Apart from Athos, they had snuffed out their candles for the same reason, and were burrowing like blind moles, moving only by touch. In front of him he could hear Jussac’s laboured breathing as the red guard captain fought against the pain from his injured leg. Behind him, Cahusac seemed to flow through the rock like an eel in water. Treville envied the younger man’s supple body and seemingly boundless energy as he fought against the feeling that he was going to be pressed to death by shifting rocks in this hellhole.
In front of him, Jussac swore luridly and stopped moving, magnifying Treville’s unease.
“Take a moment,” Athos said, in a reassuring tone. “Only one more body length and we’re through.”
“I swear I’ll never look at a stone building the same way again,” Jussac said, his voice harsh with dust. “You really used to play here as a child?”
“Yes. My father thrashed me for it if he knew.”
“Wise man. I know how he feels.”
“Take heart. This is going to bring us out behind their lines. They can’t watch every one of the gullies. One more body length, I promise you.”
Jussac’s grunted reply was inaudible, but Treville strongly suspected he was questioning Athos’ parentage. In front of his, he heard the scrape of a weapons belt as the red guard captain started moving again, then it was Treville’s turn as inch by body-wrecking inch, he dragged himself forward on his elbows, shoving at the rock with his heels to gain any possible purchase. The previous day, Athos hadn’t led them through this section, saying that it was impossible to lose their way in the passage and as soon as they emerged from the low tunnel, they would see daylight. Treville now suspected he had not wanted to provoke a mutiny.
A gasp of relief told him that Jussac had started to emerge from the rat hole, then he caught a glimpse of a yellow glow ahead and took heart, dragging himself the final, tortuous body length until he was able to stand up without even having to stoop.
Behind him, Cahusac popped out, an irrepressible grin on his mud-streaked face. “You bring us to all the nicest places, musketeer.”
Athos held down his hand, pulling the young red guard to his feet. “Now we shall see if any of the others have made it to the rendezvous spot.” He turned to Treville. “Captain, remain in the mine with Jussac. I will leave you at a point where you will be able to hear what is happening in the camp. See if you can gauge their remaining strength. They won’t spot you. The exit from the mine is above them in the quarry face and it’s heavily overhung with vegetation. Cahusac and I will stay out of sight and look for the others. We’ll return when we have news.”
He led them on to a fork in the passage and indicated that they should take the left-hand way and he would take the right.
“Be careful,” Treville ordered in a low voice.
“When am I other than careful?” Athos’ well-bred drawl held all his usual self-assurance and without waiting for an answer, he moved off again.
Treville watched the candlelight fade from view then he and Jussac made their way up a sloping passage that ended in a short ascending climb. Handing his sword to Jussac, he eyed up the latest challenge. The climb looked considerably easier than the one they’d had to endure at the Chateau de la Lune, but any slip could give away their position. To his relief, it proved not to be problematic and, as Athos had said, he now had a view out over the wide dell occupied by Boucher and his men.
The mercenaries had dragged fallen wood into the mouth of the mine and had a fire blazing brightly.
“Start smothering it with leaves,” a man ordered.
The way the others jumped to obey his command, Treville presumed he was the man who had taken the assassination contract. He looked to be in his late thirties, no more than average height, with dirty blond hair tied back at the nape of his neck. The sort of man who could pass unnoticed in a crowded street or one of Paris’ less salubrious taverns. A useful trait in an assassin.
With smoke now billowing into the mine, the men stood back to admire their handiwork.
“Little bunnies won’t be liking that,” one of them laughed.
“If they’re still in there,” Boucher said. “I want men everywhere in these damned woods. There are still at least two of their marksmen out there somewhere. I want ‘em dead and I want ‘em dead fast.”
As he spoke, a yell came from the direction of the track they’d ridden along to reach the dell, followed by a cry of pain and a scuffle.
“None of that, you little fucker!” a raised voice ordered, followed by the sound of a pained grunt then an open-handed slap that ricocheted off the quarry face. “Boss, we’ve got a present for you!”
Treville drew in a silent breath, more than half expecting to see young Philippe de Beaune being dragged into view.
A heartbeat later, Athos’ carefully laid plans lay in ruins.