Constant Companion (A 2011 The Three Musketeers Fanfiction)

Chapter Two

“Finish them off,” Rochefort ordered. He turned his horse and left the Yard with his men.

Swiftly, I tried to do a head count. There were, maybe forty, of the cardinal's guards against four. The one who'd saved the boy only moments ago said, his voice loud and clear in the courtyard, “Let's even the odds.”

The four lunged at the guards. I could see that some of those guards were uneasy, for they recoiled a little from that attack. As I watched those four men wade into the fight so easily, I could understand why the smarter ones would think twice about going against those four: they were formidable.

Oh, why could I not remember their names? I frowned as I thought back to just last week. I remembered walking past one of the libraries and overhearing the king asking, his tone unusually amused, “And no one saw for sure who beat your men?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Cardinal Richelieu had responded, sounding very put out. “But I suspect it was Athos, Aramis, and Porthos. They've been seen in that area of Paris frequently.”

“Athos, Aramis, and Porthos,” I said, glancing from one man to the other.

Porthos, I remembered, was the largest of the three. He was using a walking stick? I blinked in surprise, as he knocked guard after guard aside, not even drawing his sword. That was one way of getting the job done.

A golden cross hing around the neck of Aramis. Oh, he was the former priest I'd heard some of the other ladies in waiting speak of. I wondered how a man had decided to change professions so drastically. He moved gracefully from guard to guard, his sword a blur of motion. There was a second, much smaller blade in his left hand.

That left the third inséparable, Athos. Though I searched my brain, I could think of nothing that I'd heard of him beyond the fact that he was a former musketeer. He was at the boy's side, and I nearly applauded as they reacted in the same moment to take out an opponent that threatened the other. Athos went low, and the boy reached over the man's shoulder. They exchanged looks, and the man turned away. 

I stayed by the tree as the boy brought his fight close to me. I'd never seen anyone so young but so skilled before. Finally, I could get a better look at him now that he was closer. His hair was dark, like Athos and Aramis. Maybe they were related somehow? His clothes were poor, so he must have come from the country. I wondered from which part. There was a handkerchief tied around his left arm. Obviously he'd met with some trouble before this. Not surprising at all.

My eyes widened in amazement as he flipped over the back of one of the guards. He looked at the men on the ground and turned. Our eyes met. He had the bluest eyes I'd ever seen and my breath caught in my throat.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked, taking a step towards me. There was no mistaking the cocky attitude in his voice.

Well, I would have given him a set down right then, but movement caught my eye. “Watch out!” I exclaimed in warning. I'm not sure what position he held, but I had seen this man with the cardinal before: Jussac.

The boy deflected the blow Jussac aimed at him, his sword flashing in the sun. Jussac lunged, and the boy dodged aside. The boy slammed his elbow into the man's back, sending him flying. I took the opportunity to glance at the rest of the fight. I didn't want to miss any of this!

Athos had obviously just plowed through several guards, for they were on the ground at his feet. Something had happened to Porthos' stick, for he grabbed two buckets and swung them at the guards' heads. Aramis was climbing a tilted cart, using the height it gave him to his advantage as the guards tried to get at him.

In front of me, the boy kicked Jussac away and turned back towards me. He leaned against his sword. “You didn't answer my question,” he said.

His accent gave away where he was from: Gascony. “Are you always this cocky?” I asked by way of response. Perhaps this boy was not as young as I thought. A little older than I was? Of course, anyone with his reckless attitude would not live for very long.

He grinned. “Only on Tuesdays,” he said, lifting his sword. On the verge of lunging again, Jussac froze as the tip of the sword came barely an inch from his chest. Still, the Cardinal’s man knocked the sword aside. Their swords clashed several times, and the boy sent Jussac reeling away, smacking the man's back with his sword. He turned back to me. “And whenever beautiful women are involved,” he added, grinning again.

I raised my eyebrows at that. Did he really expect a line like that to work? “Damn you, boy!” Jussac growled, surging up from the ground.

In a matter of moments, the boy managed to twist the blade from Jussac. He punched the man. “Can’t you see we're trying to have a conversation?” the boy demanded, his tone aggravated.

Another quick glance showed that the inséparables had dealt with the guards. Only a few remained standing. I saw Porthos move to actually unsheathe his sword, and two guards practically fall over each other in their haste to get away. I was tempted to laugh, but saw the former priest making the sign of the cross over the body of the last man he’d killed.

“What is your name?” the boy asked, holding a sword in each hand.

I hesitated a moment before deciding it could do no harm. “Constance,” I told him. I couldn't help but smile as I spoke.

“Constance,” he repeated, as though to keep in his memory. “It sounds very steadfast.”

“A quality you seem to know little about,” I responded. All right, boy. Answer that one.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” he told me. “Deep down I am a hopeless romantic.”

Well, I don't know about romantic, but hopeless seemed a good word for him. Still, his response made me smile again. I shook myself mentally as I realized I was enjoying this encounter far to much. A lady in waiting does not associate with uneducated country boys!

Jussac was getting to his feet. “Back for more?” the boy asked. He tossed the man's sword back. Now, that was unexpected and made the crowd applaud in appreciation. What came as more of a surprise was Jussac snapping his sword over his knee and tossing the pieces to the ground at the boy's feet.

I looked around as the crowd continued to cheer. Only now they were chanting, “Musketeers! Musketeers!” The three inséparables had come together and Porthos was waving to the crowd. The guards still on their feet were hastily following Jussac out of the yard.

“The name is D'Artagnan,” the boy told me, his smile full of charm. He was still trying to catch his breath.

My heart skipped a beat and I took that as a warning. I could not let this go any further, and I forced my expression to be serious. “You must come from a very small town,” I remarked.

“How did you know?” D'Artagnan asked, looking surprised.

“Because lines like yours might actually work there,” I told him, my tone sharp. “This is Paris. I suggest you stick to swordplay. In a battle of wits, you, sir, are unarmed.”

His eyes still showed surprise, and disappointment. I turned and walked away. Maybe my nose was in the air, but I don't know. I heard one of the men say, “She's right, lad. The women of Paris are infinitely more complicated. They have a thousand ways of saying no, and only some of them mean yes.”

Just before I left the yard, I glanced over my shoulder. I saw D'Artagnan following the three men in the opposite direction. At least they were smart enough to get out of here before Jussac managed to get more guards and an army to take them down.

I giggled suddenly as I quickened my steps. I would have a good story to tell Anne for once.