The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [232]
After a moment or two the troop appeared. It advanced along a communication trench which linked the city to the bastion.
“God help us!” Athos scoffed. “It was certainly not worth while to disturb ourselves for a score of oafs armed with pickaxes, mattocks and shovels! Grimaud need but have waved to them to go away and I am sure they would have left us in peace.”
“I doubt it; they are advancing very resolutely. Besides, they are not all pioneers. There are four soldiers and a corporal armed with muskets.”
“Pooh!” Athos shrugged his shoulders. “They probably haven’t seen us.”
“I must confess I feel it most distasteful to fire on these poor devils of civilians.”
“It is a bad priest who takes pity on heretics,” said Porthos sententiously.
“Aramis is right,” Athos contradicted. “Let me go warn them.”
“What the devil do you mean?” cried D’Artagnan. “You will be shot down like a pheasant.”
Paying no heed to D’Artagnan’s remonstrance, Athos mounted the breach, his musket in one hand, his hat in the other and saluting courteously, shouted:
“Gentlemen, your attention, please!”
Amazed, the troop halted some fifty paces from the bastion.
“Gentlemen,” Athos continued, “a few friends and myself are breakfasting together in this bastion. Now you know nothing can be so annoying as to be disturbed at mealtime. We therefore beg you, if you have absolutely imperative business here, either to wait until we finish our meal or to come back later. Unless, of course, you are so well advised as to quit the side of the rebels and come here to join us in drinking to the health of the King of France.”
“Look out, Athos!” D’Artagnan warned him. “Can’t you see they are taking aim?”
“Certainly, but they are only civilians, very indifferent marksmen who will surely miss me.”
At the same instant four shots rang out and the bullets flattened themselves out against the wall around Athos without a single one touching him. Four shots answered them almost immediately but, much better aimed than those of the aggressors, they hit their mark. Three soldiers fell dead and one pioneer was wounded.
“Grimaud, another musket!” Athos called, still atop the breach.
Grimaud promptly obeyed. His three friends had reloaded and a second discharge followed. The corporal and two sappers fell dead; the rest of the troop took to their heels.
“Now gentlemen, a sally!” Athos ordered.
The four friends rushed out of the fort, reached the scene of battle, picked up the soldiers’ muskets and the corporal’s short pike, and, certain that the fugitives would not stop until safely within the city again, they calmly returned to the bastion bearing the trophies of their victory.
“Reload the weapons, Grimaud,” Athos commanded. “As for us, gentlemen, let us return to our breakfast and resume our conversation. Where were we?”
“We were discussing Milady,” D’Artagnan said. “You told us she had left the shores of France,” he added, for he was greatly concerned over her itinerary.
“She is going to England,” Athos vouchsafed.
“For what purpose?”
“For the purpose of assassinating the Duke of Buckingham or, at any rate, having someone assassinate him.”
D’Artagnan uttered an exclamation of surprise and indignation.
“But that is infamous!” he cried.
“Bah, I beg you to believe that to me this matter is but of little moment!” Turning toward his servant: “Now that you have finished, Grimaud,” he called, “take the corporal’s pike, tie a napkin to it and plant it on top of our bastion so that the rebels of La Rochelle may see they are dealing with brave and loyal soldiers of the King.”
Grimaud obeyed without replying. An instant after, the white flag was floating over the heads of the four friends. Across the plain a thunder of applause greeted its appearance; half the camp stood at the barriers.
“Why do you worry so little whether Milady murders Buckingham or not?” D’Artagnan inquired. “The Duke is our friend.”
“The Duke is an Englishman, the Duke