i'll be right down! with the grace of an aerialist, porthos jumps from the balcony and lands atop the chandelier. his weight causes the chains suspending it to break. with a whoop of pleasure, porthos rides the chandelier down as it lands squarely atop jussac's guards, squashing them.
ready when you are. athos and aramis sheathe their swords, put on their hats, wrap their capes around them and cross the room to join porthos.
my aim was off. i was trying to hit jussac.
what did he say?
tunics? coming right up. porthos reaches inside his cloak and takes out a crumpled red tunic he took from one of the cardinal's guards. he drops it on the ground, digs into a pocket and takes out another. he finds another in his boot and another up his sleeve. there's one in his hat. like a magician, he keeps pulling red tunics out of the most bizarre places.
it doesn't matter where i go or what i do. sooner or later somebody's calling me 'outlaw.' athos cuts him off with a look. he's familiar with porthos' propensity for tall tales. but not here, not now. athos turns back to the balcony. rochefort lobs a taunt.
same thing, these days.
well, if we're going to be outlaws, i suppose we'll have to get our affairs in order.
alphabetically seems.  fair.
outlaws.
but, catherine, don't you see? as an outlaw i'll be constantly on the run from the cardinal's guards, a refugee. think of all the places you can hide me. i'm thinking of them now.
do you know where this sash comes from?
it is a gift from the queen of america. porthos' righteous indignation is more impressive than his knowledge of current affairs. d'artagnan corrects.
madame augustine, would you excuse me for a moment, i'm going to kill him. now, where were we?
i was?
everywhere i go, it's always the same. there's always some kid who thinks he's hot with a sword.  some itchy punk who wants to go up against the great porthos.
the great porthos. me, you idiot.
don't you know who i am?
all right, you little puke! you want to die? so be it! one o'clock behind the luxembourg! and bring a coffin!
what're you doing? you can't fight this man.
because i'm fighting him.
oh, don't be stupid. of course we intend to resist. just give us a second.
interesting odds. five of them and three of us.
bold and brave.
d'artagnan? the name has meaning for all of them. the musketeers look at each other, deadpan, shake their heads.
it couldn't be.
well. now that we're all acquainted.
damn monks. always spoiling everybody's fun.
they're about to get a little nearer to the hilt of my sword.
papist. porthos slides over to handle one of aramis' opponents. he'd rather bicker from close range. but biscarat struggles to his feet, grabs his saber. porthos sees him, sighs.
excuse me?
god, i love my work.
do you know where this bolo comes from?
spain.
go home, find a wench, live long and prosper.
he really is cold and unfriendly.
do you believe this kid.
rochefort's got the boy.
definitely. a plan. and with that, they gallop after.
don't worry, boy. you won't feel a thing. the captain of the guards gives aramis a suspicious look.
well, what have we here?
how considerate of the cardinal to provide us with a snack.
trinkets for the ladies.
champagne?
don't go away.
may i recommend this find cabernet? porthos hands the bottle to athos. athos hands the reins to d'artagnan. d'artagnan struggles with the reins, tries to control the horses. and beams, taking delight from every instant of adventure. athos smashes the top of the bottle, drinks deeply, settles back to enjoy himself.
that's it. next time, you drive.
i'd give five years of your life just to see the cardinal's face!
i heard of a d'artagnan once. he was a captain in the musketeers when we were just recruits.
i knew there was something familiar about this boy.
you already have. his name is the count de rochefort. d'artagnan isn't listening. he stands suddenly, turns, and walks away. he doesn't want the musketeers to see the tears forming in his eyes. aramis shouts after:
go on.
the duke of buckingham?
this messenger and the treaty will prove the cardinal a traitor. if we can get our hands on them.
but with three men trying, one of us might be able to make it.
it's not a threat, it's a fact. if you don't haul those kegs away, you're dead where you stand. the farmer laughs, contemptuously. he raises his pistol and aims it at porthos' head. but before he can pull the trigger, three explosions erupt from under the cloaks of athos, porthos and aramis. when the smoke clears, d'artagnan is startled to see the three dead "farmers" sprawled in the road and the three pistols emerging from beneath the cloaks of the musketeers.
mine hit the ground first.
there's only one rule, d'artagnan -- stay alive.
ladies, you're in for a treat tonight. allow me to introduce myself. i'm the musketeer they call porthos. porthos beams, waiting for a big response but nothing happens. the barmaids look at each other.
porthos.
oh, shut up, aramis.
i don't get it. i just don't get it.
i said, 'a queen is no different than a barmaid in the dark. though less.  practiced in the arts of pleasure'
if you're going to be a proper musketeer, you'll have to learn the manly art of wenching. right, ladies? the barmaids heartily concur. d'artagnan looks over porthos' shoulder, to the dark-haired barmaid seen previ- ously. porthos follows his gaze, grins.
ahh, very good. your first subject. but you'll need instruction. watch closely. porthos pulls one of the barmaids to his chest, brings her lips toward his.
the secret to wenching is the first kiss. for in that kiss, a lasting impression is made. if it is weak, she will think you are weak. and if it is comical, she will think you are a clown. with me?
very good. and as a musketeer is never weak, and only rarely a clown, your first kiss must be all the things that you are. like this.  porthos gives the barmaid a powerful kiss. he breaks it, turns to d'artagnan with a grin.
you may speak first if you like, your name, her name, an endearment or two. but words are usually a waste of time.
that's cheating. the barmaid on his lap disagrees.
come on, d'artagnan. we haven't got all night.
the boy's a natural.
athos takes his drinking seriously. ignore him. he'll be his usual warm, charming self by morning. service! my lap is cold! a barmaid scurries into view. porthos grabs her by the waist, adds the barmaid to the one already sitting on his lap. the chair breaks beneath them, and all three go sprawling on the floor, laughing heartily.
aramis -- play something with some blood in it! i feel like dancing! aramis launches into something appropriate. porthos and a barmaid get up and begin a festive folk dance. porthos is damned good. his joie de vivre is infectious and soon everyone in the inn is clapping and encouraging him. every once in awhile, another weapon -- a dagger or something -- drops out of porthos' clothing and hits the floor with a clatter.
care to dance, athos?
aramis! athos made a joke!
beautiful morning, eh, d'artagnan?
you know, d'artagnan, it's not a good idea to travel on an empty stomach. you really should have had a big portion of those sheep's brains.
whistling? i'm not whistling.
the barmaid's kiss left him dizzy.
i hate cannon balls.
and you?
here's just the thing. a nice, relaxing boat ride. at the bottom of the hill: a crude ferry lands at the bank of a swift, choppy river.
what? aramis takes porthos by the shoulder and turns him so he can see their pursuers pouring over the top of the hill on their horses.
we sail!
popularity has its price.
we'd be happy to. porthos produces a bottle from under his cloak.
if you'll drink one with us to the king.
all right. i'll object.
let's see. you are, by your dress and by your manner, members of a bone-lazy class of servile ninnyhammers whose slavish allegiance to his eminence the cardinal is as that of a dog who likes nothing better than to sniff today where he has peed the day before.
piss is piss, no matter what robes surround it.
i was momentarily inspired.
maybe there's something about us that just pisses people off. at least i'd like to think so. it's too bad we can only kill them once.
i've been called a lot of things in my time.
but beef-witted is a little more than i can stand, not to mention unfair.
what? aramis indicates the opposite shore as the flatboat approaches it. there, waiting patiently, swords and muskets already drawn.  is a patrol of cardinal's guards.
no. my horse can.
but?
no, no. please. after you.
well i certainly hope so. after all that hard work.
remind me to tell you the story of horses that could fly above raging waters. a heroic tale of love, death, and musketeers. suitable for the general public. porthos wades into the bodyguards, at play, shouting as he goes.
all right then. all those who wish to die, raise your hands! don't by shy, there's plenty to go around! d'artagnan grabs a sword from the deck, turns to join the fray. and finds himself face to face with parker, the indo-chinese bodyguard. parker has two oriental swords spinning in his hands. one knocks d'artagnan's sword out of his hand. d'artagnan does a back flip but falls on the slippery deck. as parker is about to chop d'artagnan's head off, his face grimaces as he is lifted on a sword out of frame. in the mist athos is revealed!
i told you i was famous.
privateer. there's a difference. every musketeer is running from something or someone. d'artagnan deadpans:
what about the king?
athos -- but athos breaks free. milady rises to her feet. athos rushes to her.
his name's d'artagnan, sire.
do my eyes deceive me?
his lips, unused as they are to such a contortion, twisted and stretched.  into a smile.
truth.  honor.
weren't you listening?