From: harry@hhayfield.fsnet.co.uk Subject: The Labours of Porthos The sun rose over the Chateaux de Bracieux de Pierrefonds in Southern France and streamed through the bedroom window of it's occupant, Baron du Vallon. It was the longest day and Baron du Vallon, yawned, stretched and gradually woke up. He pulled a bell cord next to his bed and a few moments later, his faithful manservant Mousqueton entered the bedchamber. "Ah, my dear Mousqueton" said the master, "pray how are you this fine morn?" Mousqueton bowed deeply. "I am well, monsieur, would your lordship like breakfast prepared?" "Indeed" replied the master, getting out of the four poster bed, "A small breakfast I think, just a couple of boars, twenty seven chickens, oh, and a gallon and a half of warm ale!" Mousqueton smiled as he left the bedchamber then shouted at the top of his voice to the kitchen staff, "Boars, Chicken and Ale!" Du Vallon, examined himself in the mirror. There was no doubt about it, he was big. Hardly surprising really, when you consider that just five years previously he had been "The Strongest Man in the Musketeers". He looked at himself and puffed out his chest, a deep thick chest that had supported everything from little D'Artangan to a 3,000 pound cannon. But that was all in the past now, he had retired from the Musketeers to take up the title that was rightly his. He got dressed and went downstairs to have breakfast. The sun was already high in the sky when du Vallon decided to visit the library. Six thousand books were in residence, part of the inheritance and he would often spend a morning having a good read. He had a look along the shelves, when he noticed a book he hadn't read before. He pulled it out and sat down. "The Twelve Labours of Hercules" read du Vallon, "Theseus and Milon of Croton" He turned the opening cover and looked in amazement. There in the front page was a picture, not just any picture, but a picture of Hercules, the world's strongest man being lifted over the head of Milon of Croton. "That's impossible" thought du Vallon and quickly turned to the section about Milon. As he read he became more and more impressed. Milon, a member of the Croton tribe, lived in Ancient Greece about the time of Alexander the Great. In fact, by the time Alexander was King, Milon had already gained a reputation for feats of strength. When he was only six years old, he demonstrated a feat that had not been repeated to this day. An earthquake had struck the centre of the Grecian world and caused the collapse of the temple of Zeus with people still trapped inside in an safe area. Milon, bold as brass had lifted the front of the temple and let the people escape. So it was no real surprise for du Vallon to learn that he was recruited by Alexander to "boost confidence" in his army. This he did in three ways. First, he slaughtered a bull. "Hah" scoffed du Vallon, "I did that yesterday!" he said, turning the page. "With a single blow of his fist" du Vallon read, gulping. Then he carried it back to Alexander's palace a total of 500 paces away, and eat the bull. All in one day. Du Vallon closed the book and donged for Mousqueton, who duly arrived. "Yes, monsieur?" he asked "We're off hunting!" announced du Vallon *** The kitchen staff were amazed at what had arrived on the table. The head cook approached Mousqueton. "And what, pray tell" asked the cook, "are we supposed to do with that then?" "Cook it, of course!" came the reply The head cook looked at the table. "You expect us, to cook that beast!". The cook did a quick calculation. "If that thing is as heavy as you say it is..." "It is" interrupted Mousqueton "500lbs" "It will take the best part of a week to cook" said the cook "if not longer!" "Try your best!" said Mousqueton, and with that went back to his master As he approached the door to the library he could hear grunting. "What's he up to now?" he thought and opened the door. There was du Vallon, stripped to the waist with a piece of rope around his upper arm. He bent his arm and grunted. After only a few seconds of pressure the rope snapped. "Monsieur?" asked Mousqueton Du Vallon turned round and threw the book at him. "Read that!" he grunted Mousqueton read the page and the blood drained from his face. "Oh, no, Monsieur, you're not thinking what I think you're thinking?" "I want you to go to Pau tomorrow morning and ask the ropemaker to produce 50 feet of his strongest rope!" *** Pau was a small industrial town in the south of France that owed it's livelihood to Baron du Vallon. If it hadn't been for that mass order of 100 anvils from the blacksmith, 10 feet of rope from the ropemaker and a chock from the carpenter, the town would have been deserted years ago. So it was no surprise that the town greeted Mousqueton with open arms when he arrived after a gruelling four day trip. He made his way to the ropemaker's shop "Bonjour, monsieur!" said the ropemaker, "How may I please the service of Baron du Vallon?" "By supplying a 50 feet length of rope!" came the reply "Certainly, monsieur!" replied the ropemaker, "Any specifications?" "Yes" said Mousqueton, "it must be made from the strongest material possible!" The ropemaker thought for a moment, then went into the back of the shop and came back with a small length of rope. "Will this do?" he asked Mousqueton held one end and pulled. It seemed strong enough, but then he wasn't anything as strong as the Baron. He asked the ropemaker if he could test it. "By all means" replied the ropemaker The blacksmith was busy making some horseshoes for the local hunt when Mousqueton arrived. He asked the blacksmith if he could borrow one of his anvils. With the blacksmith's help, he tied one end of the rope around the anvil and tied the other end to the sign above the blacksmith's shop and waited. After twenty minutes the anvil crashed to the ground, not because the rope had snapped, but because the sign had snapped. The rope was still intact. Mousqueton went back to the ropemaker and confirmed the order. That night, he started back to the chateau with the rope on the back of the cart. *** Mousqueton arrived back in the early morning, by his reckoning the bull should have been cooked by now and du Vallon should be tucking into it. As he came up the drive he was greeted by the head cook. His face red. "Do you have any idea what I have just had to deal with?" he shouted Mousqueton looked blank. The head cook took him to the back of the chateau and pointed out a huge hole. As Mousqueton peered in, he gasped. There in the hole was the skeleton of the bull they had caught a week ago. Mousqueton turned to the head cook "He ate it?" he asked The head cook nodded as was about to explain what had happened when they both heard a roar. "MOUSQUETON" shouted du Vallon at the top of his voice "BRING ME THE ROPE!" *** Du Vallon now stood in a nearby field, wearing only a loincloth. It was a good thing that it was a warm day, Mousqueton thought, otherwise he could be complaining. Du Vallon's muscular chest was heaving in and out. He summoned his manservant to start tying him up with the rope. As he did so, du Vallon explained what he was going to do. "When you have done that" grunted du Vallon, "I want you to go to the far corner of this field and then not approach me until either the rope has been broken or I am dead!" "But, my lord!" started Mousqueton "No buts" interrupted du Vallon. "If I fail, you will find a letter that I want you to deliver to His Majesty's Musketeers in Paris, telling them that the Baron du Vallon is dead!" Mousqueton finished wrapping the rope around the baron's chest. He had obviously expanded after eating that bull, as the rope had only gone around nine times, not ten as he had asked. "Now, go" said the Baron and closed his eyes Mousqueton trudged through the earth and turned. He bowed to his master and invoked the Latin phrase that he had been taught at school by his father. A phrase that the gladiators of Ancient Rome used to invoke before Caesar. "Ave Baron du Vallon" he said "Mourtiari te Salulatant" and with that he went to the edge of the field. --- Du Vallon was but a small speck in the distance. It was impossible to tell what was happening. Had he been killed already by the rope suffocating him? Was he building himself up? Mousqueton laid back on the ground and was soon asleep in the warm morning sunshine. He dreamed of what the Baron must be going through. His muscles bulging as he tried to snap the rope surrounding his body, the sweat that was pouring down his face, the grim determination in his eyes, the earth shattering roar coming from his lips. Mousqueton woke up and still heard the roar. He looked up just in time to see the rope shatter into a hundreds of small pieces and du Vallon collapse on the ground. Without thinking, he ran to his master. "Master, Master!" he called as he approached the heaving mass "Are you all right?" Du Vallon stood up, faced Mousqueton and roared "I'M THE STRONGEST MAN IN THE WORLD!" and with that lifted Mousqueton above his head and ran all the way back to the chateau *** Several months later, a letter arrived from Paris for Baron du Vallon. It was his old colleague, D'Artangan now a Captain in His Majesty's Musketeers. It was asking the Baron to return to active duty to help prevent Milady de Winter's daughter from overthrowing the monarchy. The Baron duly accepted and with Mousqueton rode to Paris. As he was about to enter the hotel where D'Artangan was waiting for them, he reined Mousqueton back. "Whatever you do" he said "Don't mention my strength!" Mousqueton nodded. "And another thing" he said as they dismounted and entered the hotel, "as of now I'm not the Baron du Vallon!" "No?" asked Mousqueton "No" he replied and bellowed at the front door "Well -- doesn't one open the door for his friend anymore?" The door opened and there was D'Artanagan dressed in his captain's clothes "Porthos -- in flesh and blood! Ah, dear friend!" As D'Artangan leapt at the Baron, he turned and winked at Mousqueton Mousqueton nodded back. He knew that from that moment on the Baron du Vallon was dead, long live Porthos The Musketeers.htm