Red Scharlach Speaks to the Nation

Gosh, here's a turn-up for the books. Several people* have asked if I was planning to write recaps for series 2 of The Musketeers, in the style of my long-ago Merlin reviews. I didn't review series 1 of The Musketeers, mostly because it aired on a Sunday evening, which is not the best night for staying up late and typing nipple jokes. However, a few folk expressed disappointment about this and wondered whether series 2 moving to a Friday night meant I would change my mind.

Well... apparently it has, at least for now. I can't promise I'll recap every episode this season, but I'm going to start optimistically with some thoughts about episode 2.01: Keep Your Friends Close:

Preliminary confession: I actually first saw this episode at the Musketeers press launch in December: my adventures there are recorded in this Tumblr post (warning: may contain gratuitous handsomeness). But enough boasting: on with the recap...
Ring the Cloister Bell because Cardinal Capaldi is dead and has failed to regenerate! The King is the only one who's even remotely sad about this, but he's sent the Musketeers galloping over a scenic hillside in search of a new bad guy. It doesn't take them long to find one, in the form of Rochefort, who's equipped with an attitude as bad as his wig and a penchant for villainy of the "look over there while I unsubtly shoot this bloke and claim I had a good reason for it!" variety. Just the kind of villain a rollickingly silly adventure serial needs, in other words.
Meanwhile, back at the palace, Queen Anne is busy throwing fruit around and giving birth to the future Louis XIV. The King is delighted, possibly having failed to realize that he won't be the loudest screaming brat in the family for much longer, and DEFINITELY having failed to realize that the real babydaddy is at this moment riding through a forest, dragging Rochefort behind him on a rope like a particularly unkempt shih tzu.
Blimey, Anne gets her pre-baby figure back startlingly quickly, even by modern celebrity standards. I look forward to the tabloid exclusive about how she used a combination of extra-strength corsetry and fear of hideous execution if her husband ever finds out she's been shagging the staff. Having said that, the King hasn't noticed anything yet, since he's too busy sulking about Treville refusing to be his new political adviser/BFF (I like to imagine the requirements of the job include setting the King's ringlets and talking about boys). Treville, however, is more concerned about rallying the Muskelads to rescue his own BFF/ex-boyfriend, who's in prison in Spain.
Gosh, it's Constance and D'Artagnan in soft-focus flagrante... well, no, it's just Constance daydreaming amid the laundry, but it's pretty raunchy for the middle of the afternoon. But before Constance can start earning a few extra francs by charging passers-by for a ten-minute zone-out in her Patented Sexy-Sheet Dream-Yurt, her patronizing husband arrives to take her to the palace. It turns out that the Queen has decided to hire her as a live-in BFF, all the better to enable romantic subplots, girlie chats, and mutual moping about how terribly tough it is to grope a muscular Musketeer. Interestingly, with this development AND the introduction of Marguerite (see below), the show has theoretically improved its chance of passing the Bechdel test at some point. I'm now mildly curious to see whether this will ever occur. Good luck finding something to chat about that isn't "which Musketeer has the best arse", ladies...
Speaking of new girl Marguerite, here she is at last, carrying Aramis Junior around and parrying some opportunistic flirtation from his daddy. Entertaining as this is, it is merely an hors d'oeuvre to the main course of one of Athos's most classic and withering eye-rolls at Aramis, during which he manages to convey the sentiment "OMG ARAMIS, I cannot BELIEVE you are a) trying to get close to your baby when you KNOW it will all end horribly, b) probably still mooning over the Queen behind your luxuriously stylish facial hair, and c) shamelessly flirting with some poor woman LIKE THE TART YOU ARE (yes, I know you ONLY looked at her and waved but THOSE THINGS ARE HIGH-GRADE FLIRTING FOR YOU) whose heart you will probably BREAK MESSILY in order to further your own continuing interests in plans a) and b), and I will probably have to clear up the mess and IT WILL BE TERRIBLE, NOW REMIND ME WHY I AM YOUR FRIEND AGAIN???", using only the single word "What?" Now, THAT'S some quality acting right there, Mr Burke.
Back in the main plot, Rochefort's villainous plan is apparently "to replace the Cardinal in the King's affections", and in order to do this, he plans to have all the Musketeers killed. That may seem like an over-optimistic scheme for the first episode of a series called The Musketeers, but Rochefort is probably planning to pitch a replacement rom-com about he and the King being best ~~fuck~~buddies and skipping happily through the meadows of France together, taking pot-shots at passing peasants. Awww.
Okay, it's time for the Muskelads and Rochefort to take a trip down to Spain to rescue Treville's ex, the General de Foix. This involves several cunning plans: the Musketeers all wearing civilian clothes for a change (mostly involving ridiculously pouffy sleeves), then swapping them for Spanish uniforms (involving ridiculously pouffy trousers); Aramis speaking Spanish (¡ay, caramba!); and D'Artagnan doing his very own Pride & Prejudice tribute by jumping in a moat with his shirt on (although given the state of the water, he's more like Mr Dirty than Mr Darcy).
This season, the BBC are airing the show after the watershed, which means we are allowed slightly more on-screen naughtiness than before. This is most obvious in the scene when D'Artagnan gets his shirt off (good lad, taking one for the team there) but is almost immediately upstaged by the sight of A LADY'S BOTTOM. Yes, it seems bare bums are now canonical, and thus a pressing query arises. Namely: in the interests of equal-opportunities objectification, does this mean we will be getting to see A GENTLEMAN'S BOTTOM in a later episode? Does it? DOES IT? I really do think we should be told. Possibly with diagrams, if required....
Anyway, after putting her bottom away, the lady in question turns out to be General de Foix's sister, and is not only a sensible woman but also a committed slasher, jumping immediately to the conclusion that D'Artagnan and the unconscious Spaniard were planning some semi-conscious (but hopefully consensual) sexytimes. She also has excellent observational abilities, which she demonstrates when the rest of the Muskeboys turn up and everyone has to escape via the Convenient Deathslide of Doom.
"An act of naked aggression!" - Disappointingly, this is the kidnapped Spanish guy's description of the Musketeers rescuing the General, and not a description of the regiment's annual Nude Duelling Day....
Okay folks, it's the end of the episode and there are prizes for everyone. Rochefort gets a decent haircut and an official appointment as ~~Chief Baddie~~ Captain of the Red Guards. D'Artagnan gets a Snog of Maximum Misunderstanding from the General's sister, in full view of a deeply disappointed Constance. Constance gets a questionable new dress made out of sofa fabric and a rather good speech about being "a woman in a world built for men". Aramis gets unexpected and upsetting closure to the tale of Adele, his late lady love from back in episode 1.01. Cardinal Capaldi gets to continue pissing people off after he's gone, which must be exactly what he would have wanted. Porthos gets an interesting subplot set up about his mysterious daddy, and Treville gets to angst moodily about his own involvement in the Porthos family's dysfunction. And Athos gets to stalk off moodily in a hat, presumably in the direction of the nearest pub. Hoorah!
In conclusion: Rollicking, riproaring and regularly ridiculous, this episode was a rousing reminder of the world of the Musketeers in all its leather-clad handsome silliness. I suspect Rochefort will never do much more than scowl and come up with evil plots that never come off, but he was entertaining enough and several subplots have been neatly laid down for future exploration. I missed this show more than I realized, and I only hope it can stay as much fun as this every week.
Next week: The King has a night out with the Muskeboys and Milady comes back from her holidays with some very kinky boots. Tune in and find out whether I manage to review it...

* Well, three. Does that count as several?

Cheers to everyone who said nice things about my first Musketeers review last week! I shall endeavour to keep hammering 'em out for the rest of the series. Here are some thoughts on episode 2.02: An Ordinary Man:

"You there! Take off your clothes!" - Blimey, it's good to be king in Musketeerland, isn't it? Unfortunately, Louis chooses to use his great powers with great irresponsibility, aiming them at a passing peasant and not at any of the people I'd choose to disrobe if I were in charge. Hmpf.
Fortunately, this week's plot is NOT that the King has suddenly become as shallow as me, but that he fancies a night on the town with the Musketeers, trying to be Louis from the Block and getting down with the boozing masses. But despite thinking that poor is cool, he can't even do his coat up without help. I found myself hoping that D'Artagnan wasn't obliged to provide similar aid later in the evening when the royal bladder needed emptying. (One shake or two, your Majesty?) The rest of the Musketeers stand around awkwardly wondering when it's time to go home, and it almost comes as a relief when the King gets dragged off into slavery. At least they won't be able to hear his embarrassing remarks from Spain.
Meanwhile, Aramis has missed the lads' night out in order to focus on his latest plan: copping off with Marguerite as an excuse to spend time with his royal lovechild. He is correct in thinking that if he goes AWOL, everyone will assume he's off being slutty somewhere (Treville certainly falls for it) but it's not very nice to Marguerite, is it? To be fair to her, she's a tad suspicious of his motives, despite being understandably distracted by the whole "ridiculous level of hotness" thing. Currently I am hoping that she turns out to be a trained ninja as well as a governess and so can threaten his family jewels in a way that will put the existence of any future baby Aramises (Aramistakes?) in serious doubt.
Treville does a LOT of frowning this week, especially when he finds out his lads have lost the king. Think of it this way, Treville: unlike with certain members of the British monarchy, at least you don't have naked Instagramming or racist fancy dress to worry about. Nonetheless, he's the one who has to go to the Queen with "oops, we seem to have mislaid your husband" as an excuse. Rochefort sees this as an excuse for sidling up to the Queen (boo) and being nasty to Constance (double boo).
Hold your noses, because it's time for the Muskeboys take a sentimental trip down to the local morgue. Viewers of last series will remember that this is Athos's favourite spot for a first date, but this time there's no time for flirting: they've got to march manfully around the town, figuring out this week's plot and getting busy with chains and red-hot pokers. Meanwhile, D'Artagnan and the King are having no fun on a chain gang, and an assorted set of craggy character actors are gurning and snarling and being surprisingly Scottish everywhere.
Then Treville has to go to the Queen AGAIN and say "oops, we didn't just mislay your husband, he's been sold into slavery". Poor chap, he spends more time apologizing than a British Rail station announcer. Meanwhile Constance and Queen hold hands (aww), and Rochefort's coat seems to get shinier in every scene. By the end of the series, he'll be able to roast a turkey in it.
Oh look, Milady's back, wearing an outfit that the fashion magazines are probably calling Autumnal Outlaw Chic and living in a surprisingly clean and tidy cave (bijou bolthole for two, plenty of room for worthless trinkets, scenic views of the fittest men in the camp, bring your own telescope). When D'Artagnan claps eyes on her, I was highly amused by his impressive range of "WTF?" looks (as pointed out by the BBCOne Twitter account). Perhaps he's just surprised to see that she's invented solar-powered curling tongs three centuries early.
"What about ME??" - Hee, that line is a perfect encapsulation of Rochefort's character. Of course, he'll never understand that it's Not About Him. I also noticed that Rochefort and the Spanish ambassador together are remarkably similar to Pinky and the Brain, only with smaller ears and even less likelihood of successfully taking over the world.
Louis's peevishness on discovering he's not as popular as he thought reminded me of Blackadder II. Put it this way, your Majesty: when people slip in what dogs have left in the street, they do tend to say "Whoops, I've trod on a Louis..."

King Louis XIII and Woody the Dog: separated at birth?
Speaking of Blackadder, Rochefort's definitely got a hint of Lord Flashheart about him. "Hey Queenie, you look sexy. Why don't you write to your brother, the King's mortal enemy, and give me some blackmail material I can hold against you later in the series? Also, tell Constance to get rid of her clip-on ponytail in the next scene. I prefer it that way. Woof!"
Back in the woods, it's Milady to the questionable rescue! Unfortunately Louis is atrocious at running away unless he's got a valet to carry him. Meanwhile, the Muskeboys have finally reached the same bit of woodland, but so has Gus the evil landlord, bringing his unwanted Evil Man-Cleavage (TM) and some extra Rent-a-Henchmen. Loads of shooting happens and nice Pepin (a.k.a. The Only Other Prisoner With A Speaking Part) gets it in the back. Oh dear.
It's Milady to the questionable rescue again, but this time with added "oops I fainted and must now snog the King when D'Artagnan isn't looking!" Say what you like about Milady, but you can't question her solid commitment to shagging her way through the cast of this show. She probably goes home and ticks them off on a bingo card. Then who should turn up but her ex-husband and his mates. Thank goodness there's another massively long shoot-out before things can get too socially awkward.
Something definitely needs to be said about the unexpected highlight of this episode: D'Artagnan ripping Athos's scarf off. Maybe not in words, though: more in the form of some sort of aroused growling noise. Personally, I like to think Athos took D'Artagnan straight home afterwards and showed him EXACTLY how impressed he was by his performance in the field.

But yes, straight out of leftfield comes possibly the slashiest thing that's happened on this show so far. Who told them that what we needed was hot guys ripping each other's clothes off? Whoever it was, please write back to the BBC and tell them we need MORE OF THIS SORT OF THING. (Salacious footnote: D'Artagnan must have known that scarf would come off in one pull, because accidentally strangling your mate in public is never a good look. It's therefore my head-canon that it's not the first time he's pulled it off like that...)
Treville paces the church and wonders if he's about to deliver his 78th profuse royal apology of the episode and whether this one may quite literally kill him. But it's okay, folks: here comes the King and the Musketeers have even helped him into a pair of clean trousers and spruced up his ringlets for the occasion. Does Musketeer training include advanced hairstyling skills these days?
So King Louis has learned to be a nice person now, right? Wrong. He's even more of an irksome little shit than before, and displays it by giving D'Artagnan the official Worst Thank-You Present Ever: "Here is a man to execute in my front room! WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU DON'T WANT IT??" Rochefort, on the other hand, is only too happy to do a bit of extra stabbing before lunch. D'Artagnan has to make up for the social embarrassment by going out to be nice to widows and orphans. And he's given Athos his scarf back, too. That boy is so considerate.
Overall: Not a particularly exciting story for much of its length, but took a definite upward swing towards the end, if only for purely libidinous reasons. A good episode for D'Artagnan, however, showing how he's grown up in story terms as well as more subjective female-gazey ones (hem hem).
Next week: Guest-stars with outRAGEous Spanish accents, and Rochefort starts turning into Spike from Buffy The Vampire-Slayer, what with wearing a leather coat, trying to flirt in an evil fashion with ~~Buffy~~ the Queen and copping off with her ~~robot double~~ lookalike....

Hello, and welcome to another bout of safe, sane and consensual swashbuckling, with some thoughts on The Musketeers 2.03: The Good Traitor:

We find Rochefort relaxing in his hideously tacky shag palace, complete with bedlinen from House of Fraser's new Bachelor Bastard range. Unfortunately, nobody loves Rochefort as much as he loves himself, so he's had to hire a wench who caters for kinky cosplay requests involving mega-cleavage and panniers so wide that she can probably store a packed lunch in them. He also makes her read out highlights from his own self-insert fanfic involving him and the Queen declaring their undying pantsfeelings, so let's hope she's being well paid for the privilege. (BTW, is there also a service that offers home delivery of rent boys who dress up as Musketeers? Asking for a friend.)
Meanwhile, Treville also has a late-night visitor, in the form of Tariq Alaman, a Moorish general trained at the Iñigo Montoya School of Enthusiastic But Questionable Spanish Accents. Military genius or not, he nonetheless fails to spot that Athos and D'Artagnan are in the room too. Does Tariq have trouble seeing stuff that's just off-screen or were they hiding under Treville's curtains?
The King is not happy to be woken up early for plot reasons but cheers up when he finds out it involves Explodey Things. All the flying polystrene rocks he wants can be his, as long as Tariq's daughter Samara gets rescued from eeeevil Spanish people before... well, Spain happens. There's also the small matter of this week's MacGuffin, which is a code-deciphering thingy. It's a teensy bit like The Imitation Game, only far less likely to get any Oscar nominations.
Meanwhile, Marguerite finally gets a scene with someone who isn't Aramis. Unfortunately, it's all about the fact that the Dauphin, a.k.a. Babymis, is poorly, which is indicated by someone having put loads of blusher on him in the night. The King and the royal doctor want to cure the baby with Advanced Man-Science (TM) and Leeches, and are nasty to Constance (boo!) for having Lady Thoughts, even though her suggestions are the most sensible. This subplot also gives Aramis a reason to brood attractively and loiter at doorways like a particularly handsome draught excluder.
We find Milady demonstrating her preferred method of clothes-shopping, which is to hang around in a fashionable district with a dagger and hope for the best. Considering how hard it must be to stab someone without getting the dress soaked in blood AND find a discreet place to change and do her hair, one wonders why she didn't just rob someone and go shopping with the proceeds. Still, she manages to blag her way in to see the King, despite the baying crowd of bystanders waving petitions, presumably regarding crucial issues such as "Subsidized haircare for peasants with no lines!" and "Where are our shirtless scenes this week, goddammit??".
"The King of Spain swore he loved me..." - Congratulations to Tariq, you win the Slashiest Statement of the Week award. Unfortunately this was another royal relationship that ended in tears, which must be foreshadowing for what happens when you make out with the monarchy. Are you listening, Milady?
I'm disappointed but unsurprised to find that there wasn't any follow-up to the terribly thrilling scarf-pulling scene of last week. Nonetheless, I am tempted to creatively interpret Athos and D'Artagnan's trip to the marketplace as a spot of post-coital carrot shopping (suggestively shaped vegetables: bound to spice up any relationship!).
Discounting the rude-looking objects, however, the marketplace scene is a bit of a bust. Aramis is tragically distracted by babythoughts and his own luxuriant Eyelashes of Angst, Samara shows she's handy in a fight, Porthos gets a crossbow bolt to the thigh (ouch) and an unexpected kidnapping, Athos does some rather impressive swishing, and several peasants and many innocent vegetables are crushed in the fray. Aramis then lies blatantly about why he cocked up and gets disproportionately angry with Tariq, ostensibly over Porthos, but we all know it's GUILT (TM). Even Athos's meaningful stares aren't working on him anymore; he really needs to take Aramis aside and give him a darn good shake. Possibly with tongues.
Samara now has Porthos to keep her company in captivity, but fortunately he's highly entertaining when he's wounded. They share a spot of nice character stuff, explore the anaesthetic qualities of poetry (at least it's not Vogon poetry, which has pretty much the opposite effect), and conclude by auditioning for Ye Olde French Casualty together.
Oh dear, Rochefort gets real life mixed up with his own fanfic and accidentally tells the Queen he fancies her. How embarrassing! He does manage to fix the situation after a fashion, but I'm disappointed he didn't go for the option: "I love you...Tube. Especially Gangnam Style and that cat playing the piano."
Unconvincing Promise of the Week: Louis's "Bring me that cipher and I will never say a harsh word of the Musketeers again." Ha ha... no. Treville looks at him as if to say "Yeah, right, you big lying man-baby. That'll be the same day that Aramis joins a monastery and D'Artagnan gets his own hat."
Oh dear, the bleary-eyed Constance is so stressed that she decides to go into the Dauphin-napping business, without leaving so much as a Post-It note behind to explain herself. Fortunately Rochefort is feeling so smug about his monarchical macking skills that he doesn't ask Constance what that bulge is under her cloak, so she isn't obliged to claim it was a large and wheezy kebab.
Meanwhile, the King and Milady enjoy an intimate dinner for two, witnessed only by servants who hang around for the adulterous flirting but make a discreet exit at the first sign of praying. Milady toys with the King's cherries (quite literally - it really IS suggestive fruit and veg week, isn't t?) and finally gets him where she wants him: i.e. on the dining room floor. Then poor Anne is definitively crowned Queen of the Awkward Moment when she walks in on her husband's under-the-table negociations.
Okay, time for some action to get this thing wound up. D'Artagnan sneaks off to rescue Tariq from Nasty Racist Spanish Guy, a Mexican stand-off happens indoors (well, a Spanish/Moorish/French stand-off), and Athos and Aramis have fun watching D'Artagnan trying to bash down a door by bouncing up and down against it like an overexcited bunny rabbit.
Rochefort charges down the launderette with his lank-haired heavies, who are apparently not permitted to look as attractively tousled as Musketeers do. Perhaps the Red Guards have a standing order that nobody is allowed to upstage their commander's hairdo? Then he gives Constance a slap (boo!) and an execution order (double boo!) and plans to take all the baby-helping credit for himself (there are not enough boos, or indeed booze, in the world).
Meanwhile, Tariq gives EVIL SPAIN some real talk about racism and stops SPAIN HAPPENING again. Unfortunately, he also stops himself existing due to BIG EXPLODEY THINGS. This is highly unfortunate, to say the least.
In the middle of Constance's slow-mo exit to the gallows, the doctor fortuitously turns up and tells everyone she was right all along. So, panic over. Constance gets to look relieved, Babymis gets to feel better and Aramis gets to look gratuitously handsome in a church. But is the King happy? No, he is not, because he does not have shiny new explodey things to play with and somehow it is all the Musketeers's fault AGAIN.
Samara departs on her gap year to Morocco, and Porthos engages in another spot of daddy-related foreshadowing. These two made a sweet pair but I'm kind of glad they went with a heartwarming brother/sister thing rather than a cheesy kiss-up situation.
By the way, folks, has anyone remembered to free Marguerite from the palace cells or is it still officially her fault?
Overall: Lots going on this week, but rather too much of it was empty action and EVIL SPANISH STUFF that nobody really cares about. A good week for Porthos, and Samara was a sweetheart, but frankly I want to see more of the Muskeboys interacting with each other like the BFFs they are and having a laugh, instead of stalking about in formation and brooding in corners, as prettily as they do that.
Next week: Eleven sweaty men battle for glory against another eleven sweaty men! No, it's not an unexpected plot twist in the war against Spain: it's the BBC choosing to show Cambridge Utd versus Man United in the F.A. Cup fourth round, instead of another episode. Boo. However, the Musketeers WILL be back on Friday 30th January, when there will be ladies, axes and general uproar. I do hope you'll join me then....

After a swashfree week due to the BBC showing men in shorts instead of men in leather, I'm pleased to say that this Friday, buckling was back, back, back. Here are some thoughts on The Musketeers 2.04: Emilie:

The peasants are revolting! Admittedly, not as revolting as you'd be if you were living in a wood with no proper toilet facilities, but they're all camping out to follow a lass called Emilie, formerly seen on Downton Abbey, in which Lady Edith was constantly trying to steal her baby. Now she's got a low-budget Joan of Arc thing going on, fainting a lot and having delirious visions about the King of Spain having hooves, as one does. The Musketeers visit her in her luxury tent and point out the flaws in her plan to ride on Spain and conquer it when you've only got one horse to share between 583 peasants, but she's not having any of it, and neither is her slightly scary mother.
The Muskeboys trudge back to Paris and convene in their canteen for brunch (dress code: unbuttoned shirts for all, today's special: porridge with a light swirl of ennui) to discuss this week's storyline. "I didn't become a Musketeer to destroy an honest woman's reputation," says Aramis. Of course not, sweetie: that's just what you do as a hobby. Over at the palace, the King is busy with "affairs of state", i.e. shagging Milady. He's getting curious about her scar, which I thought was a little strange since surely he saw her neck in its uncovered state when he first met her in the forest? Either he was too busy staring at her cleavage to notice, or she's run out of All-Natural Forest-Herbs Concealer Stick since then...
Meanwhile, the Parisian peasants are also revolting and killing off any recurring character actor with a dodgy Spanish accent that they can find. Ambassador Perales is understandably worried that he might be next for the chop, and may never live to have a scene that doesn't involve muttering at Rochefort in a cellar and/or getting slapped. But Rochefort's too busy tinhatting his OTP (himself/Queenie, grand total number of shippers: 1) to help, so Perales seeks revenge by messing up Rochefort's fantasy life by visiting his favourite cosplaying prostitute to see if she's willing to add stabbing to her list of customer services.
Speaking of doomed ships, Aramis/Marguerite is doing well in the post-coital prettiness stakes but very badly in the Having Any Future At All stakes, mainly due to Aramis being a lying liar who lies and yet can't force himself to say I lurve you. The problem is that Aramis is behaving like a COMPLETE ARSEHOLE at the moment, and yet he looks ever so lovely in sunlit soft-focus so I keep forgiving him. I suspect this is precisely the problem Marguerite has.
Aramis sneaks off to visit Emilie because he hasn't done enough manipulating of ladies with his distracting prettiness this week. I was amused that she soon started having dreams about him (I wonder, did she also have the one about Athos and the family-sized tub of banana yogurt? Because that's one of my favourites) but still made him sleep outside with the goats.
While Rochefort is unsubtly manhandling Milady in a corridor, Constance and D'Artagnan go down the pub and talk about Milady in front of Stealth!Athos, who has apparently spent years training to pass as a piece of furniture. Despite his perma-frown, or perhaps because of it, Athos is by far the funniest thing in this episode, lending an air of extra-dry hilarity to exchanges like "What are you going to do?" / "I'm going to drink.", yet at the same time, opening up just a teensy bit by allowing ~~his boyfriend~~ D'Artagnan to get drunk with him rather than moping alone. Hey, that's progress, innit?
Queen Anne decides that she and Constance have got to go and sort out this Emilie business, mainly as a distraction for Anne, who is justifiably peeved about Milady and her alluring "bedroom tricks". I suspect this means Milady knows the secret of how to change the cover on a double duvet without becoming irretrievably lost, tangled or insane. It is a notoriously fiendish art, probably involving witchcraft...
Out of the blue, Porthos receives a legacy from General de Foix (from a few weeks ago) and correctly identifies this as a future subplot about his parents. Treville refuses to give him any spoilers, however, so Porthos has to stalk off moodily to see if he can find out anything on Digital Spy or ONTD.
Oh dear, the unfortunate prostitute never gets a name to go with her outstanding gold platform shoes, because Rochefort is much too sneaky to get stabbed, even if he seems distracted by his own nipple. He also sends her severed ear to Perales in a gift box, which is deeply unpleasant. Well, the ear is: the box is quite nice, actually.
It seems Milady is having a lovely time living in the palace and fondling the upholstery at will. Hello clouds, hello sky, hello pretty gardens... urgh, hello Rochefort, what do you want? Ah, he wants to blackmail her into killing someone because he's found out about her assassinating past from the Cardinal's dodgy priest chum. I was extra amused by this scene because Milady's opulent overdress looked like something Julie Andrews might have made from the curtains in The Sound of Music, which made me start humming "How do you solve a problem like Milady?"

By the way, Milady's got a HUGE royal-funded wardrobe now, divided into Good Dresses and Evil Dresses. Perhaps there's a central area devoted to Outfits of Ambiguity, I'm not sure.
Queenie and Constance go to see Emilie in their best peasant chic outfits, and manage to remain undiscovered for less than two minutes. However, this does lead to an hilariously awkward moment for Aramis: "Woman-I'm-Only-Flirting-With-For-Plot-Reasons, meet Royalty-I-Knocked-Up-In-The-Last-Series and Friend-Who-Will-Probably-Slap-Me-When-She-Finds-Out-What's-Going-On. Hey, let's skip the summary executions and have some soup!" Constance then has a soup-induced slow-mo dream sequence that's part Total Eclipse of the Heart and part We've Got Some Blood-Bags And We're Gonna Burst Them Messily. Constance finds it worrying, but nowhere near as startling as suddenly finding out that Anne is also a member of the I Shagged A Musketeer (And I Liked It) club.
After what seems like hours of whining and wishing he could devote his life to citrus fruit, Ambassaor Perales finally gets a note saying he can go home to Spain. Unfortunately, before D'Artagnan can fight his way through the phallic vegetable market to tell everyone that It's A Trap™, Milady swishes by in one of her most evil outfits and scratches Perales to death. Whoops. Personally, I blame Athos who, lovely though he is, continues to be embarrassingly bad at the game of Spot Your Evil Ex-Wife When She's Two Feet Away From You.
In an attempt to be useful, Aramis has collected a souvenir flask of suspicious soup and gets Constance to call that nice Doctor Lemay from the previous episode to test it. Lemay is obliged to tell them that he can't help because FORENSIC SCIENCE HASN'T BEEN INVENTED YET, but he clearly wants Constance to like him so he'll have a stab at it anyway. If he ever wrote up a paper about his research techniques, I imagine it would look like this:

Hypothesis: Drinking this soup makes you trip balls.
How was hypothesis tested? Drank soup.
Result: Tripped balls.
Hypothesis proven. QED.

Hooray, another triumph for science.
With evidence on their sides, the Muskelads ride off to fetch Emilie and admit her as an emergency patient at Athos's private detox clinic (advertising slogan: "He Has Some Experience In These Matters"). It's not quite the Betty Ford Center, but Athos will bring you cheese and wine, hug you while you're screaming and look attractively dishevelled while he sits in the corner and re-toxes himself, so I'd consider that a holiday. (Back in the real world, I was delighted to find out that Tom Burke adlibbed the line"Your visions are from soup, not God.", bless him.)
In the absence of Perales, Rochefort decides he needs a new conspiracy buddy and decides it's Manipulate Marguerite time. Meanwhile, Milady pops down to the market for a bit of fabric shopping and a spot of incidental Athos-baiting among the phallic vegetables.
Now thoroughly demushroomed, Emile goes back to the camp and tells everyone else to go home, have a cup of tea and calm down. Perhaps appropriately given how she poisoned her daughter, Emilie's mum gets stoned... but not in the fun way. Ouch.
So, is everything groovy now? Nope, Rochefort's blamed the whole episode on Treville, and now Treville, with the greatest of respect, has been fired as team captain. Duh-duh-DAAA!
Overall: Much more fun than the plot summary made it sound, with loads going on and very little filler. More Muskeboys than we've seen lately (yay), plus interesting things for the ladies to do, and a few laugh-out-loud exchanges. Plus, while rewatching it (as I always do before I write these reviews), I found all the ominous close-ups of soup particularly giggleworthy, so if nothing else, this will go down in history as the LOL SOUP episode. Hey, maybe the BBC should consider producing a range of tie-in grocery products?
Next week: Once again, there IS no next week, because the BBC are showing rugby instead. Bleurgh. But in two weeks, we get Athos being kidnapped and damp and rumpled, and everyone else looking concerned. Hmm, maybe I'll need that extra week to brace myself for the excitement...

It's all for one and one-four February, as the Musketeers make a welcome comeback after a short rugby-related hiatus. Here are my thoughts on the aptly named The Return:

Dear BBC, thank you ever so much for the thoughtful Valentine's Day gift of Tom Burke in light bondage with water being tossed over him. I would apologize for unwrapping him a day early, but he wriggled rather a lot and most of the wrapping pretty much fell off by itself. Honestly.
No-longer-a-Captain Treville's dung-shovel brings all the boys to the yard, where he's preparing for a new project called Fifty Sheds of Hay. And they're like, "Where's Athos?", and he's like "IDK, pissed in a ditch somewhere?" and they're like, "Come on, you don't want to spend this whole episode shovelling sh... shed-filling horse poop, shouldn't we go and find him?" So they all pop over to Athos's place to open his mail and find out what's going on. Fortunately they don't tell Athos's bucket of man-pain that Athos is out fondling other buckets (low-class village buckets that ANYONE can drink from, even), which is just as well because news like that might have turned it a little pail...
Meanwhile, Porthos is still peeved about the lack of progress in his own subplot due to Treville being so virulently anti-spoilers. Having one character repeatedly say "TELL ME THE BIG SECRET THING" and another say "NO, I WILL NOT TELL YOU THE THING" is probably not the most subtle way to build dramatic tension, but I am still pretty keen to know what the big secret is. I assume Porthos's daddy was Not A Nice Man, but the show is full of Not Nice Men so it must be something REALLY appalling... mustn't it?
So yes, Athos has been dragged back to his old hometown, where he's having the worst hangover in his own sorry history and pulling some fabulously angry faces about it.

Nasty Baron Renard and his even nastier son are trying to take over the village, and the local peasants have decided that they can only resolve this by forming a Western reenactment society. They've already got an orchestra in the background doing the right sort of Ennio Morricone-style twangy music, but they need Athos to do a Clint Eastwood impersonation for them, stat. He doesn't want to, of course, but we all know he'll do the right thing eventually. But while we wait for that to happen, it gives the bad guys a great excuse to tie him up, kick him around, rip his clothes off and generally justify every penny of my annual TV licence. Cheers, guys! It's only a shame that the other Muskeboys turn up to help before Athos loses his shirt entirely...
Grumpily donning a swishy cloak-thingy that is the nearest he can find to a Clint Eastwood poncho, Athos rides off to have a good old scowl at the local Wife-Hanging Tree, followed by a sunkissed flashback that looks strangely like a Cadbury's Flake advert from the 80s. Fortunately his dream sequences have improved since last year, since he now has sensible hair in them, rather than the strangely bouffant blow-dry that made him look like a refugee from the cover of a cheesy romance novel.
WARNING: THIS PARAGRAPH CONTAINS NAUGHTY BITS. I feel I should pause here and comment on one particular aspect of the Athos/Milady love scene, which I shall delicately call "oral attentiveness to the inner thigh regions". What entertained me about this was not only that it happened, but that it follows close on the heels of the Aramis/Marguerite scene of last week, which clearly portrayed the aftermath of a similar scenario. (Go back and watch it again, paying particular attention to Marguerite's undie-free state, Aramis's physical position in relation to her, and most saucily of all, him apparently pulling something out of his mouth at the start of the scene. Am I right or am I right?) So yes, this is apparently the season of... well, implied lip service for ladies. So um... congratulations, BBC? Keep up the good work? Now, gentle viewers, go and have a cold shower if you need one and I'll see you after the next bullet point...
Athos decides to follow up his shiny happy flashback with a moody stomp around the burned-out shell of his house, which brings on a nastier, more bloodstained flashback. It also brings out his brother's ex Catherine, who is shacked up in the rustic herbal kitchen area, shooting bunny rabbits for fun and being bitter about Athos having ruined her love life. On the plus side, she's got some excellent highwaywoman/gunslinger outfits and a lot of dried flowers, so at least when she murders you in a fit of rage, she can probably send your family some lovely pot pourri as an apology present.
Treville checks the village's store of weaponry by comparing it to his own crotch and finding it wanting.

There's not enough there to frighten the birds, even taking Treville's trousers into account, but fortunately Athos turns up re-sassed and ready to take D'Artagnan back to his place, where he's got plenty of heavy-duty equipment just waiting to be grabbed. So what are you waiting for? Go get it, boys.
"A little battered but just about serviceable." / "Talking about yourself or that pistol?" - Is my brain going mushy, or was this Athos/D'Artagnan exchange the sweetest thing in the whole wide world? Or was that Athos's smile afterwards? Or D'Artagnan's reassuring pat/hug/clutchy thing? Aww, I'm such a sucker for the pair of them.
But just when bromance looks like it's saved the day, along comes another sad flashback to knock Athos back into the pit of darkness again. Will we ever find out whether Milady was telling the truth about Thomas attacking her? I'd previously assumed she must be lying, but there was something about Athos's pain this week that could be construed as his own guilt for not having believed her. Coupled with Catherine being an unsympathetic witness, it did make me very curious about where this is all heading.
Porthos and Aramis ride off to rescue the innkeeper's daughter before any grim gang-raping happens. They get there in time, of course, but even the set-up for this was very unpleasant indeed. "Centuries of inbreeding is making the aristocracy stupid." - yeah, thanks for that cheery political comment, Aramis. I dare you to repeat it when you're back in the palace next week.
Athos attempts to give the peasants an inspiring speech but his urge to mutter "Oh, just sort it out and leave me alone" doesn't cut the mustard. However, once he's stumbled on a decent plan – "let's all fight off the baddies and I'll give you my land"– Treville takes over and gives the doubting masses a rousing rhetorical blast that you might call The Full Picard. I'm surprised the villagers didn't invite Treville to stay and be their new chief shouter-at-people-in-a-convincing-manner. Or at least to direct their next amateur dramatics production, which requires pretty much the same skills.
"How exactly do we turn this bunch of misfits into a fighting force?" - I'm glad you asked that question, Porthos. I think you're gonna need a montage, along with a massive pile of furniture and a spot of well-choreographed thrusting. Sadly the budget won't stretch to proper musical numbers but I'm sure those peasants can hum a selection of highlights from Les Miserables (or failing that, Eye of the Tiger).
By the way, Aramis is having a much jollier time than he's had lately, what with no babies to angst over and no complicated love life to juggle. It's saying something when a bunch of baddies trying to shoot you like vermin counts as a relaxing week, innit?
It's unfortunate that Catherine missed Treville's thrust-training earlier, because when Athos tries to explain his not-very-clear plan, she grabs hold of the wrong end of the stick and thinks everything's going to be hers, hers, hers. Just as well it isn't because she's a peasant-hating snootypants who ends up ripping apart her own posh necklace because it doesn't match the massive chip on her shoulder.
Okay folks, time for the all-action finale. The bad guys charge on the barricades, the boys fling their weapons around, D'Artagnan invents the landmine (well, apparently they were already invented, who knew?) and Athos has to come out and go one-on-one against Baron Renard's horrible son and his impractical velvet breeches. Then Catherine swishes in and wins the Worst Time To Suddenly Decide We Have To Talk About Your Terrible Ex award, shooting the baron's son in the process. Evil gets vanquished (hoorah!), the innkeeper gets to be mayor of Pinon (double hoorah!) and the Musketeers have to help everyone put their furniture away (hoorah and does anyone remember whose coffee table this is?). On the minus side, Porthos is still rightfully peeved with Treville, and Catherine seems to be gunning for Milady in the literal sense. I bet she'll turn up suddenly later in the series, probably at a very inconvenient moment. If I were Milady, I'd make sure that all future royal rumpo sessions start with checking behind the curtains for snipers.
So everyone gathers to wave bye-bye to Athos and his filthy shirt of grey. Awww. And the valiant Musketeers ride home, leaving Athos to deal with a less violent but no less important quest, called Which Of The Three Thousand Taverns In Paris Did I Leave My Leather Jacket In? Good luck with that one, sweetie.
Overall: A slightly strange mixture of action, angst, tongue-in-cheek Western homage and unexpected grimness. Glorious times for Athos lovers, however, with Tom Burke subtly suggesting some real grit under the grime. I only hope he had as much fun doing the down-and-dirty stuff as I had watching him...
Next week: Stars, science and mystical masked men, plus all the palace posse who were on holiday this week. Sounds galaxy-shaking.

It's eclipse week on The Musketeers, so please put on your protective goggles, switch off that old Heroes DVD and turn around, bright eyes, because it's time for some thoughts on Through A Glass Darkly:

We find King Louis auditioning to be the 17th-century's answer to Professor Brian Cox, bringing popular science to the slightly bored masses while throwing in some tactless symbolism about the ladies in his life. Unsurprisingly, he hasn't realized that the earth doesn't actually revolve around him (although the baby Dauphin does grow up to be the Sun King, so points for historical appropriateness there). Milady is wearing a headdress that looks like she's headbutted a rococo chandelier, Aramis wishes to support the queen in her hour of need, possibly using the contents of his pants, and Athos decides it's too early for this shit and sneaks back home.
Everyone else dutifully troops off on a royal day-trip to watch an eclipse at the astronomer Marmion's place, because he's got a fancy camera obscura. He also has a groovy-looking orrery that doesn't look very scientifically plausible, a posh dressing gown and a bunch of henchblokes wearing plague masks for no real reason, so he's clearly something of a style-over-substance guy. While everyone else is grappling with their souvenir sunglasses, Rochefort sends a few ~~redshirts~~ Red Guards to case the joint, but they meet predictably swift demises at the hands of the Evil Beak Squad.
Surprise, gullible tourists! You're not here for an educational day trip after all, but to experience Marmion's attempt at an immersive performance art piece, based on his own man-pain! I suspect Marmion really wanted to try his own version of Derren Brown's Russian Roulette, but unfortunately, guns with spinnable chambers haven't been invented yet. He's therefore cobbled together a knock-off that's a bit like The Crystal Maze but with more stabbing. (Maybe he read the recent article in the Guardian that said it was time to bring it back?)
Athos turns up at Treville's place with a bottle of red and probably a DVD of Die Hard or Dirty Dancing. Treville interprets this as a gesture of support, and Athos keeps tactfully silent on the fact that he wouldn't have bothered if he wasn't partly Milady-dodging, and partly saving himself as a handy rescue device for later in the episode.
Aramis doesn't think everyone should have to suffer through Marmion's am-dram antics and gets himself shoved out of a window, oops. Even though he's Obviously Not Dead™, Porthos is justifiably upset (awww) and kicks up a big fuss. Marmion chooses to retaliate with some emergency shipping, tying Constance/D'Artagnan to encourage panic-fuelled snuggling, while sending his rather more left-field choice of pairing, Rochefort and Porthos, down to the Subplot Cellar for later. I imagine he's hoping for some bromantic bonding, but it seems unlikely.
By the way, Rachael commented that Rochefort and Porthos ought to be singing "I Want To Break Free" at this point, which means that the following piece of half-baked Photoshopping is all HER fault...
Okay folks, it's time to play Marmion's Game of Slight Tedium! (Yeah, he probably needs a better name for it than that. How about Marmopoly? Or Marmious Pursuit?) Round 1 is called Heads Or Tails Or Horrible Death. Understandably, the King isn't keen to go first, so Milady agrees to play instead, with an amusingly bored air. Much to Louis's annoyance, she is allowed to sashay out of the place and promptly heads for the hills, tossing her silly headdress into the bushes at the first chance she gets and thanking the fashion gods that she decided to wear her riding boots under her frock today.
Oh dear. Random Courtier Guy wants to play the game next, but doesn't realize he's a guest character and therefore may as well have the word "DISPOSABLE" written on his forehead in massive neon lettering. Farewell, foolish man. We'll always remember you as... well, cannon fodder.
Surprise not-very-surprise, Aramis wakes up on a conveniently positioned canopy and seems to take his near-death experience in his stride. Let's face it, it's probably not the first time he's woken up with an aching head, a few minor flesh wounds and a grim-looking bird on top of him, is it. (Quoth the raven: "Not again...")
Time for the Game of Marmion, round 2. Marmion sends the Queen, Dauphin and Marguerite to one room, and some random extras to another. Now, Louis, shall we kill the Characters Who Are In This Every Week or the People We Just Made Up? What do YOU think, viewers? Of course, the King can't see about the meta-ridiculousness of this decision, so he's terribly distraught and busy shipping himself with his own knees. Whoever he chooses, he'll have blood on his hands. Mind you, with those red socks on, it currently looks like he's got blood on his legs too, so at least it'll match.
Look out, garrison boys! Milady's here to rip off her own bodice and steal your KFC right out of your hands. And when she's done with your chicken, she'll be giving you orders and ransacking your wardrobe in search of this season's androgynous outlaw look. Even Athos can't help looking a bit impressed. Watch out, sweetie: she may be pretending that she needs help to get her leg over (a horse, that is), but I bet she's perfectly capable of doing it without you.
Meanwhile, down in the Subplot Cellar, Porthos is wishing he had another few inches, possibly for the first time in his life. If only he could reach the Random Sharp Object, he wouldn't have to listen to Rochefort's anecdotes about What I Did In My Five Gap Years In A Spanish Prison and his mostly delusional love life.
After what feels like an age, Louis finally makes the call: he chooses to kill.... the courtiers we don't give a toss about! Well, that comes as a surprise to precisely nobody. Except the courtiers, of course. Ouch.
Aramis finishes his unexpected afternoon of parkour and discovers that his love life and its consquences have all been conveniently locked in one room, all the better to create a tearful reunion with an entertaining veneer of extreme awkwardness. Marguerite is justifiably peeved that it's now her turn to get eclipsed, in favour of the glowing smile of Queenie. She must start figuring out what's been going on soon, surely? Or maybe Rochefort will have to draw her a map, with diagrams and little arrows on.
"Does the name Gerberoy mean anything to you?" - I don't know, Marmion, is it like a saveloy but made out of gerbils? Ah no, it's where all your family died due to the King's homeland security in-case-of-plague regulations. I suppose that explains where Marmion got his henchmen's masks from, but I do hope he washed them thoroughly before adding them to the staff uniform.
Down in the cellar, Porthos realizes The Only Way Is Dislocation (ITV's most painful reality show) and gets Rochefort to pull all the stops out... literally. OUCHARAMA. Fortunately the Muskeposse have arrived, and I was highly amused that Athos can recognize a Porthos yell from a distance. I'm now wondering whether there's a detectable difference between "Porthos stubbing his toe", "Porthos dislocating his arm", and "Porthos finding out Aramis has been fondling his melon in his absence".
Constance plays the "your dead family wouldn't want you to do this" card with Marmion. Funny how no one ever responds with "What do you mean? My wife was a murdering psychopath with a rap sheet as long as your arm and my kids regularly drowned puppies for fun. They'd have LOVED this!"
Come on Muskeboys, it's Aramis-is-still-alive time! No time for hugs, just a quirk of the eyebrow and a sarcastic quip will have to do the trick. Porthos, Aramis - I'm sure you can hug later if you want to. Possibly with tongues.
Bloody hell, Marmion's STILL trying to stretch his tedious game out with round 3, which is called Let's Shoot Constance Or Possibly D'Artagnan While Everyone Makes Tearstained Confessions Of Everlasting Lurve. Marmion's brother saves us all from our misery by taking the bullet himself. You'd think this'd put a stop to things, but nope. D'Artagnan has to play for time by suggesting an improvised double-or-quits finale called Shoot the King Or Let Everybody Go. Fortunately the Muskelads (and Muskemilady) turn up before the plan gets shot full of holes... or Louis does.
There can only be one smarmy blond villain in a black coat in this show and Marmion, baby, you're not it. I loved Rochefort's hilarious diva head-toss after he dispatches his rival. Nobody eclipses ME, sunshine.
"Are we merely the playthings of a power beyond understanding?" asked Marmion earlier in this episode. Well, the only power beyond understanding here belongs to Louis, and by heck, he's gonna play with it. In fact, he's such a drama king that he refuses to obey the standard rules of drama. Did he restore Treville's captaincy out of gratitude at being rescued? No. Was he grateful to Milady for alerting the authorities and coming back when she didn't have to? No. Is he going to give a hug of gratitude to anyone other than Rochefort? No. Frankly, if I'd been Milady in this situation, I'd have been tempted to revisit the symbolism from the start of the episode and moon him very vigorously.
Hmm, Athos seems to be finding his ex unexpectedly appealing today and appears a little concerned by it. Is it because she did a decent thing for once, or is it because she's dressed as a bloke? You might want to have some therapy before you answer that one, Athos sweetie.
Aww, Constance and Queenie are adorably reunited, and Constance is so delighted that she declares "Stuff everything, I'm going to snog D'Artagnan now and be really happy and none of you can stop me!", while ignoring the clanging bells of foreshadowing that are suddenly ringing in the BBC Drama Alert room. Meanwhile, everyone else stands around and watches the tonsil hockey (this was before widescreen TV was invented, so I guess you had to take whatever entertainment you could get), while Aramis and Queenie share a secret glance of "if other people can have extra-marital shenanigans, maybe we can too, yay!", and Louis clings to the baby and wishes people wouldn't confuse him with storylines that aren't all about him. Same old, same old, then.
Overall: Moments of fun and some nice character work, but rather bogged down by a not-very-interesting villain and too much "Why are you doing this evil thing?" / "Because fate/angst/the script/oh, I don't know/THIS SPACE FOR RENT" dialogue. The conclusion did leave us in an interesting place, however, so I'm keen to see where everyone will go next.
Next week: A posh lady is supposed to get married, Rochefort is nasty to Marguerite, Bonacieux is nasty to Constance, and whoever's been nasty to Treville will be answering to Porthos. It's all go, innit...

This week I’m coming to you live from the ancestral homelands of the north-east, although you probably can’t tell from this angle. In practical terms, this means that I can’t make silly graphics today and thus am reliant on silly graphics I made from this week’s teaser clip. Fortunately, however, I can still have silly thoughts, so here are some ponderings on A Marriage of Inconvenience:

The Muskeboys’ mission this week is to pop out to the countryside and pick up Princess Louise, a cousin of King Louis who’s being packed off to Sweden for a strategic flatpack marriage to a bloke she’s never met. Ah, the 1630s were so romantic, weren't they?

It turns out that Porthos has a more impressive (albeit anachronistic) knowledge of Swedish stereotypes than Aramis does. Who knew?

She claims she’s going to miss the warm sun of Italy, but fortunately she’s brought along her own warm son of Italy in the form of Francesco, her rather pretty bodyguard. Admittedly, he doesn’t seem as swashbucklingly efficient at dispatching bad guys jumping out of haystacks as our own dear Musketeers are, but perhaps he’ll get more practise later in the episode.
Oh dear, Rochefort is feeling very pleased with himself this week. He’s got an open shirt, more medallions than one man can handle, and a big room full of scrolls containing his multi-chapter self-insert fanfiction ("Queen Anne/Dashing Blond Handsome Hero, OTP 4EVAR, don’t like, don’t read, HATERZ!!!") No wonder he’s so peeved to receive a bad review from Cardinal Capaldi, posting beyond the grave to call him "not entirely of sound mind". Oooh, harsh. Mind you, given that Rochefort then stabs a councillor bloke without thinking about who’s going to clean up afterwards, I can’t help thinking that the Cardinal may have had a point.
In a pretty church, Louise gets her womb blessed by an archbishop who immediately gets it in the neck, quite literally, thanks to a hooded baddie with a crossbow. Faster than you can shout "Down with the oppressive patriarchy!", the Musketeers scamper into action and immediately manage to establish that the archbishop was... um... shot with an arrow. Of course, this snappy deductive reasoning is not enough to impress Rochefort, who demands to know why they can’t stop arrows using the power of handsomeness alone. (Well, it’s a fair question. If anyone can, it's this bunch...)
Still, there’s investigating to be done, so it’s time for Athos and Porthos to pitch their own CSI-style series, under the working title The Really Obvious Detectives (ROD for short). Their reasoning may not be subtle, but they can fondle pieces of phallic evidence like nobody’s business.
Proving Athos’s earlier sassy remark correct, Louis really hasn’t changed since he was a kid, and has decided to have the king of all hissy fits, locking himself in his bedroom and refusing to speak to anyone except Rochefort. "Oh Rochefort," he sighs, "if you were REALLY my BFF you would throw Milady out of the palace, send Princess Whatshername to Sweden so I don’t have to talk her, AND send a chamber orchestra to come over and play the greatest hits of Motörhead REALLY loudly, to scare the bejeezus out of that crowd of random extras who are milling around outside my room for NO REASON." Rochefort says okay, if Louis agrees to come to a council meeting later and perhaps considers putting on some pants he hasn’t slept in.
The Musketeers assure Princess Louise that she’ll be Perfectly Safe™ so frequently that she probably expects to die in the next 30 seconds. Meanwhile, Rochefort finishes shoving a corpse into a box just in time for Marguerite to waft in wearing her pushiest push-up corset and a face of imminent woe. He tells her he’ll continue to be horrible to her unless she brings him Aramis’s necklace. Has he become an obsessive jewelry collector, or is he simply trying to stop people staring at any chests other than his own?
Constance’s husband turns up wanting to know why he didn’t get any of the cloth business for the three zillion new frocks that Milady ordered before she got given the royal elbow. But when he hears Constance is giving HIM the elbow in favour of D’Artagnan, he gives her a nasty slap and any sympathy we had for him gets thrown out of the window. And speaking of sliding scales of sympathy, Marguerite and Aramis get to have an awkward "it’s not you, it’s ~~my royal bastard lovechild~~ me" break-up conversation in the corridor, ostensibly so she can steal his crucifix, but incidentally to remind us that Aramis has behaved like a total git to her. A swooningly handsome and charming git, admittedly, but still a git. Plus he’s so vain, he probably should have noticed Marguerite had stolen his necklace three corridors before he actually did…
"Should I be avoiding windows?" - Someone else has already come up with an excellent response to Princess Louise here, so I didn’t have to. Phew.
Treville gets ridiculously angry about being sent to pick up a wedding present. I suspect he was disappointed that he wasn’t asked to organize the hen night entertainment too, since he has plenty of previous experience in that field. He also suggests Athos might be good at being the new captain of the Musketeers because he’s ever so sensible and authoritative and manly and… oh, I know, Treville, I love him too.
Time for the Really Obvious Detectives Athos and Porthos to practise their Bad Cop/Bad Cop interview skills and talk to the crossbow-maker, who says the murder weapon came from the Red Guards’ armoury. Frankly, the arrow could have had a tag attached to it saying "THIS IS ALL ROCHEFORT’S FAULT" and the level of suspense would not have been unduly affected. Of course Rochefort denies all involvement, and then diverts attention by frisking Milady. He claims to be making sure she hasn’t purloined too many souvenir soaps and tiny bottles of shampoo from the palace, but actually he just wants to steal her jewelry on top of everyone else’s. Is Rochefort determined to become the sparkliest princess in all the land? I think we should be told.
Oh dear, Milady’s show of determination in the face of adversity seems to have made Athos all gooey-eyed. He wants to give Milady everything he has, but she can’t help noticing that "everything he has" fits inside a very small bag. Instead she elects to treat him mean and keep him keen, leaving herself free to eye up young Francesco’s impressive pommel in the street and watch him taking Treville roughly from behind. Well, a girl’s got to get her entertainment wherever she can.
Ooh, it turns out that it was Rochefort who gave Aramis’s crucifix to the Queen in the first place. Poor Anne clearly didn’t realize what trouble regifting can cause. Add on Marguerite spilling too many beans about Aramis mooning over the Queen and we’ve got a massive pot of trouble being brought to the boil. I can’t wait to see how hard Athos’s eyes are going to roll over this one…
With Treville’s life in danger, the Muskelads invite Dr Lemay over to help with their pitch for a 17th-century version of ER or Casualty, possibly to be entitled Antiquated Really Gory Hospital (ARGH for short). After Lemay’s failure to invent forensic science on his previous appearance, I laughed like a drain at his cunning plan to soak all his medical instruments in hot water because… um… well, GOD LIKES HOT WATER. Yep, the Supreme Being just loves it when people put the kettle on. It Is Written. Why not go and have a cup of tea now to celebrate? Anyway, Treville does a lot of BAFTA-worthy groans and squeals, Aramis proves he’s good at getting stuff out of holes (if only he could get himself out of the massive one he’s soon going to be in, eh?), and Dr Lemay still thinks Constance is the best thing since hot scalpels. Awww.
Next up on Really Obvious Detectives, it turns out the artist who painted Princess Louise’s portrait is dead. "Find the preparatory sketches!" declares Athos hilariously. And in a SHOCK TWIST, it turns out that Princess Louise is NOT Princess Louise at all, but a cunning stand-in, and the whole plot is about assassinating politicians! (Well, either that or the artist was just really bad at drawing faces, but such thoughts do not trouble the RODs.)
While Not!Louise is preparing for a climactic spot of assassination, Bonacieux turns up and has to sit around waiting for accidental death to find him. Fortunately it does, in the form of a crossbow bolt to the chest. This is not merely an accident, but in fact an act of extremist shipping from Not!Louise, whose motto turns out to be "Constagnan till I die – literally!", or whatever that is in Latin.
Anyway, Aramis and D’Artagnan are too busy thinking about their love lives to turn around and notice a brightly dressed woman with a crossbow right behind them, but fortunately the Really Obvious Detectives ride to the rescue and save the day with their realness and obviousness. A few innocent carrots do get sliced in the crossfire but since this entire show now seems to be sponsored by the Czech Carrot Farmers Association, I assume there are plenty more where those came from.
Bonacieux dies cursing D’Artagnan and Constance, and hoping that their heads will turn orange and fall off at an awkward moment. Both D’Artagnan and Constance end up with Bonacieux’s blood literally on their hands, due to a somewhat unsubtle gust of symbolism. Yeah, I know they were the ones that had an affair, but is the moral really meant to be "Don’t have affairs"? Surely it should be "Don’t leave your hat in the same room as an assassin"?
For an exciting moment it looks like Milady is about to invite Not!Louise (real name: Sofia) to join a newly formed guild of elegantly gowned lady assassins, possibly to be named the Frill-Killers. Alas, Milady decides there can be only one, and gives her unfortunate rival the alternative prize of stabby-stabby death. Shame.
To round things off, Aramis is reunited with his necklace (now soaked in an aura of Ominous Foreshadowing™), and Treville tells Porthos that he’s now willing spill the beans about Porthos’s daddy, but now’s not a good time. Maybe same time, next week? Does that sound like a good moment?
When Louis started to rummage in his pyjama pocket, my mum predicted he was about to get rid of Rochefort by giving him 50p to buy himself some sweeties. But nope, he gives Rochefort a ring and ~~proposes~~ gives him the job of First Minister. "Kiss my ring, peasants!" says Rochefort to the world. "Do you mind if we don’t?" say the Musketeers, all firmly gazing into Rochefort’s face to avoid having to stare directly at the lurid knobbly thing that's just come out of the King's pants. Oh, boys.
Overall: An episode that felt like it had quite a lot squished into it, but most of it was pretty entertaining. Not!Louise made an interesting guest star, Rochefort’s machinations are starting to feel a bit more dangerous, and all the Muskeboys got stuff to do. Still, those boys REALLY need to talk to each other more. Come on, open some wine, undo a few buttons, share some of that inner turmoil with each other. I promise you’ll all feel so much better for it...
Next time: Porthos finally has a daddy! King Louis has another hissy fit! And Milady gets the lowdown on the Aramis situation! It's all kicking off, folks…

Musketime is here again, so here are some thoughts on The Prodigal Father:

Here come Porthos and Aramis, riding through the peaceful French countryside, disturbed only by the squeals of unfortunate peasant girls being whipped by a local maniac. Porthos is in search of a sonorously voiced character actor who may be his father, and finds him in the shambling form of the Marquis of Belgard, now living in cobwebby fallen grandeur and not changing his shirt much (pass the anachronistic Febreze, would you?). He's also got a massive chip on his shoulder about Captain Treville, and a daughter called Eleanor, who's married to the peasant-thrashing thug outside and wears frocks from the same shop that made Catherine de Médicis's bondage dress and the evil half of Milady's wardrobe. Basically, Porthos, I wouldn't rush to add her to your Christmas card list.
Historical fact alert! It turns out that Porthos's mum's name was Marie-Cessette, which was the real-life name of Alexandre Dumas's grandma. Nice touch.
Now here's Constance, looking pretty and sad in a graveyard in the symbolic rain, and tending the minimalist grave of her husband who was apparently too poor to afford a first name (or possibly just embarrassed to tell her what it was). She's feeling too guilty to get lovey-dovey with D'Artagnan straight away, but instead of being understanding, D'Artagnan decides to lay a massive guilt trip on her, which isn't very nice of him. I know his Muskefriends don't exactly lead by example in the healthy relationships department, but he really ought to know better. Frankly, it'd serve him right if Constance decided to marry the next presentable medical professional who randomly confessed his undying-yet-scientific love to her in a corridor... but whoops, I'm getting ahead of myself.
Since last week, King Louis's chronic case of the emo blues has got worse and he's started communing with his bedspread and putting his food on the floor where he can watch it closely to ensure the roast chicken doesn't jump up and throttle him in the night. As a team of henchmen beaver away behind the scenes, making a suitably regal tinfoil hat to keep the space-rays out of the King's brain, Rochefort offers to taste the King's food for poison, but neglects to mention that the only royal dish he really wants to nibble is the Queen. Fortunately, his nasty brand of vigilance is being covertly combatted by a much better kind: Constance vigilance!
As you might predict, a family dinner in the Belgard household is about as cheerful as your average Christmas in Walford. There's staring, sniping, spitting, a full-on punch-up in front of an open fire (cosy!), and no one bothers to eat the grapes. I was particularly roused by Aramis's spirited stand at the dinner table. Nobody sprays bodily fluids in Porthos's face, you hear? NOBODY ~~except Aramis~~.
Milady visits Rochefort in his scroll-filled fanfiction room and subtly lets him know she's on to his Spanish shenanigans. But when he starts quizzing her about Aramis's love life, she's a bit confused because, as far as she's concerned, Aramis is something that only happens to other people. Meanwhile, Aramis himself is auditioning for the RODs (Really Obvious Detectives) and correctly spots that a corpse who was kicked to death by a horse shouldn't have strangle-marks around the throat. Evil Eleanor exonerates her husband from blame with a half-baked excuse that is only slightly more convincing than "Oh yes, all the horses around here love to grab people's necks with their opposable hooves. It's a sign of affection! You mean this doesn't happen in Paris?"
After visiting approximately 279 pubs off-screen, Milady manages to track down Athos. She offers to sell him spoilers for the next episode for 100 livres, but all he wants to do is hold hands and talk unconvincingly about patriotism in a way that really means "PLEASE DO A NICE THING FOR ME FRANCE." Poor sweetie, he's really got it bad for her again, hasn't he? You can tell because he goes all soft and whispery and doesn't stab her for sipping his wine without permission.
And if that wasn't enough, there's another unexpected burst of romance in the form of nice Dr Lemay, arriving at the palace to tell Constance that she's a "truly original person" and would she like to marry him? After all, they could have a lovely time sterilizing his-and-hers surgical equipment and tripping their heads off on hallucinogenic soup together, and hey, that awkward moment when his medical opinions nearly got her executed is all water under the bridge now, innit? Her surprise at this turn of events is, frankly, unsurprising.
Gloves off and hankies at the ready now, because it's time for a big Porthos vs Treville face-off. Treville admits he did dump Porthos and his mum in the slums, and Porthos has swallowed Belgard's suggestion that he might have made Porthos a Musketeer because he felt guilty, not because Porthos is shit-hot at smashing people's heads in. Porthos virtually quivers with vulnerability and wounded pride here, and I really wanted to hug him and say "But you ARE shit-hot at smashing people's heads in, sweetheart! Don't let anyone tell you any different!" Still, he doesn't want to be "a fig leaf for [Treville's] guilt", even if that implies a rather large fig leaf. (Incidentally, I spotted that Treville now has a patch on the back of his jacket to cover the hole where he was shot last week. Continuity: your clue to quality drama!)
As the Muskeboys walk through the market and plot to put the evil Levesques's human-trafficking operation out of business, what's this I spy? Yes, it's CARROTS, the world's most versatile vegetable prop, hardy enough to be used for multiple episodes without suffering any visible form of damage or decay. Put a bunch of Czech carrots in your drama today! They're the VEG that gives you the EDGE! (This has been a promotional interlude sponsored by the Czech Carrot Farmers Association.)
While Belgard is busy buttering up Porthos by giving him semi-awkward hugs and handing out family souvenirs, Athos and D'Artagnan turn up for the Levesques' swords-at-the-door "entertainment", secretly hoping it's one of those parties where you all swap horse bridles and then mysteriously end up sleeping with the person you came in with. Unfortunately it's nowhere near as fun as that.

Instead, it's an unpleasant evening where young ladies get auctioned off to the highest bidder for horrid purposes. D'Artagnan wants to be sick, but luckily Athos takes charge before any vomiting can occur and saves the day by being masterful and commanding all over the place. All the girls get rescued and I collapse in a swooning mess on the nearest chaise longue. Later, back at the garrison, I spotted that Athos was sitting around with his shirt hanging off while everyone else had their jackets on, so either he lent his coat to a shivering maiden or someone had been administering first aid for his bruises caused by Evil Eleanor's tea-tray. Either way, I definitely approve...
Next morning, Constance finds Anne playing with baby Louis, and Queenie's thoughts can't help turning to the Dauphin's daddy, possibly because Aramis also makes cute giggly noises when he's rolling around on the floor. Somehow Constance didn't twig the truth about the baby's parentage when she caught Aramis and Anne mid-snog a few episodes ago, but now she knows why the baby's a snuggle-magnet for half the ladies in the palace.
Unusually, the garrison is alive with the sound of girls giggling and eating apples. That young chap who was gawping at Milady's corset a couple of weeks ago has probably fainted in a corner with shock. But much as the Musketeers would probably love to hang out with the ladies all afternoon, curling each other's hair and talking about boys, they can't because it's time to gallop off and find out what Porthos is doing.
What Porthos is doing is wandering around Belgard's house, thinking "One day, all these decorative antlers and bits of dusty furniture could be mine. Hmm, not sure if want." when he hears suspicious noises and finds another kidnapped girl locked away. Belgard arrives and says "This has nothing whatsoever to do with me and by the way, why don't you just shoot my son-in-law RIGHT NOW?", a cunning distraction technique that's almost as subtle as pointing behind someone and yelling "UNEXPECTED PTERODACTYL ATTACK!" Then there's a big family gunfight, Levesque gets it in the belly from his unrepentant father-in-law, and the Musketeers gallop in to join the fray.
Porthos, Belgard and Treville slip indoors for a Mexican stand-off between father figures, but in a fight between sonorously voiced character actors, you know Treville's going to beat any manipulative schemer of a bio-dad any day and of course he did. But it was also rather satisfying that Belgard failed in the end because he underestimated Porthos's intelligence. Not a very clever thing to do, was it?
I laughed out loud at Porthos's "bigger than yours" comment with regard to Athos's estate. Plus, Marquis is also one up on Comte, so Porthos's rank is bigger too, or at least it will be when his dad kicks the bucket. And if that wasn't enough, Aramis and Porthos even got their own Leia/Han moment: "All for one?" / "Yeah, I know." Awww.
Clanging chimes of doom alert! Rochefort's in the royal bedchambers, quizzing Queenie about her crucifix, and getting disproportionately disappointed that she doesn't remember promises she made to him when she was 14. As if we needed any further evidence of Rochefort's creep credentials, urgh. Back when I was 14, I probably promised to love Duran Duran forever, but guess what? I've changed my mind since then. (Don't mind the occasional song, though.)
Fired up by Anne's advice to get out there and ~~shag a Musketeer~~ be happy, Constance throws on her most Disney Princess outfit and tells Dr Lemay thanks, but no thanks. Fortunately they agree to stay friends, which means he can keep his job as medical consultant for the next episode of Really Obvious Detectives. Next she skips down to the garrison for a reunion kiss-up with D'Artagnan, while the other Muskeboys stand around smirking in the background. And finally, she scurries back to the palace in time to save Queenie from attempted rape at the hands of the scarily unhinged Rochefort, distracting him enough for Anne to do some serious hairpin damage to his eyeball, ARGH ARGH ARGH. But before you can say "you don't get wounds like that from a scrunchie", Rochefort has stormed off, yelling about treason and planning to tell the world about Anne and Aramis. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear...
Overall: We've literally been waiting all season to be told the truth about Porthos's father, so there was a risk of anticlimax here. Admittedly the mechanics of it were not especially interesting (I guessed that Belgard wasn't going to be a nice man) but Howard Charles really sold the sense of what it all meant to Porthos and relished having something dramatic to get his teeth into. As for everyone else: well done Constance for being lovely; boo to D'Artagnan for even doubting her for a minute; and ARGH to Rochefort who deserves every horrible consequence the plot can throw at him, quite frankly. (Maybe we can disguise his bollocks as turnips and tell Roger the horse to start nibbling?)
Next time: Aramis's mess of a love life finally hits the fan, and Rochefort wears an eyepatch in a hopeless attempt to look like sexier Rocheforts of the past. I can hardly bear the suspense.

Now folks, remember that there are no Musketeers next week due to Comic Relief. I know, it's most distressing that we have to wait two weeks and even America gets to see the next episode before we do. If I were a French monarch I'd slam my bedroom door noisily and yell "OMG IT'S SO UNFAIR!!!" at this point. But since I'm not, I'll see you in a fortnight...

After a Red Nose hiatus, the Musketeers return for their penultimate swash of the season. So here are some thoughts about The Accused:

We find Rochefort where we left him last week: having a bad eye day. Owww. Having said that, it doesn't LOOK as serious as the old nurse lady with no lines seems to suggest, but perhaps the special effects crew thought an eyefull of tomato ketchup would make less distressing viewing on a Friday night than a full-on gorefest. Whichever is the case, Rochefort is definitely peeved about it, and starts rummaging in his box of secrets for plot coupons that he cunningly put aside earlier in the series...
Poor Queen Anne is undergoing post-traumatic hairdressing from her oppressively silent ladies-in-waiting when the Musketeers arrive, ready to do anything to help her, especially if it involves a lot of marching purposefully down corridors. I must admit, it's a pretty good look if you want to resemble a pop star with a slinky male backing band: I particularly enjoyed Athos and Aramis's excellent synchronized sword-drawing behind her.
Of course, Rochefort is less than impressed with this performance, and has shown Louis the blackmail material he cunningly prepared earlier. Making a typically bizarre choice of things to get riled about, Louis is annoyed about his wife potentially betraying him to his archenemy, but is MOST annoyed about being interrupted mid-rant by complaints from the hoi polloi. Taking matters into his own hands, Rochefort decides to confiscate the baby, shut the Queen in her bedroom, be nasty to Marguerite (who's clearly having a terrible week and isn't enjoying her evil wardrobe one bit), and get his Red Guards to chuck the Musketeers out on their handsome arses. By the way, it's only just struck me that when the Red Guards have their helmets on, they look very Holy Grail. The jury's still out on whether they smell of elderberries.
Time for Milady to pay Rochefort a house call in his Den of Scrolls. She seems to have access to her own evil wardrobe again and is feeling pretty perky if her cleavage is anything to go by. She also can't resist taking the piss out of his eyepatch, and even though he tries to strangle her, she's justifiably gleeful about getting under his skin. Well done, girl: go and put another big tick in the Men I Got The Better Of Today box on that list you keep on your fridge door....
Okay, Aramis, it's time for you to confess your sins, and Athos only knows, there are plenty of 'em. Let's fetch Treville and all go back to Athos's place for a blockbuster episode of France's Most 100% Done With Aramis's Shenanigans! This wonderful scene managed to be heartstopping, heartwarming and hilarious in equal turns. Athos is a delightfully deadpan pillar of "I TOLD YOU SO" satisifaction that everyone else gets to share his entirely justifiable DONEness at last ("And still more..."); Porthos doesn't know whether to throttle Aramis or cuddle him, so goes for an adorable mix of both; D'Artagnan essays some quality sass while staring at Athos's rumpled bedsheets (as you do); and Treville pulls some world-class WTF faces, topped off with some brilliantly exasperated hat-tossing. But it's okay, folks. As dire as the situation seems, Athos has a potential plan, and fortunately it doesn't involve a rota for being handcuffed to Aramis's genitalia for preventative purposes...
Dr Lemay pops over to the palace to give the King some anachronistic aspirin, which is so effective that Louis comes very close to seeing sense. Rochefort realizes he must divert the King immediately, both for the sake of his plot and to prevent any more awkward flirting over his eyepatch.
Out in the marketplace, it's time to welcome back a previous guest star... CARROTS!! Oh, and also Catherine de Garouville, Athos's sort-of sister-in-law who's now stalking Milady with murder in her heart and her cleavage bursting out of her frock.

Milady doesn't notice her stalker, however, since she's much more focused on her date with Athos, even though he's brought his mates along and wants the plot spoilers she promised him last week. While Milady is usefully recapping all the Spanish ambassador shenanigans from earlier in the series which I had semi-forgotten about (whoops), Aramis and Porthos are outside having a long-needed bromantic heart-to-heart (awww, boys!), while Rochefort is playing a nasty little game of Switch The Bottle (it's a bit like Spin The Bottle, only with less kissing and more attempting to poison the monarch).
The Muskeboys and Milady do the world's least subtle sneak into the palace (it's only marginally less subtle than painting themselves purple and dancing naked into the palace singing "Subtle Plans Are Here Again") but fortunately the Red Guards are too distracted trying to march in formation without their bulbous helmets falling off, and Milady's pretty confident about taking a bunch of burly men up the back passage. For a moment, it looks like someone may fall victim to Constance, in the Queen's bedroom with a candlestick, but fortunately the Muskelads manage to whisk the Queen away to safety, leaving Constance to babysit and Rochefort to dupe the King into a little recreational drug use before bedtime.
Athos saves Milady from the vengeful ropework of Catherine and most importantly, now realizes that his brother WAS an attempted rapist. This leads to Athos and Milady sharing some overwrought and whispery confessions down a dark alley, but technically there's no time for flirting since they're meant to be looking for evidence against Rochefort. But as if fondling another man's paperwork wasn't sexually tense enough, they're then forced to try the good old "We Must Hide In This Tiny Convenient Cupboard, No Honestly, It's The Only Way!" trick. Contrary to what you might expect, the Cardinal's secret cupboard is NOT bigger on the inside; in fact, there's barely enough space in there for Athos, Milady, seventeen shedfulls of sexual tension AND the cameraman. When Rochefort comes back, his suspicions are aroused by the recently snuffed candle (not the only hot wick in that room, I'll bet) and the smell of raging hormones, but luckily the King creates a distracting emergency by starting to froth at the mouth. Also unable to control their bodily functions any more are Athos and Milady, who enthusiastically get their freak on and come out of the closet: well, I suppose it beats the alternative of coming in the closet...
In all this overexcitement, I'd almost forgotten about the Queen and the other Muskeboys, who've now arrived at the convent from last series. Very sadly, the actress who played the Mother Superior last series has since died, so this time we've got all-new nuns. Everyone gets a bit fraught until Athos arrives and announces that he's somehow managed to come up with a plan while snogging Milady's face off (yes, multitasking, is there anything this man can't do?). Optimistically it relies on someone suddenly having brilliant forgery skills, but it's okay: there's ~~an app~~ a nun for that! I laughed out loud at "Sister, I could kiss you." / "Best not, perhaps.". Perhaps the BBC should give the convent its own spin-off series: a sort of 17th-century Heavenly Hustle?
Now we've got a forged letter, Porthos must take it to Spain and find Vargas the spymaster. Meaningful hugs all round, guys! All right, not you, Athos, not if you're worried that your wick may still be fizzling.
I must say, I'm impressed with how well Rochefort's keeping up his mad-eyed staring even though he only has one eye to do it with. He's also forging ahead with his Evil Plan no. 197: blame Lemay and Constance for poisoning the King, get Marguerite to back it up before she has a breakdown, start claiming to be God, PROFIT. Then when Lemay and Constance are languishing in prison, wondering where their flirty plot-times of last week went, Rochefort turns up to tell them it's Surprise Execution time. Poor Lemay: when he told his agent he wanted a bigger cut, this was probably not what he had in mind. ARRGGGHHHH.
The Queen and her Muskeboys return to the palace but since their contact is Marguerite, it's obvious that it's all going to go Horribly Wrong™. It turns out they're all invited to Rochefort's Red Guard house party. The theme is Major League Insurrection, and the first game is Anyone Who Speaks Up Gets A Zillion Guns Pointed At Their Head. This will be followed by Sniff Aramis's Man-Cleavage And Arrest Him For High Treason, and then at dawn by Cut The Head Off The Constance. Duh-duh-DAAAAHHH!!! In the distance, a wild Porthos rides across a field, an enchained Aramis groans in Aramisery, and Constance yells "D'Artagnan, I love you, but we only have fourteen hours to save the Earth!" It's a cliffhanger and a half and no mistake!
Overall: Wowzers! The scheming and plotting from earlier in the season is actually paying off, who'd have thought it? All the cast brought their A-game, all the characters had moments to shine, and the results were rollicking good entertainment that combined thrills, feels, phwoars and giggles. Classic Musketimes, in other words.
Next week: DRAMASPLOSION!!! Can the Musketeers prevent the contents of Aramis's trousers from destroying the nation, and save Constance from starring in her own one-woman remake of Wolf Hall? Well, can they? I bloody hope so...

Unbuckle your swash, loosen your corsetry and pour yourself a large bowl of relaxing hallucinogenic soup, because season 2 of The Musketeers is drawing to a close. So for the last time this year, here are some thoughts on Trial and Punishment:

While Aramis is languishing handsomely in jail due to what the newspapers would probably call "historical sex allegations", Constance has her full misery make-up on and is heading for the chop. At least it's a fairly classy occasion: the executioner has polished the sword and hired the String Orchestra of Bleakness (S.O.B.) to provide some suitable background sounds. But hark, there's something big-eyed and appealing lurking under those bloodstained floorboards... no, it's not a mouse, it's D'Artagnan! Meanwhile, Athos has come dressed as Bloke Randomly Wearing A Face Mask For No Reason, and Treville has come as himself, but with an extra-large dose of Sod Off Rochefort. Hooray, we've got ourselves a rescue!
Everyone hides out in what appears to be Constance's old house, for some plot exposition and a spot of lunch.

Veg-spotters will be disappointed to hear that there were NO CARROTS this week, but several of my Twitter readers suggested that the carrots may have been hidden in the soup. I prefer this explanation to the alternative, which is that Constance was eating the reheated leftovers of trippy mushroom broth from earlier in the series, and that therefore the rest of this episode is happening only in Constance's fevered imagination. (I don't think this is true, but then again, it might explain the man-on-man kissing later...) Anyway, once it has been established how much trouble the Musketeers are actually in (clue: so much trouble it can probably be seen from space), they decide to head for Spain to help Porthos, taking along a secret weapon in the form of Action Constance, who is pretty much the same as Everyday Constance but with trousers on under her skirt.
Over at the palace, Queenie has no interest in the massive quantity of fruit that her ladies-in-waiting are carrying around and is much more interested in why Marguerite has turned into a quivering treacherous pseudo-zombie. At the same time, King Louis has little interest in listening to Anne's pleas of innocence, possibly because he's too worried about his tangled hair of angst becoming one with his dressing gown, and then goes into teeth-gnashing meltdown mode when Rochefort starts explaining how babies are made ("first, an Aramis shags your wife in a convent, then nine months later a baby is born. NOTE: THIS BABY IS NOT YOUR BABY. ITS DADDY IS AN ARAMIS. Any questions, Your Majesty?").
Porthos, meanwhile, is having a surprising amount of fun on his holidays in Spain (you can tell it's Spain because of the lone guitar twanging in the background). Porthos's idea of fun, in this case, consists mainly of picking off outrageously-accented fake Spaniards with the same sense of violent satisfaction you get from playing Whack-A-Mole.
Rochefort's attempts to cajole Aramis into a confession come to nothing, so it's time for some home-style courtroom drama. Aramis, do you swear on the Bible that you are truly the prettiest person ever to suffer nobly in flattering prison lighting and that you can also do swoonworthy righteous anger when circumstances demand it? Oh yes, you definitely do. Listening in from the gallery, King Louis has decided that his dressing gown of pain is no longer enough, and elects to don a Cardigan of Majestic Misery. Less majestic but infinitely more miserable, Marguerite gets dragged in to give evidence in Rochefort's most salt-into-wounds style: "Do you agree that your last relationship was a meaningless sham and that your ex found you less interesting than a one-year-old? WELL, DO YOU?" Aramis is duly pronounced guilty and is sent away "to await execution in a manner appropriate to your heinous crimes" Hmm, does that mean they're going to get one of his best friends to eye-roll him to death?
Porthos's game of Thwack the Spaniard is getting a bit out of hand, but his Muskefriends turn up in the nick of time, using their horse-drawn space-time wormhole to ride from Paris to Spain faster than it takes me to get to work in the morning. Action Constance gets to show her skill with a sword and a witty quip, and also manages not to trip over the skirt she's wearing over her trousers, so I'm impressed, even though Vargas isn't.
Alas, poor Marguerite decides to end it all with the leftover poison from last week, leaving Rochefort holding the baby, metaphorically at least (you don't expect him to actually touch a poopy nappy, do you?). He barely pauses to rip up her suicide note before swanning upstairs to regale Queenie with wistful tales of Fifty Shades of Spanish Torture. "Every day, Vargas and I would cross new thresholds of torment together. Do you know why it took so long for him to break me?" I don't know, Rochefort, was it because you are a kinky bastard who was getting off on it? Oh no, it was because you were thinking about that fourteen-year-old girl you used to tutor. Yeah, that isn't really any LESS pervy, is it? And if that wasn't bad enough, then he starts talking in great detail about what he's going to do to Aramis's body. Clue: it's nothing like what I'd choose to do....
Down in the dungeons, Aramis's actual body is flailing handsomely in its chains while his mouth is getting rather over-optimistic, making promises to "renounce all worldly temptations" if he ever escapes. God doesn't come to the rescue personally, but Milady does the job just as quickly and in a more stylish outfit. She's pretty surprised to find herself on the side of niceness too, although she does get in a sarcastic dig about the small matter of Aramis being Actually Guilty, hem hem.
Hooray, Aramis is home, so hugs all round! And not just hugs, since Athos makes the bold but welcome decision to opt for a spot of cheek-kissing. (Thanks to the miracle of the internet, you can watch it again and again if you so desire.) Alas, there are no tongues involved, but perhaps that's because Aramis has come out of a prison, not a cupboard.

"There'll be time for that later!" declares Treville, a man who probably has a lot of experience in post-rescue orgy planning. But before they can get on with saving the monarchy and all that, Athos and Milady have to have a Moment™, while a moody piano player tinkles in the distance.
"It rains a great deal in England. And the food is...pfffft." So what we've learned from this scene is that you won't catch Athos lying back and thinking of England. Good to know. Milady, however, wants a new life and has decided to give Athos a mildly ridiculous ultimatum: leave everything and move to England the day after tomorrow, or... umm... don't. There are other ways of maintaining a relationship, surely? But then again, Milady was never a woman for half-measures.
Rochefort suggests the King would feel so much better if he signed the Queen's death warrant. Louis immediately has a teenage-style hissy fit of the "BUT ~~MUM~~ ROCHEFORT, I DON'T WAAAANT TO!" variety and then stupidly agrees to sign the paper anyway, not noticing that it says "I hereby bequeath my entire porn and Pokemon collection to my BFF Rochefort and give him permission to strangle the Queen with a piece of tacky jewelry." The moral of this story is: Always read the small print, people.
Okay, palace-filling peasants: pretend it's a fire drill and go outside to mill around aimlessly! We need plenty of space for Action Constance and her Muskeboys (good name for a band) to have a major-league dust-up with the Red Guards on the big staircase. Meanwhile, Vargas looks on in vague amusement, Queen Anne hail-Marys her heart out and Rochefort begins a slow-motion walk towards the Queen's bedchamber, swinging his garotte as he goes.
It comes as a surprise to nobody that the King is the kind of guy who would come to his own execution and start quibbling about his preferred weapon for the job. Fortunately, Porthos hasn't come to stab OR shoot him, just to make Vargas explain the plot (tl;dr version: "Rochefort bad, Queenie good, can I go home now?").
Queenie is saved from a nasty Rochefate by the timely arrival of Aramis and Constance, hooray! Then everyone else turns up to have a go, because apparently it takes more than an anatomically unlikely skewering from Aramis to bring Rochefort down. In fact, I half-expected him to start yelling "It's just a flesh wound! I'll bite yer legs off!"
"Spain thanks you for your service", says Vargas, making it sound like Rochefort has failed to make the final of the Eurovision Song Contest, despite giving it 110% and whipping off his eyepatch in the time-honoured manner. And thus Rochefort dies as he lived: with maximum man-cleavage and everyone hating his guts. Serves him jolly well right.
Out in the royal gardens, some time must have passed because everyone's had a wash and the King's changed out of his pyjamas for the first time in several weeks. "I am immensely grateful to you all and I will definitely not change that opinion on a whim based on incredibly flimsy evidence in the next series, honest!" announces Louis. "Also, the similarity between me and this squealing demanding baby is undeniable!" Well, he's right about that one, but not for the reasons he thinks, so Aramis shouldn't stop awkwardly shuffling his feet just yet. Fortunately, the King's attention is now fully occupied by his sudden decision to stick it to Spain, which means appointing the re-Captained Treville as Minister for War. (Unlike in The Full Monty, when Treville served as Minister for WHOARR.)
And the Muskeboys? Well, they're heading for home when Aramis suddenly announces he's going to become a monk. His mates are about as unconvinced by this turn of events as I am. I blame those visits to the convent for giving him a skewed view of what the cloistered life is really like. Aramis sweetie, you do know it's not all gunfights, forgers and Molotov cocktails, don't you? You'll be bored silly and doodling rude pictures in the margins of manuscripts before a week is out, you mark my words. Still, his departure is a great excuse for more gratuitous man-hugs, so I can hardly complain.
Perhaps strangely, Aramis leaves before D'Artagnan and Constance's wedding. Since Athos is giving the bride away, this mean Porthos is presumably the bridesmaid, while all the other guests are handpicked from the anonymous mass of Musketeers Who Never Have Any Lines (although at least they get the occasional day out, which is nice). While the priest is forging ahead with the ceremony despite not knowing whether D'Artagnan has a first name or not, Athos suddenly remembers that his own wife is waiting for him in a lay-by on the way to Le Havre. Whoops. Just as he's trying to make a break for it, Treville turns up and promotes him to Captain, meaning he's now obliged to do sensible grown-up things like counting weapons, rather than drinking himself into oblivion and groping in enclosed spaces. Drat.
By the way, how long was Milady parked on that roadside? I've got visions of her scuttling behind a bush for relief because Welcome Break hasn't been invented yet.
Okay lads, it's the end of the season, so there are farewell presents for everyone! Porthos gets a sword from Treville, which he can use for stabbing the Spanish and threatening people who withhold vital plot points from him for weeks on end. D'Artagnan gets a honeymoon afternoon with Constance in what appears to be Treville's old bedroom, although rather disappointingly, he doesn't even bother to take his shirt off. And Athos gets a glove, which has been left behind by Milady in a muddy field. How thoughtful: we all remember how much he likes to angst over ladies' accessories. By the way, I concur with the view that Athos wasn't really planning to go to England, but did want a chance to persuade Milady to stay. Never mind, sweetie, you've still got Roger the horse. Even if you can't fit him into the Cardinal's secret closet...
So, all ready for war with Spain, boys? No, because there's no Aramis. Awwww. Can we go and tell him there's a war on, please, can we please? We must ask Daddy Treville first, but Daddy Treville says YES. So it's gleeful and gratuitous gallopiness to the rescue! Let's hope they make it to the monastery before the tonsuring begins, otherwise series 3 will mostly consist of Aramis refusing to take his hat off.
Overall: Thrills, spills, laughs, tears, swoons, gasps and general silly flailing. Everything I watch this show for, in other words. A worthy finale to a really enjoyable season. However, if I'm allowed one TEENSY quibble, it is as follows. The first episode of this season featured a guest appearance by a lady's naked bottom. Fair enough. But did a gentleman's bottom appear later in the series? No, it jolly well did not. So next year, in the interests of EQUALITY and FAIRNESS, we need to see a MAN'S BUM. The nation needs this. Make it happen, BBC. We're watching. CLOSELY.
Next week: By delightful coincidence, next Friday at 9pm, BBC One are showing something called Eurovision's Greatest Hits. Sadly, a certain 17th-century French boyband will not be taking part. Boo.
All that remains is for me to thank YOU, dear viewers! I've really enjoyed writing recaps again and am delighted that so many of you have enjoyed reading them. See you next series, and until then, you know where to find me...

Greetings, gentle viewers! Unbuckle your swashes, gird your loins and do that weird spit-loading thing with your musket, because the third and final season of The Musketeers has finally reached BBC One. This means that my traditional silly Muskereviews have also returned, and I can reassure you that, in this case, viewers with Netflix Mexico have NOT seen them already.

So without further ado, here are some thoughts on Spoils of War:

When faced with a horde of huge leather-clad men with massive weapons charging straight at you, there's nothing to do but roll around on the ground, dazed, panting and generally overemotional. But enough about me: by coincidence, Athos is doing exactly the same thing. Yes, we're four years into a war between Spain and France, and Porthos, Athos and D'Artagnan are not happy about the new concept of the series as a wacky sitcom where they flat-share a ditch and get regularly pummelled by hordes of marauding extras (possibly entitled Mud Behaving Badly).
While Porthos and D'Artagnan write a bad review of the ditch for TripAdvisor, Athos grabs Roger the horse (yay Roger!) and gallops off to give the useless French general a sarcastic piece of his mind, a tactic that will henceforth be known as a Good Rogering™. The general's plan is to kill off the lead characters of a 10-part series in the first five minutes, proving that he knows nothing about the rules of quality drama. But at the back of his tent lurks Grimaud, the first of this season's lurky new bad guys, who wants the general to give him a hand. Or more precisely, a few fingers. ARGHHHH.
Like the 17th century's answer to Tony Stark, only with somewhat skimpier armour (and absolutely NO nipple protection), D'Artagnan decides his plan of attack is ATTACK and gamely charges across the battlefield, with the apparent intention of stabbing one specific and unfortunate Spanish soldier in the bollocks.

Well, it's a tactic, I suppose. Meanwhile, there's an orgy of charging, grimacing and yelling, followed by BIG EXPLODINESS, big hugs and rescuing D'Artagnan from under a pile of men. A fairly typical Saturday night, then. There's also Porthos's first attempt at a new career as a wine critic: he's certainly got the spitting part down, but muttering the word "Spanish" is a bit restrained. "Blackberries and horse manure left to fester in an unsupportive bra of oak", that's more like it.
Meanwhile, over a nearby hedge, a group of assorted children have formed a low-budget Musketeers re-enactment society. By astonishing coincidence, their babysitter is none other than Aramis, working this season's "monastic hipster" look and generally playing the part of a hairier and more handsome Julie Andrews. In fact, this could be a great idea for a musical. What do you reckon?
On the battlefield, the French have left their smoke machine switched on, all the better for Grimaud to throw a few Grim Reaper poses with his trained crows (coming soon to a particularly gruesome episode of France's Got Talent). As well as startling a passing Athos with some unexpected death symbolism, Grimaud's other hobby is collecting rings from corpses, like a more bloodthirsty version of Bargain Hunt. I only fear that one day he may run out of fingers and will have to start shoving them on other appendages.
And what's going on back in Paris? A massive drunken punch-up, apparently: meanie Red Guards versus baby Musketeer cadets (Musketeenies?), under the dissolute gaze of our second new baddie of the week, the Marquis de Feron, a.k.a. Rupert Everett, who doesn't so much chew the scenery as delicately savour opium-laced mouthfuls of it and then spit them disdainfully on the carpet. Fortunately, Minister "Daddy" Treville (yay!) and Action!Constance (double yay!) are on hand to sort out the mess, wipe the noses and generally be the only two people left in Paris with two cells of common sense to rub together.
Oh dear, Grimaud's mob have nicked a load of gunpowder and now Aramis and the ~~Von Trapp~~ children are in danger. Worse luck, the abbot is an old hippie who won't leave the monastery and wants to fight the baddies using the Power of Love, despite Aramis's reminder that that's NOT a song from The Sound of Music. The abbot is correct, however, in his suspicion that Aramis is secretly more committed to the Church of St L'Oréal than he is to Catholicism, and when he remarks "Yet you tend your beard as another might a rose bush...", he also provides Aramis with a great cue for a song, to the tune of Edelweiss:
Beard advice, beard advice
Every day you should brush it
Comb it twice, style it nice
Slowly please, do not rush it
Moustache with twirls will get all the girls
All the girls and then some
Beard advice, beard advice
That's why I'm the most handsome...*

(* I know this is debatable, but this IS Aramis's point of view, after all...)
Treville tries to lay down some truth bombs about the state of Paris to the council of ministers, but Feron, who even makes pronouncing "Treville" with an exaggerated rolling French R sound like a slap in the face, isn't having any of it. It's a bitch-off! And this one will run and run...
As predicted, Shiny Happy Abbot over-optimistically opens the gates to Grimaud and gets a wild stab in the back for his trouble. Meanwhile, Aramis has to rip of some of his own clothes (hooray!) and help the cute kids get dressed to the tune of Grimaud doing a bit of general-torturing in the distance ("lay-odel ay-odel ay-EE-OWWWW!!!").
Meanwhile, another small child that Aramis is responsible for is suffering horrors of a very different kind. "I'm afraid the king's mind is focused entirely on our son", says the Queen, with an exasperated glance at the little Dauphin's hideous spaniel wig.

His royal daddy has bought him gold-plated action figures and the world's cutest little horse that matches his hairdo, but hasn't managed to buy himself a clue in the last four years, worse luck.
Young Luc gets away from the bad guys and accidentally bumps into the Musketeers, who are delighted at the chance for some casual heroism and even more delighted once they get into the cellar and find it's YAY ARAMIS REUNION TIME. Adorably massive hugs all round... but not from Porthos, who is still cheesed off that Aramis ~~dumped him~~ joined a monastery. Awww, boys. Porthos may also be a bit peeved that Aramis has a new squad in which he's definitely the tallest, albeit (probably) not the cutest.
Somehow, Queenie resists the temptation of booting Feron's arse out of the open window and calling it an accident, which is a shame because it would save us from a season of his gruesome machinations. Luckily, she is more than capable of handling herself in a tea-table cat-fight: "Sometimes, you don't look like a bastard." Ha!
Porthos the BFG makes friends with little Marie ("He's so tall and handsome as hell / You can kick his shin but he won't take it well..."– damn, that's not a song from The Sound of Music either, is it?) but he's still holding a BFG (Big Flipping Grudge) against Aramis. In comparison, Athos is positively chirpy, and greets Aramis's claim that he doesn't have a problem with celibacy with a hilariously understated cock of the head that surely means it's the best joke Athos has heard in four years, if not longer.
Regular readers may recall that, at the end of the last series, I noted that season 2 included a gratuitous shot of a lady's bottom but NO gratuitous shot of a gentleman's bottom in the interests of equality. I'm therefore delighted that the BBC were clearly listening to me (hem hem), and so was Constance. Now she's cooked up a plan with young Clairmont the Muskecadet for getting their own back on the Red Guards, which involves setting fire to their clothes while they're in the bath and giving the neighbours a laugh at their shortcomings. Admittedly, if given the choice, I would prefer to gaze at the unclad extremities of the regular cast members (hem hem), but hey, gratuitous bums are gratuitous bums and we must be grateful for what we're given. "Not so cocky now, are we?" Constance yells as the red-faced Red Guards scuttle away, although that might have something to do with the cold weather in Paris at this time of year...
Meanwhile, their captain Marcheaux gets a gratuitous shirtless scene and a punch in the face from Treville, followed by a telling-off from Feron along with some rather motherly "spit on a hankie to wipe the muck off your face" TLC. I'm not sure which one of these was most awkward for him.
Hooray, time for Aramis to sneak the children and monks out of the monastery and then to single-handedly battle a horde of henchmen in a scene that really ought to have a musical accompaniment:
Climb every mountain
Fight every thug,
Find your inner bad-ass
And smash 'em in the mug...

For a minute it looks like young Luc's been shot but nope, he's saved by his homemade Musketeer cosplay. Phew. Let that be a lesson to all of us: fandom literally CAN save your life, kids.
Grimaud brings back some Spanish chums for a spot of arms dealing but the Muskeboys are ready for him. The stirring background music gets cranked up to 11, and Porthos and Aramis re-bond while blowing gurning minions to kingdom come. "It's about to get hot!" yells Porthos, but it already has: what with all the fizzling fuses and suggestive spitting, it's hardly surprising when they both end up happily horizontal. Awww.
It's time for the Muskelads to say so long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, goodbye to the monks and the kids, and for Porthos to say bye-bye to his new BFF Marie and the peculiar faceless dolly thing she insists on carrying around. Of course, Aramis is once again a-quiver with the excitement of Musketeering and tells God that it's not Him, it's him. "This is what you made me," says Aramis, just as Athos wanders in looking ridiculously handsome, and frankly, if God had made ME an Athos, I'd be much more inclined to be a believer.
Setting up a hierarchy of nastiness for the season's bad guys, Grimaud turns out to be Feron's dealer and so seems to have plenty of potential for pulling the strings of power. Still, you can tell Feron's a classy villain because even his throes of agony are artistic, inspired in this case by Henry Wallis's painting The Death of Chatterton:
So there's only just time for Porthos to have a second attempt at composing a wine review ("perfectly acceptable" may be short but hey, it's twice as long as his last one!) and for everyone to have a victory swig and a gaze at Paris's CGI skyline before heading for home. Everyone gets big hugs from Treville, and Constance gets to see a lovely half-naked man in her own house so doesn't have to cook up any more convoluted plans to get a glimpse of one in public. Convenient, eh? In fact the only person who's not pleased to see them is Feron, whose opening salvo of cattiness at the Musketeers is hilariously countered by a facial expression from Athos that's the very essence of "Oh really? Well, bring it on, baby."
In conclusion (to the tune of My Favourite Things):
Dirt smeared on cheekbones and hot men in leather
Heroes that ride into action together
Hair porn and eye-rolls and wit that just zings
These are a few of my favourite things...

In other words, all the Musketeer ingredients I know and love are back, back, BACK. (Okay, there were no carrots, but they've got to save SOME thrills for later in the season, haven't they?) It's a glorious return and I can't wait to see what comes next. So see you here next week for episode 2!

In other news, in a pleasing piece of scheduling coincidence, the series Versailles starts on BBC Two this week. It's about sexiness and scheming in the court of Louis XIV of France, i.e. who the little Dauphin becomes when he grows up. I've no idea whether the show's any good, but it certainly sounds like little Louis has some strikingly similarities to his fictional bio-dad....

Sting like a butterfly, float like a bee, and give schedule-shifting the red card, because a week later than expected, it's time to rejoin the Musketeers for episode 2 of the third season. Here are some thoughts about The Hunger, which despite the name is nothing to do with vampire David Bowie:

In what I hope is a promising sign for the intellectual content of the rest of this season, D'Artagnan rockets ahead and breaks the series record for earliest shirtless scene, at an unbeatable ONE SECOND into the episode. Well done, sweetie; all your hard work was worth it. Of course, we only get to see the finished results, while Constance gets a full view of the staging area...
Anyway, there's no time for lying around because the D'Artagnans have to pop out for groceries, which isn't easy because there's a riot going on. A load of grain has gone missing and refugees are getting the blame (now where have I heard this story before? Oh yes: actual reality). While go-getting activist-about-town Sylvie rallies the forces of righteousness, the real culprit is that nasty Grimaud. No, he doesn't want to open his own artisan bakery and flog bread rolls at 17 times the usual price; he's actually in league with the Marquis de Feron (who unsurprisingly is the kind of chap who has red wine for breakfast) and local grain-baron the Duke of Beaufort, and they're all planning to rip off the King. Sadly they don't rip off the unconvincing wig from Beaufort's head before they start; it's almost as unflattering as the poor Dauphin's.
Meanwhile, back at the garrison, Athos, Porthos and Aramis are having a hot and sweaty three-way because Aramis is out of practice. A three-way swordfight, that is. By the time they turn up to the riot, the Red Guards have already arrested a bunch of refugees AND D'Artagnan for going "GRRRR!" in a public place and other spurious crimes. So it's up to the Muskeboys to search the refugee settlement for traces of ~~subtle topical symbolism~~ stolen grain. Sylvie considers burning her extensive collection of revolutionary leaflets, but then decides to stash them somewhere that Athos can find them, enabling them to have a delightfully Freudian stand-off in which Athos comes over all no-nonsense and commanding and I have to go and have a bit of a lie-down.
D'Artagnan gets thrown in a dungeon, all the better to pick up useful bits of back story, and to bond with chief spokesrefugee (and Sylvie's dad) Hubert, on the grounds that they both like fighting injustice, plus he's the only other prisoner with lines.

Admittedly, another refugee called Leon does have some lines, but he turns out to be a Red Guard mole and gets viciously slapped around by Marcheaux, who's already collected enough Sadistic Bastard points this week to buy himself a month's supply of hair gel and some scar-enhancement lotion.
Just as Sylvie's telling the Muskeboys about the importance of sticking it to the man and quashing the fascist oppressors, here comes young Clairmont the Muskecadet, relishing his new role as Boy Most Likely To Burst Into A Room And Yell The Latest Plot Twist (quoth Athos, "We used to knock."). It turns out a passing ne'er-do-well is doing a spot of illegal grain-dealing, which gives Porthos and Aramis a chance to handle this with "our own special brand of tact and diplomacy".

Yes, it's time for a variation on the old "good cop, bad cop" routine, in which Porthos is the good cop, and Aramis is the gleefully limb-snapping psycho-monk who is having just a bit too much fun. It goes so well that the lads decide to pitch a revival of the Really Obvious Detectives (ROD for short), noticing a cart covered in Significant Dust™ and recalling memorable details from the Spotter's Guide To Horses That May Be Relevant To The Plot Later.
While engaging in some random but scenic falconry, the Duke of Beaufort mentions a rumour that Grimaud eats nothing but raw flesh. Feron denies this completely: he knows Grimaud won't touch anything that hasn't been freshly torn from the hands of an organic free-range orphan. Presumably this is why Grimaud is relegated to the role of grim observer at Feron's private wine-and-opium parties. (To be honest, I'm only guessing it's meant to be opium, but I don't actually know what dried opium looks like, unless the answer is "tiny slices of dried apricot, no really".) But just as Rupert Everett's amazing face is contorting itself into a paean to the decadent pleasures of mind-altering substances, Grimaud unexpectedly stages an intervention and threatens Feron with his own cutlery. Just what IS going on with these two? Are they related, or are they just villainously co-dependent? I'm guessing we'll find out.
After poor Hubert has shuffled off this mortal coil, D'Artagnan gets out of the slammer, full of the urge to do something non-specific about injustice because it's what his best friend for the last two hours would have wanted. Fortunately, the ever-sensible Constance is five steps ahead of him and drags her cute-but-hopeless hubby away, resisting the urge to hit him with a clue stick on the way. (By the way, is something meant to have gone on with Marcheaux and Constance, something more specific than him just being a generally sexist arsehole? From the way they dwell on it, I'm guessing yes, but I fear it may be deeply unpleasant.)
Leon the mole has unsubtly planted some fake evidence in the refugee camp, but luckily Sylvie and Athos find it just as the Red Guards turn up to stick the boot in. Even more luckily, Sylvie turns out to be a dab hand with a sword and a well-placed knee. Athos is both sweatily dishevelled and mildly impressed, which doesn't usually happen until at least the third date.
Doggedly following his ROD-like hunch, Porthos finds the quarry of Significant Dust™, which in turn leads him to a Sizeable Shed of Stolen Cereals™, where he engages in some recreational thug-bashing and gets granola in his magnificent Battle Hair™. He's still worth a nibble, of course, but he's no longer suitable for viewers with a wheat allergy.
While Porthos is picking seeds out of his sensitive areas, the other Muskeboys take Sylvie for a night out at the Red Guard's tavern of choice. Well, only Athos and D'Artagnan actually get to go to the pub; Sylvie's handcuffed to Aramis and made to stay outside. But like the resourceful woman she is, she's soon digging all the fun she can out of this scenario, first by casually frisking him for gossip on Athos and then by putting her mouth on his face and her hands where he isn't expecting them, i.e. right on his impressive weaponry. I giggled loud and long at Aramis's inability to control his nether regions after four years of chastity. Totally and utterly silly, yet totally and utterly in character.
Meanwhile in the pub, D'Artagnan's making tempting suggestions that Athos can't take up because it'd spoil the rest of the season. Darn it.

But before D'Artagnan and Athos can reschedule their double entendre for later, Sylvie uses Aramis's weapon to threaten Leon the mole, but Athos distracts her with a rousing speech and Marcheaux shoots Leon instead, having noticed that he'd make an excellent scapegoat. While Sylvie's enjoying Athos's hands-on approach to stopping a bar fight, D'Artagnan and Marcheaux start a major-league staring match: D'Artagnan's GLARE OF JUSTICE versus Marcheaux's STARE OF SMUGNESS. Sadly Aramis breaks it up before either of them can blink.
Back at court, the spinning camera of exposition allows the legal plot threads to be more or less tied up while giving me everybody a good stare at Athos's shapely waist from all possible angles. Then Porthos arrives and dumps a bag of grain on the floor: full marks for making a dramatic point, but minus 50 for causing a health-and-safety hazard that some poor non-speaking minion will have to clear up later.
And what are the King and Queenie up to this week? Squabbling passive-aggressively over their offspring's affections, apparently. Louis also takes the opportunity to slyly mention that the Muskeboys are back in town, and yes, that includes Aramis (the nod from Dauphin at the mention of his real daddy's slutty ways was hilarious). Instead of asking why there are apparently now only four grown-up Musketeers in the whole country, when I'm sure there used to be more (yeah, I know they didn't usually have any lines, but the war can't have killed ALL of them, can it?), the Queen says nothing and scuttles away rather shadily. Has Louis started to be suspicious again? What IS going on with him?
Speaking of the Dauphin's bio-daddy, he accompanies Sylvie to mourn her dead dad, and she gives him a slice of real talk, which heaven knows he needs (along with a cold shower and a chastity belt, obviously). Elsewhere, the silly Duke of Beaufort's plans have gone down the Swanee and Grimaud tries to go into a slow-motion death rage but Feron snaps him out of it. I've said it already but I'll say it again: just what IS going on with these two?
And it's a very warm welcome to a striking new recurring guest star this season: yes, it's Athos's Black Shirt of Shaggability. Looks good on him, would look even better on my any bedroom floor.

"I don't do careful", says Sylvie as she lays a lingering lip-lock on him, which is fortunate because "Not Careful" is in fact Athos's middle name. I suppose it could be claimed that this coupling is a little out of the blue, but Sylvie does have eyes in her head and Athos has got this laid-back 'n' louche Captain Sexypants thing going on this season, so I don't think it needs all that much dramatic justification. And of course, it gives his friends an opportunity to take the piss out of him, which is as charming as hell. In fact, everything's all smiles and man-hugs... until Grimaud turns up to do a bit of Dramatic Foreshadowing™ on horseback. Still, at least the time Porthos spent poring over the Spotter's Guide To Horses That May Be Relevant To The Plot Later pays off rather nicely.
In conclusion: An oddly choppy episode that involved a lot of waiting for the characters to catch up with things that the audience already knows, as well as a fair amount of hinting about things that may or may not come to light in the season but are currently rather murky and lurky. Still, some nice character moments and I like Sylvie a lot, so I'm keen to see more of her. I'm also longing to see Constance and the Queen back together, but I believe that's coming up in the not-too-distant future...

Please note: Due to sport-related scheduling shenanigans, the next episode isn't until Monday 20th June. Once I've recovered from the shock of Muskeaction on a school night, I'll see you at some point shortly thereafter...

Well, it's been a peculiar week for multiple reasons, but in the absence of anything I can do to improve the poor state of the world, I've decided to soldier on regardless and maintain a firm grasp on European literary tradition by grabbing hold of its most muscular and leather-clad protrusions.

In other words, it's time for a belated Musketeers review. Here are some thoughts about Brothers In Arms:

Personally, I've often imagined being awakened by a terrific banging from the Musketeers, but here's a weedy chap who's rather less enamoured with the experience. So who is this redheaded emo wannabe with his New Romantic stylings? He may look like the love child of Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley, but it will later transpire that he's actually Gaston, Duke of Orleans, little brother of King Louis and an actual historical person. Pausing only to stuff his pockets with incriminating paperwork and give his hair a good crimping, he's soon being escorted to Paris by the Muskeboys in their shiny new swashbuckler-about-town outfits, but before you can say "Vic, I've fallen", he's taken the world's least convincing tumble from a horse and gets himself dragged to the nearest pub (well, it's never too early for cocktail hour, n'est-ce pas?)
By pleasing coincidence, Sylvie happens to be visiting the same pub and Athos gives her a brief but excellent glance that encapsulates the entire sentence "Oh, hello nice lady who snogged me last week, fancy seeing you… oh SHIT, I'm meant to be at work, aren't I? Damn, damn, damn...." But then suddenly Gaston's wallet goes missing and before you can say "Are you sure you didn't put it in your other pocket?", the little oik has stabbed three non-speaking bystanders to death and caused a Mexican stand-off the size of... well, Mexico. And all before breakfast, apparently. You've got to admire a schemer with a work ethic.
Although entitled nastiness runs in Gaston's family, I get the impression that even bastard big brother Feron would draw the line at an excuse as flimsy as "I am totally allowed to murder random extras because the Musketeers woke me up early and therefore it's all THEIR fault!" Meanwhile, the King's too busy being a drama queen to listen to Treville yelling important bits of backstory at him ("Gaston has been in exile because he tried to overthrow you! I don't know what you're doing but I'm 99.7% sure it's a bad idea!") and chooses to put on his blingiest crown and welcome Gaston into his shiny baroque play-pen for a bout of brotherly bullshitting and ring-kissing. At least it gives Treville and Queenie a chance to practise their synchronized eye-rolling.
Treville tells off Athos for having adventures when the captain's supposed to stay at home and do boring stuff instead of having a good time. Athos somehow resists the urge to give a PowerPoint presentation on how delegating garrison administration duties to Constance has freed up 74% more time for vital beard maintenance and riding around looking needlessly sexy. "We must tell each other everything", insists Treville, and Athos ponders saying "Well, I really like this girl..." but thinks better of it. Out in the yard, D'Artagnan has suddenly grown up and is being all mentorish to the baby Muskecadets, saying exactly the same sort of stuff Athos used to say to him when he was little. Awww.
Constance pops in to see her old chum Queenie, despite Marcheaux doing his best impression of an annoyingly yappy guard-dog. Unfortunately, both ladies are sad because of a) having no friends and b) living in a filthy war zone, respectively. Queenie wants to talk about boys and can't wait for Constance to join the I-Got-Knocked-Up-By-A Musketeer club but Constance is less keen, perhaps because she gets enough loud squealing and stinky laundry stains from living with 30 teenage cadets.
It turns out that everyone Gaston stabbed in the pub was a war veteran, so the whole thing's a bit of a diplomatic minefield. The King's all "yeah, slaughtering random peasants is entirely justified if they touch your stuff!", and Sylvie is all "down with the fascist aristo oppressors!" and "I cannot believe Aramis is still coming on to me after embarrassing himself last week, sheesh", and Josephine the pub landlady is all "oops, I shouldn't have stolen this wallet and accidentally set an entire episode's worth of misunderstandings in motion, should I?"
Not only does Feron have his own personal drug dealer, it seems he also gets private massages from Marcheaux. Blimey. Maybe the Red Guard should set up a side business in case the peasant-kicking trade doesn't pan out?

Then Gaston turns up and confesses that his purse had more inside it than small change, a past-its-sell-by-date condom and a loyalty card for Madame Lola's Gothic Garment Emporium. It was actually full of letters to dodgy nobles across the country, saying "lol, let's totally overthrow my brother, get a case of cheap vodka in and start a revolution!!!1!! YOLO", and Gaston correctly guesses that this knowledge will make family Christmas dinners at least 27 times more awkward than they already are.
Oh look, someone's using Roger the horse as a noticeboard because the Post-It hasn't been invented yet.

"Meet you after the funeral with the stolen wallet", says the note, so the Muskeboys duly turn up wearing their best dignified frowns. Christophe the landlord is too emotional to finish the service, but luckily Aramis steps up to the mark with his Emergency Priest™ powers (he also does bar mitzvahs and weddings, but whatever you do, don't leave him unattended with the bride). It turns out that Grimaud has financed the funeral, and it's all a scam so the Red Guards can gatecrash, try to arrest everyone, shoot an unfortunate bystander, and promise floggings all round. Before it can turn into THAT kind of party, displeased Daddy Treville arrives to yell commandingly at everyone, while threatening to confiscate Marcheaux's key to the biscuit cupboard if he doesn't start behaving himself.
Treville takes all the Muskelads to see the king but Aramis spots the cute little fruit of his loins skipping around outside and unsubtly wanders off. Astonishingly, nobody has yet clicked to the fact that an AWOL Aramis one week invariably leads to sweaty plot complications and/or pregnancies several episodes later. Captain Athos really needs to start tying him up on a leash outside...
Out in the garden, Feron and Gaston are meant to be babysitting the Dauphin but they'd much rather discuss the chances of horrible things happening to small children and be unneccessarily bitchy to the Queen. She's soon distracted by a passing Aramis, who's keen to talk about old times, but it's all a bit awkward, especially since Queenie's all "not now, Aramis, we are standing within a 20-foot radius of ALMOST EVERYONE WE KNOW" and besides, Aramis can hear Athos's eyes rolling from the other side of the garden.
Sporting a fashion look that's like a cross between Phil Oakey circa 1981 and a pair of curtains, the King's still refusing to listen to sense and yelling about "faaaahmily" in a way that suggests he may be auditioning for EastEnders. Now, I guessed the King must be a goner the second he coughed, because Dramatic Coughs are generally dramatically significant (leading my friend Kathryn to coin the term "Chekough"), rather than being just a cough and it's fine. Sure enough, he confesses to Treville that he has the white plague, which apparently means tuberculosis (this did actually kill the real life Louis XIII). Treville has a good old manly sniffle at this news, ostensibly because he really does care about Louis (awww), but more likely because he's moved by Ryan Gage's rather excellent performance in this scene, and even more probably because he foresees the apocalyptic amount of hassle this is going to cause and that he's going to be the one who has to sort the whole mess out.
Treville goes down to the Pub of Revolt, entirely alone except for a large Porthos, and finds everyone polishing their massive weapons. Not making the situation any less kinky, Christophe the landlord decides to batten down the hatches and have a hostage situation/bondage party. "Where's the Minister and my Musketeer?" asks Athos outside, trying to distract Christophe with an unexpected spot of Porthosshipping. "This is never going to happen", he adds, reading ~~my fanfiction~~ Christophe's list of demands.
The situation at the palace is equally grim, with Athos and Queenie representing the forces of reason against the triumvirate of poor hairdressing and even worse decisions that is the Brothers Bourbon. "Oh hell, I'll have to go down there and be all heroic and manly", realizes Athos. So that becomes the plan. Well, until the Red Guards get a signal to charge in and murder everyone, that is.
Down at Siege Central, it's more noticeable than ever that all the Musketeers who aren't the four regulars are in fact 12 years old. D'Artagnan has a go at ordering them around but they go all wibbly in the face of battle and Aramis has to do a rousing speech to sort 'em out. Inside the pub, Christophe refuses to be intimidated by Porthos's boots or Treville's impressive manspreading and his wife STILL hasn't fessed up to her pilfering, when D'Artagnan and Aramis come in from behind and get the party started… well, in a manner of speaking.
Aramis: "Still got it, I see."
Treville: "Most of it."
Me: :-D
Then it's all a bit of a blur for a while. Grimaud blows up the pub, the Red Guards charge in, and suddenly it's "Shit, We'd Better Team Up!" time. Well, except for Josephine the landlady, for whom it's "Shit, I'd Better Confess To D'Artagnan" time. There's a crescendo of background music, Gazes of Undying Brotherhood™ from the boys, and a spot of synchronized swordage from Porthos and Aramis that's almost as boyband-worthy as Athos and Aramis last season. And as if this wasn't enough, here comes Action!Constance, giving Marcheaux a taste of her trademark poke-in-the-neck manoeuvre, closely followed by Action!Sylvie, giving Athos a rousing reminder of her asskicking talents. Then for the grand finale, it's 200%-Done Treville, giving Marcheaux a well-deserved punch in the face AND a kick up the bum, hoorah! Never mind, Marcheaux, at least your bloody nose matches your outfit. In fact, the only one who's not happy is Josephine, who dies from a fatal dose of karma to the midriff. Ouch.
Treville shows the King the incriminating letters to Gaston's penpals, earning Gaston an accommodation downgrade to the Bastille (one bed, no WiFi, en suite bucket, please ring room service for extra cockroaches).
And ooh, what's this? Gosh, it's Athos and Aramis filling the garrison courtyard with UST (Unresolved Sweaty Training), which provides another gloriously gratuitous outing for Athos's black shirt of shaggability. In fact, it's practically falling off by the time Sylvie turns up for a bout of not-in-front-of-the-cadets sexual tension. I giggled at the fact that the contents of Athos's mind in this scene are almost as clearly visible as the contents of his shirt: "Oh hello, here she comes, better play it cool, flirt a bit, look as if you don't really care but suggest that a snog might not be totally unwelcome... hey, where's she going?? You're not leaving now, are you?? What?? Eh??? *sulks for rest of afternoon*"
Down at the Bastille, Gaston's got nothing to amuse him but a symbolic chess table and gloating visits from big bro Feron for the occasional family bitch-off. Still, at least it gives him lots of time to compose songs about himself. Sing it with me: "No one sneers like Gaston, no one jeers like Gaston, no one winds up the four Musketeers like Gaston…"
In conclusion: a rather frustrating main plot that's basically an impasse between two unreconcilable forces – the Musketeers can't really do anything about anything until the very end when suddenly it becomes possible to save the day by swashbuckling (quelle coincidence!). Still, lots of moments to enjoy, some interesting plot pieces laid down for later use and some rather nice relationship moments that will hopefully pay off soon…

Due to the vagaries of a) BBC scheduling and b) me being thrown off my usual routine, the next episode is on Saturday night (i.e. tomorrow, as I write this), so you won't have to wait a whole week for my input. Well, unless I suddenly become seventeen times more confused than I already am...

Misery is manifold, the wretchedness of the earth is multiform, and the schedules of both BBC One and myself have become more than a little confused of late. Nonetheless, it's a welcome task to be able to concentrate on men in leather for a while, so here are my later-than-advertised thoughts about The Queen's Diamonds:

It may be raining in Paris but it's still time for a cold shower, because Athos and Sylvie have finally found a free moment for a quality bout of tonsil hockey. Athos is all wet and wearing the Black Shirt of Shaggability and has his hair in a sort of ponytail thing and frankly the whole thing's ON LIKE THE HOUSE OF BOURBON... aaaaand then D'Artagnan turns up to rain on Athos's parade and make him actually do some work for a change. Arghh. Still, at least Sylvie seems entertained rather than annoyed by it all. Presumably Athos lives in Treville's old rooms in the garrison now, not in his old flat with his bachelor bucket, so it must be tricky to bring a lady home without an accompanying chorus of "Athos and Sylvie, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G" from his oh-so-mature comrades.
"What kind of a godless brute robs the Queen of England?" asks King Louis, since the Queen in question is actually his little sis and is now missing her stash of diamonds. The Muskeboys get the job of hunting the thief, but since they're good at multitasking, it doesn't stop them from taking the piss out of Athos's love life at the same time. I laughed heartily at Aramis winning the two-words game with "coitus interruptus", although if you're Aramis, the coitus is pretty much nonstoppicus.
Of course, the thief in question is Emile Bonnaire from season 1's Commodities, who's taken to dressing like a cross between a peacock, a leprechaun and Gainsborough's Blue Boy. His scuttling skills can't help him for long, however, and before you can say "I'm a dandy highwayman", his wig's been returned to the wild and his ankles are getting the full Porthos treatment.
Down at the Salon de Villainy, Grimaud turns up to tell Feron that his ship has quite literally sunk (if you're wondering who Feron would ship, it's himself/huge piles of cash, and the whole thing's on the rocks). Fortunately, "Not now, Georges" Marcheaux soon turns up and drags him to the ~~loo~~ Louvre, where the Queen of England (the one who was married to Charles I, history fans) is fretting about her lost jewels and overcompensating for being French by dressing like the 17th century's answer to Geri Halliwell, only without the platform boots.

London has fallen to that upstart Cromwell, you see, and she needs cash to fund a fight-back. But now her diamonds have been nicked, what will she tell the Dutch financier who was going to buy them? Step forward bastard big brother Philippe (whom Queen Gingerspice doesn't recognize at first, perhaps because he's not a real historical person), who offers to serve as a financial distraction for entirely above-board reasons, most of which are More Money To Spend On Drugs And Dressing Gowns™.
Fascinatingly, this episode seems to have a random running subplot about Athos's sexual frustration bursting out uncontrollably all over the place. To support this assertion, I'm just going to leave this picture here and let you draw your own conclusions, okay?
Anyway, while the Muskeboys are knocking Bonnaire around and trying to find out who he sold the diamonds to, Aramis spots one of his 57,019 exes, Pauline, who just happens to be wandering down the street accompanied by Paul McGann in questionable trousers. Disappointingly, Mr McGann's entrance did not require him to pop out of Cardinal Richelieu's secret cupboard, proclaiming that it's bigger on the inside...
"One day you will write your memoirs and there will be a woman's name on every page", D'Artagnan tells Aramis, although he doesn't mention the worrying amount of deforestation it would cause, OR the fact that the most appropriate title has already been taken. Still, I suppose that Aramis could save on trees by writing his autobiography in musical form; it would probably be rather like this but with about 700 more verses.
Time for the Muskeboys to go on a scenic day-trip to the countryside, albeit accompanied by a continuing stream of horseshit from Bonnaire. And to continue the theme of Athos flirting with bloody EVERYONE this week, I particularly adored his little eyebrow raise when he suggests using D'Artagnan as lady-bait.

Of course, this whole scene is comedy gold, with Lady Françoise's daughters quivering almost as much as her capacious cleavage at the sight of D'Artagnan in full Strategic Flirtation mode. And D'Artagnan gives great face, especially when he finds out Serena's an actual nightmare. Oops, sorry, I meant to type: an actual white mare.
The giggles don't stop as the boys discuss social injustice while walking dramatically towards a horse's bum. And Serena the horse gives as good as she gets, almost driving Athos to an Indiana Jones-style just-shoot-the-bloody-thing moment until actual Disney prince D'Artagnan steps forward with his finely honed horse-whispering services, using a technique that could be best summed up as "rope-flicks and chill". Awww. Meanwhile, I've already started planning a spin-off cartoon series about Serena and Roger the Horse. It could run and run... or at least canter and gallop.
Then it's generosity all round. While Porthos is practising redistribution of wealth by flinging jewels into a field, Sylvie's giving rousing speeches to the peasant masses and refusing dodgy hand-outs from the lurking Grimaud. Bonnaire gets a thump where it hurts from Constance, and Aramis gets permission from Athos to go and hang out with Pauline and he doesn't even have to be forced into a chastity belt first. Will wonders ever cease?
Pauline's VERY excited about owning Pretty Stuff™, but she still needs Handsome Stuff™ to help her out because she's being blackmailed. She also needs Constance randomly appearing as an excuse to explain her backstory for the audience: she and Aramis grew up in a brothel, where Aramis's mum worked. For a moment here, I started wondering if they were retconning Aramis's youth by shoehorning in another first love before his previous first love, Isabelle (a.k.a. Sister Hélène the dead nun). But no, the other stuff happened later, after he went to live with his dad, and besides, Pauline is apparently more of a sister figure to him.
Luckily for Feron, it turns out the Red Guard massage parlour and spa also incorporates a hot tub, opium den/chill-out room and a range of other keenly priced entertainment options for dodgy Dutchmen. Whatever will they add next week? Eyebrow threading? Colonic irrigation? Karaoke?
A trip to see Bonnaire's contact results in a painful defenestration and a lot of banging in the night. Bonnaire wakes up to find himself on an episode of The Great French Sewing Bee, not as a contestant but as an embroidery project. Porthos makes up in enthusiasm what he lacks in stitching skills, but given that his technique involves marinating both himself and Bonnaire in wine first, I fear he may have got confused and thinks he's on Masterchef.
While Bonnaire passes out, Athos meets up with Sylvie for round 2 of Snogfest 1643, or at least, that's his plan. Her plan, on the other hand, is to invite him to her consciousness-raising meeting. Alas, these plans are not romantically compatible. I suppose you've got to admire the woman: Athos is offering quality booze, is flatteringly lit by flickering firelight and speaking in the Sexy Growl of Ultimate Phwoarness, yet STILL she is able to resist him. All I can say is that Sylvie's knicker elastic is a damn sight more principled than I am. Of course, the plot is that she is ready for an actual relationship and he isn't, probably because he hasn't got over snogging his not-dead wife in a cupboard four years ago. Still, it's a bit unfair to blame him for being concerned about diamonds: he's tracking down a thief as a part of his day job, not forcing orphans down a mine for funsies. I'm sure it'll all sort itself out eventually, but for now, Athos faces yet another night of brooding and self-pity with his bucket of man-pain. Awww.
Aramis visits Pauline's fairytale mansion, where she has everything a fashionable society wedding needs: pretty horsies, a Barbie Dream Coach, flower-flinging maids, Paul McGann needlessly oppressing the lower classes (boo!), and a servant chap giving Significant Looks and wanting to turn the whole thing into an episode of Don't Tell The Groom. Oh, and there's also a bemusing buffet of peculiar wedding dishes, including what looks suspiciously like ORNAMENTAL CARROT PURÉE.

Okay, I may be wrong, but in the absence of any other dangling veg this season, I choose to believe that these are covert carrots. Yes, even though that seems like a weird choice for wedding catering. I dunno, maybe the vol-au-vent hasn't been invented yet? Anyhow, Aramis investigates Corelle the starey servant in the stables and by a cunning process of elimination works out that he's the only other actor in the castle with a speaking part and therefore must be the blackmailer. (At which point, the carrot purée breathes a sigh of relief.)
By amazing coincidence, the other Musketeers turn up for Pauline's wedding, not to be bridesmaids (boo, I would have loved to see THOSE outfits) but to find the last stolen diamond, which happens to be Pauline's wedding ring. There's a face-off with Paul McGann and his questionable wedding trousers, Aramis tries to get in the way, Athos tries to roll his eyes and aim a gun at the same time, Porthos storms off in a huff and it all gets a bit awkward. Perhaps they were trying for some kind of parallel with Athos threatening to shoot the horse earlier, but the Muskies having an ACTUAL confrontation over this seemed a bit unlikely. I did enjoy Athos and Porthos's exchange afterwards, however: "Aramis is my penance." / "Mine too." OH MY BOYS.
Having surrendered her wedding ring, Pauline slops off to the stables to stab Corelle, whose motivation seems to have been a passionate love of Paul McGann – well, fair enough I suppose. Sadly she also slips off the edge of sanity, failing to realize that a bloodstained wedding gown always puts a bit of a damper on the ceremony, especially when you haven't even opened the booze yet so you can't blame it on red wine. Alas, yet another page of Aramis's autobiography comes to a messy end, as Paul McGann looks startled in the courtyard and wonders how soon he can put the Barbie Dream Coach up on eBay.
Bonnaire's final attempt to escape lasts about 20 seconds and he gets dragged up before the royals for the denouement. Amid some majestic eyerolling from most of the cast, it turns out he's the Queen of England's gardener AND married to her lady-in-waiting, but somehow he manages to blag his way out of trouble by Actually Loving His Wife, aww. All that remains is to find his ill-gotten gains... and "remains" are the operative word, since they're stashed somewhere in a mass grave, urgh. Still, at least it gives the Musketeers a chance to model their new Scarf-slash-Face-Mask collection: stylish yet sensible stench-blocking for the amateur gravedigger-about-town! (Warning: contains no medical protection whatsoever.)
Last and least, Feron and Grimaud get together to grumble about not having been in this episode much. Still, at least Feron's paid off his debts with a payday loan from QuickQuid Van Laar, and gleefully tells Grimaud what he overheard last week: Louis is dying! Now they must raise an army and Feron has a very audacious plan...
In conclusion: While I don't find Bonnaire quite as hilarious as I think I'm supposed to, his return was an excellent excuse for lashings of intentional silliness and tongue-in-cheekery of the kind that's been in relatively short supply this seriouser-than-usual season. The whole cast got to practise their most exasperated expressions, James Callis did that thing he does where his voice sounds like it should be coming out of a much bigger body than he's got, and everyone had a pretty good time, including me. Well, I never did.

In the ongoing game of Hunt-The-Musketeers that has become a key part of the BBC's summer of sport, I see the next episode is on Sunday 3rd July, which (as I write this) is merely hours away. So look out for an episode review from me at some point during the week that follows...

Ah, you find me still scuttling about like a mad thing, playing catch-up with my Musketeers reviews. Here are my thoughts about To Play The King:

Jailbreak time at the Châtelet prison! The prisoners are revolting! Well, some of them are, although their teeth remain notably white and shiny in most cases. The outside world isn't much better, however, since the Red Guard are on hand to shoot them indiscriminately, while the less-than-motivated Marcheaux is distracted by pretty fabrics he could make glitzy new jackets out of.
Then the Muskeboys turn up for the riot and halleluyah, we have the first CONFIRMED CARROT SIGHTING of the season! Porthos's horse seems almost as happy about it as I was.

Fans of Paris's most shamelessly dangly market will be pleased to see that the candle stall is right next to the carrot stall, as is traditional, although the sausage stall wasn't in evidence this time around. Still, we have several episodes left for the stallholders of Paris to work themselves up into a fully Freudian frenzy for the finale.
We're also introduced to the most relevant prisoners to this week's tale: Joubert, a misunderstood locksmith, and Borel, a gleefully stabby fellow with delusions of kingliness. Grimaud's task is to rob the King's gold reserves with the unfortunate Joubert's help; meanwhile, mean old Uncle Feron will be attending a six-year-old's birthday party and NOT enjoying it... well, not unless there are opium-laced fairycakes. And all of this before the opening credits. I can barely keep up, viewers.
Oh, and since Marcheaux has to spend the episode doing something more in line with his skill level (e.g. organizing a piss-up in a brewery), the Muskeboys get the thankless task of rounding up the rest of the prison runaways. Still, at least they've got carrot-spotting to keep them interested.
"We must transform this little palace into a magical fairyland!" announces King Louis, who probably wants to be the sparkliest fairy of them all but may be compensating for the size of his wand. Meanwhile, grumpy old Uncle Feron feels more like a pelican, because whichever way he turns, he's got a massive bill in front of him (© Blackadder the Third). And with Van Laar the Dutch financier coming to the party, his rate of interest is falling fast, despite what he says to Treville. "There are dangerous criminals on the streets of Paris while you plan party games", Treville reminds him, although he neglects to lend Feron the Approved Garrison Games Guidebook, featuring such jolly japes as Athos Bobbing, Pass the Porthos, Truth or D'Art, and that old favourite, Pin the Blame on the Aramis.
"If we speak together, surely the King must hear us", says Sylvie to her activist chums. Nice sentiment, hampered only by the fact that the King wouldn't know a reasoned argument if it painted itself purple and danced naked on top of a harpsichord, singing "Reasoned Arguments Are Here Again" (© Blackadder's Christmas Carol). Anyway, the jailbreak gives Sylvie plenty of opportunity to practise her three favourite hobbies: peddling sedition, thwacking wrong-doers over the head, and getting hot and bothered with Athos. Gruffly gorgeous and hairily heroic though he continues to be (swoon), he's still a bit of a disappointment to Sylvie, especially since she's worked out that he gave up being a comte not because he's principled and righteous but more because he couldn't be arsed.
"We're sorry to hear of the Ambassador's incapacity", says Treville to Van Laar, causing me to imagine some sort of tragic Ferrero Rocher avalanche. Treville is discombobulated to hear that Feron's secretly taken out a loan for TWO MILLION LIVRES. Accounting for inflation, this is probably enough cash to buy Belgium, and still have change left over for a lifetime's worth of haircare products.
While Grimaud's threatening Joubert's wife if Joubert doesn't open a fancy lock that he designed himself, Feron begins rising to a zenith of anxious twitchiness, kindled by the revelation that Treville knows about his debt problems. He sneaks into the King's rooms to snaffle the incriminating paperwork but is foiled by the strange symbiotic lifeform that is his bewigged nephew. (Is Lil' Louis controlling that wig himself, or does it control him?)
Constance and Aramis, meanwhile, are a lot more excited at the chance for an action scene (calm down, D'Artagnan, it's not THAT sort of action), and stage a daring rescue of Joubert's wife. In the process, Constance finds out she has "the scent of the garrison... in a good way". Hmm, I know Aramis already has his own fragrance, but I'm not sure that Scent Of The Garrison will be a big seller at Christmas, unless lots of people dream of smelling of unwashed cadet with a tang of pony poop.
"I'm lonely." Aww, poor Queenie. Come on, Constance, get out of that garrison and give your BFF some support, girl! Meanwhile, the ailing King keeps making not-so-veiled comments about knowing all of Queenie's secrets. This must mean Aramis, right? But why does he believe that now? Has he rewatched season 2 on DVD and realized what he was missing the first time? And also, how can he be this obsessed with his son and yet not question his paternity? Or maybe he does question his paternity but thinks it doesn't matter since he's the one who's bonded with the baby? I have many, many questions here, but I hope we won't have to wait too long for the answers.
Suddenly there's a rush of entries for Most Momentous Mistake of the Week. Grimaud sends a henchperson to tell Feron to delay the return of the prisoners... but MISTAKE: Feron's distracted by a Dutchman and doesn't really listen! Feron decides to devise his own plan for dealing with debt... but MISTAKE: it's just a little TOO cut-throat! (Never have I identified more with Feron than at his total blank-out in the face of insuperable housework issues.) D'Artagnan leaves King Borel the Deluded with some nuns... but MISTAKE: Borel has a violent and traumatic past that possibly involves cannibalism! The Red Guards turn up to take the prisoners back to the prison... but MISTAKE, because Feron forgot to delay them! Marcheaux turns up to help his boss... but DOUBLE MISTAKE: he uncovers a gaping void in the evil workflow structure AND has an unexpected corpse to clear up! It's all go, innit?
Joubert finishes making a fancy key for his fancy lock so Grimaud can get into the fancy vault with the fancy gold, but the scheduling cock-up means the prisoners come back early AND the Muskeboys have worked out what's going on. Amid the chaos, Grimaud manages to sneak out in his covert cloak of grubbiness, conveniently worn over a hugely tasteless getaway outfit that makes him look like a cross between the Laughing Cavalier and a Neil Diamond tribute act.
So the nice Joubert is okay but oops, the nasty Borel hasn't behaved himself in the convent and now there are dead nuns EVERYWHERE. Poor D'Artagnan is heartbroken and even Athos gazing sexily at him can't help. Still, there's no time to angst – they've got to rush off to the Dauphin's party and stop the after-dinner entertainment from getting too stabby, while simultaneously keeping Aramis's groin as far away from the Queen as is practical. Never let it be said that these boys can't multi-task.
Aramis is understandably sympathetic to D'Artagnan's nun-killing woes, although his own convent-based mishap involved spilling bodily fluids of a totally different variety. Meanwhile Borel's mucking around in the King's rooms, burning his paperwork and being more sinister than you might think was possible in an ill-fitting poodle wig. And amid the feathery palm trees and massive piles of fruit, the King decides to make everyone swear loyalty to the Dauphin, because as every party hostess know, there's nothing like the threat of execution for treason to whip up your guests' appetite for jelly and ice cream. Feron takes a nasty tumble but fortunately the Dauphin has definitely inherited his bio-daddy's relaxed attitude in the face of mayhem. Aww.
Hold on a minute, how the heck did Marcheaux get that corpse out to the garden without anyone noticing? Is there a secret tunnel somewhere, or did he tell people it was a sack of emergency party poppers?
Time for a dramatic climax, people! The Queen's attempt at having a relaxing lie-down is foiled by Borel the Not-King who's gone a bit Travis Bickle. Cleverly she convinces him to go for an ominous walk outside, and due to Musketeer intervention, she manages to have a lie-down after all, albeit on the ground with Aramis on top of her... AND everyone standing around watching, so it's not as good as it sounds. In the hilariously awkward aftermath, Louis's crappy reaction to having his party interrupted is no surprise, but it's a reminder that the actual King is also a strange obsessive with a tenuous grasp on reality, although fortunately a bit less bloodthirsty than his stalker fan. That poor Queenie, though. You might as well date her, Aramis, her life couldn't really get much worse.
As Treville and Feron come to a mutual assured shutting-up agreement, I found myself suddenly pondering a new potential meme: Otters Who Look Like They're About To Strangle Governor Feron. What do you reckon?
Back at the garrison, Athos has a chat with his BFF D'Artagnan in his BSS (Black Shirt of Shaggability).

"Why do I feel like I'm fighting for the wrong side?" says D'Artagnan, and suddenly the little brain-wheels under Athos's luxuriant locks click into place: yes, social consciousness and romance DO go together, and he's been behaving like an idiot! So he rushes off to see Sylvie and tell her so, using his tongue. A lot. Yay!
And now, the minutes from the Season 3 Bad Guys' climactic conspiratorial crisis meeting. Grimaud is cheesed off at Feron; Feron blames the Musketeers. Grimaud wonders how they're going to afford an army now; Feron says they've still got ginger weasel Gaston and his insurgent chums. Grimaud threatens to do bad things to the four Muskeboys; Feron smirks devilishly. But never fear, viewers! Behind a nearby bit of architecture, Daddy Treville has overheard every villainous word and will surely have something to say about it…
In conclusion: Wowzers. It started off relatively tame, but as the stakes gradually climbed higher and higher, I found myself rather gripped. Almost everybody got something interesting to do (maybe not Porthos, poor sweetie), and there are plenty of irons in the fire for the weeks to come. Still not mad about Grimaud, I must admit – he's basically just a scowl in a cloak – but I love/hate Feron more and more each week. He has the relish a proper baddy ought to have, yet with a tiny seasoning of sympathy for the devil. More of this sort of thing, please. More!

Alas, we are HALFWAY through the season now, and this thought makes me sad. Still, the next episode (BBC One, Saturday 9th July, 8.30pm) is supposed to be a really good one so let's hope my mitherings can do it justice…

Out in the wilds of Musketeerland, we're half-swashing, half-sobbing our way into the second half of the season already. Doesn't time fly when you're gawping at men in leather? Anyhow, here are my thoughts about Death of a Hero:

Quiz question: what's a better way to start an episode than with a gratuitous sexytimes montage? Why, a gratuitous sexytimes montage with an ominous voiceover, packed with symbolic weaponry and entirely justified bondage accoutrements, of course! In other words, the first two minutes of this episode amply justified my entire licence fee for 2016, containing as they did the following delights:
- D'Artagnan and Constance auditioning to be the next Bond and Moneypenny with a classic shaving/snogging combination scene (and let me take this opportunity say that Constance would make an excellent 007).
- Athos and Sylvie spicing up their love lives by doing a porn remake of the first time they met. This means leaving out the critique of musket technique he actually gave her (mansplaining is SO unsexy), and going straight for the "and then I tied him up and gave him a thorough debriefing!" female-gaze fantasy version. Well, it certainly sated MY appetite.
- And finally, Porthos and Aramis doing their sexytimes montage together AND in front of an audience with a blindfold AND they get paid for it. Win-win-win! All right, they weren't actually engaging in snugglebunnies, but it's the thought that counts. MY thoughts, that is.
At Evil Plan HQ, Feron forges a letter from Treville and Grimaud announces that by sundown, all the Musketeers will be dead and the entire series will have to be renamed "THE". Sounds legit, Lucien.
Down at the garrison, Porthos wanders in, fanning himself with his hat – can I borrow that after you, sweetie? It's become strangely hot in here – and Aramis learns that being shamelessly shirtless makes it easier for Constance to frisk you for your dinner money.

And speaking of sustenance, what's on Porthos's high-energy raw-food breakfast menu for today? Why, it's only CARROTS. Will this week's pleasures never cease?
Feron's fake letter sends the three Muskeboys off on a wild and dangerous goose chase, but they don't take Athos because he's too busy lying on Sylvie's floor, being post-coitally dishevelled and playfully pantsless. Crikey. While Sylvie pops out to fetch pain au peasant underclass for two, Grimaud attacks – fortunately for both himself and the BBC compliance committee, Athos has managed to put his trousers on by this time, so his nasty wounds are not half as intimately positioned as they could have been (yikes). Luckily Action!Sylvie is there to help out with her lovely blouse and well-honed gun skills, but Grimaud escapes: my theory is Grimaud has somehow got his hands on the horse-drawn space-time wormhole that the Muskeboys use for instantaneous travel around vastly distant bits of France and is now using it for quick getaways.
Feron pops in to see little bro Gaston in his four-poster prison cell. Gaston immediately starts whining, but it's okay, Feron has got him a prezzie – stabby-stabby death for his guard! Oh, and a lovely new outfit... which he has to take off the corpse himself. Yuck. I must admit, I love the way that when Feron turns murderous, his face always looks startled by what his right hand is doing, as if his limbs keep committing terrible social faux-pas without the permission of his brain. Frankly, we've all been there.
As if Constance hadn't had enough sexy clean-up operations to coordinate this week, she also has to mop up Athos, who has changed into his Black Shirt of Shaggability because it doesn't show the bloodstains. Oh sweetie, this is precisely why you should wear the BSS all the time. It's practical~~ly pornographic~~!
Oh dear, the King's coughing into a bloodstained hankie, which as all viewers know is a sign of forthcoming dramatic doom. He's off on a day trip to his dad's tomb and wants to dress like the common people, even though we all remember how well that worked out last time around (short version: not well).
The other three Muskeboys are on their way into Grimaud's Blatant Trap of Blatantness when Marcheaux turns up to say that Aramis has been seconded into another subplot this week. Yes, he's being forced to accompany the King on his pilgrimage, which won't be awkward at ALL, no sirree. Then again, no stylish monarch-about-town should ever go anywhere without some attractive luggage to hold his necessities...
Gaston wasn't keen on the Bastille but life outside is no picnic either: he's obliged to wait in a shed, call himself Victor, AND watch Grimaud's wincemaking attempts at self-surgery, which are soon to be a major Channel 4 series called 24 Hours of Arghh and Eeeeeh. They're also a waste of perfectly good wine (although maybe not as a bad as pouring it on a fish). Grimaud's messily severed earlobe, however, gets no such luxurious treatment, which means that Feron is forced to stare straight at it while Grimaud moans about his evil plans going awry. They WERE hopelessly stupid plans, though: I mean, "jump on Athos and hope for the best" isn't a cunning strategy, it's a date night. Silliest of all, Grimaud now wants Feron to kill Aramis and the King himself. Are there no professional henchpersons to be had in Paris at this time of year? Are they on strike? On holiday? Attending Henchconvention 1643?
Porthos and D'Artagnan arrive at Grimaud's Wild West Theme Park of Death, which Grimaud seems to have built especially for them (did he also arrange the Morricone-style background music? Hell's teeth, that man's villainous priorities are all over the place). But there's booze, so at least Porthos can have another crack at his wine-reviewing career (incidentally, "please be good, please be good, please be good" is exactly what he says to Aramis every Saturday night). "To easy missions, well earned," they toast, tempting fate so loudly that it scares the horses. Or maybe that's the massive crowd of gathering henchpersons outside – oh, so THAT's where they all are!
As Louis and Aramis hit the pilgrimage trail, looking like Dick Whittington and a sexy Jedi, Constance must have heard my plea from last week because she turns up to offer moral support to Queenie, correctly ascertaining that she still has a bad case of Aramisery. Louis, meanwhile, is drowning his own Aramisery by handing out chocolate coins to random priests and giving some serious thought to renouncing Satan.
Back at the Theme Park of Death, things are about to get explodey, but before that happens, Porthos and D'Artagnan have a nice sit-down and a lovely heart-to-heart about the fact that they can't die today, especially when there are still four more episodes to go this season. The other great takeaway from this scene is that PORTHOS NEEDS LOVE. SOMEONE SHOULD COME AND LOVE PORTHOS NOW, HE DESERVES IT, AND IT SHOULD BE ~~ARAMIS~~ SOMEONE WORTHY OF HIM. Okay, now that matter's settled, there's only just time to yell "WE REFUSE TO DIE!!" before the roof falls in and Athos and company arrive.
Grimaud must have lent Feron his secret wormhole because somehow he's lurking in advance when the pilgrims pop in. His lack of sneaking skills also mean that Louis spots him and is overcome by a wave of niceness. Gosh. Feron's so startled at this display of brotherly love that he can't even bring himself to go all stabby and bursts into tears instead. Awww.

And that's not all. Louis also has a prezzie for Feron. It's... a gravestone! How, um, festive. Well, actually he shows him that there's a prearranged spot in the family plot where his royal bones will go, and offers him a job as the Dauphin's guardian. Poor Feron, what a time to have to rethink your entire evil career.
For a terrible moment amid the rubble, it seems like Athos's day has just gone up to five buckets on the Athos-scale of man-pain, but it's okay – "WE REFUSE TO DIE!!" Porthos and D'Artagnan are dusty but fine and Aramis wasn't even there, so the only casualty of Grimaud's Day of Doom has been Athos's pretty face. No wonder the poor boy feels a bit victimized.
Oh dear, it's time for the King and Aramis to have a little chat. The King wants to hear the truth... right up until the minute he hears it, then he doesn't want to hear it anymore. Realizing that things are now as awkward as they can metaphysically get in this universe, Aramis decides some some real talk is on the cards, and confesses: "I slept with the loneliest woman in Paris." Whoops, the King now wants you dead for treason, but at least you got it off your chest, eh? Thank goodness, conspiring forces mean you won't have to walk back home together – that WOULD have been a silence and a half.
Feron tries to call off Grimaud and his henchmob but Grimaud takes this about as well as you might expect. "Today is my day", claims Feron, flashing back to his opening speech this week and being promptly killed by a stab of dramatic irony. Alas, poor bastard. And right after he chose to start the day with a random monologue about death, too. What are the chances? Helpfully, however, he fires a warning shot and Aramis and the King come out to have a go at Grimaud and friends, conveniently providing the King with more fun than he's had all day. When the Muskeposse turn up, Grimaud seems genuinely cheesed off that even with a face full of bruises, Athos is still way prettier than him. The two have a face-off but Grimaud vanishes down his wormhole before Athos can say "YOU'RE PAYING MY BILL FOR CONCEALER STICK, LOSER".
The King finds Feron's body (let it be said that he died with his Louboutins on!) and proclaims him a hero. Showing mild gratitude for once in his entitled life, the King also calls off Aramis's execution, which is something of a relief. Admittedly, Aramis does have to listen to a speech about how he'll never look at or come within 100 yards of the Queen or the Dauphin ever, ever, EVER again, but Treville probably gives him the same spiel every Tuesday afternoon and it hasn't sunk in yet.
By his own stoic standards, Marcheaux looks a teeny bit upset by Feron's death (alas, who will disdainfully rub bloodstains off his face now?) and goes to take it out on Grimaud. Of course, his conviction lasts for all of five minutes since he realizes it would require Actually Doing Some Work™. Besides, even if he HAD shot Grimaud, I suspect Grimaud would barely have blinked. He's turning into a sort of shambling zombie figure before our eyes. At this rate, I doubt he'll stop sneering even when bits start dropping off.
Okay guys, time for a quick Muskemeeting in Treville's office to discuss Grimaud, Gaston and other irritating plot details. When Aramis lets it be known that the King's dying, Athos is VERY pissed off that Treville didn't tell him (you have to let him grow up and do Captainy things on his own, Treville, or else he'll never learn!), because now he feels he has to storm off and make a needless emotional sacrifice by dumping Sylvie in order to be all brooding and warriorlike on his own. What a prize plum. Fortunately, I suspect Sylvie knows he'll be back, because she knows he's a twit yet she still loves him. And in the meantime, at least she's got her lovely blouse to comfort her.
Showing the obedience to authority that we all expect from him at this stage, Aramis meets Queenie in the cellar for a plot update. The King Knows™ about them AND he's dying! Queenie is understandably distressed but is encouraged to pull herself together for the sake of France: she's even allowed a small ration of Aramis hugs to help her along – it IS an emergency, after all. But after all her ups and downs, at least it seems she's not alone any more. Awww.
In conclusion: Goodness me. Action, sexiness, plot developments and some wonderful character work all round. I'll miss the fabulous Feron like mad – Rupert Everett's face was simply made for this show – but even oft-annoying characters like King Louis were given a chance to shine here, and glitter they did. Excellent stuff, in other words. Long may it continue!

Now that sporting events have calmed down for a while, the next episode is in the Saturday 8.30pm slot on 16th July, so I will see you shortly afterwards for the fourth-last (eek!) episode of the season...

Who needs to go outside and experience Britain's requisite three days of summer when you could stay indoors and get sweaty watching the Musketeers? Not me, certainly. Here are my thoughts about Fool's Gold:

"Don't try this at home," the BBC One announcer warned just before the start of the show, and it was excellent advice. Shooting wine glasses off people's heads is SUCH a waste of booze, after all.
Yes, the Musketeers are turning the interrogation of one of Grimaud's hench-thugs into an afternoon of entertainment, probably because Pokemon GO hasn't been invented yet. Porthos is the genial gameshow host, D'Artagnan is the brooding bad cop and Athos is grimacing in pain, and not just because the garrison's carrot supply might get splattered with hench-blood at any moment, especially if young Brujon's William Tell impression goes a bit William Burroughs.

The hench-thug eventually confesses that Grimaud has ridden east, "but one night you'll wake and he'll be standing over your bed..." This makes Grimaud sound like the Evil Tooth Fairy, which I suppose is one idea if he ever gets bored with ring-collecting and badly-planned stabbings as a career choice.
Aww, I see Feron's still scowling at us from the title sequence, even though he is no more. I also note that, as well as being full of ladies generally, this episode was written by a woman AND directed by Michelle from EastEnders so plenty of girl power all round, hoorah!
Ouch, Athos is regretting hitting that henchbloke with his bad arm: presumably he spent the last 45 minutes of last week running on adrenalin, but now his bruises are catching up with him. Also catching up with him is lovely Sylvie, who turns up to say that if they're looking for Grimaud, the only way is Éparcy, and to share a few moments of awkward staring with Athos, whose thoughts seem to hurt him even more than his limbs.
Down at the palace, the King is peeved because Feron didn't get a full state funeral due to his inconvenient traitorousness, and possibly because Elton John wouldn't write a song about him either ("And it seems to me that you lived your life like an opium-addled fop / Always plotting and conniving, till you got the chop..."). Meanwhile, Louis refuses to discuss the Regency AND still wants to believe Gaston might not be evil, so he's clearly the Queen of Denial as well as the King of France.
Into the woods ride our intrepid foursome, until they get lured off the path by a small girl, like Red Riding Hood in reverse, and suddenly D'Artagnan and Porthos find themselves trapped in a massive net. Have they been captured by fangirls desperate for a follow-up to last week's rubble-strewn hand-holding? Have Musketeers been reclassified as a sustainable fish source? Or is it that terrifying scourge of all forest-based plotlines, EWOKS?

No, it's none of these things. It's actually a village full of women, who've made a secret home for themselves away from the pillaging and horribleness that seems to be rife in France these days. Their attitude to intruders is less than hospitable, but Athos tries to calm things down while Aramis is busy giggling to himself because LOL BONDAGE. "I've been tied up by women too, but it's only ever been recreational," he says, surprising precisely nobody. Come to think of it, we know from last week that Athos is no stranger to a spot of rope-based gratification either, so this means they've ALL had a go at it now. Which is only fair, innit.
Time to meet the village denizens. De facto leader Juliette is a bit hardcore and unwelcoming; Therese seems quite practical; Elodie is chatty and sweet, as well as being heavily pregnant; and Dudley Dursley is hanging around being vaguely suspicious. In other news, the village is being regularly looted, and Juliette admits to being a "friend" of Grimaud's mum (HINT HINT). Plus Athos is being REALLY grumpy, even by his own standards, but eventually consents to playing "I'll show you mine" with Aramis. Oh dear, oucharama. Judging by everyone's reactions, this is NOT going to go down in history as his most attractive shirtless scene. But mean Juliette won't lend Aramis a first aid kit, so poor Athos has to remain unstitched. Urgh.
Elodie catches Porthos having a wee and refuses his offer of help with the laundry (fair enough: he hadn't even washed his hands!). He confesses that her husband's regiment died in battle but they manage to have a bit of a bond anyway, aww. When ~~Dudley~~ Bastien turns out to be a deserter and in league with the looters, Juliette dispatches one of them (showing where Grimaud inherited his stabbiest tendencies) and Elodie turns out to be rather handy with a bow and arrow, despite having to work around her giant bump.
Athos's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day gets even worse when he follows a cloaked figure into the woods. Roger the Horse is startled, throws Athos off and runs away. But before I can cry "Oh Roger, you splitter!", he arrives back at the village alone, apparently auditioning for his own Lassie-style spin-off series. Tch, the cheek of that nag! Before the other three can translate "random snorty horse noise" into "Athos has fallen over in the woods and is wandering around in a delirious haze of bruised misery!", Athos has literally stumbled upon a hut and got locked in by Therese, who's actually on Grimaud's side. Curses!

As Athos rolls attractively on the floor, Therese explains how Grimaud's mum tried to drown him as a kid and had a generally shitty life. She underestimates the power of AthosRAGE™ and he soon smashes down the door, but before she makes a getaway, she stabs him with a poison needle. Luckily his friends find him in time and take him back to the village for a night of groaning, sweating and delirium (and not the fun kind). His resulting nightmare is half a recap of This Season So Far, half the video for Total Eclipse of the Heart, but hey! At least there was no mushroom soup involved.
At the palace, the King and the Dauphin are playing with gold-plated action figures and the Queen has peculiar orange sacks attached to her dress for some reason. Perhaps in the event of a constitutional crisis, she can inflate her frock into a life-raft, point out the emergency exits and float away down the Seine? Anyway, the King STILL does not wish to speak of the Regency and nobody wishes to speak of the Dauphin's wig, mainly because it is unspeakable. Queenie decides a Jerry Springer-style confession is in order, and admits she DID shag Aramis but only once and Louis's the only dad the Dauphin knows, so he should make her regent, please please please your ~~solipsistic poodle-haired gittishness~~ Majesty. "I will write a history worthy of you and your son," she claims, but promises nothing about deleting all her Aramis/self-insert stories from YeOldeFanfiction.net.
Meanwhile, the Dauphin's bio-daddy and his chums are fretting manfully in the forest but never fear: Athos is awake and has recovered from the poison, hooray! So it's hugs all round and even a kiss from D'Artagnan (there's an adorable kissy noise and everything!), and nobody mentions the fact that magic pixies have apparently come in the night and fixed his bad back as well (because nobody mentions THAT again either). In fact, they're so delighted that they don't notice Elodie emitting the classic Fictional Pregnancy Groan that means "I'm about to give birth at the next dramatically opportune moment!"
Aramis establishes what everyone surely suspected already: Juliette IS Grimaud's real mum. Admittedly, the issue was slightly muddied by the fact that she's only three years older than him in real life, but a) I suppose that's what her greying wig is for, and b) Grimaud's lived a rough life and hasn't had much time to moisturize. But before any more details can come to light, Bastien and the Looters (an unimaginative but accurate name for a band) turn up and take Juliette hostage. Quick, time to rally the village for a climactic fight scene!
Treville gives Louis a talking-to about pots, kettles and sexual double standards in the 17th century. We also get Treville and the King's entire relationship hilariously summed up in seven words: "Majesty, may I offer some advice?" / "No!"
The most dramatic moment to give birth is swiftly approaching, so Elodie starts panting and Porthos wins this week's Spotting The Bleeding Obvious award (with literal bleeding and spotting, in this case). Poor Porthos, finally getting some bedroom action with a lady but only when she's groaning in agony because a tiny person's trying to pop out of her undercarriage. To distract her attention at this painful time, Porthos tells Elodie a story about how he once deserted but nobody noticed because he came straight back. Aww, sweetie.
Meanwhile, Aramis is standing in the wood with a bulging chest (albeit not as impressive as his chest last week), then suddenly it all kicks off in a storm of ropes and rocks and yodelling stuntpersons, not to mention D'Artagnan doing a spot of historical parkour, bounding from rock to rock like an enthusiastic baby goat. Alas, Bastien finds there's no gold in the chest and Juliette confesses she spent it all ~~at IKEA~~ on stuff for the camp. Before tragedy can strike, Aramis shoots Bastien and makes it back to find Porthos has not only delivered Elodie's baby, but he's also cleaned up all the horrible messiness by himself. Definitely a keeper, that boy.
In an unexpected fit of common sense, Louis asks Queenie out for a drink, although disappointingly he means in their own dining room rather than down at their local wine bar (The Carrot and Cuckold). He describes their relationship as "France married Spain", but is it doomed to be overshadowed forever by Spain spending a passionate night with Chile when France was sulking in its room? Can't they just be friends, asks Queenie. Okay, you can be regent, says Louis, but you can NEVER mention this again to ANYONE: "Carrying this secret will be your punishment." Drat, she'd better cancel that order for a massive glittery banner saying "HEY EVERYBODY, I SHAGGED ARAMIS AND YES, HE'S AS GOOD AS YOU'VE HEARD" to hang outside the castle when Louis dies.
It seems that Porthos has a ready-made family now (awwwww!) and he even offers to stay with Elodie and offspring, but no – France needs Porthos more! Continuing the theme of parenthood gone awry, Juliette asks if Aramis has kids, not having noticed that his paternity status is permanently set to "It's complicated." Despite her issues, however, Juliette lives to toil another day and even gets a farewell hug from Aramis. Maybe when they DO catch up with Grimaud, they'll all shout "YOUR MUM WILL BE SO DISAPPOINTED WITH YOU!" and he'll simply die of embarrassment? It'd be one way of concluding things, at least.
In conclusion: Not exactly a light-hearted romp, but full of feeling and some excellent character moments for everyone, especially the oft-neglected Porthos, who is just a big bundle of adorableness that needs to be loved right now, yes? Also, STOP ATHOS FROM HURTING HIMSELF ANY MORE 2016. I know he's always had issues with self-hatred but now he's taking "soldiering on" to a whole new level and it's exquisitely painful to watch. Pretty great drama, though.
Next week: The antepenultimate episode of the season! And as if Athos's dream sequences needed to be any more traumatic, Milady's back in town. Blimey...

The end of Musketeering draws ever closer (eek!), so here are my thoughts about Prisoners of War:

Before I get going with this week's rather serious storyline, I thought I'd warm up with a bit of light-hearted veg-spotting. It isn't really visible in the episode itself, but this promo shot makes it pretty clear:

In summary – VEGETABLES: even better at lurking than Grimaud is! And now, on with the show...
"Please, Aramis, one more time."– No, despite what it sounds like, the Queen isn't trying to conceive Philippe of Orléans and create a full-on crossover with Versailles. Instead, Aramis and Queenie have been compensating for all the sex they're not allowed to have by trying to reshape the political landscape of Europe. This involves a lot of muttering in shadowy alcoves and sending messages to Queenie's brother, the King of Spain, but if they get their way, there'll soon be peace everywhere: peace in the valley, peace in the city, peace in the hallway, peace in the bedchambers and peace up against the wall and peace in the cupboard under the stairs, and basically just PEACE, baby, oh yeah, PEACE, PEACE, PEACE, GIVE IT TO ME NOW!! Well, it beats a cold shower, I suppose.
Meanwhile, due to staff shortages, Treville is obliged to work as a nursemaid, giving the King his medicine and tucking him in and telling him bedtime stories, which leaves him no time at all for more vital duties of state such as keeping Aramis and the Queen 500 yards apart at all times. He'll regret this later, you mark my words.
While Porthos and D'Artagnan hand over some captured Spanish generals to Marcheaux and his useless henchmuppets, Aramis goes on a jolly daytrip to some scenic ruins and uses his talented Spanish-speaking tongue (¡ay Dios mío!). But alas, it's a trap! Grimaud de-lurks and Aramis frantically reaches down his front, not to protect his nipples but to grab the secret message and burn it before... oops, too late.
If you didn't already know Milady was going to appear in this episode, the title sequence is a bit of a giveaway. Hello Maimie! How nice to see you again.
In a vague attempt at looking like a convincing political alternative rather than a charmless emo sociopath, Gaston has been to a fancy tailor and traded in his crimping iron for some high-grade curling tongs. While he's plotting with Grimaud, his big brother is wandering the palace gardens in a delirious daze, befriending invertebrates of a different kind.

"The physician gave him a new medicine for his pain," says Treville, explaining why the King's tripping balls with no mushroom soup in sight, but not explaining why his mind's been aptly revisiting the highlights of his fling with Milady. "What happens when he starts seeing the Cardinal?" asks Porthos. Good question. The King might start spoilering the kingdom for the next season of Doctor Who, and then... well, I predict a riot.
Displaying an unexpected interest in interior decoration, Grimaud decides to enliven his latest hideout with an attractive wall-hanging in the shape of Aramis. Easy to install, interactive, looks good from every angle: every home should have one.

We all know Aramis confessed to a fondness for recreational tying-up last week, but Grimaud rather boringly means business. That means NO distracting chats about his mum (even though Aramis is nice about her) AND gratuitously burning Aramis's rosary (question: is this meant to be the cross the Queen gave him, even though it doesn't really look like the same one?).
As Treville tucks the King back into bed, he finds a hanky with Milady's forget-me-not trademark on it. Did the King dig it out for reminiscence reasons, or did she pop in through the window when Treville was taking a toilet break? Nor is Treville happy when he finds out Queenie and Aramis have been playing Diplomacy behind his back (but be grateful, at least it wasn't The Game of ~~Babies~~ Life). Then he's obliged to have a meeting of awkwardness where the Muskeboys pretend they're just going to let Aramis die... yeah, nobody believes that for two seconds. And if that wasn't enough, he gets back to his office to find Milady lurking amid his scrolls of fanfiction. Darn it, Treville, you really ought to dust the back of your bookshelves more often...
As a surprise to nobody, Milady's extended holiday in England has mainly involved marrying and murdering various aristocrats, like her own remake of Downton Abbey but with more stabbing. But now she needs cash and Treville needs an officially sanctioned contract killer on the books, so that's convenient, innit? However, she gets a bit antsy when she's told to strike Athos of her "dead-cert no-strings Ex-Sex" list because he has a New Life now. "Keep away from him," says Treville. "Great advice, Treville, I'll just totally ignore it, like everyone else does with EVERYTHING YOU EVER SAY," thinks Milady, in a harsh but accurate fashion.
Down in the market square, Marcheaux's introducing the public hanging of the three Spanish generals and a random ginger chap and generally acting like the world's most tediously bloodthirsty gameshow host. The Muskeboys turn up and realize subtlety is no longer an option, so they resort to dragging the Spaniards away, yelling "PLEASE NOTE: THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE QUEEN, KTHX". Amid the ensuing riot, Athos pulls some excellent "400% DONE" faces, the random ginger chap turns out to be not-so-randomly D'Artagnan's cousin, and D'Artagnan takes him home to the garrison, possibly to avoid any awkwardness the next time he sees his auntie.
While the Muskelads have a conflab with Constance about Grimaud's anti-Queenie campaign (it's okay, everyone, Constance has a plan!), Gaston's having a lace-collars-and-conspiracies bonding session with "my dear Lorraine", who is not a lady but the Duke of Lorraine, played by Gene Hunt's brother in a wig so peculiar that even the little Dauphin would have second thoughts about wearing it in public. While Grimaud's out, Aramis decides he can't hang around forever (GROAN) and cooks up an escape plan – first demand a little comfort before he dies, then while his guard wanders off to fetch ~~a suitable snugglebuddy~~ firewood, fling himself off the hook where he's been hung, then unpick his shackles with the all-new multi-purpose CruciFix-It Skeleton Key from ACME! Annoyingly, Grimaud gets back from his meeting in time to stop Aramis getting away, but can't just shoot him because of evil plot reasons. So it's back on the hook he goes...
D'Artagnan finds out his cousin was done for stealing, but is unsure whether he's actually nasty or genuinely needy. In other words, is he weaselly or is he a Weasley? I note that his name is Espoir, which is French for "hope", so perhaps the question should be: is Hope lost? Anyway, tending to err on the side of niceness, the Muskeboys take Espoir with them to their rendezvous with Grimaud, rather than give him back to the Red Guards: in other words, they don't give up Hope, geddit? SYMBOLISM, folks: your clue to quality drama!
For anyone who was wondering whether Sylvie and Constance had ever met, apparently they do know each other, which is nice. As part of her idea for a Pro-Queenie promotional campaign, Constance hands over supplies to the refugee camp on Queenie's behalf and offers to sort out educational handouts too, giving Sylvie access to the artisan print-shop of a hipster activist's dreams and granting all peasants equal access to aesthetically pleasing vintage typography. Hooray.
Whoops, Milady has wandered into the garrison and started rummaging through Athos's glove compartment without permission. Little Brujon the cadet may have perfected the art of cheekbone-sharpening but doesn't know Athos has a wife and hasn't been trained in anything that could help him in a no-holds-barred battle against Milady's cleavage, so he resorts to swallowing very hard and generally looking like a baby deer trying to negociate a corporate takeover with a she-wolf. Unsurprisingly, he soon gives up Sylvie's whereabouts, and Milady duly turns up at the printers, claiming that she needs 800 urgent photocopies of her own magnificent frontage but actually looking for the lowdown on her love rival. Oh dear.
D'Artagnan goes to set his cousin free in the woods like a lost bunny rabbit, but just as they're bidding farewell, he spots Grimaud's hideout. Bunnies will have to wait, it's action-packed rescue time! Porthos gives a henchman a groin piercing he'll never forget (ouch), Aramis tries to sacrifice himself nobly but his mates aren't having any of it, Grimaud runs away like the snivelling little cockroach he is, and D'Artagnan's cousin stops Athos from getting shot, showing he's a goodie after all and winning a random horse into the bargain.
Poor Bambi Brujon can't bring himself to say "Oops, I left your wife in your room and she's been going through your stuff", so he makes do with apologizing to Athos for no reason and running away. Athos, of course, is so startled to find Milady in his private area that he drops his fruit and nearly hits the floor himself, possibly because all his blood has rushed to a specific area of his anatomy and thrown off his sense of balance. She now knows that he did come to find her at the end of last season and they are magnetically drawn into a reunion bout of tonsil hockey, but when she mentions Sylvie... well, despite the chemistry, a relationship that's always one barbed comment away from a nasty throttling is never going to win Healthy Romance of the Decade, is it?
Athos runs off to find Sylvie but the Red Guards have arrested her. Yes, Grimaud and Marcheaux have cooked up a plan to blame her for printing incendiary Annamis fan-art and distributing it to the gossip-hungry masses!

By coincidence, Queenie's doling out cash in the slums today, and soon becomes the victim of a 17th-century Twitterstorm, involving a lot of yelling, some unconvincing ~~Photoshop~~ copperplate engravings, and no actual evidence whatsoever. Still, you've got to admire the peasantry (sort of) for throwing the Queen's money back in her face, rather than taking her cash then trash-talking her behind her back. They may be mind-meltingly gullible but at least they're not hypocrites.
The fan-art that's shocking the nation is not only enough to get the King's out of his pyjamas and into another massive tantrum, it also gets Sylvie sentenced to a horrible public lashing. Athos and the Muskeboys rush handsomely into the fray, and we get poor Sylvie being brave and righteous, Marcheaux being irredeemable scum, Athos being all masterful yet touchingly tender, and Milady lurking in the crowd, being totally unhelpful and mainly peeved that Athos loves Sylvie more than her (well, duh, that'll be because Sylvie is lovely and gives a shit about other people, rather than being a lying liar who lies and doesn't give a toss about much except her own welfare).
Apparently giving up on Athos-baiting as a hobby, at least for now, Milady takes Treville's cash, which means that now Treville has a secret Activate-Milady! button that he can push at an optimum dramatic moment when someone needs to die horribly. Personally, I'm hoping she'll pop out of Marcheaux's sock drawer like a murderous jack-in-the-box and make earrings out of his family jewels. Perhaps it wouldn't be stylish but it WOULD be satisfying...
Constance and Athos take turns looking after poor Sylvie (awww!), the King decides to throw another tantrum and call Queenie a harlot (arsehole!), and Treville has some harsh words for his most wayward Muskeson, Aramis. "A soldier should never play at politics, Aramis." / "Isn't that what you're doing?"– oooh, BURN. Daddy Treville won't taking that one lying down, Aramis. Quick, get out now and try to think of a way to get this mess sorted out before the next episode...
In conclusion: I partly enjoyed this episode, and partly spent it being grimly anxious about bad stuff happening to characters I like. I suppose that means it worked, but it was still a rather uncomfortable yet gripping watch. On a much shallower note, however, why is it that Athos gets more ridiculously handsome every week? Why? And HOW? I mean, is the BBC trying to make me explode before the series comes to an end? I really don't want to that happen – and yet, on the other hand, what a way to go. [deep sigh]

And now, just in case people are relying on me to tell them this stuff, a reminder of the upcoming Muskeschedule. Episode 9 is on Saturday 30th July at 8.30pm on BBC One, and episode 10 follows swiftly afterwards on Monday 1st August at 9pm. So there's just time for me to stock up on gin and Kleenex, before I see you here next week...

Blimey, the penultimate episode of The Musketeers is here already. Where did all those months go? Anyway, here are my thoughts about The Prize:

"I'm fighting fit today!" yells the King as he enjoys a spot of recreational swordage with Treville. Of course, this reckless statement tempts the wrath of the TV gods who immediately activate his incurable cough of death and strike him down with lethal force. Alas poor Louis, dead from Tempting Dramatic Fate™.
Treville greets this turn of events with the traditional cry of "The King is dead – shit, hide the King!" He grabs the Dauphin, now automatically upgraded to Mini-King, and hands him over to Athos for safekeeping, adding that Aramis should NOT be told about this, perhaps in case he stages some sort of Babydaddies 4 Justice protest or decides the best way to protect the Queen would be to lie on top of her and move up and down vigorously. Not wishing to argue with this reasoning, Athos rides away with the mini-King on his horse, saying: "Hold on tight, you'll like this." Coincidentally, I have a recurring dream in which Athos says the same thing to me, but we're not on a horse at the time...
Not surprisingly, Queenie is irate when she finds out Treville's stolen her offspring, but there's no time to argue: the Duke of Lorraine's armies are ~~up his sleevies~~ right outside Paris! Alongside them, Grimaud is scowling on a horse, and Gaston has gone power-mad with the curling tongs and is working a look that combines Marc Bolan, Adam Ant, a petulant spaniel and an overdecked tea-table.
Down at the garrison, Porthos and Aramis are having a tiff because Aramis's first thought is "~~Shag~~ Help the Queen!" and Porthos's is "FOR FUCK'S SAKE ARAMIS". Athos, meanwhile, is being rubbish at hide-and-seek and hands the Mini-King over to a startled Constance and a now-convalesced Sylvie, who at least gets the satisfaction of rubbing some of the muck she's found on Athos's shelves on the Dauphin's face for camouflage purposes (doesn't that man EVER dust?). Retrospectively, I reckon they should have disguised the Dauphin as a sock and shoved him under Athos's bed: the rest of the episode would have been much simpler.
Despite the fact that Treville seems to have been running affairs of state single-handedly for weeks AND reading the King fairytales when he goes beddy-byes, a council of other ministers suddenly appear to read the King's will. Plot twist: Queenie isn't regent – Treville is! Those must have been really good bedtime stories. Yes, the trouble with being good at being in charge of stuff means that people do tend to put you in charge of stuff, although Treville's divide-and-rule tactics with the Muskeboys are already earning him a lot of side-eye, from both them and me.
Treville's first decision as regent is a no-brainer, however. Marcheaux and your minions, you're all sacked!

"We did hope you'd take it like a man," says Porthos, understandably assuming that Marcheaux would deal with unemployment by immediately becoming a rent-boy. Fortunately, they're in a pub so there can be a classic bar-room brawl, in which Marcheaux gets a nastily dislocated shoulder (ouch) and goes down to Porthos's Vulcan Ear Grip. Athos even turns up for the finale, working the devilish hat angle known as Ultimate Man of Mystery (But My Peripheral Vision Is Impaired So Let's Hope I'm Not Attacked By Ninjas On The Ceiling).
Accompanied by accidental monarchist Sylvie, Constance takes the Mini-King to hide in the now-empty pub from episode 3.

Nobody but Athos knows this, however, because the first rule of Regent Treville is "DON'T tell me where you hid the Dauphin", and the second rule is "And especially don't tell the Queen, even if she's staring right at you and is obviously really annoyed." Even more controversially, Treville's next idea is to defuse Gaston by granting him a pardon. "The world's gone mad," says Queenie, who should probably spend less time on 17th-century Twitter. Treville's also got personalized missions for the Muskeboys, as follows:
Porthos and Aramis – take this pardon to Gaston.
Aramis – NO VISITING THE QUEEN, NO REALLY, I MEAN IT.
D'Artagnan – find a decoy Dauphin.
Athos – stay there and look gorgeous. Oh good, you're doing it already.
Down at Treason HQ, the assembled antagonists are not happy campers. The Duke of Lorraine is getting fed up with Gaston's whining; Grimaud's spent a ton of cash on armies and now wants to hire the Red Guard, and yet he can't afford a qualified first-aider and has to shove Marcheaux's arm back in its socket himself; and Gaston doesn't give a shit about his late bro and will only come to the funeral if he's promised a ~~pony~~ legacy.
Just as regally wilful in his own way, the Mini-King decides to become a mini-Bucky Barnes, escaping from his hidey-hole and running away in search of PLUMS. (Historical spoiler: under the reign of Louis XIV, plums will be the new carrots!) Constance and Sylvie drag him away to Constance's old house, but alas, they're quickly running out of former episode locations to stash him in. Where next, the Cardinal's secret cupboard?
Ooh look, Treville has a swishy new coat to convey his new status ("I'm the Regent: basically I rule."). Gaston falls for Treville's promise of cash and a modest palace and falls even harder for Operation Fake Dauphin (extra points for the symbolic puppets on show as they pull his strings!). In the confusion, Aramis wangles some sympathy time with Queenie and then squabbles with Athos over being left out of this week's plotline. "What happened to one for all?" he asks pertinently, since we all know that the Muskeboys are Stronger Together™.
Treville goes to see Duke of Lorraine at his massive campsite (hi-de-hi, forces of rebellion!) and chats about possible independence for Lorraine (#LORREXIT) while Porthos and Grimaud make awkward conversation outside, with Grimaud boasting about the size of his coffers and Porthos deducing that the chip on Grimaud's shoulder is basically because he wants to play with the posh boys but they won't let him. While Gaston and the Duke get suspicious about Treville's motives, Grimaud realizes the Mini-King must still be in Paris and sends Marcheaux to find him. Silly Grimaud, you should REALLY have asked for references from Marcheaux's previous employers before you gave him any difficult jobs.
So Marcheaux tries to convince his unemployed henchmuppets to join him in a game of Dauphémon GO, but they've been in the pub all day and don't give a toss until he starts offering cash prizes. Also slow on the uptake today is Athos, who belatedly realizes that Aramis was right and all this secrecy is wrong, and therefore decides to tell D'Artagnan everything in a stage whisper in a large room full of mourners, possibly hoping that they're too sad to eavesdrop on dramatically sensitive conversations.
Guilt-tripped by Queenie, Constance agrees to the Dauphin to a church where his mum can get a glimpse of him. As the resident voice of reason, Sylvie spots that this is an incredibly poor idea, but when she goes to fetch Aramis, Marcheaux overhears (gasp!) and makes it to the church on time for an attempted King-napping. Luckily, Aramis swings to the rescue, and Aramis and Queenie collectively realize why nobody told them about the plans, i.e. they both do crazy shit without thinking it through. Come to think of it, given the crappy view that the Queen had, Constance could have brought a cabbage in a cape to the church instead and saved everybody a good deal of bother.
While Porthos gets the job of distracting Gaston with ever more unlikely promises (more cash, control of the army, a new Playstation and a pink fluffy unicorn of his very own), the other three Muskeboys have made friends again (hooray!) but sadly there's no time for sealing their renewed friendship with tonsil hockey (boo) because Grimaud's realized how useless Marcheaux is (I told you so!) and is now leading the Dauphin Hunt himself.
With literally nowhere left to hide, Constance suddenly remembers the existence of the laundry from back in season 2. As I suggested several paragraphs back, disguising the Dauphin as a dirty sock is suddenly not such a daft idea after all, is it? Anyway, she bribes a laundry lady and D'Artagnan hides under the floorboards with the Mini-King, who is luckily the world's quietest and most amenable child, at least when there are no plums within sniffing distance. While Athos and Aramis have some flamboyantly hatted synchronized swordage outside, Grimaud searches the laundry, but oh no – Laundry Lady breathes a sigh of relief at the wrong moment! The result is painful, especially for D'Artagnan's shoulder, but it doesn't seem to slow him down much, and the steam from the laundry has made Grimaud's hair go hilariously fluffy, so I think we can all tell who's the real loser here.
Off to Camp Lorraine for the finale, everyone! The Duke doesn't want anything more to do with the "tiresome and vindictive child" Gaston, Gaston finds out Treville's been bullshitting him, and for a glorious moment it looks like Treville might have sorted everything out... well, until Grimaud turns up with D'Artagnan and the Dauphin ("you're MY mini-Me now, cloaky boy!"). The Duke tells Grimaud to go to hell, Grimaud stabs him and suddenly there's a MASSIVE BRAWL. Treville runs off with the Dauphin, bundles him onto a horse with Porthos... but oh no, Treville's been hit by a bullet, right on the button marked SLOW-MO RAGE OF RIGHTEOUSNESS™. As Athos and Aramis arrive, he's firing guns and flinging knives at every henchlackey within a half-mile radius, but Grimaud takes him out with a final shot, just as Athos delivers the statutory NOOOOOOO!. Bloody Grimaud scuttles away AGAIN and there's only time for the three remaining Muskeboys to gather around their dead dad in a trauma-induced haze.

I've spent so much time over the past few weeks fretting that something terrible might befall one of my lovely Muskeboys that I totally forgot to worry that something terrible could happen to Treville. I mean, the man seemed indestructible and was going to lead France into a golden age of fairness and democracy ~~and not having to watch Versailles~~... but now he can't. Then again, if SOMEONE has to die, I want all the Muskeboys to live and all the ladies to live, so I suppose poor old Treville gets the short straw. Alas, great leader, you did your Muskeboys proud. And in fact, there is already a statue of Treville in existence (or rather, his real-life inspiration), which is rather fitting.
In conclusion: Bookended by twin deaths, one signposted and one shocking, this was an action-packed hour. I never like it when the plot obliges the Musketeers to work against each other so I'm delighted that everyone's on the same page now and am hoping for a finale full of just desserts and justly deserved rewards. Is that too much to hope for? Quite frankly, I am emotionally exhausted, and yet somehow I have to go through it all again on Monday? Crikey.

And on Monday 1st August at 9pm, it's the LAST EPISODE OF THE MUSKETEERS EVER. See you shortly afterwards for a gin-soaked debriefing...

Unbuckle your swashes, cast off your sweaty leathers, throw your undergarments on the floor and hold on tight to the hairy companion of your choice, because we have reached the LAST EVER episode of The Musketeers. Without further ado, here are my thoughts about We Are The Garrison:

Before this review ends up as a swirling tempest of overexcited exclamations, I want to make a preliminary comment about the unprecedented, nigh unspeakable levels of handsomeness that are achieved throughout this episode. How do they do it? Is it a chemical compound or a special camera filter? Is it just what happens when you leave four good-looking chaps to steam slowly in leather for three years? I may never know, but I raise my glass to it.
Alas, we must begin at Treville's funeral, the pomp and circumstance of which is soundtracked by Grimaud's prematurely smug voiceover: "Your grief is your downfall…", blah-di-blah-blah. Clearly he learned nothing from Feron's fate-tempting soliloquy a few weeks back; his hours on this fictional earth are now plainly numbered…
Post-funeral, everyone bar the Queen gathers in the empty pub for Treville's wake. You can tell it's a rough night because they're already out of wine and Athos isn't even drinking. He's also the target of meaningful stares from Sylvie, who has yet to tell him that her gynaecological garrison has a new recruit. In fact, fatherhood of various flavours turns out to be an ongoing theme this week, with Porthos emotionally declaring that Treville was "a father to all of us", but just as the late Minister is being toasted, some cartoon bombs get thrown through the window and the whole tavern gets toasted too. Eek!
By this stage, I was even wibbling that the title sequence still has pictures of Louis and Treville but just a gap where their names should be. Awww.
The Muskeboys pick themselves up off the pub floor (not for the first time) and go out to see what's going on. Oh no, what's that massive explodey thing in the sky?
Shit, the garrison's on fire, and Constance is in there! Her beloved runs in after her and ka-boom! Oh hell, has D'Artagnan been blown as sky-high as the BBC's special effects budget? There are blazing planks and manly tears everywhere, but not quite enough of the latter to extinguish the former. Various people are dragged from the wreckage, including a badly wounded Clairmont the cadet, but Roger the horse is okay, so that's something. Yet amid the general despair, who's this charging out of the flames like a grimly determined phoenix/Bambi hybrid? It's D'Artagnan and an unconscious Constance. For a terrible moment, Constance seems to be dead... but no, it's just that Aramis's medical powers of plot convenience are shot to shit this season, and she's actually fine. Phew! Brujon the Muskecadet is fine too, albeit a little charred: anyone for a portion of Brujon brûlé?.
Grimaud marches into the Tavern of Off-Duty Ineptitude (a.k.a. The Piss-Up and Brewery) and announces inaccurately that only D'Artagnan is dead (well, serves him right for skimping on fact-checking in favour of striking a Batman pose on the roof). Marcheaux, who has traded in his Red Guard captain jacket for some leather-based clubwear, is still a lazy git and and wants to handwave the whole problem but Grimaud's rather more focused on the evil task in hand, especially now he's got his mitts on Chekhov's gunpowder.
Next morning, our heroes gather for a bit of smouldering amid the rubble. There's no garrison any more... or is there? Activating the Rousing Manly Speech™ power he magically inherited when Treville died, Athos declares otherwise: "Wherever we draw breath, make a stand, save a life, that is the Garrison. We are the Garrison." Hoorah, and be still my quivering hormones...
Sylvie pops home to the settlement to pick up some supplies, but oh no, Team Sadistic Incompetence has got there first! Grimaud takes Sylvie hostage and alerts the Musketeers via a new messaging service he's developed that utilizes dead old ladies as couriers: he's calling it Snapneck. However, Grimaud doesn't know D'Artagnan's alive, so he's free to be their secret weapon, like a puppy with a nail gun.
"Why would you bring a child into this world?", Grimaud asks Sylvie. I dunno, because reliable birth control hasn't been invented yet? Or because hanging around with Aramis is like getting regularly bombarded with fertility rays? Or maybe because given the levels of sex Athos has been putting out recently, he could probably impregnate you just by looking at you? Whichever it is, it does lead to a rather good moment when Sylvie realizes Grimaud genuinely can't see anything good in the world at all. The best character beat he's had all season, in fact. And about time too.
As Covert!D'Artagnan gets his lurking orders, Athos quizzes him about love and relationships, a sweet scene hampered only slightly by the backdrop of agonized groans and squeals coming from Clairmont on the operating table. And speaking of our heroes' love lives, enter a surprise Elodie from two weeks ago, giving Porthos a chance to interact cutely with a baby. Although I'm virulently allergic to babies myself, I must admit that Porthos + baby makes an undeniably adorable combo. It's the bigness/littleness thing, innit. Although come to think of it, Porthos + kitten would be even better...
Okay boys, what do we say when we're off to fight dirty with Grimaud? "No mercy." / "No rules." / "No honour." No argument from me, lads, since I'm now typing from a puddle on the living room floor. Porthos and Aramis immediately get dragged off to be executed by henchmuppets, which goes as well as you might expect, due to Covert!D'Artagnan dropping in from a great height. Athos and Sylvie get handcuffed and although it's a lot less sexy than the last time they played with restraints, Athos finds out about the bun in Sylvie's oven and they have a bit of a moment anyway. Then it's MASSIVE PUNCH-UP TIME, at least until Grimaud runs away for the 400th time this season, crawling into a cranny with what looks like a Swiss army knife stuck in his shoulder (ouch). A more satisfying result occurs when D'Artagnan goes scarily hardcore on Marcheaux's weaselly arse (gosh, little D'Artie has grown up a lot, hasn't he?) and flings him onto a random spiky object that conveniently happens to be lying about. Ding, dong, the dickhead's dead!
Right, back to the garrison for a chat about Athos's impending daddyhood. The other Muskeboys can't wait to be uncles and Tom Burke does a fantastic line in giddy delight with an undercurrent of shit-I'm-a-grown-up panic, spilling into tearful it's-just-too-muchness (awww). In an adorable attempt to make his friends as happy as he is, Athos recommends Porthos for promotion and shamelessly suggests to Queenie (with a killer glint in his eye) that Aramis would be an excellent replacement for Treville, due to his "ecclesiastical" knowledge (well, he certainly knows a lot of people in the Biblical sense) and "his charm... a great asset with those prickly ambassadors." Is that a euphemism, as in "I gave him a good kick in the prickly ambassadors"?
Elodie's got a hammer and isn't afraid to use it. Nor is she afraid about Porthos being a soldier, which puts her ahead of the widowed Alice, Porthos's ladyfriend from season 1. Porthos needs a woman who's willing to share him with France, you see. Fortunately, there's plenty of him to go around.
Poor Brujon watches as his chum Clairmont dies, and even though Constance is very calm and sensible about it, she then goes downstairs for a bit of a weep, because not even a mighty woman like Constance can put on a brave face forever (awww). But oh no, Grimaud is lurking in the cellar and Constance has never met him before so she doesn't know she's in danger! Conveniently, despite this temporary setback to my frazzled nerves, he vanishes through his personal portable wormhole as soon as she's de-knifed him.
Queenie and Mini-King arrive at the cathedral for a big memorial service, since Queenie has decided that the people need to be united, and apparently what will unite them is if they can all point at her and declare "Mon dieu, that woman's hair is ENORMOUS!"

Luckily, Elodie spots Grimaud lurching into the church disguised as a priest – for a moment I thought he'd given up wanting to be Batman and decided to come as Zombie!Richelieu, but no, he's actually impersonating Guy Fawkes: he doesn't have the Puritan hat but he DOES have the cellar full of gunpowder and it looks like there may be fireworks. Oh shit, thinks Constance, now I've got to stop a massive social occasion and it's all going to be REALLY awkward. It all goes quite smoothly, however: Porthos and the Muskeladies (excellent band name) evacuate the cathedral while Aramis takes the Queen (NOT LIKE THAT) and Mini-King to safety (which is handily located about 50 feet away), and D'Artagnan and Athos make a run for the cellars to stomp on Grimaud's fizzing fuses.
With the explosions averted, Athos demands some quality one-on-one time with Grimaud (well, it's only fair since D'Artagnan took out Marcheaux earlier), and for important plot reasons, the duel takes place in a big tank of water. In case you hadn't noticed Athos's embrace of happy things this week, he announces that you don't have to live alone (hoorah, good message!) before diving in for the kill. And of course, Grimaud dies making Athos soaking wet and breathless (double hoorah of a mildly pervy nature!), thus rendering his existence not entirely pointless! It's all right, D'Artagnan, you can come in now: it's all over bar the deliciously heavy breathing...
The evacuated crowds are allowed back in the cathedral (we skip the bit where they're all milling about outside muttering about the poor event planning and lack of toilet facilities), and watch in mild confusion as Queenie immediate sacks all the Musketeers and rehires them. Is this is some sort of tax dodge? Whatever it is, they're now the People's Musketeers, so I presume that everyone now gets a go on them. Form a nice orderly queue, folks. No shoving.
And now, the celebrations can begin. Mini-King gets a proper line at last and it's a belter: "Are you my new servant, Aramis?" (not exactly, your Majesty, but your mother has plenty of experiences of his "services"). Porthos is promoted so he basically becomes General Dumas, father of Alexandre Dumas (if you want to know more about him, I can recommend his biography, The Black Count). And Queenie offers Aramis the job of First Minister, which he meets with a resounding "ummm… no". Oh, for heaven's sake, man, think it over. We'll come back to you in a bit.
Time for Porthos and Elodie to take a stroll through the market together. Not only does Porthos propose (awww) but this scene also hails the final appearance of a favourite Musketeers guest star: yes, it's CARROTS. Farewell, most valiant of vegetables! You're up there with the anachronistic tomatoes of Merlin in TV's Perennial Pantheon of Produce.

Also, I take the carrots to be an undeniable symbol that Porthos and Elodie's relationship will last, even though they've only known each other for about three minutes, because in Musketeerland, carrots are ETERNAL. More seriously, it's lovely that Elodie's baby is named Marie-Cessette after Porthos's mum (first mentioned last season), who was herself named after Alexandre Dumas's grandma.
Aramis dithers hopelessly about the impossibility of combining fatherhood with ministerhood, but as Athos points out, with reasoning that's both eminently sensible and extremely touching, Treville was basically their dad, so if Aramis gets promoted to full Trevillity, that's pretty much a licence to be a dad to the Dauphin. Awwww.
I was wondering who had inherited the secret code for Treville's Activate-Milady! button: turns out it was Queenie. She's got a mild irritation she needs to get rid of, and Milady's discreet extermination services are required. But who's left to assassinate? Ah-ha, I had literally forgotten all about Gaston! Well, there's no one more deserving of a flying stab in the back, frankly. Well done, Milady! You've been undressed by kings and you've seen some things that a woman ain't s'posed to see. Now swish away stylishly and get your own spin-off assassining series…
Right, folks, Kleenex at the ready because it's time to say goodbye. Hugs all round for Porthos, because he's off to the front! (Presumably he and Elodie have tied the knot and consummated it while we were watching Milady do her thing, yes?) Brujon is promoted to official Musketeer and Mildly Confused Sidekick Boy! Perhaps most startling of all, D'Artagnan gets promoted to Captain because Athos is leaving with Sylvie to go on a gap year! And Aramis is left standing alone... or is he??
And lo, Athos and Sylvie stand on the road out of Paris, looking for all the world like a fairytale prince and princess. And not only is Athos about to be a dad, he's also become a fairy godfather to his friends, by granting them just what they've always wanted. First of all, for D'Artagnan – a hat!

Viewers, I actually cheered out loud at this bit. Never has a piece of headwear been so legendary to so many for so long. Meanwhile, Porthos has found himself a ready-made family, so Athos grants him a new career with fancy armour and plenty of justified reasons to kick the shit out of people, hooray! And as for Aramis, he gets to see his son every day AND snog his beloved Queenie behind random bits of architecture! If I were to quibble, I'd say I'm not totally sure Aramis is cut out for political power – he's never been great with sensible decision-making, has he? – but hey, royal council meetings just got a whole lot prettier, so who cares?
Goodness me, Tom Burke's voiceover was so lovely at the end. Passion, courage, faith and love. Viewers, I cried buckets. (And I also started shipping Roger the Horse and Sylvie's horse, but you probably didn't need to know that.)
In conclusion: Delirious heartwarmingness. Happy tears. Amazing lovely things coming to a satisfying end. Oh, and handsome men in leather. Did I mention the handsome men in leather? A zillion thanks to the wonderful cast and crew who made The Musketeers such an entertaining slice of telly for three years, and thanks to everyone who read these reviews, commented, tweeted, giggled, quibbled and encouraged me to keep writing them. In the words of a contemporary philosopher, it's been emotional.

All for one, and love from me

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