Author's note: This is for Kirasum who suggested I should write a story to tie up the loose end of the robbers in my last story: 'Remembering the Now'. Well, here it is.
If you have not read 'Remembering the Now' all you need to know is that two robbers tried to attack Athos when he was injured (suffering from memory loss) and Aramis defended him, later in the story the same robbers attacked Aramis and Athos returned the favour by defending him.
I hope you enjoy it.
Comeuppance
It had been a couple of hours since they had left Aramis sulking in the infirmary, with Athos practically holding him prisoner. Although Porthos knew it was for his brothers own good.
They had been out the previous night celebrating Athos' recovery from a total memory loss. Aramis had helped him to regain his memories. A few hours later the unfortunate marksman had been attacked and injured by two men who wanted revenge on him after an incident a few days before. Athos had managed to fight the men off but not before Aramis had taken quite a beating from them.
They had helped Aramis back to the garrison infirmary, but the man would not accept that he was not fit to return to work. That morning he had tried to leave the infirmary three times when it was clear to all of them that he would probably not even make it across the yard before collapsing. Athos had been forced to pull rank and order him to stay where he was.
When Athos had put his foot down, Porthos had looked at d'Artagnan and nodded towards the door. They had silently left their brothers to it. They knew that after another couple of hours rest Aramis would be fine, but it was sometimes difficult to get that idea across to their stubborn brother.
D'Artagnan had slipped away to visit Constance and Porthos had found some cadets to annoy. Two were currently trying to disarm him and failing abysmally. He had been keeping them both at bay for several minutes. The two younger men were making each move they were going to take obvious, giving Porthos the chance to counter-attack easily. Enjoyable as it was to draw out their humiliation he also knew he would have to spend some time with each of them polishing up their techniques.
Porthos decided he had grown bored with the cadets, he disarmed them both in the same move, causing one of them to stumble to the floor in the process. They both looked at him shocked.
'That's why I have this,' he said pointing at his pauldron with a smile. 'Practice those drills.'
He reached out and helped the cadet up and with a playful shove, sent them off to work on their footwork.
Porthos wandered across the quiet garrison courtyard. He swung his leg over the bench and sat down. He glanced across to the infirmary. He could see Aramis and Athos talking within. Aramis looked a lot more focused than he had a few hours previously, Porthos guessed Athos would allow him to leave soon enough.
Leaning back against one of the posts he closed his eyes for a few seconds and enjoyed the warm sun on his face. It had been a trying couple of weeks, but now they were getting back to normality. Athos was better and although Aramis had been hurt his injuries were not serious and they would all be able to get out and about in the next couple of days.
'Porthos, help me.'
Porthos opened his eyes when he heard the familiar voice. Constance should have been at the Palace. He looked across to the garrison gate, his eyes widening as he took in the sight before him. Constance, who looked unusually dishevelled was practically holding a very weak looking d'Artagnan up.
Rushing forward Porthos quickly relieved the young woman of her burden. Constance looked a little unfocused and obviously shocked. Her pale blue dress was torn on the sleeve, flecks of blood covering the fabric. Dirt, dust and mud covered the bodice and the fabric that should have been covering her shoulder had been pulled down. Her usually neat hair was ruffled and loose in places.
As Porthos took d'Artagnan's weight he realised the Musketeer was struggling to stay conscious, his head was bowed forward and he was blinking frequently. Blood was oozing from a wound to his head, the obvious cause of his lethargy. His doublet and breeches were equally dirty and scuffed. Porthos noted that d'Artagnan was missing his weapons belt.
It was obvious the pair had been attacked.
'Let's get you to the infirmary...and then you can tell us what's happened,' said Porthos as he helped d'Artagnan across the yard.
Constance followed, looking a little lost. Porthos was not used to seeing the usually formidable young woman so shocked.
Constance stood by the door to the infirmary watching as d'Artagnan was helped onto a bed. Aramis, who appeared to have been in a fight as well had shooed Porthos out of the way and started checking the other injured man over.
She jumped slightly when Athos took her arm. He smiled despite the look of concern on his face as he led her across the room and sat her down on the bed next to d'Artagnan who was trying to push Aramis away.
'He was hit on the head,' she said although she knew it was obvious to them all where his injury was.
Aramis glanced back at her and looked at her arm.
'Sit still, I'll have a look at that in a minute,' he said before turning back to Porthos who was now stood on the other side of d'Artagnan's bed. 'Hold him still for me.'
Porthos nodded and with a little rearrangement of the still confused d'Artagnan, Porthos managed to settle himself back against the wall with d'Artagnan leaning on him. Aramis perched on the side of the bed and gently pushed the dark hair away from the wound on d'Artagnan's head.
'I didn't know what else to do, so we came back here,' Constance said, feeling as though she should say something.
Athos had sat next to her on the bed, his arm around her shoulders. She had not noticed the move but found that she felt safe for the first time since they had been attacked.
'Can you tell us what happened?' asked Athos quietly.
Constance took a moment to get the order of events correct in her head before she began to relate to her friends what had happened.
Constance hoped to bump into d'Artagnan, she smiled as she strolled through the market. She knew he wanted to see her. And he knew that she would be in the market. The Queen had asked her to hunt for some lace to repair one of her favourite dresses. Although the lace could be sourced from elsewhere the Queen liked to use locally made fabrics if she could. Knowing that Constance had been a seamstress she had been the Queen's first, and only, choice to look for just the right piece.
It pleased Constance to be away from the Palace, even if it was only for a couple of hours. She enjoyed her time there but found that the courtiers looked down on her. Only the Queen talked to her as an equal, despite them being far from it. The Queen confided in her. Told her things that Constance knew the King did not even know. Some things she now knew that she could not even share with d'Artagnan.
Their illicit affair sent a thrill of excitement through her. She felt silly for feeling that way, but at the same time, she did not care. She loved him, and one day she was sure, she would be with him, properly. They would not be pretending that there was nothing between them. They would not slip off to dark corners for snatched moments alone. They would be open and honest, and she could not wait for that day to come.
He was watching her from across the market, a smile playing on his lips. She loved it when he smiled at her. His eyes lit up, he loved her and she loved him. He nodded towards a secluded area, away from the hustle and bustle, away from the wagging tongues and gossips.
She casually walked past the stalls, glancing across as d'Artagnan did the same. Constance reached the spot first and paused watching him close the gap between them. As he approached she reached out her hand, he took it and led her further away from the market. He spun her around and took her in his arms pulling her close to him. She giggled as he kissed her, feeling like a girl being kissed for the first time.
'Stop it, you'll mess my hair,' she said as she tried to disentangle herself from him.
'I don't care,' he replied, 'I like it messy, then I can watch you tidy it up.'
She took the lead for their second, slightly more sedate kiss. She pushed her fingers through his hair. His hand slipped down her dress to rest on the small of her back, he pulled her towards him a little. She was about to tell him off again when he was suddenly not there.
Constance gasped. Two men had appeared. One was big and broad with an ugly misshapen ear. The other was skinny, he was facing her and grinning, he was missing a couple of teeth and had bruising to his face as if he had recently been in a fight. Both men were in their twenties, young but a harsh life on the streets had taken its toll on them.
D'Artagnan must have been grabbed from behind and tripped to the ground. The big man viciously kicked him in the head. Constance was about to shout out when the skinny man pulled out a knife and started to walk towards her. She looked at the knife as what little light there was glinted off the blade. She had no weapons on her. She could handle a sword and shoot a gun, but ladies in the court did not routinely sit with the Queen whilst armed.
'Leave her alone,' said d'Artagnan, his voice groggy.
Constance was relieved that he was not unconscious, but he was struggling to get up, the blow to his head must have affected him. The big man looked up from his place knelt next to the prone Musketeer. He was busy undoing d'Artagnan's weapons belt.
'You ain't hurtin' a woman,' he said his voice a match for his look of a brawler, 'leave her.'
The skinny man paused for a moment. He had already walked several paces towards Constance who had taken corresponding steps back, finding herself leaning against the wall with nowhere else to go. She was terrified, not just for herself but for d'Artagnan as well. She knew that he would try to defend her and in his current state would not last very long.
Under normal circumstances taking out two men would have been easy for her lover, but he had been taken by surprise and was now suffering from a head injury. He would not be able to help her.
She would have to help herself.
The skinny man glanced across to the other man and d'Artagnan who was still trying to get up but being held down easily by the big man.
Constance saw her chance, she pushed herself off the wall and lunged towards the man who must have seen her moving. With quick reflexes, he grabbed her arms and flung her backwards as if she was nothing. Despite his slight stature, the man was strong. Constance smashed into a crate and crumpled to the floor. The man stepped towards her again.
'Leave it, let's go,' said the other man who had appeared next to her.
The big man grabbed the skinny man and pulled him away, the two men disappeared from sight. Constance was breathing hard, it took her a few seconds to compose herself.
She knew she had to help d'Artagnan, knew she had to get him to the garrison where he could be looked after. She set herself a task.
Get d'Artagnan to the garrison.
She would worry about everything else after that.
Constance sniffed before wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. She looked up at the men around her, her gaze settling on Aramis who had stopped cleaning the wound to d'Artagnan's head and was looking into the distance.
Porthos noticed the marksman's faraway look, 'what?'
'The men that attacked me last night...and Athos a few days ago,' said Aramis glancing at Athos as he spoke. 'It's the same ones...isn't it?'
Constance looked at Athos, the question obvious on her face.
'When I was injured, a few days ago, they took me around the city, hoping to jog my memory,' he said, 'two men tried to rob me. Aramis had to fight them off…'
'And last night,' continued Porthos, 'Aramis was grabbed by the same two men.'
Constance looked back at Aramis, taking in the fresh bandage around his head and noticing the way he was favouring his right arm for the first time.
'Are they picking on soldiers?' she asked, 'Or just you?'
Porthos huffed out a laugh, 'I think it must be a vendetta by now,' he said ruefully.
D'Artagnan tried to push Aramis away, the marksman grabbed his hand and gently laid it back down. He glanced up at Porthos who shifted slightly so that he could keep the confused Musketeer still whilst Aramis worked.
'Is it just your arm, Constance, or did they hurt you anywhere else?' he asked without looking up.
'One of them was coming at me with a knife,' she said, the shock still evident in her voice, 'I tried to push him away, but he grabbed me and threw me against the wall.'
'I expect they were not expecting you to fight back,' remarked Athos.
Aramis smiled and glanced up at Porthos again to find the Musketeer smiling back at him. They were always surprised at just how feisty Constance could be; they had all been on the wrong end of her temper from time to time.
'Did they say anything that might help us to find them?' asked Porthos.
'No, the big one, the one that kicked d'Artagnan, he was more interested in taking his weapons. The skinny one, the one that went for me with the knife he seemed more determined. It was the big one that told him to leave me alone.'
'I think this is going to need a couple of stitches,' said Aramis as he finished cleaning the wound to d'Artagnan's head.
Aramis looked up at Porthos who did not understand. Aramis sighed, a feeling of inadequacy washing over him.
'Much as I like to pretend that I am fine,' he said, hating how embarrassed he felt, 'I'm not fine, and I don't think I can do the stitches in my current state.'
Porthos smirked.
'You knew I couldn't do it didn't you?' said Aramis narrowing his eyes at his brother.
Athos had appeared at his side, picking up the needle and thread that was already on the side table.
'Next time Porthos needs stitches,' said Athos conspiratorially, 'I will look the other way if you decide to give him a couple more than strictly necessary…'
The grin fell from Porthos' face. Aramis winked at his brother before moving to sit beside Constance who still looked a little unfocused.
She allowed him to move her arm, pushing up the ripped sleeve of her dress as he did so. The pale skin was marked with rapidly darkening bruises. Nasty grazes reached from the side of her lower arm, over her elbow and up almost up to her shoulder.
'This is going to be sore for a few days and I don't think you will be able to cover all the bruises up. This is going to be noticed,' he said looking up at her.
'They barely pay me any attention,' she said. 'The Queen will notice, no one else will.'
Aramis smiled again as he reached for a clean cloth which he dipped in the second bowl of water that had been prepared. As gently as he could he dabbed the grazes clean, wiping away the dirt and grime that had become embedded in places on Constance's arm.
'Leave her alone,' mumbled d'Artagnan as Athos put the first stitch in.
Aramis glanced across, watching as Porthos spoke quietly to the injured man, trying to get him to understand that he was safe and that no one was trying to hurt Constance any more. Constance was watching with concern.
'The knock to the head,' said Aramis, 'I'm sure he'll be fine.'
Athos looked back and raised an eyebrow, 'I was not fine the last time I took a knock to the head.'
'You got better,' remarked Aramis with a small grin.
As the second stitch was put into his wound d'Artagnan again tried to push his friends away, but his attempts only lasted a few seconds before he became still.
Athos finished the stitches and, after wrapping a bandage around his head, sat the now unconscious d'Artagnan up so that he could pull his doublet off him with Porthos' help. They lay him down and after Porthos had pulled d'Artagnan's boots off they covered him with a blanket and left him to rest.
Aramis wound a bandage around Constance's arm, covering the worst of the injuries. She looked at him and smiled, Aramis could see she was not as pale as she had been and looked much more her normal self.
'Keep it clean and change the bandage a couple of times. Try to keep moving your arm or it will become stiff.'
'Thank you,' she said.
Porthos was looking at his friends, a pensive expression on his face. Aramis could almost read his mind.
'Those two thugs have attacked three Musketeers now,' he said, 'it's time we put a stop to them.'
'I agree,' said Athos rising from where he had been sat on the edge of d'Artagnan's bed. 'But first I want to see that Constance gets safely back to the palace.'
'You don't need to do that…'
'Yes he does,' said both Porthos and Aramis at the same time.
'How would it look if we left a recently assaulted Queens lady to walk the streets on her own?' asked Aramis.
'I'm hardly a lady,' replied Constance.
Athos held out his arm to her and smiled, 'but you are...more so than most of the lackeys and hangers-on at the Palace.'
Constance sighed, before glaring at them all for a moment before smiling. She allowed Athos to help her to her feet. She stepped across to d'Artagnan who was still unconscious, she leaned over him and kissed his cheek softly.
'I'll keep an eye on him,' said Aramis, 'and we will let you know when he wakes up.'
'Thank you...and you will let me know when you have brought those reprobates to justice?' she asked.
Porthos nodded.
'I'm going to the market where you were attacked,' said Porthos as he turned to the door, 'I'll ask around, see if I can find out who they are.'
'Be careful,' said Athos, 'I'll join you once Constance is safely delivered.'
'I'm not a parcel,' protested Constance, slapping Athos' arm lightly.
Aramis watched them go, hoping he would not have any more friends to tend to before the day was out.
After parting from Athos and Constance, Porthos made his way towards the market. Athos had reminded him to be careful causing Porthos to roll his eyes. He had briefly squeezed Constance's uninjured arm before walking away from them.
The market was busy, the traders were working hard, attracting customers and selling their wares. Nothing looked out of place. There was the usual collection of less welcome Parisians milling around. Porthos was sure that just his presence had prevented at least two boys from pickpocketing oblivious passers-by. A few whores were moving amongst the people plying their trade, a wife noticed her husband taking an interest who then received a slap and a few sharp words for his troubles.
There was no sign of the two thugs that had attacked his brothers. Porthos scanned the faces of the people carefully, remembering the description that Constance had given. He thought back to the moment he had dragged the skinny man away from Athos a few days before. At the time he had not thought much of it. He had pushed the man away but lost him in the crowd before he could do anything further.
When Aramis had realised it was the same men Porthos had felt a pang of guilt for not doing more to stop the men the first time or the second. He was determined to deal with the men now. His brothers and Constance had been assaulted by the men. Athos had been lucky to not be hurt but both Aramis and d'Artagnan had suffered at their hands.
The men might have gone to ground after their latest attack. Porthos realised it could be a pointless exercise, but he felt he needed to at least look.
He spent some time talking to the stall holders. A couple of them recognised the description but Porthos soon realised it was due to the attack on Athos. The ensuing, brief, sword fight Aramis had been forced to engage in had caused a lot of interest at the time. The locals remembered the event, but they did not remember the men separately. Robbers and thieves were, unfortunately, commonplace and did not warrant remembering.
As he wandered around the edges of the market making his way to the area where he knew the attack on d'Artagnan and Constance had happened a thought occurred to him. All three attacks had been on distracted men. Athos was distracted by all that was going on, his usual keen observation gone, along with his memory. Aramis had been drinking and was distracted by the relief that Athos had recovered. And d'Artagnan, well, Constance was certainly a distraction to his young friend.
Porthos decided that if he was to draw the men out, he too would have to be distracted. He wandered towards the spot that Constance had described. He could imagine the young lovers engaging in a moment of privacy. He looked around, pretending to look at the ground and the crate that Constance had been pushed into. He wanted it to look like as if he was searching for something, a clue to the attack perhaps? What Porthos was really doing was surreptitiously looking around, hoping to spot the two young men responsible for harm coming to his brothers.
D'Artagnan and Constance had certainly picked a quiet spot for their liaison. The dimly lit alleyway was not overlooked and appeared to be rarely used. A few doors opened onto it but they looked little used. Porthos spotted the crate that Constance had been pushed into, he realised the young woman must have been pushed with some force as the crate had moved several inches, the dirt and detritus dislodged from the cobbles had gathered into small heaps along the side of the crate.
A small sound to his right drew his attention but he did not react outwardly. Porthos continued to look at the ground. He moved so that he had his back to the location of the sound. If it was the thieves he did not want them to worry that he might see them as they approached. A soft footfall followed. All his senses were on full alert, a slight movement in the corner of his eye told him that he was being approached.
He sensed the fist coming at the back of his head and whirled around to meet the man face to face. The big, broad, man looked a little surprised to find himself facing his opponent. Porthos blocked the fist with a sweep of his left arm quickly followed by a swift, hard punch to the man's stomach.
The man let out a brief cry as the air was knocked out of him, he stumbled back a few paces clutching at his stomach.
Porthos did not have time to celebrate as the second man, the skinny one that had wielded a knife in the previous attacks had jumped on his back. The man, who was slight, but surprisingly strong, wrapped his right arm around Porthos' neck and squeezed. The Musketeer reacted quickly and efficiently, he took a few paces back and rammed the man into the stone wall. The man loosened his grip considerably. Porthos grabbed his arms and prised them apart, keeping a tight hold of the man's wrists, before turning and shoving the man forward with as much force as he could.
With a slight grin, Porthos realised the unfortunate thief had been shoved to the ground three times now, once by Aramis, once by Athos and now by himself. He wondered if the man would lose any more teeth this time?
The burly man was back in the fight, he grabbed Porthos by the shoulder and pulled him around hitting his face hard with a clenched fist. Porthos' head snapped around, his vision swam for a moment, the man certainly had some heft to his punches. But Porthos was not going to be bettered so easily. He managed to bring his knee up at the same time as grabbing the man's head and pushing it down. The broad man stumbled back but grabbed out at Porthos' leg pulling him forward. The two men ended up on the ground. Porthos was on top, he pulled his arm back and punched the man hard enough to stun him.
Pushing himself away from the burly man he twisted around and swung himself up on one knee at the same time. The skinny man was rising and pulling his sword. Porthos reciprocated.
He remembered seeing the tail end of the fight between the men and Athos. He knew the men were not very good swordsmen. But he was not going to take any chances. He carefully positioned himself so that he could see the burly man as well. The skinny man, who now had blood running over his face where a deep gash had been cut into his forehead, was swinging his sword towards him. An easy move to parry Porthos took a couple of steps forward forcing the man backwards and over the crate.
The burly man charged at him from the side, the move taking Porthos by surprise, he had expected the man to pull his sword. Annoyed at his stupidity Porthos found himself slammed into the wall. He dropped his sword in favour of grabbing the man's wrist and stopping him from plunging a knife into his chest. The man was strong, it took a lot of effort on Porthos' part to twist the man's wrist to turn the knife away. The man seemed to lose strength for a second but Porthos saw through the deception and tightened his grip.
The man was probably not expecting a soldier to head but him, but Porthos did not care, any sense of chivalry would have been lost on the two thugs anyway. The crunch of the man's nose, badly broken Porthos suspected was oddly satisfying.
The big man reached for his face with his free left hand as he tried to drag his right hand away from Porthos who merely squeezed the man's wrist harder until he was forced to drop the knife. Porthos pushed the man to arm's length before punching him again. This time the man stumbled back, collapsing to the floor, blood pouring from his nose. The burly man was unconscious.
Panting and fatigued Porthos looked around for the skinny man, finding him a second too late. The swing of the sword caught Porthos across the thigh, cutting deeply through his breeches and into his flesh. He yelled in pain. Unable to support his weight he fell to his knees. The skinny man took a step back, preparing to thrust forwards with the sword, a move meant to kill.
But Porthos was not ready to give up.
In a single movement, he reached for his main gauche, drew it, and pushed it forward, embedding the blade into the man's gut. The move was not quick enough to stop the man from slicing his sword across Porthos' left shoulder, but it was only a shallow wound. Porthos knocked the sword off with his hand before pushing the dying man away.
Unable to support himself Porthos slumped to the side. He reached his hand out to press on the wound on his thigh; blood seeping through the fingers of his glove as he did so. He realised he was shaking and blinking. He wondered if he would pass out.
The skinny man was weakly trying to pull himself up, but his coordination was gone. He fell back after a few seconds, he did not move again.
Athos had found a couple of cadets as he walked to the area of the attack, Phillipe and Marc followed him as he made his way around the market. He had told them briefly that they were looking for the thieves that had attacked Aramis the previous night and who were now also responsible for an assault on d'Artagnan. The men had been happy to help the Musketeer and had quickly fallen into step behind him.
They all looked around the market as they passed, looking for any sign of Porthos. As they reached the quiet alleyway they all broke into a run. Three men lay on the ground in various states of health.
Porthos was sitting, leaning against the wall, his hand firmly pressed against his thigh, blood soaking his breeches and dripping onto the cobbles. The Musketeer had bruising to his face and another bleeding wound to his shoulder. He was conscious and looking at them through unfocused eyes.
A skinny man lay a few feet from Porthos a parrying dagger protruding from his gut, the man had one hand loosely looped around the blade in some futile effort to remove the weapon that had killed him.
A third man lay, breathing shallowly, across the alleyway, blood covered his face. He was unconscious and looked as though he would remain in the same state for some time.
One of the cadets moved to the injured man's side and pulled the man's belt from his waist, making short work of binding the man's wrists. The other cadet returned to the marketplace to get help.
Athos crouched in front of Porthos who managed to make eye contact with him.
'The idea was to catch them and bring them to justice, not end up being beaten by them,' said Athos as he started to check his friend for any injuries beyond the obvious ones.
'I did catch them,' replied Porthos, his voice slightly slurred.
'You have a strange way of catching people,' remarked Athos with a wry smile.
He looked up as a couple of the stall holders arrived with Marc. One of the stallholders a large woman was carrying a bundle of linen. She quickly went about ripping the sheet into strips.
'We will pay you for the goods, madam,' said Athos.
'You will not, Monsieur,' she said sternly, 'those two toerags have been causing problems for weeks. I'm glad to be shot of them.'
She knelt by Porthos and with a gentleness that belied her size took his hand from the wound on his thigh and quickly wrapped the makeshift bandage around the injury. Athos was impressed with her work. She tied the bandage firmly but not too tightly. With little fuss, she also dealt with the wound to Porthos' shoulder after easing the Musketeer out of his doublet. Porthos did not argue with the woman. Athos wondered if she scared him. She was certainly a woman Athos would not like to upset.
'My son is bringing our cart up, he will see you get back to your garrison,' she said.
She reached up and gently laid her hand on Porthos cheek, 'you get better young man. We need soldiers like you keeping us safe.'
Porthos blinked a few times before nodding. Athos could tell his brother was struggling to stay conscious, the loss of blood from the wound to his leg making him weak.
'Madam,' said Athos, 'thank you. I'm sure he is grateful for your help.'
'I know,' she said with a smile.
'Did I try to fight you off?' asked d'Artagnan, a worried expression playing across his face.
Aramis smiled, 'yes, briefly. You were trying to protect Constance...it was all very noble.'
D'Artagnan tried to hide his embarrassment, he could tell he had failed from the look on Aramis' face.
'Oh, we've all done it,' reassured the Marksman. 'Head injuries do strange things to people.'
'Constance, was alright, wasn't she?'
D'Artagnan watched Aramis roll his eyes, 'yes, d'Artagnan, she's bruised but she is in no way worse off than you. She brought you back here after all.'
D'Artagnan had woken to find Aramis sat next to him watching him with concern. After helping him to sit up and ensuring that he was not suffering too much from the attack, Aramis had explained what had happened between the attack and him waking. D'Artagnan was relieved that Constance was alright and after being assured that she was being seen back to the Palace by Athos had relaxed slightly and agreed to stay where he was until Aramis decided he was well enough to leave.
They had spent a few minutes discussing the irony of Aramis feeling as though he could insist on d'Artagnan staying put but found it almost impossible to remain in the infirmary when it was him that was injured. Aramis had eventually acquiesced and agreed that he had been wrong to try leaving earlier in the day.
A shout from the yard caused both men to look up.
'Stay there,' ordered Aramis as he walked from the room.
D'Artagnan tried to see what was happening in the yard, but he was at the wrong angle to the window. He could hear a cart and horses entering and some conversations but could not make out what was being said.
The door to the infirmary was kicked open and Aramis walked back in closely followed by Athos and Treville with a couple of cadets carrying Porthos. Porthos did not look well. He was barely conscious with bruising to his face. Two bandages had been tied over wounds, one to his shoulder and one to his leg. The white cloth was stained red with the Musketeers blood.
Knowing that Porthos needed the attention d'Artagnan remained silent trying to work out what had happened to his friend. He knew the man had gone in search of the thieves, and it appeared he might have found them. D'Artagnan wondered if the men had got away again.
Aramis had quickly cleared the large table and indicated for the men carrying their brother to lay him down. Porthos moaned, obviously in pain, he was weakly reaching for the wound on his leg which looked nasty.
'Get him stripped off,' said Aramis as he took control.
The other men in the room followed his orders without question. They all respected each other's strengths, Treville and Athos began to undress the weakly protesting Porthos.
They worked quickly and quietly. Aramis collected what he would need, setting a bowl of water and a bottle of alcohol on the table as the injured man was divested of his doublet, boots, and breeches. Aramis ripped the fabric of Porthos' underclothes so that he could see the wound properly. He shook his head before glancing up at his friend who did not seem to know where he was. Porthos was still trying to move away from the men holding him.
'Porthos, you're safe now,' said Aramis quietly.
Porthos seemed to understand and stopped moving.
With a nod from Aramis, the other men readied themselves to keep their patient still. Porthos cried out in pain as the wound was cleaned with the water and alcohol. His cry was short lived as it became apparent to the men holding him that he had passed out.
'Sorry, my friend,' said Aramis quietly to the unconscious man, 'but it's probably for the best.'
Athos stepped back from the table he looked across to d'Artagnan.
'He got them,' Athos said, 'it's a nasty injury but he should be fine.'
Aramis was threading a needle, preparing to begin stitching the wound.
'Do you want me to…' started Athos taking a step forward.
Aramis shook his head, 'I've got enough movement in my arm now, I'll be fine.'
D'Artagnan got the impression Aramis needed to do the stitches more than he wanted to do them, as if it was his way of thanking Porthos for what he had done. He watched Treville place a chair behind Aramis and gently push him into it. Aramis glanced up at the Captain.
'You're not fully fit, I don't want you keeling over halfway through dealing with him.'
D'Artagnan saw Athos hide a smile at the remark from their Captain. Aramis nodded before turning his full attention to dealing with their injured brother.
It took Aramis some time to close the wound on Porthos' leg and then to deal with the less serious injury to his shoulder. Athos gave Aramis a warning look when he was about to help move the unconscious man to a bed. Aramis stepped back with a sigh, it was clear he was exhausted from the activity.
After settling Porthos on the bed next to d'Artagnan, Athos pulled up a couple of chairs indicating for Aramis to sit down. D'Artagnan saw Treville usher the two cadets out of the room before following them, closing the door quietly behind him.
'He took them both out on his own,' said Athos after a few moments, 'killed the slight one, and left the other one in a pool of blood.'
'Good,' said Aramis, 'having had two run-ins with them I'm pleased they won't still be out there.'
'I agree,' said Athos.
D'Artagnan looked across at Porthos who had not stirred, 'they got what they deserved,' he said, 'I'm surprised they thought they would get away with it. Attacking a Musketeer is never a good idea.'
'And attacking three, is positively suicidal,' remarked Aramis with a smile.
The End.
Authors note: I hope you enjoyed it.