Hidden in Plain Sight
Chapter One
D'Artagnan glanced back towards the camp, he could not see where the others were setting up for the night. The area they had picked could only be reached from one side, but a thicket of trees would hide anyone approaching so they would have to take it in turns to act as a sentry. It was d'Artagnan's turn to watch first. He had been quite pleased as he at least would get a good nights sleep, but he would not get any hot food. By the time he was relieved by Aramis the food that was being prepared would be cold.
He went back to his slow walk back and forth across the rough pathway. He kicked a few stones out of the way as he did so. They were on their way back from a meeting with a few Spanish informants which had not given them any new information. The trip had been a waste of time, but, as Athos had pointed out they were not to have known that when they had set out four days before.
They would be back in Paris by noon the following day, after a leisurely ride the following morning. If they had pushed the horses they probably would have reached the garrison before nightfall, but they were all of the opinion that as they had no intelligence there was no point in tiring the horses unnecessarily.
A noise to this left drew his attention. D'Artagnan turned towards the noise when it happened again. He took a couple of steps forward but could not see anything that could have been responsible. As he turned back to his previous direction he found himself facing a mean looking man who smiled briefly. D'Artagnan opened his mouth to speak but was not given the chance as an arm encircled his neck and squeezed.
His vision swam, greyness creeping in. There was nothing he could do to warn his brothers of the impending danger as he sank into unconsciousness.
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'Have you been taking lessons from Constance?' asked Porthos as he peered over Aramis shoulder.
'Are you trying to say that when I sew you up I am not as neat as this?'
Athos huffed a laugh as he tended to their meal, poking the campfire with a piece of wood before throwing it on. Aramis had noticed the loose seam on Athos' doublet and offered to repair it. The swordsman was only too happy to let their field medic fix his jacket. The damage was too little to warrant getting it fixed professionally but he knew the loose seam could get worse if he left it.
Aramis was sat, cross-legged, a few feet from the campfire, needle and thread in hand nimbly fixing the issue while Porthos continued to mock his work good-naturedly.
The suddenness of the attack took all of them by surprise. Three men rushed at them from the thicket. Neither Aramis or Porthos had time to draw their guns before they were being forced into sword fights. Aramis had to scramble up to face his opponent whilst Porthos was pushed back a few steps, such was the ferocity of the man he was facing.
Athos had no weapons. His belt lay discarded where Aramis had been sitting several feet away. The man took full advantage as Athos managed to gain his footing. He thrust forward with his sword forcing Athos to step to the side. The sword sliced across Athos' arm as the man pulled the weapon back towards him. Athos realised he had no choice but to be offensive with the man, he had nothing with which to defend himself. As the man prepared for another strike by swinging his sword arm out to the side Athos rushed forwards and bodily threw the man backwards. The man fell over the campfire, Athos landed on top of him, rolling off quickly. The man did not move, as he had landed his head hit one of the rocks the musketeers had used to surround the fire. The attacker died instantly. Athos pulled the body from the flames before it could catch fire.
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Aramis had managed to knock the first strike of his attacker's swords aside without injuring himself. He pulled his own sword loose of his belt and thrust forward. The man managed to parry the first attack but clearly was not expecting Aramis to have more than one weapon, his main gauche was quickly employed to finish the man off, pushed deeply into the man's chest. The attacker collapsed to the floor, blood bubbling from his mouth as he took his last rattled breaths.
Looking around Aramis saw that Porthos was injured but still moving easily, a lucky sword strike had sliced him across the side. Porthos, not impressed with being injured had used his fist to knock the attacker backwards into a tree. The man was unconscious, sprawled on the floor. Porthos was already making use of the attacker's own belt to restrain him.
Athos appeared a little shocked by the outcome of his fight. The swordsman had been injured, his shirt bloody from cuts to his arm. He was sat by the campfire holding his arm and looking a little lost. Aramis crossed the few feet between them and knelt beside his friend.
'You OK?'
'Yes, sorry, that rather threw me for a moment,' said Athos, showing an unusual vulnerability. Aramis knew the man would quickly shake off the shock.
'It's not every day an unarmed man gets to beat a man with a sword and come off quite so lightly…let me have a look.'
Athos allowed Aramis to push up the sleeve of his shirt. Two wounds crossed his forearm, both were deep.
'They'll need stitching. Your doublet may have to go to the bottom of the list of work I have to do tonight.'
'He alright?' asked Porthos as he wandered over.
'Needs stitches, but otherwise fine…you?'
'Cut to me side, might need your attention as well. But I can wait for now. What about d'Artagnan?'
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All three men looked around, there was no sign of the fourth member of their little group. The fight had not been quiet. Porthos knew something must have happened.
'Go and look for him,' said Athos, 'I will watch our captive, I would like to ask him a few questions when he wakes up.'
Aramis grabbed his medical bag and pulled out a bandage, Athos allowed him to wrap the bandage around his arm before rising to join Porthos.
'Does that need dressing?' asked Aramis indicating the wound to Porthos' side.
'It'll be alright for a few minutes,' replied Porthos as he batted Aramis' searching hand away, 'let's find d'Artagnan first.'
Porthos led them through the thicket. As they reached the far side they saw the young musketeer sprawled across the rough road. Aramis hurried across to him. The man was lying on his front, unconscious, there was no obvious injury, so Aramis gently pulled him over onto his back. Even in the fading light, they could see the bruising that was beginning to form on their friend's neck.
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Athos watched his friends leave the camp to search for d'Artagnan. He hoped they would find the young man quickly, d'Artagnan would not have allowed the attackers passed without a fight.
The man Porthos had knocked out moaned. Athos turned his full attention to the restrained man. He raised his gun and pointed it at him.
The man was his age, with sandy coloured hair. His pale complexion showed the bruise Porthos had given him starkly across his cheek.
When the man focused on the gun pointed at him Athos spoke, 'what do you want from us?'
The man said nothing, but a smile played across his lips. Athos narrowed his eyes and stepped forward crouching down. He pushed the barrel of the gun into the man's chest firmly enough to cause the man to wince.
'What do you want from us?'
Athos moved the gun to point at the man's thigh, pressing it downwards.
'I can shoot you in many places without killing you,' said Athos, retaining the same calm tone of voice. The man glanced down at the position of the gun, his lip quivered.
'You'll be too late,' the man said, 'you won't get there in time.'
'Get where?'
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'He's breathing, he should be fine…probably just have a headache and a croaky voice,' said Aramis as he finished searching for injuries on their unconscious brother.
Porthos was looking around him, his brow furrowed, Aramis watching him wondering what he was looking for.
'His pauldron and cloak…he 'ad them when he came out here.'
Aramis glanced around, the items of uniform were nowhere to be seen. Whoever had attacked d'Artagnan had stripped him of his uniform. None of the three men who attacked the camp were sporting the Musketeers missing clothing. Why would their attackers take the uniform?
'D'Artagnan…wake up,' said Aramis when the young man moaned quietly and moved slightly.
Porthos crouched down beside them looking at d'Artagnan with concern. The musketeer's breathing was ragged. He blinked his eyes a few times but did not seem able to focus.
'Don't try to speak…we are all OK,' said Aramis trying to think ahead to the questions the injured man would have.
'Speak for yourself,' grunted Porthos.
Aramis shook his head, 'we are mostly OK. A couple of minor injuries. You were obviously taken by surprise. This is not your fault.'
D'Artagnan managed a small nod, as his eyes managed to focus on the marksman.
'Let's get you up, and back to Athos. See if he's left our captive alive.'
Aramis hooked his arm behind the younger man's shoulders and pulled him up to sit. With Porthos' help, they hauled d'Artagnan to his feet steadying him for a few seconds when he paled slightly. D'Artagnan nodded, Porthos let him go and began to walk back towards the camp. Aramis released him as d'Artagnan started walking forward but remained close by. It was clear the young musketeer was suffering after his misadventure. His gait was slightly wobbly, and he veered to the left on one occasion causing Aramis to take a couple of steps forward and pull the man back onto the path.
As they neared the camp they heard Athos calling them back. They sped up, as much as d'Artagnan could, to join Athos and their captive.
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'We have a problem,' said Athos as they approached him.
The sandy-haired man sitting at Athos feet looked dishevelled, Porthos guessed Athos had been a little persuasive with his interrogation. The field bandage on his arm was stained where he had used the injured arm more than he should have done. The fact the Athos had not enquired about d'Artagnan's health was a worry. Whatever the problem was had to be a serious one. One that was more important than any of them.
'You're friend, it's his fault. You should have put someone who knows what they are doing on sentry duty.'
Athos, who had stood up when the others appeared kicked the man in the leg, eliciting a hiss of pain. Porthos looked at Athos who imperceptibly glanced at d'Artagnan.
'Taken by surprise, they would have taken any of us out. Grabbed 'im from behind. Cowardly.'
Porthos aimed the last word at the smirking captive who had recovered from the kick to the leg.
The captive spoke again, 'well he isn't a brute like you is he, you could have prevented yourself from being throttled. He went down far too easy for a soldier. No wonder he was easy.'
'Have you got everythin' you're gonna get from 'im?'
Athos nodded. Porthos stepped forward and crouched down in one swift movement punching the captive hard across the face. The man slumped backwards.
Porthos turned back to d'Artagnan who was looking down, 'ignore him, there were three of them and only one of you. It was unfortunate you didn't get a chance to warn us, but getting grabbed from behind and throttled ain't particularly easy to get out of.'
D'Artagnan nodded, but still looked guilty.
'What did he tell you?' asked Aramis as he pushed d'Artagnan towards the campfire and forced the man to sit down.
'After they attacked d'Artagnan they took his uniform?'
They nodded.
'There were four of them, the fourth is on his way to Paris masquerading as a Musketeer. They intend for the man to infiltrate the Palace and kill the King.'
'We have to get back to Paris,' said Porthos, 'there's too many newly commissioned men, a stranger won't be noticed if he's in uniform.'
'You can't ride until I've seen to that wound on your side, I've seen you wincing and trying to hide how bad it is,' said Aramis shaking his head, 'and d'Artagnan won't get more than a few yards on a horse for a few hours…don't speak,' continued Aramis holding up his hand when the younger man tried to protest.
'Aramis is right,' said Athos as he looked over both Porthos and d'Artagnan before holding up his bleeding arm, 'Aramis you have to go.'
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Athos had quickly realised that Aramis was the only one of the four of them capable of returning to Paris at pace. The need to protect the King was more important than their injuries. He also knew he would have to practically order their field medic to leave them. Aramis was loyal to the King, but his friends were in front of him, injured.
'Leave your medical kit, we will sort ourselves out and follow you as soon as we can at a pace conducive to d'Artagnan's injury.'
Athos could see how torn Aramis was, but he was a soldier and after only a few moments further indecision he nodded.
'You're right…d'Artagnan should be fine, but he probably has an aching head and don't let him speak though, seriously you need to stay quiet,' said Aramis with a stern look at d'Artagnan, 'I think, Athos you need to see to Porthos before you get your arm looked at.'
'It's not that bad,' complained Porthos.
'Yes, it is, you have never been able to hide pain. You are hurting and bleeding. Just accept that I can see through your charade.'
Athos was mildly amused when Porthos had the sense to look contrite at his telling off.
'Get to the Palace, find the King. Stay with him. Try to get word to Treville, but if you cannot, stay with the King, do not let him wander around. He will be safer staying in one place. He will complain, but force him to stay in one room if you must. I will sort out any repercussions he has for your actions. The man who is trying to kill the King won't know his way around the Palace, and hopefully won't know any shortcuts through the city. But he does have a head start on you.'
Aramis nodded as he crossed the campsite to his horse, he mounted up and with a last look at his injured comrades pushed the beast forward and out of sight.
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