Chapter One

'You will be interrogated. We will have the information from you.'

The man at the bars looked at each of them in turn. He appeared to be deciding something. They remained silent staring back at him. After a few seconds, he nodded and walked away. The two men with guns that had been trained on them followed the man, closing the door behind them. The sound of a bolt being drawn across the last thing they heard.

The four of them had been roughly dragged into the cellar and pushed into the room, one wall of which was made up of strong looking metal bars. A corridor outside led to a few steps and the door the men had left by to the right and what looked like further cells to the left. They were prisoners of the men who had taken them.

It had been an efficient attack. They had been vigilant but the group, disguised as peasants had fooled them. Producing guns from under their cloaks and quickly gaining control of the four of them. The usual tactic of playing them off against each other had been employed. They allowed themselves to be blindfolded. Their horses were led along the road for a few minutes before they were ordered to dismount and pushed along over uneven ground. The blindfolds were pulled off them as they were forced down a few steps and into the cell where they were currently stood.

Aramis looked at his brothers, none of them appeared to be harmed. D'Artagnan was absentmindedly rubbing his arm where he had no doubt been firmly held. Porthos had walked up to the bars and was tugging at each one in turn. Athos was carefully looking over the walls of their prison.

'We ain't getting out easy,' concluded Porthos after a few minutes.

'I think,' said Aramis, 'we might not be getting out at all from this one.'

Athos sighed, 'you may be correct. But let's not give up just yet.'

Aramis had said what they were all thinking, but Athos was correct, he was perhaps being a little pessimistic.

'I thought I would die in battle,' remarked d'Artagnan as he moved to sit on the floor at the back of the cell shifting a little to get comfortable.

'We'd all 'ave preferred that,' said Porthos who joined him on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him.

Aramis stood for a few moments at the barred door looking at the lock. He glanced back at Porthos who shook his head. Aramis knew his friend would have checked if he could pick the lock already.

'I was supposed to be seeing Constance tomorrow.'

'She'll understand,' said Aramis with a slight smile, 'dying for your country is a noble way to go.'

Porthos huffed, 'in battle would 'ave been better...What will they do? Torture? All of us, one of us?'

'I doubt we will have to wait long. The information is obviously important to them,' said Athos. 'I suspect they have only left us alone for a few minutes so that we can speculate upon our end.'

Athos finished his careful inspection of the cell. He stood in the centre of the room for a few seconds gathering his thoughts. Aramis knew what he was going to say, they all did. He did not need to say it.

'We have to hold out. Regardless of what they do, we cannot give into them.'

Athos looked at each of them in turn. Each man nodded. They were prepared to die to keep the information safe, but more than that, they were prepared to watch each other die to keep the information safe. That would be the harder option for them each. They did not know what was in store for them, but if their treatment up to that point was anything to go by it was not going to be pleasant.

The men had already threatened each of them to get the others to comply. When they had first been taken a gun had been pushed firmly into the back of Athos' head when Porthos had started to complain about their treatment. And Aramis had quickly stopped complaining when d'Artagnan had been tripped to the ground and a dagger pressed to the back of his neck.

Before they had been locked up there had been hope that one or all of them might have escaped. Now that hope was rapidly diminishing. Aramis looked through the bars at the heavy wooden door the men had retreated through. Wherever they were was solidly built, even if Porthos had been able to pick the lock they would probably have been overpowered as soon they got through the wooden door. If they had got through the wooden door.

They had important information that was sought by the men. The information was such that they would willingly die to keep it safe. It was unfortunate, thought Aramis, that the information was not going to reach each its intended recipient. But it was better for it to be lost with their deaths, than to fall into the wrong hands.

Aramis knew they would do everything they could to stay alive, but their lives were not as important. He could not foresee them all leaving the cell alive. It saddened him, but there was also an inevitability to it. None of them ever expected to die of old age. Although as d'Artagnan had said, dying on the battlefield was somewhat nobler than potentially being tortured to death.

The bolt on the heavy door was drawn back. Aramis stepped back from the barred wall of the cell to stand with his brothers. D'Artagnan and Porthos had pushed themselves up to stand. They all glanced at one another, a silent show of solidarity between them.

The man, Aramis guessed he was a little older than himself, walked down the steps. He was followed by the two gunmen again. They trained their weapons through the bars. A further three men had also accompanied them. All the men were armed with guns and daggers.

Each of the Musketeers had been carefully disarmed when they were captured, the men had been thorough with their searches even checking their boots.

One of the men opened the cell door, the leader stepped in front of the opening and looked at them all carefully again. He nodded towards Aramis before stepping back. The three newcomers stepped into the cell, one of them held a gun towards d'Artagnan whilst the two men outside the cell had theirs trained on Athos and Porthos.

Two men advanced on Aramis who unconsciously took a couple of steps back. He knew if he fought the men one of his brothers was likely to be hurt. The leader knew what he was doing, he knew that the Musketeers would not want to contribute to the decision to harm one another.

Aramis was grabbed and forced out of the cell. He was dragged out of sight of the others, into the next cell. His heart beating fast as he was forced to kneel on the stone floor and held firmly by the two men. He heard the door to the cell where his brothers were still being held clang shut. The key was turned in the lock. Aramis was fairly sure he was the only one who would be receiving any attention to start with. His mind raced as he tried to work out what they would do. The room he was in was bare, there were no torturous devices, nothing that could be used to hurt him. Was he just to receive a beating from the men?

He looked towards the leader who had stepped back from the barred wall of his brother's cell. The man looked towards him for a few seconds before glancing at one of the men with the guns. The man nodded and moved across to Aramis, raising the weapon as he walked. The man aimed the gun at the back of Aramis' head, he could feel the barrel of the pistol close to his skin. He would not survive the shot when it was fired.

Aramis realised he was not the one being interrogated, he was the one being used to encourage the others to talk. Aramis knew the other would not talk, they could not. The information was too important.

'Talk now or he dies,' said the leader.

The simple request was met with silence. Aramis could well imagine what his brothers would be doing. They would each of them be glaring at the man, but they would each continue to remain silent.

Aramis began to pray.

MMMM

D'Artagnan had been wistfully thinking about how many children he would have liked to have with Constance. He could imagine her ruling a brood, gently admonishing where necessary and probably telling him off if he ever spoiled them.

He guessed he would never know what it would be like. Constance was back in Paris, never to be his wife, never to be the mother of his children. He hoped she would not mourn him too much. He knew she would be upset, but he hoped she would move on from him.

When the heavy wooden door was opened, he and Porthos scrambled up to stand. They did not want to give the impression that they had simply given up.

The leader of the men appeared at the barred door. He was accompanied by five other men. They were all capable looking. D'Artagnan guessed they were mercenaries, and they were being well paid by the looks of them. None of them wore old clothes or boots. Each man's weapons gleamed, care had been taken of them. D'Artagnan wondered what had happened to the men to turn them from soldiers to mercenaries. Were they disillusioned by the work they had been doing? Had they been retired, or been in a disbanded regiment and then unable to find further work soldiering?

Whatever the reason, they did not seem to care that they were about to hurt soldiers. Men who they would once have called brother. Men who they might have fought side by side within battle. None of that mattered to the mercenaries. The money would be what motivated the men now. D'Artagnan despised them. He could understand them, but he still did not agree with them.

Two of the men aimed their guns through the bars of the cell. One man aiming at Porthos and one at Athos. The door was unlocked by the leader and pulled open. He stood in the gap for a few seconds. He looked at them each again, in a similar fashion as he had earlier. He paused when his gaze reached Aramis and nodded.

The three men who had joined the leader stepped into the cell as the leader moved aside. Two of them advanced on Aramis. The third levelled his gun at d'Artagnan, aiming squarely at his chest. D'Artagnan held his hands out slightly to the sides to show that he was not about to move.

The two who were moving towards Aramis reached forward and grabbed him. Aramis had taken a couple of steps back as he was approached. Despite knowing that they were likely to die, it had been a natural reaction. Aramis' instinct for survival had kicked in. The men grabbed him firmly, one on each side of him and pulled him out of the cell. D'Artagnan could see the fear in his friend's eyes. D'Artagnan knew it would be reflected in his own. None of them wanted to be hurt or killed, they just accepted that it was going to happen.

A slight movement to his left caused d'Artagnan to glance at Porthos and Athos. Porthos, ever the protective brother, had taken a step forward, towards Aramis. D'Artagnan could tell Porthos would have liked to charge at the men, tear them apart with his bare hands. But he also knew that was unlikely to help them. If they were to stand even a sliver of a chance of escape, they could not jeopardise themselves. Athos had reached across and lay a gentle restraining hand on Porthos' arm, stilling the man. Porthos did not advance any further as Aramis was taken from them. D'Artagnan could see regret in Athos' expression. Athos would probably have liked to join Porthos in attacking the men. But the chances of them all being killed was too high.

They would die for the information if they had to, but their mission was to deliver the information. If they could escape, even if it was not all of them, that was their priority, even if it meant leaving Aramis, or any of them, behind.

Aramis did not speak as he was dragged away, other than briefly seeing his face d'Artagnan could not see what was happening. Their brother was dragged out of view. He had seen that there were other cells beside theirs. Aramis must have been forced into the one next to them. D'Artagnan hated to imagine what might be in the cell.

Causing a man pain was a good method to loosen his tongue. He knew Aramis would not talk easily under torture. It would be much harder for them to hear their brother being tortured. Aramis could stand a lot of pain, but he would not be able to remain quiet. He would cry out eventually, and they would have to listen to it. They would have to listen to it and not respond, not give in to the temptation to talk; to save their brother.

A few scuffling noises came from the next cell before it went quiet. Had they restrained Aramis in some way?

The leader had closed their cell door, turning the key in the lock, all the time looking at them each in turn. He stepped back from the cell door and looked in the direction Aramis had been taken for a few seconds.

The man nodded to one of the gunmen who moved out of sight, towards Aramis, raising his weapon as he went.

'Talk now or he dies,' said the leader, looking back into the cell, stepping towards them again.

Horrified, d'Artagnan realised what the man was going to do. He was going to use Aramis as a starting point. There was to be no torture, no drawn out pain for their brother. There was to be only death. A bullet to the head no doubt.

D'Artagnan stared at the man, he could not bring himself to glance at Athos and Porthos. He knew they would be feeling the same. They were not going to see their friend alive again. How long would it be before one of them followed?

The leader looked at them all carefully for a few more seconds before he stepped back again. He paused for a second looking in the direction Aramis had been forced to go. The man nodded once.

The gunshot was loud in the stone cellar. Unusually, he jumped at the sound. D'Artagnan used to jump at the sound of gunfire, but he had been a Musketeer long enough for it not to affect him anymore.

But not this time. This time he flinched. He was aware of both Porthos and Athos reacting to the sound as well.

As the echo of the fatal shot faded away, he heard something fall to the ground. A body hitting the stone.

MMMM

Authors note: Please stick with it...trust me. I would have warned you if it was necessary.