Chapter Two
On what we treasure
Falls a dusty snow
Taking us backwards
But where we will never know
It had been said that musketeers did not die easily. They fell like autumn leaves that day.
There was no warning; they had been asleep in their tents when the enemy attacked… Those left on watch had their throats slit before they could raise the alarm. Aramis was roused from sleep by screams. He took up his sword and charged out into the night clothed in little more than his shirt. Who were these men? Why did they attack? Were they just bandits, or men with a cause? It was all a blur as Aramis went into the fray. Kill or be killed, that was all he knew. The musketeer felled men like trees, even as his own men fell around him.
As Aramis pulled his rapier from the chest of an attacker he found the apparent leader stood ahead. He shouted orders from behind the mask that concealed his face. Aramis zeroed in on him. The large man met the musketeer's blow with one of his own. They exchanged a flurry of cuts and parries amidst the falling snow, neither one gaining ground over the other. Suddenly Aramis found himself fortunately placed to get a slice in at his opponent's back. The masked man cried out at the heavens seemingly with anger as much as pain. Aramis stood triumphant for a moment, expecting him to drop to his knees, he had laid the fellow's back open nearly from shoulder to hip… but instead the great brute whirled around and struck Aramis above the temple with his pommel.
The world spun as Aramis fell back, he gasped at the shock of the cold snow against his skin. Get up! Get up now! He shouted at himself, the man would surely finish him off, but Aramis had momentarily lost control over his limbs. He felt hot blood pour down his face… GET UP!
Aramis managed to roll over and weakly raise his blade. The great bear of a man stood over him, savouring this moment. Though only his eyes could be seen Aramis was sure a cruel smile twisted his lips… With a sudden swipe the musketeer's sword flew from his grip. So this was it… this was the end. Aramis' scattered mind searched for a prayer, but words slipped through his fingers like sand. I walk through the valley of the shadow of death… I walk through the valley of the shadow of death… that was all Aramis could recall of the psalms. That one sentence played around his head, echoing endlessly as his enemy brought his sword to bear.
And then it was turned aside. Another leapt forward in his defence. Aramis' sight was failing, but he thought it was Marsac. He tried to crawl away as the two fought above him. His limbs felt heavy and awkward, the blow to his head had been a strong one… More moved in, then suddenly Aramis felt hands under his arms, pulling him aside.
"We have to go… there's too many… we need to go". A frantic voice came from above.
Aramis jarred across the cold ground as he was removed from the fighting… Marsac lifted him, pulling an arm over his shoulders, and the two musketeers stumbled away. They crashed down behind some trees out of sight. Aramis blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision. Marsac's harried face swam before his eyes.
"Your head… it's bleeding, I've got to stop the bleeding". Aramis winced as Marsac pressed a wad of cloth to his wound. He kept looking back through the trees as he dressed the injury. "Aramis, there's too many… I can't… I can't…"
The sounds of fighting and screaming filtered over to them. Aramis wanted to say something… anything… but his head hurt so much, and the world was fading…
When next he woke Aramis struggled to his feet, everything tilted. He held on to a tree for support. Marsac had gone… where was Marsac? Aramis stumbled a few steps and called out for his friend, but his voice was hoarse and did not carry far. There was no need to call out again. There he was. Marsac stood, head bowed amongst the fallen. He tore off his uniform and let it drop to the powdered ground.
"Marsac… no". Aramis whispered.
But Marsac did not tear his eyes away from the dead musketeer at his feet.
"Marsac…" Aramis tried again.
And Marsac left. He walked away, heavy footsteps crunching in the fresh fallen snow.
"Marsac!" Aramis took a step, trying to follow, but he fell to his knees and could do nothing more than watch his friend desert.
Aramis crawled forwards awkwardly, Marsac was gone. He was alone… alone amongst carnage. Everywhere Aramis looked his friends lay still with a dusting of snow on their cooling bodies. Amongst them was a stray masked man here and there, but twenty of his own were dead. This was undeniably a massacre. Aramis' eyes roved the clearing, naming each man he came across, ending on Francois mere inches away. The poor man's empty unseeing eyes seemed to fix on Aramis. The gaping wound at his throat drew a dry sob and a retch from the musketeer. His blood had long stopped flowing; it dyed the white ground an unnatural dark colour. Still, his dead eyes were fixed on Aramis…
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" The musketeer whispered over and over.
He didn't feel so cold any more… Aramis just wanted to sleep. His head hurt, and he was so tired. He curled up and drifted away…
…
The imagination is a terribly powerful thing. In the weeks and years afterwards it worked with Aramis' nightmares to fill his hazy semi-conscious visions with glorious embellished detail. He was taken back to Savoy, but to a new place he didn't know with horrors ten times as worse. The scattered bodies that had fallen haphazardly multiplied and each turned their eyes on Aramis. He woke in his tent to feel blood pooling about him, and he recoiled at finding a dead brother's gaze inches from his own. He ran outside seeking escape only to find the field was covered in blood.
And now his nightmares had been renewed with fresh fallen snow on fresh fallen bodies. Aramis saw them being attacked by masked men… They would come again; they would come for him and his friends. He had to defend them. He reached for his sword…
~oOo~
A sudden clatter outside disturbed the chatter between Anne and her ladies. They all fell silent and looked at the door. A strangled yell followed and a few of them gasped.
"Are we being attacked? Is there a fight outside?" One asked anxiously.
Anne remained calm. "Hush… I don't hear anyone else out there, nor sounds of blades clashing".
She ventured over to the door.
"My Lady! Come away from there!"
"I am only going to listen!" Of course she listened, and on hearing nothing Anne opened the door a crack. She found Aramis on the floor, shaking, seemingly fighting an unseen enemy. "Aramis? What is the matter? Are we in danger? Aramis?"
The others came to the door to see what was going on. With nobody else in the corridor Anne considered it safe enough to open the door and approach the struggling musketeer.
"Aramis?" His eyes were shut tight. He didn't seem to be with them. "Aramis, will you wake up?"
She came to kneel beside him, ignoring words of warning from her ladies in waiting. And just as she reached her hand out, making to shake the musketeer, Aramis' eyes flew open. They were shocked and unseeing. At the same time he unsheathed a dagger and lashed out, catching her palm. Anne pulled back her hand with a hiss as Aramis recoiled and sprung to his feet, drawing on his rapier.
"Aramis! Drop your sword!" Athos voice rang out down the corridor.
The queen got to her feet and backed off as Athos approached. He neared Aramis, acting as if he were facing a cornered animal.
Aramis stood with his weapons at the ready, breathing raggedly. "Marsac?"
"No, it's Athos, you're at the palace… and you should put your sword away, you're scaring the ladies".
At that the veil of horror seemed to drop from Aramis' eyes, he looked to the alarmed faces of the ladies in waiting and fell in on himself when he noticed the queen clutched a bloodied hand to her breast. The musketeer struggled to sheath his rapier with shaking hands. "What did I do?"
"Your Majesty, I must apologise, Aramis has not been well recently. I will take him back to the garrison and arrange another guard for you. Would you like me to call for a surgeon?" Athos spoke while advancing on Aramis. He took the young musketeer's shoulder and made to push him to the exit.
"No, no, that will not be necessary. The cut is a shallow one, I dare say you have had much worse on my account. My ladies here will be able to bind it for me".
"Very well, my apologies again Your Majesty". Athos managed a quick bow as he guided Aramis down the corridor. Then he hissed to his friend when they were out of earshot. "Aramis you fool! You just drew your sword on the queen! Why will you not accept help when you need it?"
But Aramis was still half in a daze and did not answer.
~oOo~
Back at the garrison Athos took Aramis to the sleeping quarters. There were a few rooms set aside from the communal beds so that the sick and injured might have some peace and privacy. Athos pushed Aramis inside one and closed the door.
"You can talk or sleep, it's your choice".
Aramis sat down on the bed heavily. "I wish to do neither… I need to see her, to apologise…"
"I apologised for you. Now talk or sleep, what will it be?"
"No, I have to apologise". Aramis ran a hand over his weary face and sighed.
"There will be another time for that, when the dust has settled so to speak. Let me put this another way – If you do not wish to sleep, I can knock you out. If you do not wish to talk… well, I cannot force you. But there is something troubling you, breaking you apart to the point where you would draw a sword on those you are sworn to protect. If you won't tell me I can't help, and I can't know you're safe enough to carry out your duties… I will have no choice but to declare you unfit".
"You can't help me". Aramis said bitterly, his face twisted with a scowl. "Nobody can. There is no release from this". He pointed at his head viciously. "Not unless you turn a pistol against me".
"Do you want to die?" Athos spoke in his usual emotionless way.
"I don't know… I know I wanted to die. I know I should have died… Twenty perished. Twenty Athos! How did it come to be that I should rise and they should not? I was sent there to die. I should have died…"
"Death was not your fate then and it is not your fate now". The emotionless mask Athos wore suddenly slipped. "For goodness sake Aramis, what would Porthos say if he heard you speaking like that?!"
"I don't want him to know, I didn't want you to know. I tried to hide it… I tried to carry on".
"Of course we knew. You think we didn't notice the hollow look in your eyes each winter? But you wouldn't let us in, you wouldn't let us help. We did what we could… we avoided taking you on missions out there, we assigned you to guard at the palace… but you kept up that ridiculous façade. And so we couldn't help. It's breaking down now isn't it? Was it the musketeers we found dead in the snow? Talk to me Aramis…"
"You weren't supposed to know! I didn't want to burden you, any of you… You can't help me. I don't want your help or your pity…"
"What do you want?"
It was that moment that Porthos found them. He opened the door and strode in without knocking. Aramis immediately turned away to face the wall, feeling somewhat ashamed.
"Old Serge told me you were up here, are you alright?"
"Yes, Aramis was just explaining to me why he drew his sword on the Queen". Athos commented wryly.
"You what?!" Porthos rounded on Aramis, whose eyes had turned to the floor.
With no explanation forthcoming from Aramis Athos spoke up. "He seemed to be in the throes of some nightmare, perhaps a Savoy flashback, which he is doing his best to avoid talking about".
"Is this true?" Porthos asked in disbelief.
A slight nod came from the young musketeer, but he kept his eyes fixed on the floor.
"This has gone too far Aramis, surely you see that? Will you let us help you now?"
In the face of Aramis' silence Athos spoke again. "He said he doesn't want our help or our pity. So I ask again – what do you want?"
Finally this got a response. Aramis shot to his feet and faced them. "I want to die! Is that what you want to hear? I wish I was dead!"
Porthos surged forwards and grabbed Aramis by the lapels, giving him a hefty shake. "How can you say that?! Are you so selfish?! Do you think nothing for us? To wish death on yourself is to wish death on us all!"
"I should have died! I wish I had died five years ago in that accursed forest!" Aramis clutched at Porthos' arms.
"You almost did!" Porthos gave him another shake. "You are selfish Aramis! We thought you dead! You suffered, but we suffered alongside you…"
Anger seemed to drain from Porthos then. He dropped Aramis to the bed none too gently and took a step back.
"If you won't talk then I will. We said nothing of Savoy since you seemed to want to go on pretending it didn't happen, but now is the time…"
Five years ago…
"He is not dead". Porthos' voice was hard and insistent as they rode towards the border.
"The message is clear, there were no survivors…" Athos urged his horse on as he spoke.
Treville had told them to wait for the cart to bring back the fallen, but the pair of musketeers had mounted and shot off. Aramis had been on the training exercise and if there was a chance he was alive it was dwindling with every passing second.
"He is not dead, not until I see…" Porthos couldn't seem to finish his sentence. "I have to hope Athos, can you not grant me that at least?"
"Hope is a refuge for the deluded; I'm only facing the truth Porthos. I wish it weren't so, but the truth cannot be changed. If there are no survivors there are no survivors".
"Then I will be deluded and happily so. The truth can be wrong".
"Even if he survived the attack…"
The cold will probably have finished him off… Porthos finished Athos' sentence for him. But he could not bear the idea of Aramis lying dead in the snow. Twenty two had been killed… might have been killed… and Porthos mourned every one, but one in particular more than the rest. They were called 'the Three Inseparables' with good reason. They were as close as brothers, bound by friendship rather than blood, and a blow against one was a blow against all. Athos was being a pragmatist as usual, but Porthos could tell beneath his stoic exterior he was already mourning their friend. Porthos, for his part, was still in denial.
"He is not dead". Porthos said again. Perhaps if he said it enough it would become true…
Their way was signalled by the body of a dead musketeer. Being this far out with his throat slit he was probably on watch… The poor fellow would never have seen it coming. They were only on a training exercise for goodness sake. This was not supposed to happen… Porthos' fist tightened on his reins. Whoever was responsible for this would pay with their own blood.
The two musketeers rode on a little further before dismounting as they reached the clearing. They took only a moment to secure the horses before running through the snow to find scattered bodies everywhere… Porthos' breath caught in his throat. He had been so set on reaching Aramis he hadn't been prepared for this sight to greet him. Blood and snow and ravens…
"Find him, he's here somewhere". Athos' voice broke Porthos from his reverie.
They both dashed forwards, checking each man they came across for signs of life. Some they did not have to check… those with grey staring eyes and gaping throats or chest wounds, their shirts more red than white… it was obvious there was no saving them.
"I don't see him… Aramis!" Porthos shouted for his friend in vain. "Aramis, call out! We're here!"
"Here Porthos! He's here!" Athos waved him over and sure enough, curled up next to Francois lay Aramis.
Athos rolled him over while Porthos crashed down into the snow to cradle his head.
"Aramis… Aramis, wake up, you're going to be fine". Porthos brushed away the light dusting of snow on his friend. It clung stubbornly to his eyelashes… and his eyes remained closed.
But Athos had his fingers pressed to Aramis' throat and the most beautiful smile of relief blossomed across his face. "He's alive!"
Porthos had been so taught with anxiety he near enough collapsed at this news.
"We have to warm him up, he's dangerously cold". Athos was already taking off his cloak.
In no time at all they had Aramis well wrapped up. Porthos held him tightly against his chest, sharing body warmth, and fearing his friend would slip away if he let go.
"He's been wounded… his head". Athos probed gently at the bandage. "Hold him still while I take a look, the dressing is soaked through".
Porthos watched Athos' face carefully as he worked.
"Well I'm no physician, but head wounds always bleed terribly. It may not be that serious". Athos' face belied his words, it was tight with worry. "I'll just replace this… it looks to have been done in haste".
While Athos wrapped Aramis' head anew Porthos kept talking to him, hoping he might wake. "If you stay asleep I'll make sure you're assigned stable cleaning duty every day of the week… You've got to wake up Aramis, we can't deprive the ladies of Paris your handsome face now can we? Why there'd be riots in the streets I should imagine".
He spoke of everything and nothing, desperately hoping for a response to any of his well meaning jibes, but Aramis remained unconscious. "Come on Aramis… you can't die now, not after we've found you. We'll get you better again. If you wake up I'll buy you a new hat, I bet you'd like that wouldn't you? Something elaborate with a feather in it… Athos, he's shivering, that's a good sign isn't it?"
"Yes, yes… he's feeling the cold at least".
While he spoke Porthos noticed Athos had got to his feet and stood by a pile of clothes, he looked around the clearing with a puzzled expression. "What is the matter Athos?"
"There seems to be an abandoned uniform here…" He wandered the clearing, counting to himself. "… and there is somebody missing".
"Marsac?" A weak cough came from Aramis. "Marsac… come back".
Porthos was overjoyed to hear his friend speak. "You're alright Aramis, we've found you, we'll take you back".
"That's it. Marsac is missing… he has deserted then". Athos looked sadly down at Aramis. "He left Aramis alone out here to die".
Porthos detected an undercurrent of anger to Athos' voice; his fist was clenched at his side.
"But he didn't die. He's alive and he's going to be fine. Forget Marsac for now".
"You're right, we should get him back to the garrison".
"What of the cart?"
"We'll ride with him… we can't put him in a cart with the dead. He's going to have nightmares enough already". Athos moved forwards to help them up.
It was easier said than done riding with Aramis. He jerked awake occasionally and thrashed about so they had to stop until he stilled. The musketeers took turns with him. Eventually they made it back to the garrison and between them they carried Aramis to one of the sick rooms.
Present day…
Aramis sat shame faced on the bed, listening to Porthos tell his own tale. He honestly hadn't realised their side of it…
"And if that wasn't enough, I had to watch you nearly die again in the very bed you sit upon!" Porthos pointed as he spat his words.
The fire crackled in the hearth as Aramis lay restlessly beneath his sheets. Porthos had not left his side since they returned. While he was heartened that Aramis had warmed up the young musketeer was clearly suffering… Porthos battled with himself, should he try to wake Aramis and bring him out of this nightmare? Or should he let him rest? Though this hardly looked restful… Aramis twisted and turned and flinched and moaned. So Porthos reached a hand out to rouse his friend… it stalled as Aramis let out a half choked cry and began to shake in the throes of some seizure.
"Aramis!" Porthos got to his feet and clutched at his friend's taut face. "Aramis!"
