NOTES: I have no clue about medical practices back then (apart from they didn't know of the importance of washing their hands, or rather they didn't a few centuries later) so please ignore any errors (not that there is much description of them anyway). I may have named the barmaid/landlord's daughter after one of my best friends. Not that we ever called her it as she didn't like her full name, but I thought it fitted here.

Present

Treville entered through the only open door in the corridor and spotted Porthos leaning over the figure in the bed. Athos had been stripped down to his shirt and breeches and barely seemed to be breathing. The room was filled with candles, illuminating the room helping Porthos see if Athos had any other injuries. The light from the window opposite the door was starting to fade.

Porthos turned round and regarded his captain. Treville was shown a small cut on the side of Athos' wrist, crusted over with dried blood and had long since stopped bleeding. "He's got a few nicks, but none are worth stitching. It's the side wound that's the problem."

Treville nodded, looking grim, but slightly relieved at the news; it was only one wound that they had to tend to.

"The local surgeon is away visiting family and the local herbalist is no help to us. And it would be too dark to ride back if we went to the next village to get their surgeon and Athos is in no fit state to be moved. We are going to have to do it ourselves until Aramis gets back."

Porthos looked worried.

"Aramis says my stitching is terrible. My hands aren't steady enough." Treville put a hand on his shoulder.

"It may have been a few years since I last stitched a wound but I should be able to do a passable job. It may not be pretty, but the stitches will hold. The landlord is sending the maid up with hot water and bandages. You can keep the wound clean whilst I stitch. If he wakes you'll have to hold him down, but judging from the looks of him nothing will wake him at the moment." Porthos nodded as a young woman knocked on the doorframe.

"Here are the bandages, sirs. The hot water will be up presently and I took the liberty of bringing up some food; neither of you have eaten since you arrived. Is there anything else that you require?" She placed the tray she was carrying onto the nearby dresser then went back to stand in the doorway. Treville dismissed her with a polite,

"No thank you Charlotte. Just make sure Aramis and d'Artagnan get sent up here as soon as they arrive," and then went over to the dresser to investigate the contents of the tray. He found several rolls of bandages and two bowls of soup and a plate of bread and cheese.

He threw one of the pieces of bread at Porthos, who managed to catch it without really looking, whilst taking a bite out of the other. The other man was looking at the food in his hand with distaste. "Eat Porthos. You're not going to be any help if you're hungry. Even if you don't feel like eating it, it'll do you good. We can't do anything until the hot water gets up here." He took another bite whilst grabbing the bandages with his other hand and placing them on the bed by Athos' hip. His sewing kit that he had retrieved from his saddle bags after speaking to the landlord was put next to the bandages and the plate of bread and cheese was moved to Porthos' lap, where they both could get at it from their places on stool at Athos' side. The soup was left on the tray untouched.

They had both managed to eat a little bread and cheese, both men's stomach refusing much food at the concern of their brother-in-arms, before Charlotte reappeared carrying two bowls of steaming water. Treville stood to relieve her of them after placing the plate of barely touched food back with the uneaten soup.

"I'll be back with another bowl of water in a few minutes, if you need anything more you only need shout, I'll be in the kitchen." Said the maid and went back down stairs.

Both bowls went to Porthos, one on the bedside table beside him and the other in his lap. He began to tear one roll of bandages into rags with his knife whilst Treville laid out this sewing kit and threaded the needle.

Athos still lay unmoving on the bed, pale and barely seeming to breathe.

When both men were ready they took the bandages off from around the prone man's stomach and tugged the ruined shirt high enough that they could see the wound. There was a large gash running across his right side and stomach that pointed towards his navel. It was still bleeding sluggishly and looked deep, but with careful probing was thankfully found not to be deep enough to damage any organs.

Treville started to stitch, trying to balance skill with speed; it had to be done carefully enough so that the stitches will hold enough for the wound to heal, but quick enough that Athos didn't lose any more blood, he had lost a near fatal amount already. Porthos was using the rags he had made and the bowls of water to clean the wound enough that his captain could see what he was doing. The water was turning red with speed. Even the third bowl that the maid brought up darkened quickly.

Athos still lay unmoving under their administrations.

A clatter of boots on the stairs broke both men's attention away from their studious task; Treville paused, needle in hand, three quarters of the way along the 8 inch long wound, recognising the two treads up the wooden boards. A few seconds later Aramis and d'Artagnan pushed themselves though the doorway, pausing in shock and horror at the sight before them. D'Artagnan leaned against the wall and looked sick as Aramis rushed to his Captain's side to get a better view of his friend's wound. He was pleased at how the stitching was progressing.

"You finish that, sir; I'll get a salve out of my pack to cover the wound before we bandage it." He gave d'Artagnan's arm a pat on his way out of the room.

"Do you know how this happened?" The youngest asked. "Was he attacked here? The innkeeper's daughter is cleaning blood off the floor and wall by the stairs."

"No, I don't know what happened," Treville answered, head bowed over his work "it would seem that he was injured before he got here, and his blood loss was mistaken for drunkenness by the recruits. He collapsed in the hall and laid there until I found him an hour later."

"Bastards!" Muttered Porthos who was echoed by Aramis who had just entered the room and had heard Treville's answer to d'Artagnan's questions.

As Treville finished the stitches and tied off the thread, Porthos switched places with Aramis whose nimble fingers spread salve onto the wound before helping to bandage his friend. Porthos commented on the neatness of the stitches that were now decorating the side of his friend.

"He's almost as good as you, Aramis." Treville smiled and threw his hands in the air and arched is back, stretching.

"I have had practice over the years, but I haven't had to use those skills in a while. My back certainly isn't used to sitting hunched over like that." He looked over to the young man leaning against the wall by the door, standing hunched over, arms crossed against his chest and looking miserable. "Are you alright d'Artagnan?" He nodded.

"How's Athos?"

"Weak," said Aramis who was checking him over, "he's lost a lot of blood. He may not last the night. We just have to hope that he doesn't get an infection - that would end it for sure."

Porthos moved to d'Artagnan's side and slung an arm round his shoulders.

"Athos is strong, he won't give up. And it's not your fault; if you had gone with him instead of Aramis then we may have ended up losing both of you. If you need to find someone at fault, blame the idiots downstairs who saw he needed help and did nothing."

"Why would they think that he was drunk? They knew that we were all away on missions."

"There was a Red Guard spreading slander about us, last time Porthos and I went out to the tavern, it would seem that the recruits believed the lies about Athos." Said Aramis.

Porthos looked livid.

"I'm going to flay them alive! And that damn Red Guard when we get back to Paris!"

"Calm down Porthos," said Treville, "you'll get your chance to hit them tomorrow, I'm moving the hand-to-hand fighting forward and you can drive them as hard as you like as punishment for this. And be careful with that guard, you know the Cardinal hates it when you incapacitate his men." He paused and looked round at his men. "I'll go ask the landlord for some chairs. Knowing you three you'll want to stay here tonight, and you'll get no rest on those stools."

In the background you could hear the recruits settling down to sleep in their tents at the edge of the village as Treville descended the stairs. Being the best of the Musketeers, and as incentive to help with the training, the inseparables had each been given rooms at the tavern, but with one of their member critically injured they were not going to be used as they each planned to stay up all night in a constant vigil.