Chapter Two
The village was quiet as he hurtled towards the tavern. The small village boasted a decent sized tavern which served the road towards Paris. Aramis reached the door and pushed it open, stumbling to a stop.
His vision swam for a second as the heat of the room washed over him. He had to hold onto a chair to stop himself from collapsing to the floor. It startled him slightly when hands grabbed him around the shoulders.
'Soldier? What's happening? Are we at war?' said the man who had grabbed him with mirth in his voice.
Aramis swallowed, took a breath and managed to speak.
'Sorry monsieur, is...Joubert still here? I need...his help.'
'Aramis?'
He looked up as he heard Joubert's wife, Florence speak. She smiled briefly before taking in the state of the Musketeer. Aramis was still breathing hard and had not tried to pull free of the man who was holding onto him.
'My friend...cold, he...fell in the river.'
'What's happening?' came a voice from the back room of the tavern.
Aramis watched as Joubert, a man in his forties stepped into the room. The wiry man stopped suddenly when he saw Aramis.
'He needs help, his friend is hurt,' said Florence, turning to her husband.
The man holding Aramis stepped back as he managed to stand straighter. The strong looking older man, a farmer, Aramis guessed, glanced across to Joubert.
'Is this the soldier you go on about, the one that saved young Marie a couple of years ago?'
Joubert nodded. Aramis watched the exchange with confusion.
'I'm Morel, Corentin Morel, I'm Marie's father in law. And I for one am grateful for you seeing off those idiots.'
Aramis just stared at him.
'My cart's outside, come on young man, let's get your friend.'
Aramis allowed himself to be steered back out of the tavern. He heard Florence ordering her husband to get blankets and stoke the fire up as they went. Morel pushed Aramis up onto the seat at the front of the cart before hurrying around to the other side and grabbing the reins. The big horse started moving forward with barely any urging.
'Thank you, monsieur,' said Aramis when he had recovered enough to speak again.
He had been slightly bewildered by the turn of events.
'I left them by the river...the shallow part about two miles…'
'I know where you mean, you concentrate on getting your breath back...are you injured son?'
Aramis looked at him again, still trying to catch up with what had happened in the last five minutes.
'You're holding your side.'
He realised he had been sat with his arm wrapped around his chest.
'I fell, when we were chasing after Athos. It's just bruises.'
Morel nodded, before returning his concentration to the road and guiding the big bay horse towards the river.
Aramis did as he was told and steadied his breath. He was glad of the respite from the constant action. He wondered how his brothers were getting on with Athos.
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Athos could not work out how he was being restrained. He could not work out where he was. He could not work out who had him. He was cold. He needed to get away.
Pushing at whatever, no, whoever was holding him back did not seem to work. He had no strength.
What had happened?
Someone was talking. Talking to him. Using his name. Did the people with him know him?
He tried to think as he struggled weakly. What was the last thing he could remember?
Returning from the Spanish border. Porthos and Aramis were teasing d'Artagnan then trying to outdo each other with tales of battles. It had all been standard banter between them all.
Then there had been a swordfight. Then…
The river. He had fallen into the river. The man fighting him had managed to shove him forcefully back a few steps. He had stupidly lost track of his position and allowed himself to fall off the bridge.
There had been the tortuous journey along the river. He had convinced himself he was going to die.
He was not dead.
With a start, he realised he recognised the men he was fighting.
Porthos has trying to keep him still, pinning his arms to his sides. D'Artagnan was in front of him, warm hands on his face trying to get him to focus.
He looked around spotting Aramis rushing up from the side. Behind Aramis a stranger was approaching calmly, watching him.
Athos knew he should stop fighting his brothers.
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'Athos, it's us. Calm down.'
Athos pushed weakly, struggling against Porthos' hold, trying to wriggle free. D'Artagnan grabbed his head trying to get him to look at him.
'Athos. You're safe,' said d'Artagnan before glancing at Porthos with concern.
Porthos tightened his grip around the struggling man. He was worried Athos would hurt himself if he managed to get himself free. If the confused man managed to escape, he would not get far but could fall and injure himself.
'Please listen to us. Athos,' said d'Artagnan, raising his voice a little.
A noise to his left drew Porthos' attention. Aramis had returned, riding a cart driven by an older man. Aramis was off the cart before it had fully stopped and was rushing over. Aramis had his hands on Athos in seconds helping to keep the confused man still.
His eyelids fluttering, Athos gradually settled down. He managed to open his eyes fully and looked at the men holding him still. Porthos could tell Athos was still unfocused but was not as bad as when he had first regained consciousness.
'You with us now?' he asked, keeping his voice calm.
Athos managed a nod before trying to sit himself up straighter. The man who had brought Aramis back stepped closer pulling his own doublet off as he walked, the long heavy looking jacket looked warm. He held it out to Aramis who took it with a nod of thanks.
Porthos pushed Athos up straighter as Aramis swung the jacket around their still shivering friend. They helped him to put his boots back on, an uncomfortable procedure for the shivering man.
'We need to get him back,' said Aramis.
Porthos nodded as he started to ease Athos up to stand, taking most of his weight. As he stood, he realised just how cold he was himself.
'Porthos?' said d'Artagnan. 'Why didn't you say?'
Aramis grabbed Athos from the second shivering Musketeer. Porthos accepted his doublet back from d'Artagnan who pulled his own back on at the same time.
Porthos shook his head contritely, 'I didn't realise I'd got quite so wet pulling him out of the river.'
'Let's get you lads back then,' said the man in the cart.
Aramis turned to his friend, 'this is Morel,' he said nodding toward the man.
Morel led them to the back of his cart and nodded for them to help Athos up. Porthos jumped up onto the back of the cart and helped Athos up. Athos was still shivering, almost uncontrollably. He still did not look focused but was just about able to move himself around.
Aramis was about to jump up as well but stopped, 'the horses,' he said.
They looked at each other for a second as the realisation that their horses were still where the fight had taken place.
Porthos pushed himself back up to stand, 'I'll go.'
'You will not,' said Aramis forcefully, 'you're soaked. You need warming up as well. If I'd realised, you'd been in the river I would have sent you for help to keep you moving.'
Porthos could not help looking a little contrite for not telling his brother he had been in the cold river. Aramis had not been there for the actual rescue so had not seen him wade out into the river to grab Athos who, at that moment, could not help himself.
D'Artagnan was looking at Aramis, 'and you're not going either.'
Aramis looked a little annoyed.
Morel laughed, 'I think your young friend is right son, he's noticed you favouring your left arm.'
Porthos almost laughed when he noticed Aramis' look of embarrassment as if he had been found out for doing something he should not have been.
'Be careful,' said Porthos as d'Artagnan looked back the way they had come.
'I will, it's not really that far. It should only take an hour or two to walk back and round them up. They won't have moved far.'
Porthos nodded. D'Artagnan smiled and nodded back before walking off briskly, following the river bank back the way they had come.
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D'Artagnan hurried back along the river bank. He knew that once he reached the bridge and had rounded up the horses he could return to the village along the road, it was not a direct route but would be favoured by the horses, rather than forcing them to pick their way amongst the trees and exposed roots.
Athos had still been obviously suffering when they had helped him onto the cart, but d'Artagnan was sure once the man had warmed up and rested, he would be fine. They would be able to continue their journey back to Paris the following morning.
He was annoyed with himself for not remembering that Porthos had been in the river as well. Aramis was correct that it would have made more sense for Porthos to go for help, to keep him moving. But the Musketeer had not seemed in as bad shape as Athos. Changing into dry clothes would probably be enough to see him recovered.
Aramis was only bruised from his fall and no doubt fatigued from the extra running he had done, rest was all the marksman needed for his recovery.
The sky was darkening as he walked, d'Artagnan was glad the village was as close as it was to the place, they had pulled Athos out of the river. He did not like the prospect of staying out all night in the open. The night would probably be chilly, Athos would have suffered considerably. They had been lucky in that respect.
Unlucky to have been attacked in the first place though, thought d'Artagnan. The bandits that picked on them must have been desperate to try their luck on soldiers. The men had paid for their desperation though.
He continued along the river but kept getting the uneasy impression he was not alone. He looked around several times, but in the diminishing light, he was struggling to see very far into the wooded area that lined the river.
D'Artagnan kept his hand on the butt of his gun as he walked, realising the feeling of unease had increased. Perhaps one of the others had followed him?
He dismissed the thought, neither Porthos or Aramis would have followed so soon. He had not been walking long enough for the others to have got to the village with Athos, got him settled and to start out again after him.
D'Artagnan was sure he was not alone. He looked around again, wondering who was following him.
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'I'm sorry,' said Athos quietly, the shivering making his voice shake a little.
'What for?' said Aramis as he reached up with his left hand to steady Athos as he got off the cart.
Porthos, who was shaking quite a bit himself, snaked his arm around Athos waist and followed Aramis and Morel towards the tavern.
'Causing you all problems.'
'You didn't fall off the bridge deliberately,' pointed out Porthos.
Athos managed a tired smile, 'I suppose you are right…'
'Yes, he is,' agreed Aramis as he stepped into the tavern.
Aramis was pleased to see the fire in the tavern had been built up considerably. Florence was waiting for them with a blanket in her arms. She smiled at them warmly.
'Get his wet clothes off,' she said, before adding, 'I have a grown-up son, so don't you go being bashful towards me.'
She winked at Athos before handing the blanket to Porthos. She looked Porthos up and down, noting his wet clothes. She sighed.
'I'll get another blanket,' she said, rolling her eyes.
Joubert walked into the room carrying a bundle of clothes.
'These were our sons, he won't mind you taking them. You need to get dry as quickly as possible.'
'You are very generous,' said Porthos with a smile, taking the clothes and beginning to sort through what they would need.
'Aramis did us a favour, and we are more than happy to repay it.'
Aramis nodded his thanks as he helped Athos to pull his boots off. Porthos handed him a pair of breeches and a shirt. After relieving him of Morel's doublet, with a little difficulty, Aramis helped Athos to dress in the dry clothes.
Athos was struggling to keep his eyes open by the time he had the blanket around his shoulders and had leaned back in the chair by the fire.
'Sleep Athos, you will feel better for it.'
Athos managed a nod before closing his eyes.
Florence collected Athos and Porthos' damp clothes and took them off to get them dry in the kitchen.
'All we need now,' said Aramis, 'is d'Artagnan to get back with the horses.'
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D'Artagnan spun around pulling his gun at the same time, he fired at the man who was running towards him. The action of spinning had left d'Artagnan off balance, teamed with the fading light he was not surprised that he missed his mark. The man tried to run him through with the sword in one swift movement.
Momentarily using his gun as a sword, he parried the attack, knocking the man's arm to the side. He flipped the gun and went to hit the man with the butt. Before he could bring the weapon down, he was shoved hard by a second man that had appeared from nowhere.
D'Artagnan stumbled several paces, dropping his gun in the process. He drew his sword as he regained his balance and turned back to the two men. Now that he had a second to look them over he realised it was the two bandits from earlier in the day that had run away. He vaguely recalled Aramis taking a few steps after them, but they had been too focused on rescuing Athos to care where the men had run to.
D'Artagnan stepped forward bringing his sword across to swipe at the men. They dodged out of the way. The first man aimed another thrust, again d'Artagnan easily parried the attempt to harm him, this time with his sword. As the two men fought, d'Artagnan tried to keep an eye on the second man who had stepped aside. D'Artagnan tried to finish off the first man but was constantly being distracted by the second man getting close enough to need fending off.
Inevitably, with the fatigue of the earlier fight, the running after Athos and the second, long walk, through the uneven area, d'Artagnan made a mistake. The second man managed to get close enough to trip him backwards. D'Artagnan stumbled a few steps trying to keep himself on his feet, but his ankle turned on the uneven ground. He yelped in pain as he fell, hitting the ground hard.
As he tried to push himself back up he found himself staring at the deadly end of a gun. The smirking bandit holding it, glanced at his friend, before taking a step forward.
'Drop the sword,' he said.
D'Artagnan looked between the two men but did not move.
'If you do as we say, we won't need to 'urt you,' said the other man with a toothless grin.
D'Artagnan dropped his sword. He knew he had little choice but to comply with their demand. If they had wanted to kill him, they could have done so before they engaged him in a fight. They could easily have shot him as he walked. He was sure they were too far from the village for the noise of the shot to be heard.
'Take off your belt, throw it over there,' said the man with the gun.
D'Artagnan complied. His ankle was throbbing, he knew he would not be able to run even if he had the opportunity.
'Now the doublet.'
D'Artagnan stared at the men for a few seconds. He wondered how far they would want him to go. A little worried about what the men really wanted from him, he slowly unbuckled his doublet and shrugged out of it. He balled the jacket up and threw it toward the second man who grabbed it and held it up appreciatively.
'Boots…'
Again, d'Artagnan did as he was told. He struggled to pull the boot off his left foot, screwing his eyes shut as the pain radiated out from his injured ankle.
'Hurry up,' said the man with the gun.
With a gasp, d'Artagnan managed to pull the boot off. The second man grabbed them and took a few steps back.
'Thanks,' said the man with the gun. 'Have a pleasant evening.'
The men both laughed as they backed away. All d'Artagnan could do was watch them go.
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