Chapter Two
When d'Artagnan had charged off after the fast disappearing stranger Porthos had been quick to react. However, one of the tree branches that d'Artagnan knocked aside in his haste had sprung back and hit Porthos throwing him off balance enough to stumble to his knees. By the time he had regained his footing, d'Artagnan had disappeared from sight.
Continuing in the direction he had been heading, but at a more sensible pace, it took Porthos a few minutes to locate the young musketeer. He could hear him talking, Porthos guessed to the man that he had been pursuing. As he arrived he saw d'Artagnan crouched down next to a pale looking man. They had both looked up. But Porthos then noticed another man who had approached from the opposite side, unseen by d'Artagnan. Before Porthos could draw his gun, the new arrival had punched d'Artagnan hard to the face, the young man unconscious before he had crumpled to the floor.
Porthos drew his gun and levelled it at the man.
'Don't move,' he said with menace.
The man was quick, he already had a knife to d'Artagnan's throat. The blade pushing at the skin of the unconscious man's neck.
'I think it's you who shouldn't move. Here is what we do, you don't shoot me and I won't slit his throat.'
Porthos said nothing. But continued to stare at the man, trying to work out how to sort the matter out without d'Artagnan being hurt any further. The punch to his head had already caused a nasty looking cut to the hairline, that would probably need stitches as blood ran down his face.
'All I want is my man back,' the knifeman indicated the scared looking man sat on the floor by the still form of d'Artagnan, 'and I guess you want your man back as well.'
Porthos nodded slowly, eyes flicking between the knife and the holders face.
'Ramiro, get up slowly and get behind me.'
The sitting man pulled himself up and did as he was told stopping behind the other man.
'What's to stop me shooting you as you leave?' asked Porthos, his gun still aimed at the knifeman's head.
'I think one of my friends might have something to say about that…'
Two more men stepped out of the woods on either side of the knifeman, both pointing guns at Porthos. Porthos could see no way out of the situation other than to go along with it. He let his gun arm drop.
'Good,' said the man, 'now don't move until we are gone, my men will be watching.'
Porthos guessed that they would not shoot him even if he had made a move, the noise would have alerted the Lefevre household. The men could have attacked with swords or knives but Porthos was a big man, and a musketeer, and would have been able to take them all on. They were being prudent and using the unconscious d'Artagnan to bargain with.
The knifeman removed the blade from d'Artagnan's neck, and stood up. He backed away, keeping Ramiro behind him. The two gunmen backed off slowly. Once they were out of sight Porthos advanced on d'Artagnan, he knelt down and felt the young man's neck. The beat of the pulse was strong and steady.
'D'Artagnan? Come on wake up for me. I don't want to have to carry you.'
The man did not stir. Perhaps the head wound was more serious than he had first thought. He looked about him, they were too far from the road to be seen. He could go and get help, but he did not want to leave the unconscious musketeer alone. He would have to carry the man.
Although slight d'Artagnan was not a small man so the prospect of hauling him on his shoulder was not welcome, but needs must. Porthos grabbed d'Artagnan's arms and pulled him into a sitting position then dragged him up. He was just about to bend to pull the man over his shoulder when finally, d'Artagnan stirred, probably from being manhandled.
He was clearly disorientated and it took a few seconds for him to find his feet. Porthos kept a tight hold of the confused man as he lowered him back to the ground.
'What happened?'
'The leader of the bandits wanted his man back.'
'Oh…'
Porthos let d'Artagnan rest for a few moments then said, 'ready to go back? We don't want Athos sending out a search party.'
D'Artagnan nodded and stood up slowly. Porthos steadied him when he swayed, it was clear the man was in no shape to walk unaided. He grabbed d'Artagnan's arm and pulled it over his shoulder, slipping the other arm around the injured man's waist.
'Take your time,' he said as they started to pick their way back to the road.
It took a few minutes but with only a few stumbles from d'Artagnan they made it. Although d'Artagnan was struggling and Porthos was taking most of the young man's weight by the time they reached the road.
MMMMMMMMMM
The brief meeting with Lefevre had left Athos drained, he was glad when the noble had let him go. They had agreed to meet again the next afternoon with full details of what they planned to do to protect the gold and capture the bandits.
He walked out onto the courtyard expecting to see Porthos and d'Artagnan waiting with their horses. The three horses were tied to a bar opposite the entrance to the house, the two stable boys waiting patiently with them. There was no sign of either of the musketeers.
'Where did the other musketeers go?' he asked one of the boys, who seemed shocked to be spoken to.
The boy stuttered as he replied, 'um…out…out the gate sir.'
The boy pointed towards the exit to the yard. As he walked over Porthos and d'Artagnan appeared rounding the corner from the road. D'Artagnan looked awful, he was pale and barely walking on his own with blood covering half his face. Porthos was practically carrying the man. Athos rushed to d'Artagnan's other side and helped take some of the young man's weight.
'What happened?' he asked looking at Porthos.
'Not here,' he replied looking over at the house. Athos nodded and helped Porthos to steer the young man towards the horses.
'You'll have to double up with him, it's not far to the village,' said Porthos.
They helped d'Artagnan to mount up and Athos quickly climbed up behind him, holding the swaying man by the waist. He wasted no time in turning the horse and trotting out of the courtyard. He knew the fast movement would not help d'Artagnan but getting him back to their rooms would. Porthos, having tied the reins of d'Artagnan's mare to his saddle, followed.
MMMMMMMMMM
Aramis had just settled down at the small table in the room he would share with Porthos when he heard his friends coming up the stairs of the tavern. Although their task was not one any of them were keen on, he was still pleased to be reunited with them. He rose and went to greet them. He was not expecting what he saw when he stepped out of the room.
Porthos was firmly holding an obviously injured d'Artagnan and trying to manoeuvre him into the next room.
'What happened?' he asked.
Porthos looked up, 'why does everyone keep asking me that?' he said, as he finally got through the door.
Aramis retraced his steps, he pulled open the saddle bag he had hooked over the end of his bed. He grabbed the medical kit he always carried and hurried back to the other room. Athos was just reaching the top of the stairs, carrying a bottle of wine and some cloths.
Before Athos could speak Aramis held up his bag, 'I saw, is there water coming?'
Athos nodded as they entered the room. Porthos had managed to lay d'Artagnan on one of the beds and was pulling off the man's boots. D'Artagnan was blinking as if trying to clear his vision. He was pale beneath the blood that coated his face.
'How long ago did this happen?'
'Not long, he was unconscious for a bit, I think the ride back probably hasn't helped him,' said Porthos standing back to let Aramis assess their young friend.
'Is that his only injury?' Aramis asked pointing at the head wound. He had perched on the edge of the bed and was pulling his stitching kit from his medical bag.
'Yeah.'
Athos crossed to the door when it was knocked, he opened it and took a pitcher of water and a bowl from the bar maid, thanking her and closing the door again. They did not need an audience.
Aramis set to work cleaning the wound, d'Artagnan tried weakly to push his hands away when the alcohol was poured over it. Porthos moved round to the other side of the bed and gently restrained the confused man.
As Aramis worked Porthos filled them in on what had occurred in the woods. Athos told them about his conversation with Lefevre. And Aramis related his own findings from the unfortunate man in the Chatelet.
'It seems we have two rather unpleasant men to deal with,' said Athos when Aramis had finished.
As Aramis began stitching the head wound d'Artagnan hissed in pain and tried to move away, Porthos spoke to the injured man calmly and tried to get him to understand that they were helping him. But by this point d'Artagnan was in too much pain to understand and had to be restrained firmly so that Aramis could work.
As the stitching continued d'Artagnan finally succumbed and passed out. Porthos was still holding the injured man's arms when Aramis looked up at him and said, 'I think you can leave him be now.'
Porthos sat back, 'how are we going to deal with this?' he said, 'we don't know how many bandits there are, we don't know where they are going to attack…'
'I have an idea,' said Athos quietly, 'but I don't think you are going to like it…either of you,'
Both Porthos and Aramis looked at him, puzzled.
MMMMMMMMMM
As Aramis had been stitching up the wound on d'Artagnan's head and Porthos had been helping by calming the young man, Athos had poured himself some wine. He sat on the other bed and watched, knowing that he was not needed. Aramis competently dealt with the situation despite initially being none the wiser as to how their youngest member had come by the injury.
As each, uninjured man, had filled the other two in on the recent events Athos had begun formulating a plan. It was clear that they needed more information about the raid. At the moment, all they knew was that it was going to happen. With d'Artagnan injured and potentially out of commission for the time being they needed as much information as possible.
The only way that was going to happen was to find the bandits and get the information from them. And the only way that was going to happen was to infiltrate the gang. They already knew that Paget would take dismissed servants and interrogate them. They knew that if the servant offered to assist, Paget would take them to the gang's hideout. If they could get on the inside they could gather further intelligence and be ready to bring the gang down. Possibly before the raid even began.
The hard part was to get a man on the inside. Only one of their group could do that and only one of their group, at the current time, could assist in making it convincing. This is what Athos knew would not be approved of.
He told Porthos and Aramis his plan.
Aramis sat quietly, his face showing no emotion, but his eyes betrayed him, he was concerned. Athos guessed the concern was not for himself, but for Porthos. The big musketeer had jumped up when Athos had finished outlining his plan. He had taken a step towards Athos, enraged, but Aramis had firmly told him to stop before returning to his quiet contemplation.
'I ain't doing it,' said Porthos, turning towards the window, obviously not wanting to make eye contact with either Athos or Aramis.
'Unless you can come up with a better plan, you will have to. If I was fully fit I would do it myself.'
He glanced over at Aramis who was looking at him concerned, a silent question communicated.
'My arm is still stiff and I doubt I could…' he paused unable to say the words, 'with enough force to make it look…convincing.'
Aramis nodded, he turned to Porthos who was still gazing out of the window, 'you know what Athos says is right. If I am to infiltrate the gang, pretending to be one of Lefevre's dismissed servants it has to look right. It will be safer for me if it looks right. It needs to be believable.'
Porthos said nothing.
'Porthos, it has to be me, I'm the only one the gang hasn't seen, I'm the only one of us that can speak Spanish fluently.'
Porthos nodded slowly still staring out of the window, 'I know, but…' he trailed off.
'I'm sorry Porthos,' said Athos quietly, 'but you will have to…'
MMMMMMM
Conflicting thoughts ran through his mind. The plan was sound, he knew that, but the execution of it would be difficult. He did not want to do it, but knew that he had to. Even though he knew that it was the only way to make Aramis' infiltration credible he still did not want to do it.
When Athos had produced one of the cruel looking home-made whips the plan had become all too clear to Porthos and he realised instantly what the others were asking of him. The recent events meant that he, and only he, was capable to perform the barbaric, but necessary, task.
He was going to have to intentionally flog Aramis.
Just thinking it sickened him. He knew Aramis would not hold it against him, but that did not make it easier. There had been previous missions where they had intentionally hurt one another to make something look convincing, but it did not make it any easier.
'How is d'Artagnan?' asked Athos. None of them had spoken for a few minutes, each lost in thought.
'I think he will sleep for a while yet, but he seems fine otherwise, it will be difficult to tell until he wakes up. We should try to rouse him occasionally over the next couple of hours.'
'We'll see to it,' said Athos. The implication behind his statement not lost on Porthos. Aramis would not be around to continue his care for the young man. Athos meant to implement his plan as soon as possible.
With a deep breath Porthos finally turned back from the window, his eyes settled on the small vicious looking whip laying on the table by the door.
'We can do it in our room, the last thing he needs is to wake up and see me attacking Aramis with no explanation.'
Porthos walked decisively to the door picking up the whip as he went passed. He entered the next room and waited. Trying to ready himself for the task, trying to distance himself from what he would be doing to his friend. Even if it was for the greater good, it did not feel good to him.
Aramis and Athos followed him. Aramis undoing his doublet as he walked, he appeared to be of the same mind as Porthos that they needed to get the unpleasantness over with. Although Porthos knew that the unpleasantness would not end here for Aramis. He would continue to be in pain and Porthos would not be able to do anything about it.
Aramis pulled off his shirt and with a final glance at Porthos turned his back to him and braced himself against the wall. Porthos could tell he was trying not to display any fear, but there was a tell-tale tremor in his shoulders all the same.
Athos stepped forward and held up a piece of leather for Aramis to bite down on saying, 'you must be quiet…I'm sorry.'
Porthos positioned himself to the left of Aramis and hesitated for a second. He could sense Athos looking at him but could not bring himself to look at the man who had effectively ordered him to harm their brother.
For Aramis' sake Porthos did not hesitate for long, with a quick sweep of his arm he brought the whip down across his back. Aramis moaned through the leather but remained still. His hands clenching up, his knuckles white.
Again, Porthos brought the whip down slightly lower than the first hit, Aramis involuntarily moved away stepping closer to the wall. Athos stepped forward again and put a hand on the marksman's shoulder and firmly pushed him back into position. He made eye contact with Aramis who nodded, his breathing already heavy. Athos stepped back and indicated for Porthos to continue.
Aramis was unconsciously holding his breath now, trying to anticipate the next swing of the short whip. Porthos was quick with the third strike, he could tell it was hurting his friend more than he was letting on. His arms were shaking quite obviously now. Each time the whip landed on Aramis' back the leather straps, no wider than twine curled round and hit his side leaving instant red marks like stings.
Porthos glanced at Athos for the first time, Athos nodded for him to swing again. Porthos did. This time Aramis did cry out the leather falling from his mouth. Athos was quick to grab the pained man and put his hand over his mouth to smother the sound. Aramis was sweating now; his legs were shaking with the effort of continuing to stand unaided. It took him a few minutes to regain his composure. Porthos wanted to stop. Wanted to be anywhere else but in this room doing what he was doing.
Athos had managed to calm Aramis enough that he was standing straighter again, the leather strap replaced.
'Two more,' he said.
Porthos looked at Athos and shook his head, he did not want to continue. Athos looked at him, sadness in his eyes. Porthos knew this was not something he was finding easy either.
'Do it,' Aramis mumbled through the leather tensing up.
Porthos swung the whip again and again in quick succession. Aramis gasped in shock, not expecting the speed that the last two lashes would be delivered. But he remained standing. His breathing was heavy and a bit laboured.
Aramis' back was now a mess of angry red welts, bruises and trickles of blood where the whip had cut through his skin. Porthos did not want to be near him. He dropped the whip and walked out, he could not look at either man.
He closed the door firmly behind him. Hating himself, even though he had nothing to hate himself for.
MMMMMMMM
The first lash had been a shock, it was more painful than he had expected. The problem was he was now anticipating the next one. He tried to keep still but could not help himself from moving away from the thing that was hurting him. It was an instinctive move, he had hated Athos in the few moments that followed. Being firmly pushed back into place. He knew it had to be done, but he still hated the man.
By the third strike he knew that he was outwardly showing the signs of pain, he could no longer hide the shake of his arms.
But the fourth one was the one that hurt the most. He had cried out in pain. He knew he should not but it came none the less. He was confused when he felt a hand over his mouth, he felt smothered, but could not coordinate himself to fight back. He realised it was only Athos trying to keep him quiet, his brain finally registering what was going on, remembering that he was a willing participant in this torture.
He had felt on the point of collapse then. He did not want this to continue. When Athos was satisfied that he was not going to fall he had stepped away again. Aramis knew that meant he had to endure the pain again.
'Two more.'
Two? Aramis was not sure he could last that long, his legs were shaking, he was sweating. All he wanted to do was crumple to the floor, to curl up and try to pretend this was not happening.
When the noise of the impending pain did not happen, he knew he had to encourage Porthos. He needed this to be over, and over soon.
He was not expecting the last two lashes to happen together, with no pause. He had gasped in pain, he could not help it. He was breathing hard, his back felt like it was on fire.
Aramis heard the door close, knowing that Porthos had left him alone with Athos. As if unburdened by a need to protect his friend from the true pain he was in, his shaking legs finally gave way. He collapsed to the floor.