Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas.

This is rated M for many reasons, mainly gore and violence, with some disturbing imagery.

Chapter 3

The turnout at the graveside was large for Georges D'Artagnan was well-liked by his neighbours. There was nary a dry eye as the priest recited the eulogy over the open grave. Wildflowers were tossed onto the coffin before the earth was shovelled in. Porthos was blubbering like a baby throughout the service. Aramis wept quietly as he supported Monsieur Bertrand with one arm. Marianne held Madame D'Artagnan's hands in hers as the poor woman wept on her shoulder. The bereaved parents seemed to be on the verge of collapse. Their faces were grey and Bertrand was gasping for breath every now and then.

Athos' tears did not come easily. He had wept enough. There was something they should do for their departed friend. "Aramis, we must send word to Monsieur de Treville…" Athos whispered to his friend as the gravediggers patted the last piece of sod over the sad grave. Aramis nodded. Their captain would be greatly saddened. Monsieur de Treville looked on the young recruit as one would a son. Then there was poor Constance. "Tell him we will be staying to hunt down the beasts which killed…"

"Wait, we don't know anything of hunting… We're not professionals like the royal huntsmen, and it might not be proper…" Aramis frowned. The last thing de Treville would want is to have a confrontation between his musketeers and the royal huntsmen. The huntsmen would not take kindly to three mere musketeers interfering with their hunt, especially if they seem to be bungling it.

"I'm not suggesting hunting for pleasure, Aramis. We're going to help the villagers." And avenge D'Artagnan. "The royal huntsmen are not doing the villagers any good, especially that bastard Grevaise," Athos replied. "If you wouldn't write to the captain, I will…"

"Who's going to ride back to Paris? Or will we be sending the letter with a carter?" Aramis asked. He wondered if Athos wanted him to ride back to Paris with the message. He did not wish to be the harbinger of bad news.

"Comte de la Fere will be paying a courtesy call on Comte Reynald. I'm sure if we asked nicely, he could spare us a messenger from the huntsmen…" Athos replied. His words died off as Jean-Baptiste came galloping through the churchyard on Buttercup. The boy narrowly avoided trampling the priest, who yelled curses at the wayward rider. Jean-Baptiste rode the mare twice round the gravesite, scattering mourners. He seemed to have some difficulties managing the stubborn old horse. Old Bertrand and Porthos hastened over to catch the reins. Startled by Porthos trying to grab her reins, Buttercup reared and Jean-Baptiste fell with a resounding smack on his bottom in the dirt.

Porthos could not help but guffaw at the sight of the boy's bewildered face. His laugh was infectious and soon more than one mourner was smiling.

"Jean-Baptiste! What were you thinking bringing Buttercup here?" Marianne tugged the boy onto his feet and smacked his rear resoundingly hard.

"Buttercup wanted to say goodbye to Master Georges…" Jean-Baptiste scowled and glared at Porthos, who was trying in vain to stifle his laughter. Bertrand had taken the reins of the mare and was whispering soothing words into her ears. Buttercup calmed down and allowed D'Artagnan Senior to lead her away, having paid her respects to her fallen master.

"Jean-Baptiste!" Marianne screeched and yanked the hapless boy onto his feet by the ear. Scolding him heartily, the countrywoman dragged him out of the churchyard.


Dear Captain de Treville… Aramis paused and chewed on the end of his quill-pen. He stretched his legs under the table. How should he break the news? Monsieur D'Artagnan all but collapsed when he made it back home. Porthos had to help him up to his bed. Their intention to linger in the village was met with some resistance from Marianne, who pointedly informed them that they would not be put up for free. That was why Porthos was now chopping firewood under Marianne's watchful eye in the yard. She had a point. They could not impose on the household…

"Aramis… How do I look?"

Aramis turned to catch sight of Athos in the doorway. Athos had dusted off his humble travelling clothes the best he could. The boots on his feet were polished to a shine. "I'm going to call on Comte Reynald."

"The letter is not ready yet…" Aramis replied. He removed his reading glasses from his nose and closed his eyes wearily. Athos made an impatient noise in his throat.

"I'll ride over to the Comte's first." And get ourselves in the hunting party.

"While you're there, you might want to check if he could put us up too…" Aramis peered out the window. Marianne was wiping Porthos' brow with her sleeve as she stood on tiptoe. Nearby, Jean-Baptiste glared at the pair as he carried the firewood away.

"Why is that?" Athos raised an eyebrow.

"Because Porthos might make a more permanent arrangement with Marianne if they continue sharing a roof."

Athos gave a weak smile at that statement.

"I have to go if I want to get there before sunset…" Athos shrugged and arranged his cloak on his shoulders. Aramis nodded and returned to racking his brains over how to break the news to their captain and Constance.


The comte lived in an old-fashioned chateau with turrets and slit-like windows, a far cry from the more contemporary manor house Athos inherited from his father. The only thing missing was a moat, Athos mused as he rode past the ruins of what might have once been a fortified wall. Once upon a time there would have been a thriving settlement at the foot of the keep. Now, only a few rundown cottages remained. The stone walls of the keep were well-weathered and one of the furthest towers sported damage from some bygone war. Half the roof was gone and a flock of pigeons were perched on the remaining slates.

The sun was starting to dip towards the west when he entered the courtyard, having dismounted and entrusted his steed to a scrawny stable-boy. Athos looked about the courtyard. It was empty and quiet. The hounds were probably out with the hunters. He wondered if Reynald was out too. His keen ears picked up the weak sounds of distress coming from one of the kitchens off the courtyard. Silently, he pushed the door open.

"No, please stop!" It was a young girl's voice and its owner was struggling in the lecherous grasp of Grevaise. He had one of his meaty hands rammed down the girl's bodice and was groping her young breasts with relish. The other was groping under her skirts.

"Unhand her, you cur!" Athos snapped and reached for his sword. Grevaise growled and glanced up at the sound. The girl made full use of the distraction to escape from her assailant. Heedless of her tears and torn bodice, the girl fled past Athos for the safety of the courtyard. Grevaise made as if to reach for his own dagger but thought the better of it.

"You're a man of the world too. You should know the charms of country maids…" he tried to laugh off his attack on the girl but Athos was not so easily persuaded.

"You would seduce the maidservants of your host under his own roof?"

"Come on, she's not working here. Comte Reynald has no maidservants here except for that old crone who tends to his crippled son." Grevaise held up his hands in an attempt to placate the seething Athos.

"Each to his own, eh? You're no saint yourself. Don't you musketeers like pretty young boys like that D'Artagnan…" the rest of the man's words were cut off by a punch to the face. The men were soon wrestling on the kitchen floor.

"La Fere! What is the meaning of this?" It was Comte Reynald's imperious voice which stopped Athos from landing a kick to his opponent's gut. The comte was dressed in his hunting clothes and seemed to have returned from the activity. With him was Lady Isabelle. The baying of hounds announced the return of the rest of the hunters. The comte threw a pair of dead hares onto the table.

"I knew your father, and he would've expected better behaviour from you, Olivier," Comte Reynald stated. He did not bother even acknowledging the huntsman's presence. Lady Isabelle tried to tend to Grevaise's bruises but he only shoved her concern away and stumbled out into the courtyard. Athos hoped the girl had long made her getaway.

"Grevaise is a cur who cannot be trusted to behave as a human being."

"I know. What did he do this time? Beat up the stable-boy or insult your horse?" Comte Reynald's tone softened a little.

"He was forcing his lecherous attentions on a girl…" Athos worded his reply the best he could.

"Oh, the girl probably seduced him…" the older man shrugged indifferently. Athos was caught off-guard by the reply.


Porthos wondered how he allowed Marianne to talk him into this. He was born within city walls and grew up within them. He was not used to the country with all the animals and… He almost leapt out of his skin when a fox trotted across their path. Marianne smiled at his discomfiture. Madame D'Artagnan was too busy caring for her husband to visit the wounded Louise. Marianne thought Porthos would make a good deterrent to any trouble they might encounter due to his sheer size. Even those huntsmen would think twice, she said. Now that the sun was starting to set, they must get back to the farmstead before nightfall.

Porthos thought back to the visit. D'Artagnan, rest his soul, had saved her by sacrificing his life. Louise was young, not more than fifteen, with fair hair peering out from under the bandages on her head. They covered half her face. She had been mauled in the shoulder and face and would bear the scars of her attack if she lived. Lady Isabelle had sent nourishing food and medicines for the patient but Louise has resisted all attempts by her poor grandmother to make her eat since she learnt of D'Artagnan's death.

"She's always had her heart set on Georges… Now he's dead…" the old woman shook her head. "Her face… she'll be disfigured, poor Louise…"

Infection had set in and the girl was half-delirious. "The wolves… the leader… the wolf on two legs…" Louise murmured and fretted in her fevered half-sleep. The grandmother tried to pour a spoonful of broth into the patient's lips to no avail. "Just let me die, granny…"

That was when Porthos snapped. "Look here! D'Artagnan didn't give up his life to have you die on your poor granny!" he bellowed. Louise's eye flickered open. "So what if some wolf took off half your face… You are still alive and you can still make something of your life. Who will care for your grandmother when you're gone? Uh? Don't you dare give up on your life!" He wasn't even aware he had grabbed hold of the patient by the shoulders until Marianne pried his hands loose.

That was when they decided they had outlasted their welcome. Porthos hoped that Louise did hear what he had said and that she would recover from her injuries.

"Poor Louise… She's like the other girls killed… young, pretty, without a care in the world," Marianne said as they climbed over a stile. "She was so upset when she heard Master Georges was going to marry someone he met in Paris… She asked him to walk her to her aunt's in the next village. She told me that she was going to convince him to marry her during their walk…"

"Wait, Marianne. Are you saying that these wolves attack girls only?" Something about Marianne's account did not ring true. He had seen groups of both men and women, sometimes children, working in the fields, meadows and on the road. Surely it would be unusual for the victims to be all female. It was far too much of a coincidence.

"Now that you mention it, yes. Master Georges was the first young man killed so far since the attacks started. Normally wolves take the little ones when deer is scarce during winter months. The deer and boars are plentiful here. And there were few reports of sheep or lambs lost."

"Is it just a few attacks?" Surely the king would not send his huntsmen out for the odd case of wolves attacking peasants in some corner of the kingdom.

Marianne sucked in a breath before continuing. "Twelve dead, including Master Georges, within the space of the last four months. We thought the hunters would stop the deaths but… It's like a curse on us..."

"Don't worry. We promise we will stop these monsters…" Porthos replied.

Author's Notes:

Jean-Baptiste is acting up again. Athos has a confrontation with the head huntsman in a chateau kitchen. Porthos and Marianne seem to be striking up a friendship of sorts.