Chapter Three
His thoughts were jumbled and woolly. There was a vague image of two of his brothers on horseback. He was watching them being taken away. The image was not pleasant.
Athos sat up with a start, he found himself staring at a young woman, barely more than a child who looked startled.
The young woman quickly regained her composure and placed a firm hand on his chest and pushed him back down, Athos found himself too weak to resist. Once lying back down he ordered his thoughts, he saw that he was in a barn and that Porthos was lying a few feet away, seemingly asleep.
'You've been ill monsieur,' said the woman, 'my parents found you and your friend at the side of the road, we stayed up all night whilst you were ill…your fever broke a few hours ago. But you are still too weak to be up and about. You must stay there for now.'
'My friends…'
'Monsieur Porthos told us what happened to you, he said that once you are well enough you will both travel to Paris for help. My father is going to take you.'
'Clare, you need to see to the hens,' came a women's voice from outside of the barn.
'Mama,' said Clare over her shoulder, 'he's awake.'
The young woman's mother entered the barn with a smile to her daughter who quickly vanished to do her chore.
'Monsieur Athos, it is good to see you awake at last.'
Athos blinked a few times, he felt very tired, the brief conversation had worn him out.
'Have a little broth before you sleep again,' said the woman, Athos realised she was holding a tray with two bowls on, steam rising from them.
She set the tray down before helping Athos to sit up a little, rearranging the straw and blankets to make him more comfortable. She picked up one of the bowls and using a spoon fed him the broth. Athos did not try to take the bowl and spoon for himself, he knew he was still too weak. He glanced across at Porthos who was beginning to stir, no doubt pulled from his slumber by the smell of the broth.
'He was exhausted, he didn't want to leave your side, I had to practically demand he try and rest.'
'You're awake,' said Porthos as he pushed himself up to sit.
'Only just,' replied Athos.
'I don't care if you fall asleep again now that you are making sense again. You 'ad me worried overnight,' replied Porthos as he shuffled a little closer and picked up the second bowl after the women nodded towards it.
When Athos had had enough of the broth the woman gathered up the bowl and picked up the tray saying, 'you will need to rest for a little longer before you will be fit enough to travel, I'll not be responsible for you travelling too soon.'
As she went Porthos turned to Athos and said, 'Sarah is quite the Captain around here. Her 'usband, Paul, just does as he's told.'
'Strong woman, the world needs more sensible, strong willed women,' replied Athos.
Porthos nodded, 'you need to rest some more, the sooner you are well enough to travel the better.'
Athos agreed, he knew for Aramis and d'Artagnan's sakes he could not risk becoming ill again by travelling too soon. He allowed Porthos to help to lie down again, and found himself drifting off to sleep within a few minutes.
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After camping for a second night d'Artagnan watched as Aramis was again roughly pulled over to one of the gang's horses and forced up behind the man riding it. D'Artagnan was pleased that his friend was now able to walk unaided but he was still too slow to please Bret who had punched Aramis the day before when he took too long to dismount. The resulting bruising across the marksman's face had left him with one eye swollen shut.
D'Artagnan was next to be pushed towards a horse, he was helped up behind another gang member his wrists manacled around the man's waist. Bret had watched closely each time Aramis had changed the bandages on d'Artagnan's hands. They had not been able to work out why the man was taking such an interest. Now that the wounds were being given a chance to heal, Aramis had said they probably would not need to rebandage his hands again.
Before they set off, Bret rode up to each of them and blindfolded them firmly saying, 'we'll reach camp today,' by way of explanation.
Travelling on horseback without his vision was quite disorientating. D'Artagnan found himself holding onto the man in front of him firmly, earning a fair amount of laughter from the man who merely pushed the horse to move faster.
After what felt like hours but could only have been two or three, as he knew the horses would not have been able to keep the pace for any longer, they came to a halt. The blindfold was removed by Bret who leaned across and undid the manacles before moving his horse forward to where Aramis was riding and removing his blindfold.
D'Artagnan looked around, they were in the middle of a collection of tents of varying sizes. He dismounted and walked forwards to help Aramis down.
'If you get a chance to run you should take it,' said Aramis quietly.
'I'm not leaving you.'
'I'm not saying abandon me, you can come back with reinforcements.'
'You think you would last that long?'
Aramis managed a smile before turning to face Bret who had walked up to them with two of his men. Without warning they grabbed Aramis and pulled him away. The marksman was unable to hide his shock at the treatment.
D'Artagnan took a couple of steps forward before finding himself stopped by Bret.
'You can have him back later, I have a job for him to do first, you on the other hand are quite useless to me until your hands are healed.'
Bret hauled d'Artagnan around and marched him towards a nearby tent pushing the young man into it. One of the gang members followed with a gun held loosely, the threat was enough to ensure d'Artagnan did not resist.
Once inside the tent which was large enough for them to stand Bret pushed d'Artagnan down to sit on the floor beside a large section of tree trunk. Wrapped around the trunk was a chain with a leg iron at the end, Bret attached the iron to d'Artagnan ankle, pocketing the key in his doublet. A second leg iron was attached to the trunk, d'Artagnan guessed it would be for Aramis when he was returned from wherever he had been taken to.
The gang leader left d'Artagnan alone, the man with the gun took up a position just outside the tent his shadow falling across the canvas.
All d'Artagnan could do was wait.
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Aramis watched as Bret walked towards him. The man was a little older than himself and of the same build. He was clearly a capable man, the camp they were in was big, he was leading a large, organised group.
Bret nodded at the two men who were standing either side of Aramis, they stepped away but remained nearby.
'I want you to fix my men.'
Aramis wondered what Bret meant. He followed the man into a large tent. The marksman was shocked to see at least ten men lying on small makeshift beds in various states of health. Several had obvious wounds to their limbs. Two appeared to be sick with fevers.
'What do you expect me to do? I'm a field medic I'm not a physician. I can extract a musket ball, or stitch up a wound. I have set broken bones on occasion but that's about my limit,' said Aramis looking back at Bret, 'these men are close to death, I can tell without even examining them, the smell tells me they have infected wounds…I can't cure them…I might be able to relieve their suffering…'
Aramis saw the fist too late. He crashed to the ground, knocking into one of the small beds as he fell. The man on the bed groaned in pain as Aramis tried to push himself back to his feet. Bret pushed him back down with his boot against his left leg. Aramis hissed in pain, as the bruised limb was pressed into the ground.
With his foot pressed firmly into Aramis' calf, Bret grabbed the marksman by the shoulders and pulled him into a kneeling position.
'You are going to help these men, or I am going to throw your young friend to the lions. I am the leader of a lot of men and some of them have inclinations that your young friend is bound to please…would you like me to give your friend to them? I'm sure they would keep him alive…for a bit.'
Aramis knew he could not help the injured and sick men in the tent, but he had to at least show willing. The threat Bret had made towards d'Artagnan was enough for Aramis to do as he was told.
Bret took his boot off Aramis' leg and hauled him up to stand.
'I'll need d'Artagnan's help,' said Aramis.
'Perhaps, when his hands are healed, but until then you are on your own. I'll have what you need brought in.'
Bret left the tent. Aramis looked back at the men in the beds and sighed. He could probably keep the men alive for a while, but he was fairly sure d'Artagnan and he were not in for a pleasant stay with the gang.
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D'Artagnan looked up as the tent flaps were pulled apart and a big man shoved Aramis in. The marksman stumbled to the floor before d'Artagnan could grab him. Aramis pushed himself up and turned over to sit. He looked across at d'Artagnan who was angered to see his friend was sporting another bruise to his face, this time across the jaw.
Bret entered the tent and grabbed Aramis by the arm and pulled him across to the tree trunk. Aramis tried to keep up but ended up being dragged some of the way, the leg iron was locked around the marksman's ankle.
Before rising the leader of the gang grabbed Aramis by the front of his doublet and said firmly, 'remember what I said? If none of them die, you'll both be fed tomorrow.'
He pushed Aramis back into the tree trunk before rising and leaving the tent. D'Artagnan reached over and helped Aramis to straighten up.
'What happened?'
'He's got me working in their infirmary…but none of the men there are going to live more than a few days, they are all too badly injured, when I pointed that out to Bret he decided that hitting me would make the prognosis change.'
'I guess we just have to hope Athos and Porthos or Treville can find us before they all die,' said d'Artagnan grimly.
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It was few days before Sarah deemed Athos fit to travel. Both he and Porthos had acquiesced to her better judgement. Although he wanted to get back to Paris sooner he knew that the journey would not be pleasant, it would take two days on the cart. If he were well enough to ride they could have made the distance in one day, but he had to be realistic, he was still weak from his fever and could barely walk let alone balance on the back of a horse.
Porthos had to help him walk the short distance to the waiting cart and took most of his weight as he clambered up and made himself comfortable in the back. Sarah and Clare were there to see them off. Sarah embraced Porthos and refused to take any money from him.
As Paul pushed the horses forward Porthos clambered up beside Athos.
'I'll make the best time I can,' said Paul as they reached the road.
'We are grateful regardless monsieur,' said Porthos with a smile.
They were both worried about Aramis and d'Artagnan and now they were finally able to start thinking about how they were going to go about retrieving their comrades.
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