Insurgency

Chapter Four

Aramis was eating his evening meal of mutton stew and vegetables when Captain Vasquez sought him out. The Captain was a large muscular man, his dark hair peppered with grey, well-seasoned in battle and admired by his men. In all the days the Spanish had been at the monastery he had never said one word of thanks for all Aramis' hard work.

"We need nine horses saddled and ready at midnight."

Aramis looked at him wearily. He'd been exhausted all day due to lack of sleep, struggling to complete his duties. He had been counting down the hours until he could fall into bed and now that appealing prospect had been wrenched away from him. "Midnight?" he queried.

"Do not ask questions. Just do as you are ordered."

"Yes, Captain." He thought of all the years he had addressed Treville by that title, wondering how Athos was coping now with that responsibility. Not that he doubted his brother's abilities. Athos had been born to lead even if he refused to acknowledge it.

He returned to the dormitory for an hour, managing a brief nap. After Compline he went to the stables and set about his task. Gradually the soldiers began to gather, all dressed in dark clothing and discussing their mission in hushed voices.

"You will await our return," Vasquez said.

Aramis' jaw tightened as he fought back a response that would likely get him killed. Instead he nodded curtly. He settled down in a pile of clean straw and closed his eyes. Despite his tiredness he couldn't sleep knowing that the Spanish were on their way to attack Douai. With his warning the town stood a chance but men would still die in defence of their food stores. Part of him wished that he could stand and fight with the townsfolk. It was only when risking his life that he had felt gloriously alive. He'd said that to d'Artagnan once, when they were getting ready to battle for the fate of Pinon. A pang of longing caught him by surprise. Despite his devotion to God, he had to acknowledge that the last few years had been a poor substitute for his previous exhilarating existence.

It was several hours later that he heard a commotion at the gates. He stepped outside to witness the soldiers' return. One horse was riderless. Another carried two men, one supporting the other. One man dismounted and stood leaning heavily against the animal and clutching his left shoulder. There was blood staining his hand. Aramis hurried forward but was elbowed out of the way.

"Fetch your physician," Vasquez shouted. "We have injured men."

He hid his satisfaction and ran for the infirmary. Brother Jerome slept in one of the beds there. Aramis bent down and shook him gently. "Your skills are needed, Brother," he said when the elderly monk opened his eyes. "Two of the Spanish soldiers have been wounded."

Brother Jerome rose and pulled on his robe. "I have no experience with battle wounds. You will assist me."

"But Father Guillaume…"

"I care nothing for his preposterous order keeping you from helping the sick. I need you, Brother."

"Then I am at your disposal."

The two wounded soldiers were brought in and laid on beds. Aramis stood back while Brother Jerome assessed their injuries. When he finished he pulled Aramis to one side.

"A deep sword cut to the chest. The wound is severe. I fear he is unlikely to survive. The other has been shot in the shoulder."

"Is the ball still in there?"

"It is."

"Then I will tend to him."

Each patient was accompanied by two of his colleagues. Their care and concern reminded Aramis starkly of the bond he had shared with his brothers. It helped him to see the Spaniards as men who were suffering instead of as the enemy. Although he would never regret his actions in warning the town neither could he turn his back on those in pain.

He filled a kettle with water and hung it over the fire to heat. While he waited he approached his patient. "Do you speak French?"

The soldier was young, no more than in his early twenties and he was pale and sweating. He looked at Aramis with incomprehension.

"I do." The older man sitting on the edge of the bed spoke up, saving Aramis from having to reveal his knowledge of Spanish.

"Tell him I need to examine his shoulder. It will be painful. Can you cut off his shirt for me?"

The message was conveyed while Aramis gathered his instruments and supplies.

"What is his name?"

"Francesco."

"I am Rene. Now, let me see." The ball was lodged near the joint and would be difficult to extract without causing permanent damage. He kept up a steady stream of reassurances while he washed his hands and then bathed the wound. The forceps he would use were resting in a bowl of boiling water. His mind flew back to the day he'd pulled a ball from Treville's back and the words of Dr. Lemay about cleaning the instruments. It was yet another reminder of the life he had left behind, a life that he found was calling to him.

He unstoppered a bottle of brandy. "The alcohol helps to cleanse the wound." He poured a small amount into the ragged hole made by the ball.

The young man held tightly to the hand of his colleague and whimpered.

"You are doing well," Aramis said.

"Brother Rene! What are you doing here?"

Father Guillaume's irritated question shattered his concentration.

"He's helping me," Brother Jerome said. "Do you want these men to die? He is the most capable medic in the monastery."

"He has duties in the stables."

"He has duties here." Jerome stood toe to toe with the Abbot, his expression fierce and determined.

"Very well, but he will see to the horses once he has finished."

Aramis bowed his head, angered beyond reason by the callous treatment. Even had he not been up all the previous night, a fact that was unknown to those around him, he had still been awake well into the night and was unlikely to finish his work until after daybreak.

He returned his attention to the soldier and picked the forceps up. "You will want to hold him still," he said.

When the metal entered the wound the young man gave a strangled gasp and tried to squirm away from the pain. His companion held him tightly in place, a sick expression on his face. The gasp became a scream before Aramis managed to gain purchase on the ball and pull it free. He could only pray that he had not done damage to the joint but only time would tell. He gently wiped away the blood and dirt and reached for a dressing and some bandages.

"Your Abbot treats you harshly," the older soldier said.

"He is my Superior and only seeks to teach me the proper humility. You answer to your commanding officer. It is not so different."

"Why do you stay here? You aren't ordained. Don't you find it stifling?"

"This is my home." He tied off the bandage. "Francesco should stay here tonight. Brother Jerome will tend to him."

The soldier looked over at the other bed where Jerome was stitching the ugly wound in his patient's chest. "What of Leandro?"

Aramis had seen many wounds in his time as a soldier and had no doubt that Jerome's assessment was correct. "He is in God's hands," he said.

TMTMTM

Aramis walked through the silent hallways on his way to the stables. He was approaching the room commandeered by the Colonel when he heard raised voices.

"How did this happen?" the Colonel asked angrily.

He slowed down and looked around, finding that he was alone. After pressing his body against the wall outside the partially open door he settled down to listen.

"They were waiting for us." That was the voice of Captain Vasquez.

"How is that possible? Were your men careless while scouting the area?"

"I can assure you, Colonel, that my men know their business. No, someone must have alerted the town."

"Only the monks know we are here."

"Then one of them must have betrayed us."

Aramis' heart began to beat faster. He was under no illusion about what would happen if the Colonel decided that they were expendable.

"I will discuss this with Father Guillaume. He knows the penalty for insurrection. It will be for him to find the traitor and deliver him to justice or I will slaughter every last one of them."

A chill ran down Aramis' spine and he began to back away from the room.

"Two nights from now you will attack the outlying farms. Kill anyone who opposes you," the Colonel said.

"As you wish. How much longer will be stay here? Surely by now word has been sent to Paris."

"We will leave once we have accomplished our mission. We will wreak havoc upon this land before we go."

Aramis had no hope that troops would arrive before the Spaniards next foray. He would have to take a chance on leaving the monastery again to spread word of the imminent attack. Until then, he must give the Abbot no cause to suspect him. If he were found out execution would be swift and he wasn't yet ready to die. On the contrary he was coming to the conclusion that he needed to take his life back into his own hands. It was time he returned to the Musketeers. If he was welcome and if only he could survive long enough to do so.

Tbc