Chapter Four

Porthos watched Aramis and d'Artagnan talking at the edge of their camp. He could not hear the conversation, but he could well imagine what the two men were talking about. They were all thinking it. Athos might be gone. The man lying in front of him might not be Athos anymore. But, thought Porthos, they owed it to Athos to look after the man he seemed to have become. This man, who did not know them, might only be a temporary visitor to their lives. They needed to keep that thought in their minds. The memory loss might be temporary.

It would be temporary.

Porthos was determined not to give up hope. But equally he would not ignore the fact that they had to deal, even if only for a while, with the confused, probably scared man who was lying in front of him.

Athos stirred again. He opened his eyes and looked at Porthos.

'Can you help me to sit up please?'

'Of course,' replied Porthos.

He could not help wondering what sort of personality this stranger had. Was this empty Athos going to be similar to their friend? Or of a completely different disposition to Athos?

Athos looked around for a few seconds.

'Where are the others?'

Porthos stared at Athos for a second. Others?

Hopeful, Porthos asked the question, 'who?'

'The other two, the young man and the one who was treating me?'

Porthos let out a sigh, he had hoped, even prayed for a second, that Athos was back, looking for his brothers. But no, the injured man could only remember the young man and the medic, not d'Artagnan and Aramis.

Porthos nodded towards his brothers.

'D'Artagnan needed a moment...Aramis is just checking he's alright.'

'D'Artagnan,' said Athos as if he was trying the word for the first time. Athos said the name slowly sounding each syllable as he did so. A word that tripped so easily from his tongue normally now seemed wrong.

'D'Artagnan is the younger one. Aramis is the older one.'

'And you?' asked Athos as he looked at Porthos.

'Porthos.'

'And I'm Athos,' he said pointing to himself.

'Yes,' replied Porthos, 'we're Musketeers...soldiers...you're a Musketeer.'

'A Musketeer?'

Athos looked stunned. Porthos was struggling to work out how to react. The man he had known for years, one of his best friends was now a stranger.

'Yes...do you understand what a soldier and a Musketeer are?'

The man knew some things but not others, it was difficult to know where to pitch the conversation. Porthos did not want to talk to Athos as if he were a child, but it was difficult to work out what the man knew.

'Yes...It's odd, I know things but not who I am or who you are...or anyone.'

Porthos watched as Athos thought for a moment. The man looked around again, he looked at Aramis and d'Artagnan for a few seconds. The two Musketeers were still sat with their backs turned quietly talking. Porthos guessed that Aramis was trying to reassure d'Artagnan. But what reassurance could the marksman give?

'I'm sorry.'

'What for?' asked Porthos, looked back at Athos with confusion.

'It's obvious that Athos is important to you...but I'm not him...am I?'

Porthos shook his head, he did want the injured man to feel that he was in the wrong place.

'Yes you are...and we will see that you are looked after.'

Athos, who had started to look a little worried visibly relaxed.

'Sorry,' he said, 'my head, it's not as bad as it was, but I think I need to lie down again.'

Porthos nodded and helped his friend to lie down. It was not long before he was sleeping again. Porthos watched him for a few seconds pondering their brief exchange.

It seemed to him that the man Athos had become following the injury may have been different, but was still concerned for his brothers. He had worked out that Athos meant a lot to them all and felt bad for depriving them of him.

Aramis and d'Artagnan quietly rejoined him.

'What did he say?' asked d'Artagnan as he settled down.

Porthos could tell the younger man had been crying, he would not mention the moment of perceived weakness, he knew that Aramis and himself had been just as shocked at the result of the injury to Athos.

'He asked where you were, I thought for a moment that he was back to normal...but he was only remembering you from when he was last awake. He wanted to know our names.'

Aramis said, 'that means he can make new memories at least, which is something.'

The marksman was trying to sound hopeful. Porthos did not mind. Any hope was a good thing, thought Porthos. The man lying between them was almost childlike. His initial confusion had given way to worry. The man had been looking around as they talked, Porthos had wondered what his friend was expecting to see.

If, as Aramis was intimating, they had lost Athos, what would the man they had been left with be like?

MMMM

An uneasy night passed. They took it in turns to sit with Athos, who slept fitfully, and to make slow turns around the perimeter. When not patrolling or watching Athos they tried to sleep. Aramis found the act difficult and ended up just lying listening to every tiny sound. Each time Athos came around whoever was sat with him was hopeful that he would be back to normal. Every time their hopes were dashed.

Athos complained less and less about the pain in his head as the night wore on. Aramis urged him to continue to rest, pointing out that none of them were going anywhere until it was light anyway. Athos seemed to be worried that he was going to hold them up. That he was a burden too them. The man was more concerned each time he woke up. Aramis did not know what to say to him.

If Athos' memory were to never return, he wondered what the man would do? They did not yet know what he was capable of. The morning would hold some interesting moments, Aramis was sure.

He managed to sleep for a couple of hours, the sound of a quiet conversation woke him as the sunlight was again filtering through the dense canopy of trees above. They were all too exhausted to have broken camp at dawn, and Aramis suspected when Porthos and d'Artagnan had seen that he had finally fallen asleep they probably left him to rest. Aramis was grateful.

As he sat up he found a piece of bread being held out to him by d'Artagnan.

'Thank you,' he said as he took the offered food.

He looked around as he chewed on the slightly stale offering. Athos was on his feet and with Porthos next to him had wondered to the edge of the camp to deal with his morning ablutions. The two men were currently crouched by the stream. Athos was watching Porthos wash, before copying his actions.

'Are we going to have to teach him really simple things?' asked d'Artagnan quietly as he watched Athos mimicking Porthos.

Aramis sighed, 'I don't know. From what Porthos said about their conversation yesterday, Athos does not know that he is a soldier. Perhaps he does not understand what people do when they camp.'

'What about getting him back to Paris?'

'If he can remember how to ride a horse I think we should let him, provided his head is not still causing him a problem,' replied Aramis.

They continued to watch, as the two men finished Athos pointed at the bandage on Porthos' arm. Porthos appeared to be explaining to him how he came about the injury and was pointing about the area. When Porthos pointed in the direction of the bodies Athos stared in shock for a few seconds before backing away from Porthos.

Porthos noticed and took a few steps forward, grabbing Athos arm. The two men continued to talk for another couple of minutes. Athos relaxed as Porthos continued his explanation. Athos nodded before making what looked like an apology. Porthos shook his head and indicated for them to return to the centre of the camp.

'I'm sorry,' said Athos as he reached them, 'Porthos has quite the way with words, his description of the fight you...we...had was quite bloodthirsty.'

Aramis could see Porthos, who was still behind Athos shrug his shoulders in disbelief.

'What?' asked Athos looking back at Porthos.

'I was just telling you what happened, I didn't embellish it.'

Aramis realised that what they thought was normal would be new and strange to Athos in his current state. Thier friend had become quite vulnerable and possibly a liability.

'I think we should get ready to leave,' said Aramis as he began to gather his belongings.

Without a word, Porthos and d'Artagnan followed suit. Athos stood and watched them for a few seconds.

'What should I do?' he asked, concern in his voice again.

D'Artagnan had already picked up Athos' saddlebags. He handed them to the injured man before bending to pick up his own.

'Help me with the horses,' he said, 'we need to know how you are around them.'

'They're magnificent beasts,' remarked Athos as the two walked across the camp.

Aramis turned to Porthos who was watching them as well. Porthos glanced at Aramis and shook his head.

'Sorry, I...I just explained what happened, I told him what we did. I thought he was going to pass out, or run away. He looked scared of me.'

'We are going to have to be careful with him. If he gets scared by a description of a skirmish I hate to imagine what he would be like in an actual fight.'

Porthos nodded, 'one of us needs to be in charge of him, surreptitiously, at all times. We'll rotate.'

Aramis nodded his agreement. After ensuring the fire was fully out they walked to the horses. Athos was talking quietly to his own. D'Artagnan had taken a couple of steps back and was watching.

'He went straight to his horse. The horse knows him. He's put the bags on and checked the tack as if he does it every day. It's weird, I don't think he realises that he's done it,' said d'Artagnan quietly.

Porthos approached Athos, being careful to do so from the side. Aramis suspected Porthos was worried that Athos was going to run away if he was startled. After a brief conversation, they moved to stand beside the horse. Athos allowed Porthos to help him to mount up. The man gathered the reins and patted the horse's neck. Athos looked confident on the horse.

Aramis mounted up next to him and looked across.

'You must tell us if you feel ill, or your head gets any worse,' he said.

Athos nodded, 'there's still pain, but it's better than it was.'

'We'll go slowly, if you feel unsure, let us know, you can always ride with one of us,' said d'Artagnan as he moved his own horse up to the other side of Athos.

'Thank you,' replied Athos, 'but I'd like to try on my own.'

Aramis hid a smile; his friend had almost replied in a very typical Athos manner. Perhaps he was still in there somewhere. Could Aramis allow himself a tiny ray of hope?

They moved off, away from the scene of the fight. Away from the loss of the Athos they knew.

Athos looked about himself, he seemed to be taking in all the surrounding area. Aramis saw that Athos spent time studying each of them. He appeared to change his riding style according to whichever of them he was observing. Eventually, Athos settled with a style that was a mixture of them all, it was not quite his own style though thought Aramis sadly.

But that tiny ray of hope was going to remain with Aramis, nonetheless.

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