Yesterday's Man

Chapter Seven

"Aramis! Aramis!" Athos tapped gently on his brother's cheek, hoping to elicit a response. He paid no heed to Saint-Pol who was groaning pitifully as he returned to consciousness. The wound in Aramis' shoulder continued to bleed, saturating his clothes and skin. Eventually, in desperation, Athos left only long enough to grab a spare shirt from his saddlebags. He wadded it up and maneuvered it into position, pressing down to try and stem the flood. When he was satisfied that the flow had decreased he carefully eased Aramis onto his side so that he could check for an exit wound. He almost growled in frustration when he realised that the ball was still lodged in Aramis' body.

"You hit me."

Saint-Pol's voice sounded nasal leading Athos to wonder, without any remourse, if he had broken the Comte's nose. "Shut up."

"Insolence, added to a charge of assault. You'll be lucky if all that happens to you is the loss of your commission."

"You really think that matters? Aramis needs urgent medical care and we're miles from anywhere."

"Can't you patch him up?"

Athos leveled a forbidding stare at the Comte. "It appears I have little choice. Are you going to help or are you just going to sit there and snipe?"

"What do you need?" Saint-Pol asked grudgingly.

He didn't look well. There was blood dripping from his nose and his eyes were hooded, suggesting that he had a bad headache. Not that Athos cared. His only concern was for Aramis. He would deal with the repercussions of his actions later.

"Heat some water. The wound will need cleaned once I remove the ball. You'll find a medical kit in Aramis' saddlebags. Bring it here. Once he wakes he can tell us how to make a poultice and something to help with the pain."

There was some movement under his hands now so he dismissed Saint-Pol from his thoughts and leaned closer to his injured friend. "Come on, Aramis. Open your eyes." He involuntarily held his breath and waited.

"Ow," Aramis muttered. "What happened?" His eyes opened sluggishly and his gaze drifted before fixing on Athos' face.

"You've been shot. Lie still."

Aramis' right arm moved and came to rest on the bulky material covering the wound. "Who?" His voice was weak and his brow creased into a frown as he tried to remember.

"Saint-Pol. He says it was an accident." Athos' tone clearly indicated what he thought of that.

"Why…why would he shoot me?"

"That isn't important right now. The ball is still in there, Aramis. I'll have to remove it."

Even more of the colour left Aramis' face. "I understand." He lay quietly for a moment. "Clean the forceps in boiling water and see if you can find any yarrow. Lay some leaves over the wound before you bandage it. They will help to draw out any infection. You will be most likely to find it by the stream. It has small white blossoms and fern-like leaves."

Athos nodded although he was very reluctant to leave. "Do you think you can walk? It will be easier to tend to you back in camp."

Aramis pushed himself up into a sitting position and held out his hand. Athos grasped it and pulled him slowly to his feet, sliding an arm around his waist to support him. They made slow progress but eventually they reached their destination. Saint-Pol was sitting by the fire watching a pot of water come to the boil. He turned when he heard them and Aramis gasped.

"What happened to his face?" he whispered.

"I was angry," Athos said. "Sit down over here." He lowered Aramis down to rest against his saddle.

Saint-Pol stood up and walked over to offer Aramis' medical kit. Athos unrolled it and extracted the small forceps. Mindful of Aramis' instructions he took them over to the fire and dropped them in the boiling water before returning to hunker down by his friend's side.

Aramis reached out and gripped his arm weakly. "You know he will hold this against you," he said. "You should not have struck him."

"He shot you. What was I supposed to do?" He gently removed Aramis' hand. "I will go and find the yarrow. You rest until I get back." He disliked the thought of leaving Aramis with Saint-Pol although he didn't think the Comte would do any further damage. Nonetheless he walked quickly to the river and scanned the banks for the flower described by Aramis. He was happy to see that it was growing in abundance and he gathered an armful of the leaves.

When he returned to the camp he found Saint-Pol and Aramis ignoring each other, although the air crackled with tension. He had the impression that words had been said and that neither was happy with the outcome. He dumped the leaves on the ground and went to retrieve the forceps. They were blisteringly hot and he had to wait for them to cool before he could handle them.

"This will be easier if you lie down," Athos said.

Aramis nodded, pale but resolute. Once he was positioned on the ground Athos removed the bulky shirt that he had used to staunch the bleeding. He used his knife to cut away Aramis' shirt so that he had a clear view of the wound.

"The bleeding has almost stopped."

Aramis had his eyes closed and his teeth were worrying his bottom lip. Every muscle in his body was tense.

"I'm sorry," Athos said. He pushed the tip of the forceps into the hole left by the ball.

There was a pained gasp from Aramis who tensed up even further. As Athos probed deeper Aramis flinched and tried to pull away.

"Easy, my friend." He continued to push deeper. "I can feel it. Just a little longer and this will be over." He widened the opening of the forceps, eliciting a deep groan from his patient. With a twist of his wrist he removed the surgical instrument, relieved beyond measure when he saw the mangled lead ball still in its jaws.

Aramis was ashen and looked to be barely conscious. Blood was again flowing from the wound so Athos fetched the water and a clean cloth. He carefully washed the area around the injury before gritting his teeth and pouring a stream of water into it. Aramis gave a strangled scream before lying still, his eyes tightly shuttered.

After packing the leaves around the hole, Athos wrapped bandages around Aramis' shoulder. He had finished before Aramis stirred again.

"It's done?"

"Yes. Sleep now. I'll make a pain draught for when you wake." His hands were covered in his brother's blood and were shaking so badly that he had to grip them together tightly to bring them under control.

"Herbs. In my saddle bags," Aramis said haltingly.

"I will find them. Rest easy. I will be here when you wake."

"Saint-Pol?"

"Bruised. Nothing serious."

Aramis yawned. "You…you shouldn't have done it."

"Sleep. We can discuss this later."

Once he was sure that Aramis had drifted off he went to the stream and washed his hands. On his return journey, he saw the fish that Aramis had caught lying abandoned on the ground. He picked them up and carried them back to the camp.

"I need something for the pain," Saint-Pol said.

"You'll need to fetch fresh water."

The Comte flushed angrily. "I'm not your lackey."

"Neither am I yours."

"You will rue your actions this day."

Athos sat down and began to gut the fish. "As will you. Shooting a Musketeer is a serious matter."

"I told you, it was an accident."

Athos turned his cold stare on the Comte. "Explain to me how you shot him by accident."

"I heard a noise and thought it was a wild animal. I acted out of self-defense."

Athos snorted rudely. "You expect anyone to believe that?"

"The King will believe me and he will toss you out of the regiment like the trash you are."

He had walked straight into a trap and could see no means to extricate himself. The Comte was right. When faced with the word of his best friend the King would swallow the lie. His career was at an end. Now he had a choice to make. He could resign his commission and keep his honour or force Saint-Pol to perjure himself to secure a conviction. Neither course was appealing and neither was the thought that he would be barred from his injured brother's bedside. No, he couldn't walk away while Aramis needed him. He would have to stay strong and face the consequences.

Tbc