The gloom of dusk was fully established by the time they reached the edge of the woods.
Aramis' pace slowed and he stopped at the perimeter, crouching against a final tree to scan across the short stretch of open ground and the mounded earthen bulwark of the trench at its center. Athos joined him and quickly recognized that he was looking at the southernmost tip of the trenchworks. Here the earth was mounded high enough to offer the bulk of the protection, and Athos realized the nearby swamp would be preventing the trench from being dug to any amount of depth. The tactical importance of this spot was instantly clear. If an enemy sortie happened along this forested stretch, this defensive front was vital to prevent the flanking of their line. That embankment in the center would defend the entirety of the trenchline to the north. He wondered if the enemy had yet dared test it.
Aramis put a hand to his mouth and whistled a series of trilling birdcalls. The endless patter of rain stretched unbroken after the sound.
When no signal returned, Aramis seemed to sag against the tree in resigned irritation. He glanced at Athos as if preparing to answer for his actions and the delay. Athos had no such questions; he could see for himself the folly of brazenly approaching a dugout that was designed to defend against enemies coming out of the trees on foot. Friend or foe was hard to judge at the best of times, but in the rain and the dim…
Aramis repeated his call.
After a moment of muffled silence, a single hand rose into view and waved once.
The marksman huffed and then they were moving again, creeping carefully across the churned and sodden ground. Athos' heart found its way into his throat and he breathed through the tension. They were almost back into safety and yet the thick atmosphere of waiting and watching was hard to escape.
Together they maneuvered through the sharpened stakes that bristled along the outer rim of the bank. They slid down the opposite side to land in a foot of muddy water that had gathered on the trench floor.
Athos muttered a curse as the brackish water gushed over the tops of his boots.
Hands appeared to pull him onto the boards that were inset into the trench to keep the defenders above the waterline. His helper grinned at his obvious disgust with the state of his boots. The man clapped him silently on the shoulder and turned back to continue his watch.
On the other side of the brown water, Aramis was leaned against the wall with his head tilted in a soft conversation with another man at his side. Athos didn't catch any of the words before Aramis was moving again and motioning for him to follow.
A third man stationed at the post unfurled from a place against the wall and gestured at Athos with a toothless smile. The man wore no hat or helmet and he pointed a crooked finger at the helmet Athos was carrying. Athos handed it over, thinking the man would wear it. The soldier bobbed his head in thanks and instead planted it with a solid thunk, bowl-up, in the mounded earth at the top of the trench. Athos frowned—
"Athos," Aramis hissed from farther along the trench. He motioned again.
Athos left things as they were and followed the marksman.
Using half sunken boards and rocks, they zigzagged their way across the puddles, and sometimes they slogged through the mud when neither were available. Their path was hidden by deepening shadow and it was only because Aramis led the way that Athos knew where to step. They encountered more sentries and lookouts on the way, most of them huddled miserably into oiled cloaks, the water dripping off their faces and beading on their shoulders.
Now that he was wise to it, Athos was surprised to see a few more helmets sitting upturned and wedged into place along the trench. When he past one that was partially full of water, he suddenly understood: water collection. Athos snorted. Perhaps that was a better use for them in any case.
As they made their way deeper into the trenches, the number of men they past increased, and occasionally they maneuvered around a low glowing brazier of coals that offered some warmth and a faint pool of light on their path. The energy in these parts was very different from the hushed weariness.
Around the coals, men drank from mugs or wineskins and laughed loudly, jostling each other or leaning together for support. The rain hissed and spat against the coals.
Aramis didn't slow even as a few soldiers called for him to stay.
They were leaving the amber glow of the third brazier behind them when a man stepped out of the shadows without warning and directly into Athos' path. Athos twisted to avoid the collision, but the man pushed forward with deliberate force, clipping his shoulder and throwing him off balance.
Athos crashed onto one knee. Water splashed up and down his front.
He dropped the guns and surged back to his feet. He whirled and firmed a hand on his hilt, knowing full well the man had intended to land him in the mud.
The big man was instantly familiar. Gilles. "You should watch where you're going." The scar on the man's cheek rippled as he smiled, "Someone might get the wrong idea and think you meant to do that."
"I believe those words are mine," Athos said dryly.
"Are they now? Well I claim them as mine, so what are you going to do about it?"
"I could fight you for them, but you might regret it."
"Oh! We have a fighter on our hands."
"It would appear that's exactly what we have, Gilles." A second man stepped out of the shadows. He stood at Gilles' shoulder, noticeably shorter with a hawk-like nose that was perceptible even in the dark. "Most interesting."
Gilles took a step forward and Athos drew his blade an inch before Aramis suddenly filled the void between them.
Aramis held up his right hand, the fingers of the other hand bracing the gun on his shoulder clearly free of the trigger, "Come gentlemen, haven't we had enough fighting for one day? I'd say we're all pretty weary of it. There's no need for this to go any further."
"Ah, that's right, Aramis' new powder mule. And he survived the day no less," the hawk-nosed man crossed his arms and Athos felt his sharp gaze as he examined him beyond Aramis' shoulder.
"Let's go Athos, we have somewhere to be." Aramis turned his back on the men and started walking.
Athos let his gaze harden on the hawk-nosed man. Gilles leered but didn't make another move toward him.
By Gerome's estimation, Gilles was the muscle man, a bully and a pawn, which meant somewhere there was a man playing a game of chess. Athos would bet a bottle of good wine that this hawk-nosed man was just such a man.
"Athos!" Aramis said, his voice sharp on a warning.
Athos let his blade slide back into its sheath. He carefully bent to retrieve the fallen guns, then he backed away a double pace before turning to follow Aramis. His blood sang in his veins with unspent energy.
"You shouldn't provoke them," Aramis said when they were out of earshot.
"That's hardly a fair assessment of the circumstance," Athos frowned at the marksman, not sure if that was meant to be a joke and realizing it was not.
"Well don't provoke them further. They'll take it as encouragement."
"I can handle them if it comes to it. Gilles is big but he lacks finesse, and I would argue that the other man isn't much of a fighter."
"No Athos, you won't handle it, you'll leave it alone."
"Why, Aramis? Tell me why." Athos grabbed Aramis by the arm to stop him.
The marksman hissed and drew up short. He pulled out of Athos' grip and glared at him, "Because they don't play by the rules and that makes them dangerous. And frankly, I'd rather not have to find another man to watch my back."
The marksman's vehement reply caught Athos off guard. His instinctive reaction was to meet the man's fire with his own, "You've done well enough replacing four men already, I'm sure you'll do just fine."
Aramis tensed and silence settled between them, both of them glaring and not backing down. The rain continued to fall, trickling off the walls to pool in the mud around their boots.
Finally Aramis sighed and turned away, "Do what you want."
Athos watched the marksman's receding back, realizing he'd inadvertently found a wedge to drive between them and all at once angry that he wasn't happy with the result.
Damn…
His sudden regret was proof that it was too late for barriers and defenses, the man had already won his foothold, and all that remained for Athos was retreat or surrender.
Athos followed after the man, deciding for the moment that he was content to stubbornly refuse that revelation altogether.
