Chapter Seven
Athos had awoken early the following morning. He was sat up, dressed and waiting for Aramis and Porthos to wake.
'You could have woken one of us,' said Aramis after Porthos had shaken him awake.
'Sorry, I didn't want to disturb you,' said Athos, who had moved to look out of the window as the two Musketeers dressed behind him. 'I expect you don't get many chances to sleep soundly, in your own beds.'
Aramis glanced across at Porthos who shrugged his shoulders, unsure how to respond.
'How are you feeling today?' asked Porthos in the end.
Athos smiled, 'my head doesn't ache at all now,' he said.
Aramis still found his friend's demeanour strange, this Athos was more talkative, but he did not talk like Athos. He sounded like Athos, but his speech was different.
'Good,' said Porthos as he buttoned his doublet, 'we'll get some breakfast and then head out to the city. If we leave soon, we should be able to get around some of your haunts before it gets too busy.'
Athos nodded, he turned from the window and watched them both strapping on their weapons belts.
'I asked d'Artagnan if he would teach me to handle a sword. Will we have time for that as well today?'
Aramis said, 'we'll see. It may take us a while to get around the city. And although you're feeling fine now, you may struggle later, we don't want to overdo it.'
'Of course,' replied Athos.
Aramis was impressed with Athos' need to get himself back to normal. The man, who seemed younger now that he had no memory, was showing an enthusiasm he had not seen in Athos before. Perhaps, as Lemay had suggested, Athos had reverted to some early personification of himself, but without the memories to go with it. Were they in the company of the Athos from a few years ago, from before his ill-fated marriage?
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D'Artagnan had met them in the mess and was now leading them through the garrison gate. He had told them that he had worked out a route around the city to take in Athos' rooms and his favoured taverns.
Athos had approved of the idea saying he was curious to see his rooms. D'Artagnan was surprised when Athos had fallen into step beside him. Aramis and Porthos were walking behind them talking quietly.
'Do you get many issues with the people of the city? Do they respect you, as a Musketeer?'
D'Artagnan thought for a moment, it was odd to be explaining such things to the man who had explained it all to him in the first place.
'Most people are pleased to see us. Of course, there are always some who don't like us, for various reasons. But we deal with them when we come across them.'
'Do they fight you?' Athos asked as he looked around at the men and women who were going about their business. 'These people do not look particularly capable of fighting.'
D'Artagnan laughed, 'you would be surprised how - capable - they can become when the taxes are put up,' he replied.
D'Artagnan hated how easy it was becoming to talk to Athos as if he did not know him. Which, d'Artagnan had to admit, he did not. The man walking next to him was not carrying himself as Athos did. He was looking around with a mixture of curiosity and perhaps a hint of fear. Athos, the Athos d'Artagnan knew, would have walked with purpose. People would have known they needed to move for him. This man was uncertain in his steps, he did not know where he was or where he was going.
They reached Athos' rooms. D'Artagnan had retrieved the key from Athos the previous day, not wanting him to inadvertently lose it.
'I live here?'
'Yes,' said Porthos as he and Aramis caught them up. 'You two go up, we'll wait here, there's not much space and we don't want to crowd you.'
D'Artagnan watched as Porthos and Aramis nodded encouragingly to the injured man who looked uncertain as he stepped into the building. D'Artagnan followed him in.
'Up the stairs, it's the first door.'
Athos slowly climbed the stairs, he rested his hand on the wall as he went, feeling the rough paintwork. He paused when a stair creaked, then continued, looking up as he went. D'Artagnan followed him watching him carefully, hoping there would be some spark of recognition.
Athos pushed the door open, he stepped over the threshold and paused, slowly turning his head to look around the small room.
'I'm not very tidy,' he remarked, 'and I seem to drink quite a lot.'
As Athos took a few steps into the room d'Artagnan lingered by the doorway. Athos stopped in the centre of the room and slowly turned on the spot. The bed was unmade, the blankets roughly thrown back. At least three wine bottles lay on their sides under the bed.
The only item that held a place of reverence in the room was the sword hanging on the wall. Athos looked at it carefully he reached out towards it before stopping and looking at d'Artagnan, seeking permission.
D'Artagnan smiled, 'it is yours.'
Athos nodded and turned back to the sword and lifted it from the wall. He slipped his right hand around the grip and rested the blade on the palm of his left hand. He looked at the sword carefully.
'I believe it belonged to a relative of yours, your father or grandfather,' said d'Artagnan.
Athos carefully replaced the sword on its hooks. He stood back a couple of paces and after another few seconds looking at the sword he turned back to d'Artagnan. He shook his head.
'Nothing?'
With a sigh, Athos shook his head again.
'No,' he pulled out a chair from the table that sat against a wall and sat down heavily.
D'Artagnan watched him, a little concerned.
'Sorry,' Athos said looking up at him. 'It's...difficult...I can't work out how to do...this.
He paused looking down, d'Artagnan wondered if he was struggling to contain his emotions. He was not surprised; the man had been through a lot in the last day. He had effectively only lived one day. It was no wonder if all was becoming a bit much for him.
'Perhaps we shouldn't have come here. Perhaps we are trying this too soon.'
Athos shook his head, 'no, we have to keep trying, I have to keep trying. I know it's not been long, but I hate it. I hate how distressed this has made you all. I don't like this feeling, this emptiness…'
Athos looked around the room again before he continued.
'But, if it's alright, I'd rather not stay here. On my own. Do you think they would mind, if I stayed with them...at least for the time being?'
'Of course, it will be alright,' said Aramis from the doorway.
D'Artagnan had not noticed their two friends arrive. Aramis and Porthos were hovering by the door, the concern etched on their faces.
Athos blinked a few times and sniffed. D'Artagnan was not used to his friend displaying emotion quite so openly.
'Thank you,' he said.
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Porthos glanced back at Athos and Aramis who were walking behind him and d'Artagnan.
'You alright?' asked Porthos quietly, leaning into d'Artagnan slightly.
D'Artagnan nodded, 'it's just strange. I'm glad you both came up, I wasn't really sure what to say to him.'
'It is strange,' agreed Porthos thinking back to Athos' brief breakdown.
It had taken Athos a few minutes to gather himself. They had waited patiently. He had apologised despite them telling him not to.
Once he had composed himself he had looked through the chest of clothing and picked out a plain doublet to wear saying that he felt that he looked too much like a soldier in the leather jacket.
Now they were walking along the road they normally took to the Palace. Aramis was pointing out various things to Athos as they went.
'Do you think he's being like he was when he was younger, you know, before her?' asked d'Artagnan.
Porthos did not need d'Artagnan to spell out who he was talking about. They knew Milady de Winter had been Athos' wife and that he had been forced to condemn her to die, the act must have changed the man. Were they with the Athos who had not known the tragedy that she had caused him?
'The thing is,' pointed out Porthos, 'he's got no other memory, it's just his attitude and actions that we're going on. It seems like he's acting younger because he's 'aving to learn everything.'
They walked on for a few minutes pausing at one of the taverns they visited occasionally. Athos and Aramis went in for a few minutes but returned having had no luck.
'I'm finding him quite chatty,' said Porthos as they continued to walk towards the Palace, 'it's very strange.'
D'Artagnan nodded, 'I know, it takes a bit of getting used to...when we get him back, it will seem very quiet.'
Porthos smiled at d'Artagnan's apparent optimism. He had to remind himself that it had only been a couple of days since the accident. They were still trying to help Athos, they were not giving up on their friend. There was still plenty they had to try to get their friend back as he had been.
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Aramis wondered if Athos felt a little embarrassed after his earlier issues. He was asking lots of questions now, it was as if he wanted to keep their conversation away from his own worry. Aramis allowed Athos to ask his questions and leave what had happened behind them.
'Which of us has been a soldier the longest?'
'I have,' replied Aramis, 'I was also one of the first in Treville's regiment. Porthos was in the infantry for a few years. You and he joined the Musketeers at around the same time.'
Athos had been asking about their backgrounds, although he did not ask about his own. Aramis wondered if he did not want to know what he was like for some reason. Perhaps after his issues when he visited his rooms earlier he wanted to step back a little from finding out who he was and was hoping that some other stimulus would jog his memory.
'D'Artagnan was saying that I taught him how to be a better sword fighter, am I...was I really that good?'
'Yes,' replied Aramis, 'and you will be again.'
'I hope so.'
Athos was trying very hard, he had tried to remember and wanted to learn. There was still the chance the man would regain his memory, and Aramis was not ready to accept that he might never get back to his normal self.
Aramis was snapped from his thoughts by a quiet cry of pain from an elderly woman near him. The streets had been getting busier as they had walked along. They were passing a row of market stalls; an elderly woman had been knocked by a young man. His intentions were not nefarious, but the damage was done nonetheless. The woman, frail and old, had crumpled to the floor. Aramis had been quick to catch her before she slumped completely. The young man stared for a few seconds before moving off.
'Watch what you're doing, you idiot,' said Aramis with barely disguised annoyance.
The old woman was looking up at him, she allowed him to ease her back to her feet. A couple of women on the market stall she had fallen by were coming to her aid. Aramis made sure the woman was not injured before allowing the two stall holders to take her from his grasp. They ushered her to a seat behind the stall and sat her down.
'Thank you, monsieur,' she said, her voice shaking from the shock of being knocked to the ground.
Aramis raised his hat and smiled at her, 'my pleasure, madam,' he said.
Once he was sure the woman was in safe hands he turned back to Athos. He had been aware of his friend taking a few steps away, he thought Athos had simply moved out of the way of the passing people. The market was busy now, Aramis looked around trying to spot his friend. When he found Athos, Aramis moved towards him quickly.
Athos was standing with his back to the wall of a nearby house, he was staring at two men who had approached him. The men were clearly not friendly. Athos looked scared. Aramis could not think of many times he had seen Athos scared. But he was scared now, his eyes wide, staring at the two men who were stepping closer to him.
Aramis pushed his way past a few people to get to his friend. His friend who did not know how to deal with the two men in front of him. Athos was not carrying any weapons. They had decided the day before that as Athos did not know how to wield a weapon it was not a good idea for him to be armed.
The two men pressed forward, Athos held up one hand in defence. Aramis was still pushing passed people as he watched one of the men pull a knife from his belt and hold it up to Athos. It was clear to Aramis that the men meant to rob Athos. His plain, but obviously expensive doublet had drawn the attention of some local thieves.
The men were in their twenties, one looked like a fighter, the sort of man that Porthos would have enjoyed a fist fight with, he was burly, and looked like he could look after himself. The other man, a little younger, was pointing the knife at Athos. He looked as though he knew what he was doing with the knife, he held it with confidence.
Aramis managed to push his way up to the three men. He grabbed the man with the knife around the arms and twisted him away, throwing him forcefully to the floor. The man sprawled on the ground, smacking his head into the cobbles.
The other man turned to Aramis and pulled a sword from his belt. Aramis did not hesitate in drawing his own weapon in kind.
Aramis glanced across to Athos who was still by the wall, he appeared to have pushed himself into the wall, as if he wanted to disappear, away from his attackers.
Athos looked terrified.
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