Casualty of War

Chapter Seven

They took it in turns to sleep. When it was his time on watch Aramis cleaned and loaded his pistols, grateful that the Major had ordered the return of their weapons. Then he methodically sharpened his sword and main gauche. Porthos came awake easily when he touched his friend on the shoulder.

"Is it time?"

"Yes."

Porthos rose from the bed and buckled on his weapons while Aramis eased the door open and peered out into the hallway.

"All clear."

They walked quickly to the stairs and Aramis led the way down. There was no guard on d'Artagnan's cell door. After all, who in the fortress would aid the prisoner and d'Artagnan himself was barely able to function.

Aramis drew back the bolts and opened the door. "We need some light."

A lantern hanging on the wall was quickly appropriated and lit. It cast grotesque shadows around the small room and it took a moment to spot d'Artagnan cowering in a corner. Their young brother raised his hand to shield his eyes and pressed even further back against the wall.

"D'Artagnan," Aramis said.

"It's us, whelp," Porthos added.

D'Artagnan lowered his arm. "Aramis? Porthos?"

"Aye, lad. We're here to get you out."

"You came for me? I thought I had dreamt it."

"Did you doubt we'd come?" Aramis bent down to slip an arm around d'Artagnan's waist. "Can you stand?" Now that he was close to his brother he could see d'Artagnan's face was flushed with fever. His hands itched to inspect the shoulder wound even though he knew there was no time.

D'Artagnan cooperated as much as he could and managed to rise to his feet. Porthos took over the task of steadying him while Aramis checked that their route was still clear.

"Lean on me," Porthos said. "Save your strength."

"What's the plan?" d'Artagnan asked weakly.

"It's simple really. We open the gates and hold them until Athos and the others get here." Aramis gestured that they should move. "You will stay safely out of sight."

"I can fight."

"No offence, d'Artagnan, but if Porthos let you go you'd fall on your face."

They made slow progress with Porthos taking most of d'Artagnan's weight. When they reached the door leading to the courtyard they stopped.

"We'll hide you in the stables," Aramis said, handing over a pistol. "Only use this if your life is threatened."

D'Artagnan gripped it shakily. "I understand."

Aramis stood guard at the door while Porthos and d'Artagnan made their way through the shadows to the stables. When Porthos returned Aramis grinned fiercely.

"Ready?"

They made their way to the gate, finding the two guards there half-asleep. Aramis' main gauche buried itself in the chest of one while Porthos slit the throat of the other. It was quick, brutal, deadly and utterly silent. They pulled the bodies out of the way and lifted the heavy bar, throwing the gates wide. They both stared down the road, unconsciously holding their breath.

They heard the pounding of hooves before they saw anything. Aramis clapped Porthos on the shoulder. "Hold the gate and God go with you, brother."

Shouts echoed from the walls as Aramis raced up the stairs leading to the walkway.

"What is it?" he yelled in Spanish, his sword and pistol already in hand.

"Soldiers," one of the guards shouted.

There was a barrage of gunfire from the Spanish and then Aramis was among them. He skewered the first man he reached and shot another in the chest. His actions distracted the Spanish from the approaching threat as all looked at him in disbelief. It didn't take long for one of the soldiers to advance on him while the other three fumbled to reload their rifles. Knowing that he had bought precious seconds for his comrades he launched an attack.

The approaching Musketeers were now returning fire and he had to duck as a bullet struck the wall near his head. A shard of stone flew off and caught him on the cheek. He felt blood begin to flow down his face and into his beard.

His opponent was skilled, thrusting and parrying with ease. There was a special challenge in fighting on a three foot wide ledge with a sheer drop on one side. He could hear voices now in the courtyard and knew he had to finish the fight before reinforcements arrived behind him. He feinted left, drew his main gauche and thrust under the soldier's guard. The wound wasn't fatal but it was enough to cause the man to stumble to the side, lose his balance and fall. Aramis spun just in time to parry a sword thrust from behind. He settled into a fighting stance, the battle calm descending over him.

Despite all his years of experience and his skill he quickly became fatigued. The extreme heat he'd been exposed to had weakened his body and he found himself struggling to meet the attack of his opponent. He was in danger of losing the fight when the Musketeers reached the fortress and thundered into the courtyard. It distracted his enemy and Aramis took full advantage. His sword pierced the man's body causing the soldier to fall to his knees, his sword tumbling from his grip.

Aramis looked down. Dozens of horses were milling around, raising a dust cloud that obscured his view. He stayed where he was. He wasn't needed in the fight and to throw himself into the midst of it would only risk being killed inadvertantly by his own side.

"Aramis!"

Athos call alerted him to another foe but then a pistol sounded and the soldier fell to the ground. Aramis grinned and raised a hand in greeting. The fight was ending, superior numbers and the element of surprise conspiring to overcome resistance. Those Spaniards still alive were throwing down their swords and surrendering.

When he was satisfied everything was under control he walked wearily down the steps, his gaze skittering around as he looked for Athos and Porthos. He found Athos facing Major Huerta who looked shocked at his sudden reversal of fortune.

"You are well?" Athos asked him.

"I am as you see."

Shock turned to outrage on the Major's face. "You are a Frenchman!"

Aramis bowed. "Aramis of the King's Musketeers at your service."

"Where is d'Artagnan," Athos asked, ignoring the Major's spluttering protests about underhanded tricks.

"In the stables. He wasn't fit to fight."

"I think you are wrong about that," Athos said fondly. He gestured to his right where d'Artagnan was unsteadily making his way through the crowd, a sword held loosely at his side.

"Foolish boy," Aramis said although there was no heat in his words.

D'Artagnan reached them and Athos put out a hand to steady him. "I understand you were told to stay out of the fight," he admonished.

D'Artagnan shrugged. "One of the soldiers tried to hide in the stables. I took his sword and it seemed a shame not to use it." He swayed precariously.

"Come and sit down." Aramis took his weight and led him over to a bench.

Athos turned his attention back to Major Huerta. "You will surrender your command, Monsieur."

"It appears I have no option," Huerta said bitterly. "You will treat my men well?"

"As you treated my comrade?" Athos asked, flicking a glance to where Aramis fussed over d'Artagnan.

"Our methods were excessive," Huerta said turning red. "I hope you are a more honourable man."

Athos looked at him coldly. "I will forgive the implication. We don't torture our prisoners. On that you have my word."

"He's the one you should be blamin' for d'Artagnan's condition." Porthos pushed his way through, one hand clamped around Ochoa's arm.

The Captain sneered at Athos. "You only prevailed through craven deception."

"Shut up." Porthos shook him violently. "He's the one who tortured d'Artagnan."

"Give him a sword." Aramis returned to Athos' side, fire burning in his eyes.

"There's no need…"

"You didn't see what he did. Give him a sword."

"We have surrendered," Major Huerta said hastily.

"He deserves no mercy." Aramis pointed at d'Artagnan. "Look at him and then tell me this bastard deserves to live. I'm offering him fair combat. If he prevails he buys himself his life."

Athos pulled him to one side. "You are not recovered from your illness."

"I am well, Athos. I had to watch while they tortured d'Artagnan. It was one of the worst days of my life. Ochoa enjoyed inflicting pain and suffering and does not deserve to be treated with dignity. He should be executed for what he did. I am giving him a chance to live."

"At the expense of your own life."

"I have no intention of losing."

Athos nodded and turned back to Ochoa. "Do you accept the challenge?"

"With pleasure."

"Very well. Porthos, give him your sword."

Porthos grumbled but pulled his sword from its scabbard and handed it over. The watching soldiery moved back to form a loose circle within which the combatants stood. D'Artagnan had left the bench and now stood beside Athos, his face pale and a fierce love for his brothers burning in his chest.

Athos walked into the circle, staring first at Aramis and then at Ochoa. "The normal rules of chivalry apply. This is a fight to the death unless one of you chooses to surrender." He stepped back. "Gentlemen. Begin."

Tbc