Chapter Eight

The thought of another of his friends coming to harm due to the much sought-after intelligence was abhorrent to Aramis. The thought made him more determined to see that it did not happen.

They walked quickly, the few people they encountered could see the two soldiers were on business. A path was clear in front of them. The people moved aside, allowing them to pass.

Porthos had not spoken as they left the garrison. Neither man had told anyone else where they were going, if Treville visited d'Artagnan in the infirmary he would gain his update then. There was no time to tarry, Athos was in potentially deadly danger and they were the only ones who could help him.

The slight hope that the mercenaries would simply have rearranged their meeting when they learned from Ruiz that Athos was planning to intervene was outweighed by the more sinister possibilities.

As they approached the river the clash of swords echoed off the stone walls of the buildings. Both men broke into a run, Aramis drew one of his guns.

They rounded a corner and pulled up. A body lay on the edge of the river bank. A neat hole in his doublet and an accompanying pool of blood told them all they needed to know. The sword fight that they could hear was continuing within an alleyway a few yards from their location. Aramis walked forward with Porthos close behind. Both men were on alert ready to react at a moments' notice.

More bodies came into view.

A stocky man lay sprawled across the cobbles at the entrance to the alleyway, he was still alive, but only just. His short gasping breaths told Aramis he was beyond help, a gaping wound to his side the cause of his distress.

Aramis looked further into the alleyway and found the body of the man they guessed was the leader of the mercenaries, he was certainly the leader of d'Artagnan's interrogation. The man had a wound to his stomach, blood was still oozing through his plain doublet, the man's sightless eyes staring at the darkening sky.

Next, they found the man who had drugged d'Artagnan, a deep cut to his neck which had caused a dramatic spray of blood to fall across his own and the leader's body. The blood was no longer flowing, and the man was very dead.

Finally, a big brute of a man lay, still breathing; the parrying dagger, deeply embedded in his chest, was moving with each breath. The man's breaths were coming slowly, he was probably unconscious and unaware of his impending doom.

A grunt further into the alleyway drew Aramis' attention.

Time stood still. Aramis watched for what felt like hours but was no more than a matter of seconds as Athos was pushed backwards by the final mercenary.

Athos, who was carrying a bad injury to his arm. Athos, who looked exhausted. Had he really just taken out five men on his own? Of course he had, thought Aramis, he was the best swordsman in Paris. But the man was injured and fading.

Blood was flowing from the wound, it was drenching his hand and dripping to the ground, splashing across the damp cobbles.

As he was pushed backwards, Athos stumbled, his fatigue leaving him unable to maintain his usual poise. He crashed to the ground skidding back a couple of feet as he did so, the momentum of the push carrying him backwards. The move meant he flung his arms out to the sides to try to break fall, the action caused his sword to loosen from his grasp and slide away.

Athos was defenceless. Aramis had seen his gun at the entrance to the alleyway, his main gauche was still embedded in one man's chest and now his swords was beyond his reach.

The last mercenary straightened up and began to advance. Athos had a rare look of defeat on his face. He had fought well, but the situation had been too much, even for him.

The mercenary brought his sword up, ready to thrust it into the helpless Musketeer. Ready to kill Athos.

MMMM

Porthos followed the trail of destruction with Aramis. Body after body lay like discarded firewood, strewn across the alleyway. Five men, Porthos counted them. Athos had dealt with five men. But the sixth one was about to beat him. The sixth man was about to kill their brother.

As they continued to rush forward Porthos was aware of Aramis pulling his second gun. He raised the weapon without missing a step. The marksman sighted his target and fired. There did not appear to be a moment's pause or a moment's hesitation. Aramis had not missed a beat, he had acted on impulse. There had been no thought.

The ball hit the man in the left shoulder. Porthos would have applauded the choice of impact point if it had been the time to do so. The move was minor but the force of the ball hitting the man was enough to twist him just slightly off his course of action. The sword which had been destined to be thrust into Athos' chest was thrown off just enough to miss the prone man completely.

The final mercenary collapsed forward landing across Athos who huffed out a breath at the unwelcome weight.

The attacker was not dead, he was trying to push himself up. Aramis had his second gun ready. Porthos knew that Aramis had somehow planned for the first shot not to be fatal, he had needed to prevent further harm coming to Athos first, and finish the attacker off second.

Aramis fired the second gun mere moments after the first. The ball entered the back of the man's head. This time when he went down, he stayed down.

Porthos reached Athos a second before Aramis who had managed to holster his first weapon before he knelt beside their fallen brother.

Porthos pulled the dead weight of the mercenary away, leaving the man in a heap at the side of the alleyway. He returned his attention to Athos who was weakly trying to sit up but failing miserably, not least due to Aramis' hand on his chest keeping him on the ground.

'Stay still for a moment,' Aramis said adopting a gently commanding tone.

Athos complied with Aramis' request and lay back down. He was breathing fast and blinking. Porthos could tell he was still wound up due to the fight.

'It's done,' he said quietly trying to get Athos to focus on him as Aramis pulled off his gloves and started to undo Athos' weapons belt.

Without asking, Aramis leaned forward and grabbed Porthos' hand guiding it across to the wound on Athos' left arm. Porthos did not need to be told to apply pressure. Athos winced in pain.

'Sorry,' said Porthos, 'we'll get you sorted out, then get you back to the garrison.'

Athos managed to look at him and nodded once before leaning his head back and staring at the sky.

'I was...not expecting...that many,' he said, as he tried to control his breathing.

'Shh…' said Aramis absentmindedly as he worked on undoing the buttons on Athos' doublet.

Porthos leaned forward and slipped his arm under Athos' shoulders, anticipating Aramis' need to divest their friend of his jacket. Athos could not suppress a brief whimper of pain as he was pulled about.

'Sorry,' said Porthos as he pulled Athos closer to him.

Aramis managed to ease Athos' arm from the sleeve before Porthos quickly applied pressure to the wound again. He glanced at Aramis as blood seeped through the leather of his gloves. Aramis looked up, the worry evident in his eyes. The wound was bad, it was still bleeding freely.

'I can do no more than bind it here, we need to get back to the garrison quickly.'

Athos was looking at Aramis intently.

'Did you shoot him?' he asked quietly.

Aramis paused for a second as he began to untie the blue sash from his waist.

Porthos answered for his friend, 'yes he did, whilst running. Twice.'

Athos managed a weak smile, 'see. I told you, you had nothing to worry about.'

Aramis looked at him and smiled, 'let's get you fixed up, shall we? I've still got to worry about you, even if now it is not my own doing.'

Porthos could see that Aramis did not want to think about how he had just proved to them all, but mainly to himself, that there was nothing wrong with his skills as a marksman. Aramis had other things to think about. Porthos could see his friends mind rushing ahead to the tricky task of dealing with the sword wound to Athos' arm. It was deep, the blood was seeping through the sash as Aramis wound the fabric firmly around his friend's arm.

'I doubt we're gonna be able to commandeer a cart now,' said Porthos. 'I think we're walking.'

Aramis nodded, 'not ideal, but between us, I think we can get him there, provided we get on with it.'

'What about them?' asked Porthos looking at the bodies.

'They are not going anywhere,' said Athos, his voice slightly slurred.

'Good point,' Porthos said smiling at Athos as he pulled the man up to stand as gently as he could.

Aramis arranged himself on the other side of the man, pushing Athos' injured arm across his chest, and pulling the loose doublet back over his shoulder. Porthos pulled Athos' right arm over his shoulder and slipped his arm around the injured man's waist. Aramis did the same on the other side.

Between them, they could support most of Athos' weight as they moved as quickly as they could back to the garrison to give their friend the attention he urgently needed.

MMMM

D'Artagnan had managed to push himself up to sit on the bed, his head still ached, but he felt better than he had when he had first fully come around. It concerned him that he had first come around with his friends when he was still under the influence of the drug. He hoped he had not made a fool of himself. It was bad enough that he had told the mercenaries everything, but to think that he might have said some stupid things when he was suffering from the effects of whatever they had drugged him with was a worry.

But he was glad he had been able to alert Porthos and Aramis to the potential danger that Athos was walking into. The two Musketeers had left quickly, he had watched them disappear out of the garrison. He wished he could go with them but knew it would be foolhardy, he doubted he could stand without help at that point anyway.

He knew he was badly bruised all over, even the smallest of movements was uncomfortable. The beating he had received was going to leave him incapacitated for a few days. Days in which he could contemplate his stupidity.

He only hoped Athos was alright. If anything had gone wrong, had Porthos and Aramis reached him in time?

The answer came a few minutes later. D'Artagnan had to stop himself from reacting, knowing it would cause him pain to do so. He did not want to cause a distraction for his brothers by drawing attention to himself when they reached the infirmary.

Athos was being helped by both Porthos and Aramis. It was obvious Athos had been injured, he was pale and looked as though he was struggling to remain conscious. Porthos pushed the door to the infirmary open and helped to guide the injured man to the large table. With difficulty, Porthos helped Athos to sit on the edge of the table before steadying him whilst Aramis eased the man's doublet off his shoulders. Aramis' sash had been tied around the wound, but d'Artagnan could see that blood had soaked through the fabric. Aramis unwound the sash before Porthos used a fresh bandage to cover the wound applying pressure. He earned himself a glare and a hiss of pain from Athos. Aramis ripped the arm of the shirt to make it easier for him to get at the injury.

D'Artagnan watched in silence, not wishing to interfere or distract, as his brothers worked to deal with the injury to Athos.

Aramis only had to give Porthos a few instructions, the two men were in tune with each other enough not to need to talk much. Athos allowed himself to be pushed down onto the table, Porthos slipped a pillow behind his head. Aramis busied himself preparing to stitch the wound.

All d'Artagnan could do was watch as his brothers worked. He wondered what had happened. Other than a brief look over at him neither Aramis or Porthos had spoken to him. They had done enough to ascertain that he was still alright before concentrating on Athos. D'Artagnan had no issue with their actions.

Athos hissed in pain as Porthos moved his arm into a better position for cleaning and stitching. Aramis was giving him words of comfort and talking quietly to him as he cleaned the wound. Porthos leaned over the complaining man when he reacted, keeping him still.

Treville pushed the door open and entered the infirmary, he indicated for Aramis and Porthos to continue working.

'What happened?' he asked.

'Looks like he took out five men. He had the injury when we got there,' said Porthos.

'But there were supposed to be two men.'

'When I came around,' said d'Artagnan, 'I heard them talking about what had happened, I remembered that Athos' contact had been with the mercenaries…'

Treville nodded able to fill in the gaps for himself.

'How is he?'

Aramis, who was busy threading a needle looked up, 'it's a nasty wound, and he's lost blood, it's going to take him a while to fully recover.'

'But I will recover,' said Athos quietly without moving his head.

'Of course, you will,' said Porthos, 'you're too stubborn to do anything else.'

Athos managed a chuckle before watching Aramis, who was wielding the now threaded needle. Treville stepped forward and helped Porthos to restrain Athos as Aramis went to work.

D'Artagnan continued to watch quietly as Athos tried and failed to prevent his natural instinct to move away from the pain Aramis was inflicting on him. He lasted for four stitches before the pain clearly overtook him and he went limp.

Treville straightened up. He watched Aramis for a few seconds as his medic continued to stitch. He looked across to d'Artagnan.

'And you, are you feeling better?'

D'Artagnan was not ready for the question from his Captain. He tried to think quickly, work out what he should say. He knew he could not defend his abysmal failure.

Treville smiled at him, 'you were not at fault, d'Artagnan,' he said. 'I am the one who should have thought ahead. I shouldn't have allowed you to be alone after you passed on the information.'

D'Artagnan could not help a slightly shocked look from crossing his face.

'And you are not to blame for talking after you were drugged. None of us could withstand that kind of abuse.'

D'Artagnan saw that Porthos had turned away from him, Aramis was reaching out to lay a hand on the Musketeers' shoulder but Porthos moved away. Aramis went back to his ministrations after a pause.

Treville had not noticed the exchange between the two Musketeers behind him.

'The fact that you are in the state you are is testament to how well you withstood their initial beating...I am proud of you d'Artagnan. You have nothing to be ashamed of and you do not have to worry about getting a dressing down.'

Treville smiled at him, before nodding and turning to go, he looked across to Aramis.

'Do you need anything?'

Aramis who had been looking at Porthos again refocused on Treville, 'no, I've stitched the wound, all we can do is wait.'

Treville nodded before stepping forward to help his men move the injured Musketeer to the bed next to d'Artagnan.

'Shot and then injured in a sword fight,' remarked Treville, 'in separate incidents on the same day...quite impressive.'

As Treville left the room, d'Artagnan noticed that Aramis was looking a little upset now.

He wondered what it was that had caused both Porthos and Aramis to be a little odd. He could not describe what it was about their behaviour that was strange but both men seemed a little off. They were conducting themselves as they should be but there was something about their demeanour that was unusual.

'What happened?' he asked looking at each man in turn. 'Something's gone on, Porthos has barely looked at me since you returned and Aramis, just now, when Treville was talking about Athos you went really pale.'

Porthos glanced at Aramis who looked away for a few seconds.

MMMM

'Porthos realised you were still being affected by the drug and what the drug was doing to you,' said Aramis quietly.

D'Artagnan looked at Porthos who had finally managed to make eye contact again. He had pulled a chair up to sit beside him whilst Aramis sat on the other side keeping an eye on Athos as he related what had happened.

'We needed to know how much of the intelligence you had told the mercenaries. The drug...it made you a little talkative, but when you were asked direct questions you answered them. I don't think you wanted to, you seemed to know that you should not be talking. I think you were fighting it.'

D'Artagnan tried to think back to being given the drug. He had a hazy recollection of being forced to drink, of the men holding him down.

'I remembered a similar drug from my youth...I knew what we needed to do to get you to talk,' said Porthos.

D'Artagnan could see regret in his friend's eyes, 'you had to be direct, to interrogate me, didn't you,' he said.

Porthos looked at him for a few seconds before nodding once.

'You did what you had to do,' said d'Artagnan with a smile.

'Don't make it any easier, I had to be quite forceful with you,' replied Porthos his eyes still filled with regret.

D'Artagnan could see the struggle his friend was having. He hated to imagine the man making the decision to effectively interrogate him. Porthos must have hated doing so.

'I want you to know,' said d'Artagnan after a few moments contemplation, 'that if you are in a similar situation again, I would expect you to do the same. I do not blame you in the slightest. I can't remember it anyway,' he finished with a smile.

'Thank you,' said Porthos with a genuine smile of his own.

'Perhaps Aramis should learn to accept that sometimes things happen, and we should just move on?' said Athos quietly.

They all looked across at him. Aramis glared at him for a few seconds.

'I know,' he said before reaching forward to check the dressing on Athos' arm and check him for any signs of fever.

'What happened between you two?' asked d'Artagnan.

Aramis sighed and turned back towards him, 'I accidentally shot him when I was trying to prevent him being stabbed. I got wound up about it and wouldn't let it go, blaming myself...I got a bit self-centred about it.'

Aramis looked a little embarrassed. D'Artagnan hid a smile and noticed that Athos was doing the same.

'Well, despite the unpleasantness I still want to thank you all for rescuing me. I know Treville has said it wasn't my fault, but I do still feel guilty. I put you all in danger.'

'But you would do the same for any of us?' said Porthos who had recovered his usual tone after being a little quiet.

D'Artagnan nodded without a pause.

'Then do not trouble yourself with self-blame,' said Athos.

D'Artagnan thought for a moment before speaking again, 'you said the drug made me talkative...did I...did I say anything inappropriate?'

He could not help but notice the furtive glances and very slight pause before all three men responded.

'I do not recall.'

'Nothin' I remember.'

'No, I don't think so.'

D'Artagnan felt himself redden, knowing full well all three of his friends were lying to him. But it was obvious that whatever he had said was not going to cause any issues between them. He was, in a way, grateful, that they were choosing to pretend he had not said anything.

'That's alright then,' he said with a slightly embarrassed smile.

MMMM

Authors note: a short epilogue follows, there is a loose end that needs to be tidied away.