CHAPTER 9
"Porthos, stop. We need something to use as a battering ram," Treville declared after the man threw his body weight against the gate unsuccessfully for the fourth time. The five of them scattered, searching the area for a suitable object.
"Over here," Maurice called out, as he motioned for his friends to join him. There was some work being done on a nearby building and there were thick wooden struts stacked on the ground, waiting to be installed.
The beams weren't ideal, but they were better than Porthos' shoulder, so the street fighter and Mellin hoisted one and carried it over to the garrison's locked gate. They didn't need five of them on the beam, so the captain and Aramis stood to the side, as the other three musketeers got a firm grip on the wood.
"On three," Porthos instructed. "One, two, three," and they rushed forward with their ram, firmly smacking it against the doors, which shook but remained solid. It took a bit of coordination to aim the heavy beam and their third attempt went awry and hit one of the longboards that made up the gate squarely, causing it to splinter.
"Do that again. Hit that spot. Enlarge the hole," Aramis directed.
They took a quick break, placing the strut on the dirt. Porthos took a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead as he glanced over at Aramis. "Are you planning on us climbing, one by one, through that little hole like mice?"
"No, put maybe we can get a quick glance inside, see what is going on. What we will be facing when the gates come down," Aramis explained. "Just make the hole a little bigger."
"Says the man standing around watching," the street fighter grumbled, as he motioned for the other two men to heft the beam again. "You heard him, fellows. Pretty boy over there wants to stick his head though a hole, into a place where there is shooting going on, and see what's up."
A bit worriedly, Aramis' eyes sidled toward the captain. "I hadn't thought of it like that."
"It's a good idea. Having situational awareness before we burst in." The captain clapped Aramis on the shoulder and deadpanned, "Besides who'd want to shoot at your pretty face."
"You'd be surprised," Aramis said, as he watched the battering ram make the hole in the gate larger.
After a third hit, the men wielding the beam stepped back to allow Aramis to examine the opening. With visible trepidation, he brought his face close to the gap and peered inside. Scanning the courtyard, he found what he was looking for and quickly backed away from the opening. "Make it bigger. Hurry!" he frantically demanded, as he ran back to his horse and grabbed his musket from its saddle holster.
Responding to the panicked tone in their comrade's voice, they unquestioningly picked up the ram and slammed it on the outer edge of the hole, widening it. Aramis barely waited for them to clear out of the way before he was back to the hole with his gun at his side.
Athos heard a strange banging noise on the edge of his consciousness, but he didn't see how it pertained to his immediate situation so he paid no attention to it. He was facing four armed men, alone, with a single sword in his non-dominant hand so he didn't have a lot of time for extraneous thoughts if he wanted to survive.
His mind was sifting through strategies on how to handle this situation. If the men enclosed him in a circle, he'd be hard pressed to keep an eye on all of them and he didn't think they would politely wait and take turns slashing at him. Putting something at his back was an option, but that left him no way to retreat, which was also a dangerous situation. It seems his best option was constant movement, avoid being trapped like a wild animal and, of course, take them down as quickly as possible.
Letting his eyes scan the four men menacing him, he decided the weakest link was the man on the left. Catching them by surprise, he lunged forward in an attack, sword slashing downward catching the unsuspecting man on his arm causing him to cry out in pain as he dropped his weapon from his now useless hand.
Ducking and spinning, Athos slashed at the next man over, his sword not inflicting any appreciable damage, but his boot, which he viciously planted in the man's groin, had the thief doubling over and groaning in agony. The other two men, now wise to his tactics, drew close, slashing with their swords, one of which lightly grazed him as he rolled out of the way.
Staggering to his feet, Athos wildly glanced around to reestablish his enemies' position. The guy with the slashed arm was out of commission, kneeling in the dirt trying to staunch the blood from his wound. Groin guy was also kneeling in the dirt, but showing signs of recovery. The stray thought that the man had balls of steel, skirted through Athos' mind as he watched the man start to rise. The other two fighters were rapidly closing in on him and Athos raised his sword to meet their attack.
For the next few minutes, the two on one fight danced about the courtyard, Athos keeping a few steps ahead of his attackers. Rarely having an opportunity to attack, he mainly fended off their advances. Athos kept an eye on the third man, knowing at some point he would recover enough to join the fray. Unfortunately, that moment came sooner than he hoped, as a third sword joined the first two in trying to kill him.
Fatigue was settling into his limbs making it harder to parry his opponent's thrusts. His foot slipped and he went down on one knee, which earned him a light slash before he scrambled out of the way. Barely vertical before the swords descended again, he valiantly blocked their advances. His slow burning fuse finally ignited, goading him into action. His strength and stamina were nearly depleted. It was time for one last effort, which would settle this fight one way or another.
With renewed vigor, he went on the offensive, catching his opponents off-guard for they had been smelling blood. Athos' blade whirled with blinding speed, finding its mark more often than not. But anger is a two-edged sword and his maniacal energy was depleting his adrenaline. Imperceptible at first, but slowly becoming visible, his movements became labored and eventually sloppy. As he fended off two of his attacker's blades, it dawned on him he didn't know where the third one was which was a dangerous oversight. A glint in the corner of his eye answered his query and with certainty, he knew he couldn't get out of the way fast enough. His luck had just run out.
