Chapter Ten
'You're very patient,' said Athos as Aramis calmly adjusted the position of his hand on the gun again. Athos had forgotten how many times Aramis had made the move.
They were back in the same secluded spot aiming at the same tree. Athos wished he was better than he was. They had been working steadily for a couple of hours. He wanted to be better, what frustrated him most was that they all knew he was better. The old him, the real him. His memories only lasted six days. That was all he knew. He had lain in bed at night as Aramis and Porthos slept and tried to remember.
He had looked at the men who were his friends and he tried to picture them all together in battle or even in the skirmish that had left him the way he was. He could not imagine it, could not see it, could not remember it.
From what they had told him he was something of a mentor to d'Artagnan, but the young man did not appear to need any guidance. His skill with a sword were exemplary, Athos could not see anyone being better. Including himself, his old self.
Athos had to keep reminding himself that he was not who he was. There was a whole other person, with a quiet brooding demeanour it seemed, who had been suppressed by the injury he had received.
Porthos and d'Artagnan were trying to accept him for what he had become. What it seemed he would continue to be. But Aramis was not ready to let the old Athos go. He was still determined the old Athos would be found again.
Athos had watched the marksman a few times when he did not realise he was being observed. Aramis would stare off into the distance. Athos wondered if even he was, in those moments of solitude, starting to accept that the Athos they all knew was gone. And he, this stranger to them and himself, was what they were left with.
Aramis stepped back a couple of paces after pushing Athos' arm straight again.
'Slowly, we can work on speed once you've become a bit more accurate,' said Aramis, 'and yes I am patient. It's how I hit the target more than the others do.'
Athos levelled the gun, focusing on the tree that Aramis had now pinned a piece of fabric to as a target. He pulled the trigger.
He stared at the tree for a few seconds before looking at Aramis who had the biggest grin he had seen from the Musketeer.
He had hit the tree, not only that, he had hit the target as well.
'It only took, what, twenty tries,' quipped Athos with a smile.
'I don't care, you did what we set out to do. Now, let's see if you can repeat that in less than twenty attempts?'
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The look of astonishment on his friend's face had made Aramis' day. They had been slowly working on his aim for a couple of hours. Aramis had not wanted to say anything, but he had noticed a slow steady improvement over the time they were together.
It had been oddly satisfying talking Athos through the cleaning and loading of the weapon. They had sat together in the garrison yard that morning and cleaned several guns. The methodical work had given them time to talk.
Aramis had told Athos about various skirmishes and battles they had been in. Unusually Aramis had not exaggerated or embellished the stories. He had given the facts as they were. Nonetheless, Athos was still impressed with what they had done together.
As they had ridden out to the spot where they would practice shooting Athos had asked his usual questions. Aramis wondered when the man would be satisfied, when would he have asked all that he could. But Aramis had concluded that Athos had lost so much, he needed to know who they all where and where he fit into their world.
Should he start to accept that Athos was gone? The thought had started to creep into his mind every so often. But Aramis did not want to think like that, he knew the others were, he knew Athos was starting to think it.
No. He would keep trying. He would not give up on Athos, or the man he had become. The new Athos wanted to help them to find the old Athos.
Aramis just wished he knew how to get Athos back.
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Athos decided very quickly that he was not a man who like brawling. Hand to hand combat was really quite brutal. And although he thought that Porthos was going easy on him, he was not sure.
As the Musketeer helped him off the ground again, Athos had lost count of the number of times Porthos had managed to leave him on the floor, he wondered if he would really need to know how to fight without a weapon.
They were soldiers, surely he could just use his sword and gun to repel the enemy?
The thought was pushed from his mind as the air was forced from his lungs. He found he was staring at the blue sky again with Porthos kneeling above him looking a little concerned.
'Not sure I'm cut out for this,' Athos said as he got his breath back.
'You'll learn. D'Artagnan was a bit rubbish at this when he first started, but he can give as good as he gets now.'
Athos allowed Porthos to pull him to his feet and gratefully accepted the waterskin when it was pushed into his hands.
'If you become separated from your weapons or are in a tight spot and can't draw your sword or gun, being able to knock your opponent off his feet is vital. And being able to evade a punch is just as important.'
Athos could tell Porthos was very serious about what he was saying, they had talked about his years in the Court of Miracles. Athos knew that Porthos was very good at thinking quickly and using whatever was to hand to aid him.
'Then let's continue,' said Athos after a few more seconds, 'but perhaps you could be a little less forceful?'
Porthos grinned, Athos realised the Musketeer was going to be no such thing.
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The old Athos, the Athos Porthos thought was gone, had been a bit similar when it came to hand to hand combat. The skill was a necessity but not something he embraced. Given the chance, Athos would sooner run the enemy through with a sword then get close enough to fight with his fists.
The old Athos was capable enough, he had managed to get each of them on the floor at one time or another but only when it was necessary. Where Porthos enjoyed a good brawl, particularly if it meant knocking the Red Guard around, Athos would rather put someone in their place with an acerbic word or two.
This new Athos really was not keen on fighting. Aramis had told them the night before that his shooting was improving rapidly. Athos had said that Aramis was exaggerating that he was still missing more than he was hitting the target, but Aramis had seemed pleased. Porthos got the impression that Athos was glad to see Aramis pleased about something.
Porthos and d'Artagnan had decided that although they would continue to try to jog their friend's memory, they would be better off spending their time helping Athos to decide what he would do.
Should he try to remain a soldier? Was he cut out to be a soldier? His enthusiasm and slight improvement in shooting was not enough to convince Porthos. The man himself was a little unsure that he was capable. But as long as he was willing to try they were willing to help him. Even if hand to hand was not his idea of fun.
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'Watch your feet again, you'll end up tripping,' said D'Artagnan firmly.
It had taken the younger man a little while, but he was treating Athos as he treated the cadets. Athos had said he did not mind. That perhaps he would learn quicker if d'Artagnan did not feel he could not, on occasion berate him for sloppy work.
Athos took the firm tutelage with good grace, he was finding the drills easier as he continued. The work was still difficult, the first day they had spent working on his sword work had left him so physically exhausted he had slept so deeply that it had taken quite a lot for Porthos to shake him awake the following morning.
Now on their second day of working in the secluded spot, Athos was starting to tire already. He could not imagine fighting for days on end in a battle. He was again in awe of the other Musketeers.
They had started to work with the parrying dagger. Athos was finding the main gauche to be a difficult weapon to deal with. Using both arms was confusing. D'Artagnan was taking his swings at him very slowly. Giving him time to react and bring the weapon up. But as the Musketeer had pointed out to him his footwork was now suffering.
It seemed impossible to get everything to work together. The coordination that seemed to come so naturally to his friends just eluded him.
Athos tried to get it right. As d'Artagnan swung the sword again, Athos raised his main gauche, but without really knowing why he ended up lifting his right arm at the same time. Rather than knock d'Artagnan's sword away he ran the main gauche across his right arm.
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The blade cut through Athos' doublet and sliced into his arm. He gasped and stumbled back, dropping the weapons and grabbing his right arm with his left hand. Athos looked up at d'Artagnan with shock.
'I think we've done enough for today,' said d'Artagnan as he dropped his own sword and grabbed Athos who had become very pale as he stared at his arm.
Blood was seeping between the fingers of his gloved hand. D'Artagnan forced Athos to kneel on the ground, worried that the man might keel over if he did not.
'Let me have a look at the damage,' said d'Artagnan, keeping voice calm.
The old Athos would probably have dealt with the injury himself, at least until they could have a medic look at it. But now Athos seemed to have no idea what to do. D'Artagnan peeled Athos' hand from the injury and pushed his sleeve up. Athos gasped again.
'It's going to need stitches,' concluded d'Artagnan.
He looked up and reached for Athos scarf that the man had taken to wearing again. They had told him that he wore the item frequently. D'Artagnan had wondered if he had put it back on in an attempt to appear more like his old self.
After wrapping the scarf around his forearm d'Artagnan pulled his friend back to his feet. Athos still looked shocked, his silence was a worry. But his next words were even more worrying.
'Stitches? I don't think I want that. Can we just leave it?'
'No, Athos, we can't. I doubt you'll need many and Aramis knows what he's doing. He'll sort you out. But the wound will need looking after.'
Athos did not look convinced.
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After a slower than usual ride back into Paris, d'Artagnan steered his injured friend into the infirmary after sending one of the stable boys to get Aramis from the armoury.
D'Artagnan helped Athos to take his doublet off before leaving him sat at the table, his injured arm resting on the surface. He collected what Aramis would need to stitch the wound. Athos had barely spoken on the journey back to the garrison and had been holding his injured arm protectively across his chest.
Sadly, d'Artagnan had thought how differently the man was dealing with what was really only a slight injury. The old Athos would have had to be reminded to get the wound dealt with. Aramis would probably have had to bully him into the infirmary. The old Athos would not have been on the point of collapse, as this Athos was.
D'Artagnan had to remind himself that Athos was not the Athos of old. This was a man who had been terrified when he was confronted in the market a few days before.
Now he was sat, shaking slightly at the infirmary table looking very apprehensive.
'It's not a training session without a few injuries,' said Aramis with a smile as he pushed through the door.
Aramis nodded to d'Artagnan as he laid out what would be needed to deal with the injury. D'Artagnan watched as Aramis unwound the temporary bandage and looked at the cut to Athos' arm.
'It's probably only going to need three or four stitches,' he concluded as he reached for a cloth and dipped it in the water d'Artagnan had left on the table.
Athos tried to pull his arm away slightly as Aramis wiped away the blood and cleaned the wound. Aramis glanced at d'Artagnan who moved to stand behind Athos and rested his hands on the injured man's shoulders.
'This will sting a little,' said Aramis with a wry smile as he poured a little alcohol over the wound.
Athos yanked his arm away, tried to stand and yelped at the same time. D'Artagnan grabbed his arm and pushed him back into the chair.
'Sorry,' said Aramis, 'you're not used to it are you?'
'How can you get used to that?' panted Athos with his eyes screwed shut.
'You just do,' replied d'Artagnan as he pushed Athos' arm back towards Aramis.
D'Artagnan watched as Aramis readied a needle.
'Now that it's clean we can put the stitches in,' said Aramis as he threaded the needle.
Athos had managed to get his breathing under control. He opened his eyes in time to see Aramis moving the needle towards his arm.
D'Artagnan had to react quickly to prevent the now unconscious man from falling off the chair.
Athos had passed out.
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