Chapter Ten
The inn's lobby combined with its giant hearth, became once again a comfort and warmth to the two musketeers who sat closer to the fire than their last visit. With two extra in their company, the musketeers of four were finally collaborated together as one and decided to stay in the inn that had recently lost ownership a mere couple hours ago, to enjoy a few moments of refreshing themselves before duty called them to transport their detainees back to Paris for trial.
Their detainees, at the moment, enjoyed the scenery that the inn's cellar provided, while Porthos propped up his chair against the door's entrance and sat fast asleep allowing only the bravest of men to disturb him. Marvian gladly -for his benefit only- wasn't bleeding to death in the darkness of the cellar, although they had debated about not treating him, for Aramis was ordered to at least cover the wound, so that they would deliver their prisoner to Paris alive. It was a tough decision to make for all of them.
d'Artagnan worn out, but predicted to outlast them all, also fell under sleep's enchantment and lay halfway on a wooden table not containing the questionable liquid that was a few feet away still unwashed by the runaway serving girl. He had taken off his heavy, damp cloak in order to let it dry before their ride back to Paris in the morning. For now he was warm and thoroughly dried without it, lying nearer to the fire than all the rest. His incomparable youth to his friends had no more energy to gift him with for the night as he lay there getting a much deserved sleep.
Aramis wasn't finished with his medical duties for the night after sloppily attaching a torn bed sheet to the leg of Marvian earlier, for while Athos' crossed arms served as a pillow on the table for his head, Aramis tended to the gash on his scalp.
The deep cut was cleansed before anything else and Aramis started to dab at the wound gently. The water in the bowl ran red when he had squeezed every last drop from the cleanest rag he could find in the building. Now it was stained with the blood of one his closest friends that had flowed down the back of his neck and stained the back of his cloak that was now laying next to d'Artagnan's to dry.
A tankard full of an alcoholic beverage stayed in close proximity to Athos' reach during the procedure, but the man hadn't touched a drop and it stayed being a full tankard for a long period of time during the early hours of the next day.
He was as still as a stone statue and much quieter than his sleeping friends around him, yet he was fully awake. Aramis was used to his friend's complete stubbornness to be cared for, but respected the man's high tolerance to pain. It certainly wasn't the first time he had stitched him up, but it had been quite awhile.
Athos had never enjoyed bringing his pain to light and always preferred to not to mention anything while wearing his most miserable of faces instead. In most cases it tended to revolve around his past life that hurt him the deepest of all, and far more than any sword thrust through the belly could ever do. His heart carried the worst of wounds that could never be stitched.
In this special case Athos sat in front of Aramis and pulled off his cloak showing him the damage. Without a word between them, Aramis knew exactly what he was supposed to do and was actually pleased that his friend came to an understanding rather than a fight.
"About that sword duel we had earlier..." Aramis conversed while stitching the skin delicately and breaking the silence despite Porthos' snoring.
"Don't," Athos inserted rather quickly, before the man could gloat.
"I was only going to say that it was an unfair fight with your disability and that I won't hold it against you."
"No you weren't."
The thread pulled through a second time, with the result of a quick flinch from Athos.
"It wouldn't be any nicer than telling you that I'm currently the greatest swordsman in France since I bested you. That is, until your head fully recovers."
"Tommorrow."
"By tommorrow?" Aramis repeated, tasting the words on his tongue.
Athos stayed silent already knowing that his friend would carry on nevertheless and explain regardless of him caring or not. Which he didn't.
"I was thinking of a tournament just within our regiment," Aramis began his thought while putting the last stitches in Athos' scalp, "A sword dueling tournament. Ten livre per contestant. Sure you couldn't participate while you're recuperating from your injury, but you could judge. Our little fight gave me a confidence boost, and I think..."
"A rematch would suffice," Athos interrupted feeling the last poke of the needle enter through his sensitive skin.
Aramis stopped his threading and knotted at the end of the stitch before answering.
"No tournament?" He sounded slightly disappointed while packing up his things. "Why?"
Athos, realizing his friend was completed, stood up from the table and grabbing his drink, he downed it in one go. He tilted the cup more so than his head that seemed to be bothered by any quick movements.
"Because you're taking advantage of my misfortune for your benefit so that you can look good," Athos started walking over to the bar to refill his cup.
"That's not entirely true," Aramis smiled, "I already look good enough."
Athos slowly turned around to wipe off his friend's smile with his own disapproving look. It seemed to always work..
"So just a rematch?" Aramis confirmed.
"A twenty livre rematch, yes," Athos said with a smirk on his face that Aramis couldn't see.
"Twenty livre?"
"I did pass out a numerous amount of bribes today and would love to be reimbursed."
Aramis sighed and gave up trying to win the upper hand against this impossible man.
"That's fair. When?"
Athos thought on it for a moment, as if he was trying to find an answer to a question he already knew the answer to.
"Tomorrow," He answered suddenly.
"And what of your-?" Aramis didn't have to finish the sentence when he pointed right at Athos' head.
"Just a scratch."
"I don't make a habit of stitching up scratches. Unless you want to get beaten again, I'm pre..."
The rest of the word Aramis was trying to articulate was overpowered by a sound that resembled that of a lightning strike. The room exploded with a bang that shook the floor beneath them, as the front door to the inn flew open with a strong gust of wind that almost cracked the frame straight off. If it wasn't the sound that awakened the sleeping musketeers, it was the cold air from outside that rushed in like a violent hurricane, sweeping everyone off their feet.
Without looking to see who had thrown down the door, Athos grabbed at his musket, pressed the hammer down, and turned just in time to find his gun pointing exactly at one of the intruders. Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan, from their various spots scattered across the room, had done the same. The standoff began as all weapons were all displayed and everyone had a shooting partner.
Athos' gun was aimed at the man that was known as Costas. He looked the same as before, if not a bit more worn, but his right hand was tightly wrapped in a crude bandage at his side, resulting from his attempt to punch Athos in the face earlier. Now his left hand took responsibility and held on to his musket pointed at Athos' head.
"Where is he?" Costas questioned in his Spanish accent that was almost too thick to understand at times. Despite that fact, his message was obviously clear. They came for Marvian, and nothing else.
"Who? Porthos answered the question with a question.
"Did you find him?" Costas ignored him and directed his question at Athos, whom he had hoped to answer it accordingly.
"You speak of Marvian?" Athos didn't answer accordingly. His musket didn't flinch from Costas as he spoke.
"Of course we speak of Marvian. Why else would we come here and seek you?" The grey-bearded one spoke. His two guns were trained on Aramis and d'Artagnan in the center of the room. Theirs were aimed at him.
"Feel free to search for him, but you'll need to go through us first," d'Artagnan added for good measure, "And you're outnumbered at the moment."
The Spanish brothers didn't have to look at each other to acknowledge the amusement written on their faces. The next second included that of the three brothers lowering their weapons and placing it in the holsters at their sides.
"French. Always jumping to conclusions," Costas said while sticking out his unwrapped hand for Athos to shake.
Surprised by the sudden mood change, Athos responded by accepting the handshake, still unknowing why the men were here.
"I could say the same of you," He said with confusion spread in his voice. He kept his musket at his side for good measure. His friends did the same.
"This was our mess to begin with," The youngest brother, who lowered his weapon away from Porthos, started. "Even though we didn't take part in killing your friends, their deaths are bearing down on our conscience."
"We came to offer you our help in ridding your country of this disease, before it spreads any further," Costas finished and then bowed in service to the musketeers. All three of them did in unison.
"Many years have we despised your kind and all you stand for. All because of the single act of your friend's brother and his raping of our sister," The eldest brother explained.
"Technically, I wouldn't call him a friend anymore," d'Artagnan interrupted in a hushed tone that only Aramis could hear. Aramis facial expression was one of agreement.
"We shouldn't judge all for the act of one. And you have proved to us that you are worthy of being respected."
Costas turned to Aramis and Porthos extended his hand to both of them,"You have saved our lives and the lives of our families this evening. We owe you thanks and we offer our services in return."
"And I thought this day was done with surprises," d'Artagnan directed at Aramis and Porthos, who were more relaxed as the intruders were not so hostile.
"We 'ave said that we stopped a riot on the way 'ere, didn't we?" Porthos smugly replied to the young d'Artagnan.
"You failed to mention that you actually spoke with them."
Aramis smiled brightly, "You know us. Always stopping to get the praise."
Costas reached Athos and this time put a hand on his shoulder. He immediately noticed the dried blood that had stained Athos' white shirt, "My actions earlier were inexcusable and I understand if you don't forgive me for it."
Athos looked at the man's eyes that no longer held the fire that once was in them. In every way the man was sincere. Athos reached his hand up and covered the man's hand.
"No I don't," Athos said with his own sincerity in his voice, causing the man to be slightly confused, "I understand what compelled you and I have already forgiven you."
Costas smiled out of relief and squeezed his new friend's shoulder.
"You are not to blame for any of this in any way," Aramis found himself saying to break the newfound silence, "Marvian was mad and uncontrollable. He's the one to blame. Not you, nor your brothers, or anyone else. You don't owe no man anything."
"Your offer of your services is appreciated, but not practical," Athos added. "Marvian is in our custody and will stand on trial once we arrive back in Paris a few hours from now. Porthos, on his own, could handle Marvian without our help, but we wish to deliver him alive to our commanding officer, so our participation is necessary. Yours is not."
The brothers looked disappointed, but not angry at being basically referred to as useless.
"At least let us stay for the night and assist you in keeping the prisoner contained," Costas pleaded with them.
"Tell me, then how can we trust that you are all not here just to take your revenge and kill Marvian during the night?" d'Artagnan asked out of suspicion.
The brothers looked downward to think on the question a bit more further.
"You can't," Costas said with sadness in his voice, "But know this; that we once killed a musketeer and reaped the consequences of our actions, no matter how much they deserved to be in death's embrace. We give you our word, with what little dignity we have left. Marvian deserves to die, but not by our hand."
Everyone stood at a standstill, almost like earlier, except without everyone staring down the barrel of a gun. The roaring hearth in the corner, crackled and popped disturbing the silence.
"That was irrefutable," Athos commented, clearly in awe of the events that had taken place in the entirety of the day and their sudden change of spirit from before.
The musketeers, even though they were a company already of four, couldn't say no to the three brothers who felt obligated to stay and assist. Sending any man back out into the cold at the very early hours of that morning, was a question that needed not to be asked or even considered. The musketeer's guns were holstered and the door was closed on the party of men in the Inn, that was already chilled from the moments of the door being open to the winter air.
"There is no objections, so we invite you to stay in our company," Aramis wandered to where Athos stood and poured up a tankard then handed it to Costas nearby, "Friend."
Costas took of the drink and nodded to all the men in the room.
"Friends," He agreed and drank the contents of the cup.