Savoy Desolation.
Chapter Ten.
The house looked bleak as the darkness enveloped its surroundings. A chilly wind blew across the fields. The sound of a hooting owl sent a shrill from beyond the trees. It was several hours since Captain Tréville and his men had rescued Aramis from the clutches of four bitter and evil reprobates. They had taken their friend back to the abandoned farmhouse to tend to his wounds.
The fire had been lit and candles burned casting shadows around the chamber. A pot containing Serge's stew simmered over the flames filling the chamber with the meaty aroma.
Aramis lay on his stomach on top of a table, his friends having cleared what items lay on the surface. Athos who had mixed one of the medics own concoctions and was now dabbing the deep welt slashes on his raw back, now and then a distressing whine and whimper emanated from the wounded musketeer.
His friends catching each others concerned and sorrowful glances as they tried their best to make him comfortable.
"Hurts...hurts...Isobelle...please...don't...leave me...feel dizzy...blood in the snow...they are dying." croaked the ailing man.
Athos felt his eyes stinging as he dabbed the cloth into the salve, he is incoherent, he's not lucid, what have they done to you brother. I fear it has affected his mind.
"Shhhushhh mon ami...its nearly done...its nearly done." whispered Porthos as he stroked his brothers hair. He glanced up as Athos continued to smear the mixture on his friends wounds.
The swordsman caught the big mans glance. He could see the tears doing their best to flow down the mans perturbed face, his features showed anguish and rage at the same time.
"I have seen some injuries in my life, but this is too much, what kind of mind does this to another? murmered the big musketeer.
"An evil one my friend." replied Athos as he tended his brothers wounds.
The swordsman turned and placed the bowl of salve down before reaching for the bandages they had by chance brought with them.
Porthos glanced at Athos knowing he was about to bind Aramis' ribs, together they both managed to wrap the fabric around the wounded mans torso.
Aramis shrieked out in pain as his two friends turned him slowly. His swollen eyes streaming. This time Porthos had let the tears flow down his face, he wiped them away with his sleeve. The anger still evident in his eyes.
The ramblings carried on as the two men tended their friend.
"Go away Marsac...I have to...save my brothers...leave me be...hurts...bad."
"I am so sorry mon ami...we need to do this so your ribs will heal." whispered Athos into his brothers ear. "You are safe now, you are going to be alright."
"The salve will adhere to the bandage without effecting the slash wounds." murmered Athos as he bound his friends ribs. "He really needs sustenance."
That moment Tréville and d'Artagnan emerged into the chamber.
"We found a cellar." said Tréville "d'Artagnan and I have shackled the two prisoners down there until we are ready to leave."
Porthos glared at his captain. "Please do not ask me to take any food down to the bastards captain. I fear they may not make it back to Paris."
Tréville's jaw twitched as he glanced towards the big man. He said nothing. He knew Porthos so well, he knew them all well. This had affected each of his men in the most grievous of ways. But he knew what Porthos was insinuating, he also knew the man would stand steadfast in his threat.
d'Artganan approached his two friends. He stood watching as Porthos and Athos put a clean shirt over the marksmans head and wrapped a blanket around his shouders. The Gascon put his hand on his brothers shoulder.
"I have some of your favourite broth my friend, you must be hungry."
Aramis seemed to ignore the young man making each of them exchanged perplexed glances. He still trembled as Porthos and Aramis helped him to the large looking sofa, the wounded musketeer was muttering to himself in Spanish. Before shrieking once again in pain.
"Tan frio, sangre por todas partes."
"What's he saying Athos? what's he saying? asked a concerned d'Artagnan.
"Not certain my friend...I caught something about blood." answered the swordsman. "We have to watch him, the last thing we need now is him succumbing to fever."
"Easy mon ami...easy. "I will get you some of that broth d'Artagnan has warmed up for you." suggested Porthos.
The Gascon turned to Tréville, tears filled his eyes, the older man patted him on the back. "He is not himself d'Artagnan...he is not lucid."
"It's like he doesn't know me...dear God...what have they done to him?
Athos put his hand under Porthos' elbow and steered him towards Tréville and d'Artagnan. He glanced back at Aramis who was sat staring into nothing.
"I am worried somewhat Captain, he does not seem, coherent at the moment, he is reliving Savoy in his head.." murmered the swordsman as he glanced at each of his friends.
Tréville eyed his lieutenant. "It was bad enough at the time, now it seems to have returned to haunt him all over again."
"Im no medic captain, but I would say he needs a physician very soon." commented Athos.
"The sooner we get him back to Paris the better."
"As soon as its dawn...I will take a look at that cart...see if it can be fixed." interjected Porthos.
The men turned and glanced at their wounded brother as the mutterings continued. Each one of them locked in his own world of fear and concern for their comrade and brother.
"I am a deserter...I deserve to die...go away...where is Adele...Isobelle is that you mon amour?
Porthos approached the sofa carrying a bowl of stew. He sat besides his friend and handed him the bowl
Aramis slowly raised his head and looked at the big man. "Where am I...have you found Marsac yet?
Porthos caught Trévilles eye, the older man shook his head slightly.
"Not yet my friend ...I am certain we will find him soon, come now eat some stew."
Aramis' hand trembled slightly as he tried to spoon some broth up. He brought the food to his mouth and hissed in pain as his split lips cracked open.
"Here let me mon ami." soothed Porthos taking the bowl and feeding the man.
"I hate seeing him like this." croaked d'Artagnan despair evident in his voice.
"Like I have said we need to get him to Lemay as soon as we can, at least he will know what to do." commented Athos. The swordsman sighed at his own words, would Lemay know what to do, this was more than just physical pain, this was mental pain.
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Dawn broke, the sky was pink as Porthos looked across the open meadows. He turned back to the cart and kicked the wheel slightly having fixed the problem.
d'Artagnan appeared from the farmhouse and approached the big man.
"It looks as good a new my friend." he grinned putting his hand on the wooden frame and admiring his friends work.
"Lets 'ope it makes it back to Paris. Those bloody roads are like cobbled rocks." growled Porthos.
xxxxxxx
Tréville and Athos sat at the wooden table in the middle of the room, the fire had been burning most of the night as each man had sat with his brother in turn. Each one tending his wounds and making certain he drank plenty of water. Aramis had slept on and off through the night, shouting out in his sleep for his slaughtered comrades. He had shrieked in pain as the wounds became more painful. Athos had mixed him a sleeping draught so the man could get some comfort, but it only lasted a couple of hours until he awoke once again in pain. Porthos had made certain he had eaten some bread and ham for breakfast, even though it was very little.
Aramis was now sleeping again, he had been turned onto his side as not to agitate his back wounds.
Athos glanced across at his ailing brother as he packed away the bandages and concoctions back into the saddlebag. He turned to Tréville who was putting on his doublet and fastening his weapons belt.
"I have a somewhat bad feeling about all this captain." murmered the swordsman. "I know we can fix his wounds, but can we fix his mind?
Tréville eyed his lieutenant, the younger man was saying what he was thinking. He had thought the same as soon as he seen what state they had found Aramis in.
"Let us pray that Lemay knows what to do for him, I fear you could be right Athos, but let us not be too hasty in our thinking, we are not physicians."
Both men suddnely glanced toward the ailing man as he yelled out.
"The snow is red...they are dead...go away Marsac...my brothers where are my brothers?
Athos rushed to his brothers side and knelt down to his level as Aramis tried to sit up.
"Aramis...its Athos...I am your brother...we are all here for you mon ami."
Aramis gasped in pain as he sat up, he stared into Athos' face and stretched his hand towards his shoulder. The ailing mans eyes had filled with tears as he fought the images in his head.
"Ath...os...we need...more weapons." he croaked. "They are dying...there is...blood everywhere."
Athos shot a glance at Tréville, the older mans features full of concern for his soldier.
"Aramis my friend, you are safe, we have ample weapons, no one is dying."
Aramis had gripped Athos tightly by the arm as he trembled. The swordsman stroked his friends hair away from his friends face. The ailing man let go suddenly and put his head in his hands.
"Feel...sick...feel...
Athos turned quickly and grabbed a bowl from the table, he put it under the marksmans chin as he threw up the contents of his stomach.
Tréville had picked up a cloth and rung it in water, he handed it to Athos.
The swordsman wiped the vomit from Aramis' beard and picked up a waterskin. He held it to his brothers lips as he drank a couple of gulps.
That moment Porthos and d'Artagnan appeared through the door.
"The cart is good to go cap..." growled Porthos. The big mans words trailing off as he noticed Athos tending to Aramis.
"Wha' 'appened? he asked.
"He was sick...he is alright now." replied Athos.
d'Artagnan squeezed Aramis' shoulder. "I will get some blankets and make the cart comfortable for him." he commented walking towards one of the chambers.
Athos nodded. "Good idea...see if you can find some pillows d'Artganan, he needs to lay on his side."
The young man nodded towards the swordsman.
Tréville turned to Porthos. "You and d'Artagnan ride ahead with the prisoners, I don't want them bastards anywhere near him, it could make his condition worse than what it is already."
Porthos' face was a fixed scowl as Tréville spoke. He nodded in acknowledgement.
d'Artagnan emerged with blankets and pillows as Tréville spoke.
"Have the infirmary prepared for our return. As soon as we reach the Paris outskirts Athos you will ride ahead and have Doctor Lemay summoned."
Athos put on his doublet and nodded the order.
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Two Hours Later
Road To Paris.
The cart trundled along the road driven by Tréville, Athos rode to the rear to keep an eye on his injured brother. Porthos and d'Arganan had left an hour before them, taking the prisoners with them. The swordsman had given a sleeping draught to Aramis hoping the man would sleep most of the journey, but the lumps and bumps in the road kept the wounded man unsettled. They would stop now and again to give the man a drink. The day was chilly but dry, rain clouds threatened but soon moved away.
xxxxxxx
Notre Dame struck three of the clock in the afternoon as the cart was driven through the streets towards the musketeer garrison. Athos, as ordered had rode ahead and had summoned Doctor Lemay.
x
Musketeer Garrison
Infirmary:
Tréville and Athos stood either side of the bed as Doctor Lemay took out certain instuments from his bag and looked over Aramis.
The injured man lay on his stomach as Lemay examined the flogging injuries on his back. The musketeer continued to mutter to himself between gasps and whimpers as the physician probed his wounds.
"Well you are right about the broken ribs Athos, I would say two of them. You have certainly done a splendid job with his back wounds, it is somewhat a blessing that you acted most rapidly with the salve, it may have caused them to become infected otherwise."
Tréville and Athos exchanged glances. "I only did what Aramis would have done for any of us doctor."
Lemay looked up as he held onto Aramis shoulder. "If we can turn him on his side gentlemen."
Both Tréville and Athos helped Lemay turn Aramis onto his side.
"I see he has been beaten about the head, dear God who does this to a man? exclaimed the physician.
That moment Lemay looked into Aramis face. "Aramis! can you tell me what year it is?
Aramis looked into the doctors eyes. "I do not care...it be all your doing...go away." croaked the injured man.
Athos swallowed hard, he could feel the lump forming in his throat once again.
Where they going to get their brother back again, this was not him. In all the years he had known him he had never seen anything like this before.
Lemay persisted as he grasped the musketeer's head between both his hands.
"Heed what I ask Aramis. "Do you know who I am?
Aramis stared vacantly at the physician, the deep black bruising around both eyes made him look at the man with hate.
"You are that quack! you are an imposter...get away from me you charlatan! yelled the marksman.
Aramis cowered away from Lamay, his eyes wide with horror as he looked to Athos, his features full of despair. The swordsman grabbed his brother by his hand and sat on the bed. Aramis nuzzled into him like a child with his mother, he weeped loudly as Athos rocked him back and forth stroking his hair and whispering words of comfort.
They were unaware of Porthos and d'Artagnan as they appeared in the doorway, both men looking sick and anxious.
Tréville put his head in his hands and sat on a random chair next to the bed.
Doctor Lemay sat at the table watching the spectical. He glanced up as Porthos and d'Artagnan joined him at the table followed by Tréville.
The men sat in silence as they watched Athos comfort their brother. He suddenly glanced towards them from the bed, the swordmans eyes glazed and full of heartbreak.
Lemay's voice broke through silence suddenly.
"I fear his mind is impaired gentlemen. That is something that is beyond my knowledge, but I do indeed know a man who may be able to help him. In the mean time may I suggest he is taken to St. Vincents Monestery."
"WHAT? tell me you are jestin.' growled Porthos. "Why there?
Lemay eyed the big musketeer. "Because that is what they do there for the likes of Aramis, they tend to people who have a weakened mind."
"You mean like a bloody refuge for mad people." continued Porthos slamming his fist down on the table.
"PORTHOS! roared Tréville. "I know how you feel but it is for the best for Aramis."
d'Artagnan was sat with his head in his hands. "How long will he be there." he suddenly asked Lemay.
"There is no way of telling, the abbott there is a very well educated man, he has helped hundreds over the years." replied the physician.
Aramis who had now fallen asleep, Athos gently lay him on his side against the stack of pillows, before joinging the others.
"And this man you know doctor. What is it he knows that you yourself do not? asked the swordsman.
Lemay glanced up at Athos. "He worked for some time at Bethlam Refuge in London England, he was educated at Oxford. But he resides here in Paris, I will send word for him to come to the garrison. He has studied the human mind, and has visited St. Vincents Monastery in the past and still does."
"Do you think he will recover? asked Tréville.
Lemay sighed aloud and figited in his seat. "I cannot answer that captain, it depends how much damage has been done to his mind."
Tréville suddenly stood. "Very well, send word to him, we will do what ever is needed to get our musketeer back."
Lemay nodded.
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To Be Continued...
Hi Guys,
Hope you are still enjoying the story.
Thank you for the reviews, they are awesome!
Will try and update before next weekend,
Thank you
Pippa xxxx
Spanish Wording: tan frio, sangre por todas partes = so cold, blood everywhere.
Bethlem did exist in the 17th Century, used for the insane. It was built in London. Henry VIII knew of it in the 16th Century.
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