CHAPTER 10

The dull blade of the sword whacked him in the ribcage once again and he grunted as another wave of pain rippled across his torso. Athos was having a terrible time trying to appear as if he were a novice at sword-work, while still evading the unpredictable lunges of his training mates. Because these amateurs had no clue what they were doing, they were prone to making incredibly bizarre maneuvers, which Athos had both a hard time anticipating and avoiding. It was ironic that the best swordsman in Paris was being thwarted by rank beginners.

The worse incident so far was when his 'opponent' swung his sword at Athos and accidentally let go of it, turning it into a javelin rather than a rapier. Athos had tried to swiftly duck, but somehow, the pommel smacked him in the side of the face, splitting open his cheek. Appalled and in denial, Athos stood there, blood dripping down his left cheek, staring at his perplexed opponent. "You let go of the sword!" he accused in utter disbelief.

Of course, Jehan, who was standing nearby, observed the whole event and burst out laughing. A blush stained Athos' cheeks, even though he wasn't the one that had thrown the sword like a javelin. However, the mere thought of this embarrassing incident ever getting back to his Musketeer brethren made him shudder. The great Athos, unable to duck from a sword, thrown like a stick, for a dog. The jokes would be unmerciful and never-ending.

Wiping his sleeve across his cheek to stanch the blood flow, Athos, warily watched as his opponent retrieved his sword from the ground where it had landed and awkwardly gripped it again. They began to spar and the second time the sword became airborne, Athos was ready for it and accurately and viciously batted it out of the way with his own blade. The good news was he didn't get hit this time. The bad news was Jehan saw him perform the maneuver. The trainer's eyes narrowed at the ploy and Athos feared he might have over played his hand a bit. For the next few hours, Athos made sure his moves were clumsy and amateurish, even though it made it much harder to avoid getting hit once again. By the time the group filed back into the common area, his body felt like one massive bruise from head to toe.

Gratefully, he sank on one of the wooden benches and quickly downed the mug placed in front of him by the same shy servant boy from the morning. Athos gave the boy a small smile as the lad saw fit to refill his mug swiftly. Later that evening, after they had their night meal and had retired to their cells for the duration of the night, Athos was surprised to see the boy outside his door with a small container of water.

Holding out a semi-clean piece of cloth, he stuck it thru the bars, along with the water. "I thought you might want to wash off that cut. My Mom says washing is a good way to avoid infection."

Athos rose and walked over to the bars, accepting the items. "I have a friend who feels the same way. Thank you."

Before he could ask the boy anything else, the lad quickly turned and hurried away. Taking the water and rag back to his pallet, he sat down to sponge off his face. The water felt good and he was grateful that the boy had brought it.

It appeared to Athos, over the next few days, that the lad had taken an interest in him, for whatever reason. He would always ensure Athos got some of the best food and other small kindnesses. One day he slipped Athos a small jar of a salve, explaining his Mom used it on cuts. The musketeer gratefully accepted the small gift as he was continually getting hacked up by his training mates each day. He longed to use his skills and simply lay them all out, but he kept his cool and remained under Jehan's radar.

Laying in his cell on the third night after his capture, trying find a comfortable position that didn't cause pain from his cuts, bumps and bruises, Athos came to the conclusion a new strategy needed to be employed. During each day's practice, he had taken to stealthily watching the other groups work out; it didn't take much concentration to spar with his own group, well except for the occasional flying swords.

Unsurprisingly, he had determined he could easily take on anyone in the yard, if he had to, and win. However, that wasn't his short or long term goal. His long term goal was escape, his short term goal to find a way not to be the group's pin cushion. The conclusion he reached, to meet his short term goal, was to 'improve' his sword play enough to get moved up into the middle group. It wasn't that the group would offer him any sort of challenge, but it would allow him to display a little more skill to avoid getting hit every five minutes by his fellow swordsmen. So he decided, before he drifted off to sleep, at tomorrow practice he would endeavor to get advanced a level.

Over the next two days, Athos slowly began trouncing all his opponents. He didn't go overboard in his skill acquisition, but by the end of the second day, it was clear to everyone, to include Jehan, that he was now outclassing his currently assigned challengers.

On the following morning, there was a strange buzz in the common room, which Athos noted as he entered it in the morning. Once again, he felt like a third wheel, as everyone else seemed to know what was going on, except him. His subtle attempts to learn more had resulted in very little useful information. The men mostly kept to their rank and file orders, only interacting with their own peers. Even the newcomers had banded together leaving Athos as the odd man out. While that wasn't an unusual norm for the musketeer, in this case it was thwarting his attempts to figure out what was going on in the place. Even the shy boy, who served him, wouldn't ever speak more than a few words at a time.

Jehan swaggered into the room and announced that a member of the middle tier had been chosen. All the other fighters congratulated Barge, the man chosen, except Athos who didn't have a clue why to congratulate the man. While the rest of them went out to train as usual, Barge, was escorted towards the headquarters building.

Because Barge was from the middle tier, Jehan moved Athos up to that group, at least for the day, fulfilling Athos' short term goal. In this group, Athos was able to avoid getting hit much easier and by nightfall, he was pleased to see he hadn't collected a new cut, ding, or bruise all day.

Slightly past mid-day, while the men were taking a short rest break, Athos noted noise coming from the area, behind the stone wall, to the left of their practice yard. Recalling back to the night he had been dragged in here, Athos remembered it had sort of looked like a viewing arena. It appeared it was being used today, because Athos heard the clanking of swords along with booing and cheering. He would have loved to ask one of his fellow inmates what was going on but the chance of him getting a response was next to nil. He'd have a better chance of finding out what was going on by simply walking up to one of the guards and politely asking them to open the gate.

Just before they were about to stop practice for the night, the gate that closed off the tunnel on the far side of the yard, creaked open. Barge, who had been absent all day, was brought in on a stretcher. Respectful silence descended over the yard as all the fighters stopped and watched as his bloody body was carried across the dirt and into the tunnel that lead back to the common room. As the body passed in front of Athos, he could clearly see the wounds on Barge were caused by a sword.

After he passed into the tunnel, the rest of the men slowly filed in behind, as Barge was taken to his cell and laid on his pallet. They congregated in the common room, watching in silence, as the pallbearers returned with the now empty stretcher, on their way back into the tunnel. The gates were secured as normal and small talk started up as the prisoners made ready for their evening meal.

Servants began to bring food in the common room as if nothing unusual had just occurred and the men moved to their normal tables and their conversations gradually filled the room. Athos was secretly dismayed to hear his fellow inmates were laying bets as to when Barge would succumb to his wounds. Reaching out, Athos grabbed onto the arm of the servant-boy who had been showing him kindness. It startled the boy and when he tried to break loose, Athos tightened his grip.

"Please," Athos pleaded with sincerity. "What happened to Barge?" He flicked his eyes to the moaning man in the cell than back on the boy's face.

"He lost!" The tone of voice clearly indicated the boy thought Athos' question was a bit daft.

Athos, stilled puzzled, frowned. "Lost what?"

"The duel." Trying to put the pieces together, Athos' unconsciously loosened his hold on the boy, who took advantage of the distraction to pull free and scamper away.

Athos, sighing, took a sip from his mug as he sat alone on his bench. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was occurring here, but one thing he was sure of, it wasn't good.