11. IF THESE WALLS COULD TALK (2)
All of Them
"Why are we doing this again?" d'Artagnan asked as they stood in the doorway, surveying the room.
"It is our penance," Athos replied, simply.
"What for?"
"Duelling with the Red Guard," he replied.
"Did we?"
"No, because that would be illegal."
"It wasn't duelling," Athos continued. "It was merely a lesson."
"A lesson in what?"
"In accepting an invitation to duel."
"Come again?"
"If they did not accept, we could not be accused of d ... teaching them a lesson."
"But why the Infirmary? Treville usually directs us to the stables," Aramis interjected over d'Artagnan's confusion.
"Who knows? He was in a particularly foul mood this morning," Athos replied.
"I wouldn't mind, but I wasn't even with you," d'Artagnan complained.
"All for one, my young friend," Aramis laughed, passing him a broom.
"Just this room, or the other two as well?" Porthos asked, looking around the large room.
The Infirmary comprised one large oblong room for multiple occupancy with two smaller ones, which afforded some privacy to those who needed it. There was also a room that surgeons used, if required; Aramis when not. That room held a large imposing table that always made d'Artagnan shiver to think of the use it had been put to.
"All. Treville was quite clear on the matter."
"Right," Athos continued. "Let us have some order here. Aramis – what do we need to do primarily?" he asked, deferring to the medic.
Aramis sighed, looking around. As luck would have it, the infirmary had not been in use of late but that meant the door had been closed on it and attention had been given to other duties.
"Sweeping, airing, scrubbing floors and walls," he replied. He looked at the ceiling, seeing a few gruesome stains up there.
"And the ceiling," he added.
They all followed his gaze up there.
"Is that...?" d'Artagnan whispered, before clamping his mouth shut on the word "blood," and swallowing.
"Porthos," Aramis turned to their large friend, who was currently rummaging through cupboards. "Was that you?" he said, pointing at the ceiling.
Porthos followed his pointing finger and looked at the brown marks on the plaster over him.
He burst out laughing.
"Yeah, I think that was when you hit something you shouldn't have; back when you were practisin'"
Aramis placed his hand over his heart and stepped next to Porthos and slung his arm around his shoulder as they both gazed fondly up at the said stain.
Porthos rubbed his thigh absent-mindedly;
"Who knew blood could spurt that far?" he reminisced.
"You could have died, Porthos," Aramis murmured.
"Yeah, but I didn't." Porthos replied. "And you're much better at it now," he added, with a glint in his eye.
"You will never get that off," Athos said, breaking the spell and looking up at the ceiling as he tied his scarf over his face and picked up one of the brooms they had brought with them.
"It looks like a musket," Aramis mused. "See, the stock and the barrel?"
"Oh yeah. Appropriate," Porthos laughed as they both gazed at the pattern on the ceiling.
d'Artagnan was busy staring up, twisting his head this way and that.
"I can't see it. Looks more like a tree," he frowned.
Aramis and Porthos both stared a little more, before Porthos waved his hand in an "either or" gesture and Athos brought them back with a sharp rap of his broom on the floor.
"Gentlemen, can I remind you The Wren awaits us when we are done here? Aramis, continue."
Aramis looked around and scratched his head.
"Well, the beds have been stripped but the mattresses need pummelling and airing. The woodwork needs washing and the cupboards sorting and replenishing.
"Very well," Athos said, somewhat muffled behind the scarf.
"d'Artagnan, you and Porthos each do the smaller rooms. Open the windows and sweep. Once the dust has settled, mop the floor and wash the walls. Aramis and I will make a start on this room. When you have finished, join us in here; we should be finished by sundown."
Porthos did not look convinced as they each tied a scarf around their faces. He straightened his bandana and each set to their tasks.
For a while, all was quiet, save for the sound of four brooms sweeping over stone flagstones. The large room filled with dust and soon, Aramis and Athos were coughing.
"Are we doing this right?" Athos muttered, wandering off to inspect one of the smaller rooms.
Porthos too was struggling against the dust that billowed up at each stroke of his broom.
d'Artagnan though, was busy in a dust-free room, humming to himself.
Catching sight of Athos watching him from the doorway, he stopped.
"What?"
"Why are you not in a state of near suffocation?" Athos asked.
Beckoning a confused d'Artagnan to the room next door that Porthos was "cleaning," they were both amused to see their friend somewhat greyer than the skin tone he usually was, as the dust swirled around him.
"If you sprinkle water on the floor, it stops the dust flying up," d'Artagnan said, knowingly.
Porthos gaped at him, before throwing his broom aside and stalking off in search of water.
"Good to know," Athos muttered, before turning on his heel and walking back to the larger room to impart this new knowledge to his cleaning partner.
"Wouldn't expect a Comte to know that," d'Artagnan smirked as he returned to his task.
oOo
"There's a musket ball-sized hole here!" d'Artagnan cried a little later, running his finger over the hole in the wall of his room.
"That's when me and Athos were held 'ostage," Porthos shouted from the next room, matter-of-factly. "Though he won't remember much of it. He'd been stabbed in the chest at the time."
"What?!"
"Before you arrived here, shoutin' the odds. It's a long story. Remind me tonight when we're in The Wren and I'll tell ya."
"In the meantime, get a bucket and start washin' those walls, or we'll never get out of 'ere."
oOo
They all worked steadily on.
At some point, Serge brought food and wine, and d'Artagnan and Porthos joined Athos and Aramis in the main room.
"Captain's orders," Serge said, "As long as you're finished by nightfall."
"We will be," Athos replied, pouring wine into four glasses.
"Serge, do you remember the incident with the grains? Aramis asked the old veteran. It seemed to be a day for memories and this one had suddenly swirled into his mind.
"'Course I do. Well, you will ...," their cook replied, nodding at Aramis.
"Food poisoning," Serge said quietly. "Contaminated cereals. I'd used it to bake bread and make porridge. Didn't realise."
"Not your fault," Athos said firmly, handing him the cup of wine he had poured himself.
Serge took it and threw it down his throat in one go.
"A lot took real sick though," he muttered.
"Both of you ..." the old man said, nodding at Athos and Porthos.
"And then you," he said, looking at Aramis.
"Captain was beside 'imself." Serge said. "Nearly lost his three best men in one go."
Serge shuffled out and Aramis blew out a ragged breath and ran his hand through his hair; regretting unsettling the old man.
oOo
After eating, d'Artagnan and Porthos had stayed in the main room and were now collecting the mattresses, ready to haul them outside and give them a beating.
Athos and Aramis were busy swabbing the floor, having sprinkled water on the dust and sweeping it up in preparation. They had worked out from the centre of the room. Reaching his end of the room, Athos turned and saw Aramis had stopped and was staring at the floor. Pulling his scarf down, he quietly approached him.
"What is it, old friend?" he asked, gently placing his hand on his friend's shoulder.
Aramis flinched, before looking at him with anguished eyes.
"We lost eight men in that ambush," he said, looking at the flagstones at the end of the room.
"Nearly lost Athos," Porthos added quietly;
"This room was fit to burstin' and then some of them took with the fever."
"What happened?" d'Artagnan asked.
"They laid us on the floor," Athos said quietly, looking from Porthos to Aramis.
"Coldest place we could think of," Porthos said, meeting Athos's gaze.
"The best idea you had," Aramis added, smiling at Porthos.
oOo
"Why has this bedpost got notches on it?" d'Artagnan asked, as he pulled the last mattress off the bed.
They all stopped and looked amused, apart from Aramis, who looked embarrassed.
"Aramis did that," Porthos said, chuckling.
d'Artagnan looked at Aramis with raised eyebrows.
The man himself sat on the edge of one of the cots and sighed.
Athos took up the tale.
"Aramis was confined to bed with a head injury," he began.
"Only, 'e got bored," Porthos interjected.
"So he started to carve the bed post. Although the significance of each notch escapes me," Athos said quietly, looking away.
"Except that last one," Porthos added, nodding at the notch at the bottom.
Athos and Porthos both looked at each other, before they both said together;
"Madame Charbonneau."
"Somehow," Athos continued, "Madame discovered Aramis was resident in this facility and decided to pay him a visit."
"She was only comforting me," Aramis said, meeting their gaze for a brief moment before looking away.
"Treville didn't see it that way," Porthos laughed.
"He should have knocked," Aramis muttered, before finally meeting their eyes and joining in their amusement.
"Good job these walls can't talk," Porthos said, clapping Aramis on the shoulder.
"Or the bedposts," Athos murmured.
oOo
Walls and floors washed and mattresses beaten, Aramis began to empty the cupboards. Pots and jars were inspected. Some were discarded and some put to one side to be replenished.
"It's quite a place, isn't it?" d'Artagnan said, as he wrote down the herbs and liquids Aramis called out before closing the cupboard doors and collecting the detrious.
"I never really thought about it."
"That is because you have never needed it. Yet," Athos replied.
"Try 'an keep it that way," Porthos growled.
"It is a place none of us would choose to be in, but we are all grateful for, in times of need," Aramis replied.
"Amen to that," Porthos said.
Captain Treville came in as the light started to fade and looked around.
He said nothing, lost in his own thoughts.
Finally, he turned his eyes on them.
It was uncomfortable to say the least.
"Dismissed," he finally said.
Just one word, before turning and leaving.
They all looked at each other.
"What was that about?"
Athos turned and looked at them.
"He has made his point," he said.
"Well, 'e's got a clean infirmary," Porthos said.
"No," replied Athos. "That was not the point of this exercise."
"What then?" d'Artagnan asked, looking confused.
Athos stared at the door through which Treville had left.
"This is why Treville set us this task," he said, having realised the intent.
They looked at him.
Athos looked around the room. They followed his gaze as he looked at the ceiling and at the flagstones at the end of the room.
"He set us this particular task to remind us how precious life is, and to remind us how we have fought for our lives within these walls."
"And the lesson is not to endanger ourselves unnecessarily," Aramis added, in response.
"Indeed."
They were all quiet for a solemn moment, before Athos picked up his jacket and shrugged it on.
"Clean up, gentlemen," he said. "And then we will go to The Wren to celebrate."
"What are we celebratin'?" Porthos asked, following them out.
"Our new outlook," Athos replied quietly.
oOo
A/N: Thanks for reading. More soon.