BLIND SPOT
Sometimes, help – though well intentioned – does not always go to plan.
oOo
Athos, Aramis and Porthos:
"Do we really have to get there this early?!" Porthos grumbled, as they trudged toward the Garrison, past a few early morning traders who were beginning to their up their stalls.
Aramis turned to face him. He had pulled his friend from his bed at an ungodly hour for a very good reason.
"I just want to make sure Athos has returned. He's been gone two days."
Porthos picked up an apple from a trader's stall and tossed the woman a coin. Handing it to Aramis, he clapped him on the back, in full agreement. They had last seen their friend after their last evening meal together, when he had made his excuses and headed off alone. Whether to his room or to a tavern they did not ask, for it appeared Athos did not need their company and they knew when to leave him be.
Aramis gave the lone guard up on the wall a brief wave as they walked beneath him along the perimeter wall.
"He'll turn up," Porthos had just said when they turned into the archway, on their way to being the first to arrive.
Aramis suddenly threw out his arm, stopping Porthos in his tracks as in front of them was a prone figure lying on the rough ground, stretched along the length of the wall of the arch. A blanket had been thrown loosely over the figure, making it impossible to see who it was.
An hour later and whoever it was would have been trampled by the first wagon of the day.
Moving fast, they reached the figure and pulled the blanket away.
"Athos," Aramis whispered, recognising the mop of hair and sinking to his knees.
Porthos knelt down beside Aramis and together they rolled Athos over onto his back. He was deeply unconscious and did not respond to the gentle tapping on his face, by his anxious friends. They could not see any blood, but on closer inspection, he appeared to have a bandage wrapped tightly around his torso beneath his shirt.
"We can't leave him here," Aramis said, as he gently pulled him into a sitting position, "the store wagons will be coming soon."
Together, they got a boneless Athos to his feet. Porthos slipped one arm around his back and the other under his knees and scooped him up. Aramis held the back of his head and they made their way to the infirmary.
Once inside, they divested him of his leathers and Aramis carefully unwrapped the bandage. Underneath, they saw that a dark bruise was beginning to form at the centre of his ribcage. It did not account for his lack of response, he felt, and so he began to probe every inch of his scalp, before finding a lump at the back of his head.
"He's not been drinkin'" Porthos said, straightening. "Not a whiff of wine."
Looking more carefully at the dark bruise, Aramis blew out a breath.
"Looks like he was struck with something," he said to himself.
"He would 'ave seen them coming though," Porthos replied. "Must have come up behind him first, which would account for that lump on the back of 'is head."
Aramis straightened and stood with his hands on his hips, worriedly lost in thought. He went to the cupboard and withdrew his sewing kit. Back at the table, he took a needle and slid it into the back of his friend's hand.
"No response," he murmured. "All we can do is make him comfortable, and watch him."
They moved him to one of the smaller rooms and continued to try and work out what could have happened. Athos had no money on him and Aramis noticed that the chain he always wore around his neck was gone.
"Straightforward robbery," Porthos growled.
"But how did he find his way back here in this condition?" Aramis replied.
"And how come he had a blanket over 'im?"
Aramis picked the blanket up from the table where they had left it, and studied it carefully. It was old and threadbare in places, but it had been neatly patched and was clean.
"What on earth is going on?" Aramis said quietly, as he put the folded blanket on the end of the bed and sat down next to Athos. He lifted his hand and studied it, then ran his hand over his friend's face.
"He's clean. There is no dirt on his hands or his face. Almost as if he washed.
"That don't make sense," Porthos replied. "And where did he get the bandage?"
"More to the point, who applied it? Quite well, I might add."
"None of this makes sense, mon ami," Aramis added, in response to Porthos's first statement.
He pulled the sheet up over Athos and sighed.
"Where have you been, my friend?"
oOo
They had searched for him when he had failed to return, of course, but Treville was gone too and they wondered if they were together – gone early to the palace. Athos sometimes did accompany the Captain. But Treville had returned that first day as night fell, tired and irritable. He was not in a mood to discuss his missing lieutenant, who, he pointed out, was not due on duty that day anyway, and that was the uneasy end of it. Until they had entered the Garrison as dawn broke and found him; thinking for an awful moment that he was dead.
Aramis and Porthos were at a loss. Treville fired questions at Aramis that he could not answer. He and Porthos look at each other in despair.
Their friend was the centre of the mystery but at the moment, he was beyond reach.
oOo
Athos remained unresponsive.
A physician had arrived, as requested by Treville, but he could only tell Aramis to continue to do what he was doing; mainly keeping Athos comfortable.
Aramis, though, began to worry that the blow to his head had been more severe than they had at first thought. Athos had not moved, remaining deadly still; only the shallow rise and fall of his chest an indication that he was still with them. Porthos and Aramis both watched him the first night; neither one wanting to take their eyes off him.
"What we gonna do?" Porthos had said quietly, as he opened the shutters as dawn broke.
"I have absolutely no idea," Aramis replied, running his hand through his hair.
"Go wash up," Porthos said, "I'll watch 'im."
Aramis did not reply.
"I'll get us somethin' to eat when you come back," Porthos persisted.
Aramis reluctantly complied; closing the door gently as he went out. As he walked across the yard, his eyes strayed to the archway. Three boys were standing there, looking nervously around. They looked like brothers, the youngest perhaps around ten years old; the others each a year or two older.
Aramis kept his eyes on them as he walked over. It was not uncommon for young boys to hang around the Garrison entrance; fascinated by the goings-on and wanting to watch the Musketeers train and spar. They were always shooed away, for their own safety; sometimes with bread or cheese if they looked like they needed it.
These three boys were different. Their eyes were downcast, and the oldest one looked furtive rather than fascinated.
"Boys?" Aramis said, as he approached, "You should not be here."
"How is he?" the middle one suddenly asked, his eyes bright.
"How is who?" Aramis asked quietly, suddenly giving the boy his full attention.
"The Musketeer. We didn't mean it! We thought we were helping ..." the boy's voice trailed off.
"Mother told us to bring him back," the oldest boy now said, stepping forward and pushing his two brothers behind him. "But we were scared you'd think we did it."
"Did what, exactly?"
"Hurt him."
Aramis reached out and put his hand on the boy's shoulder.
"You'd better start from the beginning," he said quietly. "Come with me."
oOo
Aramis took the three boys to the infirmary, but kept them in the large room. Not wanting to leave them alone, he called Porthos.
The three boys flinched when the large Musketeer came through the door, his frame almost filling the doorway.
"It's alright. This is Porthos. We three are brothers too. Now, sit down and tell us everything."
oOo
The oldest boy gave his name as Gerard and said his brothers were Jorge, the youngest, and Jacques. Aramis sat them down and he and Porthos sat down in front of them and both leaned forward expectantly.
"Go on, lad," Porthos said softly. "Speak up."
Gerard swallowed but seemed relieved to be able to talk and his words began to spill out.
"Never seen someone in so much pain still be able to talk," Gerard started.
"Mother made up her pain draught and that helped, and he finally fell asleep," Jorge added, wanting to help.
"Then, he woke up," Gerard continued, "and he was trying to breathe, but he was struggling. So I managed to sit him up a bit, and he settled. So I gave him some more of mother's draught and he fell asleep."
"What we didn't know later was Jorge gave him some more, and then ... he might have helped himself, as Jorge left the bottle by his bed."
He held out the bottle and Aramis took it. Sniffing it carefully, he looked back at them. It was nothing he recognised.
"It's mother's own recipe. Passed down the family. Works really well, but you don't need much."
His voice trailed away.
"And he's had too much," Jacques added, looking warily at Porthos.
The older one nodded.
"We panicked, once we realised. Mother said to bring him back today anyway, so we loaded him up early and set off at first light; before she woke."
"So 'e wasn't lyin' there all night," Porthos said, looking at Gerard intently.
"No! We just wanted to get him back before she found out. We thought he was going to stop breathing."
"How did you get past the guard?"
"You've got a blind spot," the boy replied simply, pointing at the parapet about the archway.
Aramis and Porthos both followed his finger.
"If you keep close to the wall," Gerard explained, "On the far side of the arch, there's a section of wall just before the arch that can't be seen from top of the wall."
" You just have to wait for the guard to look away, or move along, and by the time he's looked back, you can be inside the archway," Jorge said, sounding quiet pleased with himself, for it was he that had first discovered it a few months previously.
Aramis looked at Porthos and raised his eyebrows. Porthos shrugged.
"You might want this," Jorge added, handing Aramis Athos's locket. "It was next to him in the doorway. They took his money but they must have dropped that."
"You saw who did this?!"
"No, but we saw them running off. We were coming back with the cart from selling Maman's vegetables. That's how we got him home."
Aramis poured the three boys a cup of watered down wine, and they sat quietly for a few moments, before Gerard continued.
"He didn't seem too bad at first, but then he started struggling to breathe. Maman took charge and we helped her strap him up. She said his ribs were most likely broke, or this bone here .." the boy put his fingers to his own breast bone, "broke or cracked, she said."
"She talked to him for a bit, and then went to bed. He was asleep by then. She asked us to take turns watching him. He was in our room.
"In my bed," Jorge piped up. "I slept on the floor," he added, though he appeared to think nothing of it.
"So he woke up?" Aramis said, relieved in view of his head injury.
"At first, for a bit, yes."
"Don't worry," Aramis replied, "You did well. You may even have done him a favour."
"How? We nearly killed him!" Jacques cried; the first time he had spoken.
"Drugged as he is," Aramis smiled, "he has at least been still. Had he been conscious, we would have had the Devil's own job to keep him from hurting himself more."
"He don't like bein' hurt," Porthos explained, as the three boys stared at him.
"I'd like to speak to your mother," Aramis said, suddenly standing, and looking down at them.
"Don't worry, you're not in trouble. I would just like her to tell us what the mixture consists of. And if she would like to share her recipe. It appears to be a powerful concoction. The King's Musketeers would be very grateful and I think our Captain will see her well-rewarded. Not only for this," he said, holding out the bottle, "But for pointing out our blind spot."
Later that day, a woman approached the Garrison, with her eldest son, Gerard, who urged her through the archway.
"How is your man?" she asked, after introducing herself as Linette Allard.
"His name is Athos, madame," Aramis replied. "And I am Aramis," he added, giving her a gentle bow. "We are in your debt, I believe."
Her fearful look eased a little at his words.
"His enforced rest is no doubt helping his ribs but we need him to wake now," he added.
She produced a small bottle from beneath her shawl.
"Give him half today and half tomorrow," she said, "Though it may give him a vicious headache."
"He is used to that," Aramis replied with a smile.
"What does it contain?" he asked her, holding the bottle up to the light.
She merely held his gaze.
"I understand," he said. "Very well, but we must talk, when this is over."
oOo
Aramis and Porthos escorted Madame Allard and her son to their Captain's office. Sitting under the gaze of these three men, Linette looked very nervous, until Treville assured her she was not in trouble; they just wanted to know her story.
Linette pulled her shawl around her as a look of despair briefly crossed her features. She told them that she had received her husband back into their home six months previously with a heavy heart.
He had been a soldier too, and they had returned him to her with a broken spine. He had been in such pain that soon she was exhausted caring from him and her three boys. After a few weeks, her medicine became stronger out of necessity, and then he was begging her for more. On the brief occasions she slept through the night, the boys would give him the draught. They could not bear his cries.
"The moment he turned his eyes on us, whichever one of us was with him would give him the medicine," Gerard said. "In the end, he didn't have to ask. The pain asked for him."
"When he passed, it was a relief. For him and for us," Linette whispered.
She reached out suddenly and took her son's hand in hers.
"When the boys brought your man ... Athos ... back, this Friday past – it was dark and the weather had turned. We had no idea who he was. Just a poor soul who had been attacked and needed help."
Aramis smiled at her in encouragement and she swallowed, and drew Gerard to her.
"I made up the medicine once more and we waited for him to wake. When he did, he could not breathe. It took all of us to find a position where he could draw air into his lungs. He had been better unconscious."
"They had damaged his ribs and he had a concussion, but that night, propped up against Gerard, he managed to tell us he was a soldier. That was all though, but I could tell by his voice, he was well-bred. Not a common man."
"You are right, Madame Allard. He is not a common man," Treville replied.
"The boys said they would care for him," she continued, "and I eventually went to my bed. Apparently, he took worse during the night and Gerard gave him more of the draught. He was peaceful then, Gerard said."
"It started again as soon as he woke," she went on. "Such pain. I could not bear the look in his eyes."
"I gave him more of the draught, and then I went to the market. It was there I heard one of the Musketeers was missing."
"When I got back, he was still asleep. He did not look like a Musketeer. His only possession was the locket the boys found. So Jorge set off to the Garrison to see what he could find out."
Gerard took up his brother's tale then, pale and eyes downcast.
"A stable boy gave Jorge a description," he said. "He said the Musketeers were going to kill whoever had him."
Aramis sighed. Porthos had been quite vocal on the matter.
"We took care of him that night. By then though, he was needing the draught."
"So we dosed him up throughout the night and brought him back, real early.
"But he'd had enough, Gerard!" Linette said, having heard the full story and suddenly realising how liberal her boys had been with her powerful pain draught. "He is not Papa!"
"He was in pain!" Gerard cried, pulling away from her. "Just like Papa."
"We laid him in the archway," Gerard continued, looking defiant now, "against the wall so he wouldn't get trampled."
"You left him?!" Linette whispered, staring at her eldest in disbelief.
"They would have arrested us, Maman! How could you survive without us?"
Linette cried then. Her poor, caring boys. Damaged more than she had thought by their father's pain.
"My husband died in pain," she said quietly. "I had no more pain draught. I had no money to buy the ingredients. I swore I would never let it happen again."
"It was well intentioned," Treville said.
"Your boys have just become averse to seeing someone in pain," Aramis said, taking her hand. "They have developed a blind spot too. Sometimes," he added, looking at Gerard, "a certain degree of pain serves a purpose; do not be afraid of it."
Gerard nodded.
Aramis turned back to Linette.
"Will you help us wake him?"
She looked gratefully at him, and nodded.
oOo
The stimulant Linette provided worked just the way she said.
Under her supervision, later that day, Aramis gave Athos half the liquid. It had the effect of bringing him up into a lighter sleep. That alone, made Aramis relax for the first time in days. The following morning, the second dose did its job and Athos finally opened his eyes. His injury was a painful one though and he needed coaxing into taking shallow breaths. That, and the vicious headache Linette had promised kept him lying still in a darkened room for the rest of that day.
Eventually, she was persuaded to give them a bottle of her pain draught, as Athos needed to be eased off it, but even a small quantity eased his pain. Aramis was careful not to leave the bottle near him however.
One morning, a few weeks later, Captain Treville and Athos of the King's Musketeers paid Linette Allard and her boys a visit, and came to an arrangement with her.
When they left, she had a contract to provide her compound to the Garrison, whilst keeping her formula secret. Her boys had discovered a weakness in the Garrison's defences, pointing out its blind spot. They were rewarded with the offer of employment in the Garrison, as befitted their ages, for two days each a week, for as long as they wanted.
Finally, Linette received a pension Treville had arranged for her husband's military service, agreed by King Louis XVIII himself.
Madame Allard and her caring boys had needed a little luck in her life. The night an injured King's Musketeer came into their lives had turned out to be a blessing. For them, and for Athos.
oOo
Thanks for reading! More soon.
