A short chapter. Next one will be longer. I hope you're enjoying, and thanks so much for your reviews. They mean a lot to me!
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Aramis decided, when he woke up the next morning, to take a little walk in the city. Besides hoping fervently that Paris, the garrison, the Musketeers or their routines might cause a breakthrough in his amnesia, he was genuinely curious about the great city.
So, dressing and grabbing a piece of buttered bread on the way out the gates of the garrison, he headed down the street, enjoying all the sights that met his eyes on all sides: shopkeepers opening their doors for the day's trade; girls selling flower bouquets at street corners, chimney sweeps climbing down from their thankless jobs of cleaning, covered with soot; fine ladies and gentlemen taking an early morning stroll in their finery, the ladies careful to hold their skirts away from the mud and debris they encountered, and wary of cleaning women dumping pots of liquid out their windows on unsuspecting passersby. Occasionally, the carriage of someone obviously wealthy from the design of the vehicle would race on by, heedless of who might get in their way.
Athos, Porthos or d'Artagnan could have told him he had always been that way, both curious and enjoying the sights and sounds around him, and the activities of the many classes of people he encountered along the way.
Continuing along, he didn't notice the three Red Guards who had happened to spy one of the sources of what they considered their humiliating defeat last night at The Wren. One of them nudged the other, saying, "Hey, what say we get him back for what he and his friends did to us last night?"
His friend, who was sporting a very black eye and bruised cheek from Aramis' fist the night before, was all for it. They hurried ahead of the Musketeer, who was preoccupied with his walk.
Aramis was laughing at the antics of a couple of little boys, who were clumsily tugging a piece of candy back and forth between them, when two pairs of hands grabbed him and pulled him into the darkness of the alleyway where they had been waiting for him.
Two of them held him still, one with a hand over his mouth silencing any outcry he would have tried to make, while the third began punching and kicking him. Aramis felt the fists and boots hitting his face, chest, side and legs mercilessly. He tried to pull himself free, but the other two had too tight of a hold on him. He tried to kick out at the one assailing him, but one of the other two slammed their boot down on his leg, causing a new source of pain. They continue for a few minutes, and then, dropping him to the ground, one of them gave him a vicious kick on the side of his head. Aramis had already been half-conscious before the kick. His head exploded with pain as he finally passed out.
The Red Guards had been carried away with their thirst for revenge. Now that their blood lust had been satisfied, they realized that they were going to be in a lot of trouble if they were connected to the attack. They stood there trying to think of what to do next.
One of them spoke up, saying, "I heard them talking about him last night. He don't remember who he is. Why don't we take him out in the countryside, and leave him off the road. Even if he recovers enough, he won' t know the directions to get back to Paris. Even if somebody finds and helps him, way out here they won't have heard about any minor trouble like this in Paris, so we're not in any trouble ."
The others, concurring with this comment, dragged Aramis further into the dark alleyway until one of them could run for their horses. Then, loading him up in front of one of the men, and throwing a blanket over him, they galloped out of Paris, headed north.
When they had gone completely away from the city and were surrounded by fields of crops, they pushed him off the horse, and he rolled across the grass a few feet and lay motionless, face down. The three Red Guards laughed, and one of them said, "Not only will no one connect us with that one, but his Musketeer friends may never find him before he dies a lonely death out here among the fields." They then galloped off back to Paris, looking forward to having a few drinks that evening right back at The Wren where all the trouble had started to begin with, secure in the belief that they had obtained vengeance for themselves and relief that they had disposed of the evidence.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan had been eating breakfast, wondering if Aramis had overslept. He hadn't put in an appearance yet, and they figured he needed some extra sleep after a very tiring journey. After assembling for muster, and Athos, as Treville's second in command giving everyone their assigned duties, they went to saddle their horses. Aramis still was nowhere in sight.
Porthos said he was going to go knock on their slumbering brother's door, to see if he wanted to accompany them to the Palace that day. He figured Aramis might want to see all the glory of the Royal Family's residence. Aramis had always been a lover of beauty in all its forms, and Porthos thought that love was probably still somewhere inside his friend.
Knocking on the door, there was no answer. He tried again, this time softly calling, "Aramis". Still no answer. Frowning, he opened the door slightly. The room was bathed in early morning sunlight, the shutters wide open. Moving inside, he noticed the bed had been slept in, but no one was there now.
Coming back outside, he called down to Athos and d'Artagnan, "He's not asleep, or in his room at all."
They figured he might have wanted to explore a little. Mounting up, they decided to go on ahead to the Palace, and find out later what their errant brother had discovered in his jaunt.
On their way, they spotted a group of people pointing and gesturing on the side of the street, looking agitated about something out of the Musketeers field of sight. Figuring maybe there had been trouble of some kind and wanting to help, they halted near the group, and asked if anything was wrong.
One of the men, a dark-haired, middle-aged man with very bushy eyebrows said, "A couple of th' women heard noises coming from there," pointing to the dark alleyway. "They was afraid of going any closer, but it sounded like someone was gettin' beaten up down the alleyway. Three men left later, so they came 'n got us. We took lanterns 'n looked. There was blood all over on th' ground, n' this was laying in the midst of it."
All three of the Musketeers froze when the man held up Aramis' jacket, streaked with blood and dirt.
Athos urgently asked them, "Did you see which way they went, please?"
One of the women present said, "Towards th' north gate."
Then, he asked, "Could any of you tell me what any of these men looked like?"
They all hesitated because of what they could tell about the men.
Porthos said, "Please help us to help our friend. He is one of the King's Musketeers, as we are. If they drop him somewhere, he could die without help."
Before her mother could stop her, a little girl spoke out, saying, "They was Red Guards. I seen 'em. Them guards al'ays treats us bad, 'n thinks they's better'n us."
The Musketeers now understood the hesitation of the people assembled there. The Red Guards had a reputation of acting superior to the poor of Paris, and terrorizing them for fun sometimes. They probably thought they would be next to be attacked.
Athos told them, "Don't worry about the Red Guards retaliating against you. Our Captain will let the King know that the guards are taking advantage of you, which is a dereliction of their duties. Thank you for your information."