CHAPTER 25
It is not an uncommon practice to rouse the unconscious by flinging water, preferably cold, into their faces. However, the lad entrusted by Jehan to carry out this task on Athos must have been unclear on the parameters because he grabbed a bucket of water that had been sitting in the sun for hours and dumped the whole thing directly over the head of the slumped fighter.
Athos, who had drifted into unconscious with the sound of Jehan yelling woke under the same conditions except that the person being scolded was different.
"You stupid imbecile! Are you trying to drown him! Or maybe boil him like a potato!" The poor lad stood there holding the empty bucket trembling under Jehan's verbal onslaught.
Sputtering and coughing from the deluge of hot water, Athos' eyes involuntarily flew open, were assaulted by the stark brightness of the mid-day sun, and his stomach immediately staged a rebellion. The half-awake man was barely able to get his confused muscles to respond in time to roll him onto his hands and knees so he could to expel his breakfast on the ground as opposed to on his body.
Kneeling in the dirt like a dejected dog, he waited for his belly to settle a bit. When it finally did he sat back on his knees, folded his arms over his abdomen carefully avoiding the knife wound, bowed his dripping head, and simply tried to breathe in a manner that didn't aggravate any body part. He was dimly aware of sounds, voices, nearby but he honestly didn't care what they were saying or even if they were addressing him. He simply focused on slowly breathing in and out.
Eventually, a rough hand grasped his shoulder, shaking him, and forcing him to painfully raise his head to see if he could get the annoyance to stop. Squinting from under his dark lashes, as he slowly traced the offending hand to its owner's face.
"Wake up! Damn you!" a muffled voice command in a tone that wasn't the least bit sympathetic.
As far as Athos was concerned, it wasn't his damn fault he had been rendered unconscious and he gave his shoulder a vigorous shrug to try to dislodge the offending hand. However, in doing so he caused the skin near his newly received wound to stretch and scream in bloody protest. Letting loose with a moan that would have made Porthos proud, he doubled over again.
The hand was swiftly removed, which was nice, but the yelling started again though based on the direction of the sound it wasn't aimed at him. "If he can't fight tomorrow I'm personally going to kill the both of you. What the hell were you thinking?"
The hollering continued, very loudly, along those lines for a while and even though it wasn't directed at him it was piercing Athos' head like a bolt from a crossbow. Desperately wanting it to cease, he gingerly straightened his body into a more upright position before he spoke. "Do you think you could be quiet?"
Jehan, who had been berating Henri and Charles who had caused this situation, came to a surprised halt in his tirade as he peered down at the man kneeling on the ground. "You're OK?"
Though he supposed it was in the eye of the beholder what the word 'OK' meant, Athos went with his standard injury answer. "I'm fine," which given his condition was probably a bit of a stretch of the definition of fine.
However, Jehan was happy to believe that answer, unlike Aramis, who would have rolled his eyes and sadly shook his head, or Porthos, who would have given him a derisive snort, or d'Artagnan who would have given him sad puppy dog eyes. "Get up then," he demanded and Athos wondered if it were too late to change his health status.
Gritting his teeth as he tried to ignore the taunting voice of Aramis in his mind mocking his 'fineness', Athos sluggishly struggled to his feet. When he finally achieved vertical he swayed slightly standing there in the hot sun trying to get his bearings.
When his eyes finally focused, he discovered he was still in the middle of the training arena where he had passed out. The damn sun was still beating down on him, adding to his misery. As he was about to recommend he be moved into the shade before he kissed the dirt again, a sweaty lad burst through the gate and made his way in Jehan's direction. The boy had delivered the Marquis message to the Captain who had sent him into the training yard to alert Jehan.
"The master," the boy started coming to a halt in front of Jehan, "is on his way. He wants the men lined up and ready for inspection."
Athos wanted to laugh at the horrified expression on Jehan's face, but common sense won out and he only allowed himself the luxury of a very small, quickly fading, smirk.
Jehan ran a tense hand through his matted, blond hair as he alternatively glared at Henri and Charles. This kept getting better and better. "I swear if anything bad comes out of this I will personally strangle you with my bare hands."
It was a little unclear whom Jehan was going to kill, but Athos chose to believe it was Henri and Charles though he wasn't sure he wasn't also in the running.
"What a mess," the trainer moaned as his eyes roamed over to where Athos was pathetically attempting to remain upright. "We have to get him cleaned up and looking fit." He walked over to stand toe to toe with Athos. "Get it together. I don't care how you do it, but when the Marquis walks through that gate you better be able to convince him you are fit as a fiddle."
The or else was implied. There was no doubts in Athos' mind that Jehan would find an 'or else' that would be a suitable punishment most likely involving the death of innocent people.
Crisis situations require strong and firm leadership and without even thinking about it, Athos slipped into the role. "Get me a bucket of water, a clean cloth, and a bandage," he demanded of the trainer, "if you want me to have any chance in pulling this off."
A bit of Athos' Comte demanding tone had crept into his voice, but if Jehan heard it, he ignored it too focused on not ending up as a victim of the Marquis anger. The man was not going to be happy if his cash cow, his golden goose, his favorite prize fighter, was not fit for the arena.
"And," Athos added, "I need to get out of the damn sun." Without waiting for permission, he unsteadily made his way over to a shelter that shaded some benches, where they were allowed to take infrequent rest breaks.
Once in the shade, he struggled to remove his shirt to examine the wound. As he was studying the raw-edged gash, the boy arrived with the previously requested items.
Athos glanced up from his self-inspection at the servant. "Good. Now find me a shirt without a bloodstain on it, preferably a dark one if we hope to pull this off," he growled at the lad. The boy only gave a cursory glance at Jehan for confirmation, before scampering off to obey.
Gritting his teeth, Athos took the rag, dipped it in the tepid water, washed the blood off his face, and then proceeded to clean his wounded side as best as he could all the time wishing Aramis was here to assist. He vowed, if he escaped this hellacious situation, and if he was reunited with his brothers, and if he ever got hurt again, and if Aramis had to take care of him, he would be the model patient and do everything the medic-musketeer commanded of him, cheerfully. Or as cheerfully as he could. Taking care of one's own wounds was not ideal, especially since he knew that this one would require stitches. His needlework, unlike Aramis', left a lot to be desired, especially when he did it on his own person.
Once he had the wound cleaned up to the best of his ability given the situation, he dried off the area with his old shirt before picking up the bandage. Jehan was standing there watching him, and Athos barked at him to assist.
Though he didn't show it, Jehan was startled at first at what appeared to be a complete reversal of character in the man demanding his help. Gone was the meek and mild fighter, and in his place was a commander. It only served to confirm what he had always believed that there was more, much more, to this man then he was letting them see. This man was playing them, but for what reasons Jehan had no idea. Still, the immediate issue was to get him patched up enough to pass the Marquis inspection, so he pushed his suspicions aside for the moment. There would be time, if they both survived the next hour, to figure out this riddle later.
Athos shoved the scraps of materials that were secured by the lad to serve as a bandage at Jehan. Next, he provided detailed instructions on how to wrap the material about his torso. By the time they were done, Jehan knew one more thing about the man in front of him; he was familiar with patching up wounds.
Jehan let his eyes wander across the exposed torso of the man in front of him and noted the scars smattered across his upper chest and shoulders. It didn't take a genius to conclude this man had been in quite a few fights. Given all the clues to date, Jehan concluded that this man was once a soldier. It nicely tied together all the anomalies that made up this man to include his abilities, whenever the situation required, for strategy and swordsmanship.
The lad sent to fetch a shirt returned with two, an ivory, and a darker grey-green one. Though the ivory one would have been a better choice given the extreme heat, Athos, without hesitation choose the darker one. Knowing the wound in his side was still seeping blood, he felt there was a better chance the dark one would conceal that fact from the casual observer.
Bumbling, he finally managed to get the shirt over his head and pulled down cursing under his breath the entire time and wishing one of the dolts standing around him, staring, would think to assist. When he finally succeeded, he dropped down onto the bench in the shade, dipped his hand in the bucket of water, and patted it over the back of his bowed neck.
Deciding the situation was under control as best as could be expected, Jehan redirected his attention on getting ready for the upcoming inspection. First, he had the lad dispose of the bloody shirt and rag ensuring there was no damning evidence lying about. Next, he had all the weapons, even though they were quite dull, collected and secured as it made the Marquis nervous to have them in the hands of his fighters, unless they were in the ring. The last thing Jehan did was decide in what order to line the men up. It seemed prudent to keep Henri and Charles at the far end, while placing Athos between two trusted men who would, if the man started swaying, discreetly anchor him.
He sent the boy back to wait by the outermost gate to give some advanced notice of when the Marquis arrived. By doing this he could allow Athos, who was still sitting hunched over on the bench, to remain seated until the last moment.
Jehan felt he had the situation under control to the best of his abilities given the cards he had been dealt. Only time and fate would determine if it were good enough. If it weren't heads would roll and it was very likely one of them was currently attached to his neck.