WARNING: This chapter directly addresses violence against women and while not graphic does have mention of non-consensual restraint and physical abuse. While this is much more about rescue than abuse, if you are sensitive to those topics, skip the part from where D'Artagnan kicks in the door and jump to the last two paragraphs. Also for anyone in a domestic situation that is emotionally or physically abusive and needs help - PM me and I will work to help you with the fierceness of a musketeer.
My thanks as ever to Issai for her careful beta-reading and unwavering support and encouragement. I'd be lost without her. I reserve full ownership of all errors.
Captain Demont's men made for an impressive force as they took up position around La Chatte Secrète, surrounding both front and back access points as well as the side alleys. Demont himself was leading the raid. Brothel raids were not that unusual and generally, the expectation was to round up the clientele, not shut down the establishment. The municipality, or its leaders, typically earned a percentage of profits in taxes and bribes and it was in their best interests to keep these houses flourishing. While the patrons were fleeing, the women would be gathered and guarded, leaving the brothel to easily reopen a few days after the scandal died down. Only in the cases of such gross depravity as to be deemed to be an affront to both God and man did the establishment itself get shut down, assets seized and the proprietors jailed, flogged or even maimed for their actions. La Chatte Secrète had long been rumored to be one of those places and Aramis's account of what he found there the final straw in a list of growing complaints.
They expected resistance from the thugs typically employed to keep the patrons from brawling and keep the women in check. Knowing the cruelty that the establishment encouraged against the women in its employ, there was little doubt that they needed brute force to keep them subdued and the hired men might put up a good fight. The mercenaries sent after Porthos as well as the ones that had attempted to ambush them in the woods were not commonplace cutthroats. The Varades had drawn their private brigade most likely from former soldiers who clearly had some training and skill. If they were paid well enough, the resistance would be fierce even without their masters being at home. It was likely they did not yet know of the young Comte de Varade's death and would fight as men loyal to a cause – although in this case, the cause was their steady income.
Demont had sent in Athos and his musketeers to be in place inside the brothel as a first assault on the armed men. As Aramis had already visited the establishment once and had been welcomed by the proprietress, no one would question his return with two of his friends in tow. The skill of the Musketeers was legend throughout France and Demont would have been foolish to not use Athos and his men to their best advantage.
Athos raked his eyes once again over Aramis as the marksman stood leaning against the bar, his posture relaxed and open but his face shaded by the brim of his hat. He knew Aramis would favor his injured side and that a blow across the back could be debilitating with his current injuries, but he equally knew there was no way he could have kept Aramis back at the garrison short of tying him to his bed. Athos had engaged him a light spar after supper, just to stretch cramped muscles and Aramis had fared well – well enough to attract a crowd of Demont's men to watch the two musketeers do battle around the practice yard. Athos had noticed the strain in Aramis's face as he lunged and caught his wince when at one point Athos had driven him to his knees, but by anyone else's standards, Aramis appeared not just capable, but formidable. Even wounded, he was just that.
It was awkward not to have Porthos with them. The absence was palpable to Athos, a gaping hole in his typical battle plans that no man of Demont's could hope to fill. Porthos had not spoken to them again since the exchange with Athos earlier in the day. He had taken wine and broth when offered, had sat obediently while Master Farhad changed his dressings, had even quietly allowed Aramis to help him to a bed in their new private quarters, but he had not had a word for anyone. Once settled in his assigned bed, he'd turned on his side, his back to the room, and remained unmoving and unresponsive. They had stopped trying. Just left food and water on the table and periodically cleared away the untouched bowls. Corporal Durand had volunteered to stay behind. It seemed he was growing fond of the men he had been posted with over the last two days and knew they would want someone there should their friend be in need.
Athos had not been comfortable leaving Porthos alone, that was true. But he could not deny Aramis or D'Artagnan the opportunity to strike a blow against the Varades. They knew they would not find Celeste here, but still, it was a step toward justice that they all needed to take. Athos looked to Aramis again and the marksman seemed to know he had Athos's attention as he gave a subtle shift of his head toward the large staircase. Athos glanced over, immediately keying in on what Aramis had seen. They had already noted the four armed men casually positioned around the stairs, but now two more were making their way up the staircase, several cups and a bottle of wine in their hands. Athos smirked. This would go easier if some of the expected resistance was drunk.
The woman who had greeted Aramis with familiarity when they entered had returned to press herself to Aramis's side. Her thin gossamer gown was open to the naval and she brazenly slipped Aramis's arm through the opening and around her bare waist. She was part of the Madame's household and clearly wanted Aramis to take some time with her. Athos watched as Aramis shifted his body to slot her easily to his side while taking the opportunity to look over her head and give another sweep of the room with his sharp eyes. Beside him, Athos could feel D'Artagnan fidgeting again. He was uncomfortable here but Athos's stony presence had been enough to chase the women away after their initial attempt to drag them both off into one of the curtained parlors. Athos had made it clear they would make their pick for their night's entertainment when they were ready and not before, his icy stare enough to keep them at bay.
Aramis found Athos's eyes and he shared a look that told the Lieutenant he as not only ready but eager to get things started. Athos gave a small nod, acknowledging his own growing impatience but asking Aramis to stay in position. He was rewarded by a dark and lascivious smile as Aramis turned his attention to the woman in his arms, adjusting his grip on her body in a way that made her arch with pleasure. The woman might think she was making progress toward her conquest but the swordsman recognized the raw aggression that Aramis's lusty advance masked. Athos knew there was an old sorrow here from Aramis's upbringing that mingled with the fresh wounds of Porthos's abduction and ill-treatment. Tonight, Aramis was a very dangerous man to be on the wrong side of.
"Watch his back," Athos said quietly to D'Artagnan, giving a nod to the marksman. D'Artagnan acknowledged the command with a curt nod. D'Artagnan was a bundle of nervous energy. The strangeness and discomfort of the brothel mixing with his desire for justice and revenge for what had been done to Porthos and Aramis had him emotionally keyed up and struggling to stay focused. They had been working on this for months in training so that D'Artagnan's emotions could be harnessed, not overrule him. Channeling some of that into an order to protect the marksman might prevent D'Artagnan from losing himself in his own emotional response. Without Porthos there, Athos could feel the vulnerability of their group like a small fist balled in his chest. He would take all precautions necessary to see everyone returned home no worse for the wear from tonight's events.
Captain Demont's entrance into the brothel brought a quick end to Athos's contemplation. As soon as the Captain, flanked by half a dozen of his men, held up the writ of closure and announced an immediate cessation of all activities by the order of the Governor, chaos broke out in the main salon. Some of the women of the establishment beginning to argue the orders while others started gathering their clothing, and ushering their clients out of the building – be that via doorway, window or down a back hallway. The woman who had been clinging to Aramis had abandoned him quickly, moving behind the bar to secure the cash boxes. As voices rose and bodies shifted Athos and D'Artagnan made their way to the staircase, knowing from Aramis's previous visit that the women they sought were in the upstairs rooms. As they reached the bottom steps, Aramis appeared wordlessly at their side and the trio drew swords together as the four guards closed in to protect access to the staircase.
The shouts and cries of the patrons and employees rose as Demont's men started making arrests. As Athos and his comrades engaged with the four guards, the two they had seen previously hurried back down the stairs, alerted by the rising din of panicked and angry voices. Athos didn't have time to consider further if Demont's force would be sufficient to subdue the room as the center two attackers both choose to target him. He raised his rapier to easily parry the double downward strikes aimed at his head and used his momentum to push the basket of his sword along the blade of one of the attackers pushing him back a pace. The two men choose to try and flank him, one moving to his left the other to his right. Athos made quick note of where his comrades were as he drew the men toward him, taking a few retreating steps away from the stairs to prevent his opponents from an easy shift in tactics toward his friends. On his right, Aramis had already dispatched his man and had engaged the two on the steps. Aramis could handle two at a time, but he was at the disadvantage by being on the lower steps. Athos noted Aramis had not yet drawn his main gauche probably attempting to hold out as long as possible before stressing his injured side by parrying heavy blows. To his left, D'Artagnan had just one opponent but his size rivaled that of Porthos. If D'Artagnan got too overzealous with his sword work and allowed the large man to get his hands on him, their recruit could be in trouble.
Athos had no time to consider more as his two opponents had apparently worked out their attack strategy. One came at him with a roar and an overhead strike on his right while the other gave a low lunge in an attempt for Athos's abdomen. Athos would have to stretch up to parry the overhead strike, leaving his side easily exposed. The combined tactic proved their theory right about the experience of the attackers. But no matter the skill of these two, they had the unfortunate fate of being up against the best swordsman in the most elite fighting force in France.
Athos took the parry of the overhead strike with a twist of his body, lifting his rapier with his right hand and catching the bottom of attacker's blade. But instead of stopping, he continued his turn, further lifting the attacking blade away in a wide arc. He spun into the parry, raising his left hand to crash his main gauche down on the attacker's blade while sweeping his rapier up in front of himself and then extending the long blade to meet the incoming thrust. Executing a complete 180-degree spin to parry two incoming blades from opposite sides was the stuff of legend – and Athos was one.
Athos fought into the lunge of the second man, putting some distance to the opponent that was now dangerously behind him. The second man brought his main gauche up for a shoulder strike that Athos easily blocked with a parry from his rapier while bringing forward his own main gauche to parry another lunge at his abdomen. He was locked in position for just a moment as he held back both strikes when the mercenary bared his teeth in a triumphant grin. Athos immediately forced his body into the chest of the other man then unexpectedly ducked under his raised arm. He felt a sharp sting in his left forearm as he momentarily released his hold against his opponent's rapier, but felt the man stiffen even as Athos got completely behind him. The thrust meant for Athos's exposed back had just pierced the stomach of the man he had been fighting. It wasn't an instant kill though and the mercenary remained on his feet long enough for Athos to shove him into the shocked arms of his comrade who had just struck him. The second mercenary staggered back under the weight of his partner, reflex causing him to keep holding the man despite Athos's immediate advance. Too late he released the dying man to the floor only to have Athos's rapier shove itself through the vulnerable patch just above his collarbone. A strangled gurgle erupted with the blood pouring from the man's mouth as Athos's sword skewered his throat. With a jerk, Athos freed his sword and with the support of the blade removed, the man instantly collapsed.
Immediately in front of him, Athos recognized D'Artagnan was in trouble. He had clearly made some good hits against the big man as the attacker's doublet had several bleeding gashes. But as Athos watched D'Artagnan lost his footing in a slick of blood and went down hard onto his back. Athos was in motion immediately but the mercenary was already moving in for a killing strike. Despite being prone, D'Artagnan met the big man's thrust to his chest with a parry from his rapier but his attacker slid his blade into the basket of D'Artagnan's sword and used his strength and momentum to disarm the Gascon. So intent was the mercenary on moving in to finish D'Artagnan that he was caught completely off-guard by the fury of Athos hurling himself into the side of his body. Both men crashed to the ground and immediately started scrambling to gain the upper hand. Years of sparring with Porthos came to Athos's aid as he managed to keep the large man on the ground by dragging his opponent's arm up high on his back and twisting at the elbow. The man bellowed in pain, trying to buck his hips to dislodge Athos. Athos put all of his force into working that arm while looking quickly to assess D'Artagnan's condition. The Gascon was already on his feet retrieving his sword, a dark bruise rising under his eye but no other obvious injuries revealing themselves. He watched D'Artagnan pause and turn his head toward him, caught between a desire to aid Aramis but a reluctance to leave Athos.
"Go!" Athos bellowed, prompting D'Artagnan from his indecision. To his credit their young recruit didn't waste time with an acknowledgment, just sprinted to the stairs where their marksman was embroiled in a pitched battle. Athos noticed the dead men splayed along the bottom of the stairs but saw that another man had replaced him and yet a third was making his way down the staircase. But he had no more time to watch as the man beneath him had twisted and gotten a hand up to apply pressure under Athos's chin and force his head and body back. His friends were going to be on their own for some time yet as Athos continued struggling with the big man.
At Athos's shout, D'Artagnan was immediately in motion, running toward the grand staircase. He leaped over a body sprawled at the foot of the stairs and took the steps two at a time, making it to Aramis's side just in time to parry a thrust from a third attacker meant for Aramis's heart. Aramis gave a sound somewhere between a growl and a chuckle as he acknowledged his friend at his side. D'Artagnan's presence seemed to embolden the marksman and as Aramis drew his main gauche D'Artagnan knew he was about to double down on the offensive.
It was trickier for them to mount an offensive position from their spot on the staircase. The uneven surface was challenging to navigate as was the more vulnerable position of being on lower ground than the attackers. D'Artagnan fought to reverse the advantage, moving to flank the man he had engaged and try to get above him. Instead of a dagger, the mercenary D'Artagnan was fighting held two rapiers and D'Artagnan was hard pressed to find a way under and around the two flashing blades. His maneuver did draw the man further from his companions and with the agility of a cat, Aramis managed to parry an incoming strike and spin up and through the small opening between the two men. D'Artagnan watched as Aramis pivoted gracefully, catching his nearest opponent's thrust with his main gauche while kicking out with his right leg to strike D'Artagnan's opponent in the back of the knee. The man pitched forward wildly at the loss of the stabilizing limb and D'Artagnan scurried out of the way as he tumbled down the stairs. D'Artagnan watched him struggle to rise, concerned they would have an attacker at both front and back but then he caught sight of Athos rising from the floor where he had been grappling with the large mercenary. D'Artagnan turned back to Aramis, confident Athos would take the man out before he could cause them more trouble.
Aramis had indeed gained at least even footing with the two mercenaries, but they had forced him back toward the balustrade, his weight leaning dangerously back over the waist-high railing. D'Artagnan caught a glance from Aramis that said 'a little help here' and indicated the man to his left. Their arms were impossibly twisted so neither could strike a blow but the attacker was pressing Aramis back as the musketeer fought to parry the onslaught of strikes coming from the other mercenary. D'Artagnan couldn't help a grin as he lunged for the man entwined with Aramis. So focused were they on the marksman that they had left themselves vulnerable to an attack from the rear.
D'Artagnan raised his hand and slammed the basket of his rapier into the side of the mercenary's head. He let out a grunt but didn't fall and D'Artagnan pummeled him a second and then a third time until he went limp, disengaging his grip on Aramis as he fell. As D'Artagnan shifted his attention to the next man, a shot rang out and the wooden railing of the balustrade splintered between him and Aramis. Aramis grunted as he struggled to find his pistol with his now free hand and D'Artagnan ducked low to grab Aramis's other attacker around his midsection and drag him away from the marksman. As soon as D'Artagnan was in the clear, Aramis's shot rang out followed a scream and then a sickening thud as a body from the balcony along the second floor hit the ground with a sickening crack. D'Artagnan got the man in his arms pressed back into the staircase and plunged his dagger into the mercenary's shoulder just as another shot rang out behind him and another scream told him Aramis had again hit his mark.
D'Artagnan pulled his dagger from the man writhing below him and straightened just as Aramis holstered his spent pistols and retrieved his dropped blades.
"Upstairs," Aramis snarled and D'Artagnan was by his side as they took the stairs two at a time. The chaos in the lower salon had turned to absolute pandemonium at the sound of gunfire and the large room was suddenly a screaming mob of everyone trying to get out of the building at once. D'Artagnan and Aramis dodged a steady stream of panicked patrons and workers racing down the stairs.
"They'll be in the rooms along the center corridor," Aramis called out to D'Artagnan just before the marksman sliced through an advancing guard with a vicious cut across the abdomen. "Check every room and be careful of what you might find behind closed doors," the marksman cautioned. When Aramis had been here in search of the Varades he had heard the muffled cries of pain emanating from those rooms and the musketeers had been directed to concentrate on freeing the women kept behind the locked doors. D'Artagnan gave Aramis a grim nod and turning back to back they simultaneously kicked in the first door on either side of the long hallway.
The lock gave way under the force of D'Artagnan's kick and he immediately rushed into the open doorway, sword at the ready as he heeded Aramis's warning about not knowing what might be behind the door. The sight that met D'Artagnan's eyes froze the Gascon in his tracks.
The well-appointed room was a heady mix of red and pink brocades, gilt patterns on the wall and plush upholstered furniture near the window. But the centerpiece was an enormous bed with thick, carved posts where a young woman was tied to each corner by black strips of fabric. Her breasts were bared and her petticoats hiked up to her hips. She was blindfolded and crying, struggling ineffectually at the bonds holding her spread-eagled on the bed. Too many thoughts tried to cram themselves into D'Artagnan's mind at the sight of the woman laid out before him but quickly he felt the overwhelming sense of white-hot anger rising from his gut. D'Artagnan's eyes narrowed and his focus sharpened as his rage honed down to a burning need to protect the helpless woman and serve justice to whoever had done this.
D'Artagnan pulled his gaze from the sobbing girl to find a portly man struggling into his tall boots, his back against the wall and his eyes wide with fear. The man's breathing was ragged and his face red from the exertion of hurriedly dressing. By the cut and cloth of his clothes, D'Artagnan realized this was a nobleman, someone who's life was supposed to be ruled by his honor and yet he had been here, in this locked room, committing some act of depravity against the body of the woman immobilized on the bed. It was only Athos's voice in D'Artagnan's head that stopped him slicing his blade across the man's throat.
"Yield, Monsieur," the Gascon spat, his voice a cold as ice, "I will not ask again.
"I yield! I yield" the man whimpered, dropping his second boot as D'Artagnan advanced on him, rapier pointed to his heart.
"Untie her," D'Artagnan ordered, gesturing with his sword to encourage the man to move. The portly man shifted quickly to the head of the bed and worked with trembling fingers to untie the knots in the fabric. D'Artagnan kept his sword pointed toward the nobleman but reached with his main gauche to slice through the bonds at the woman's ankles. As soon as her feet were released she pulled them up toward her chest and pushed off the bed to scramble back against the ornate headboard. The nobleman released her right arm and she moved quickly to pull off the blindfold and start working at the knot holding her other wrist.
"On your knees," D'Artagnan commanded as he shifted toward the head of the bed to slice through the remaining restraint with his dagger. The nobleman dropped as ordered, sputtering to D'Artagnan to spare his life and that it wasn't his fault. The threat neutralized, D'Artagnan turned his attention to the woman now huddled in on herself at the center of the headboard. He lowered his weapons and approached her as he might a skittish horse that had been spooked.
"Easy, I won't hurt you," D'Artagnan said, his voice full of softness, "I'm here to help you. What's your name?"
"Justine," she choked out between sobs.
"Justine, it's alright," D'Artagnan soothed, setting down his rapier and sheathing his main gauche. "No one is going to hurt you anymore," He picked up a soft, green plush cloak that had been deposited on the bed and draped it over the woman's trembling form. "I'm D'Artagnan of the King's Musketeers. We are here to see you all safe." She gave a tearful sniffle and pulled the cloak tightly around herself. "Wait here," D'Artagnan said gently.
D'Artagnan felt a slight shake in his hands as he turned to approach the kneeling nobleman. He was angry and doing everything in his power not to let his feelings overwhelm his duty in this situation. This was the hardest part of soldiering as far as D'Artagnan was concerned. Every inch of him wanted to soundly beat the nobleman cowering in front of him for what he had been doing, but D'Artagnan knew his duty was clear. The nobleman would be arrested with the others and whether the punishment meted to him was fitting or not, punished he would be. It was not D'Artagnan's place to think on more than that, but he knew his hands were trembling from suppressed rage as he picked up one of the pieces of black fabric that had been used to tie the girl to the bed.
"Monsieur, please, I beg you . . ." the nobleman stammered, likely responding to the unbridled aggression he could see in the young Musketeer's eyes. He clasped his hands in appeal as D'Artagnan approached. In a smooth gesture, D'Artagnan caught up the man's hands and wrapped the cloth tightly around his wrists.
"You are under arrest for acts of depravity against man and God by order of the Governor," D'Artagnan spat as he knotted the nobleman's bonds, "Stay here on your knees until the guard comes for you because if you venture from this room, your life is forfeit." D'Artagnan had made that part up but by the way the portly man nodded and whimpered he was certain he didn't realize it. Under the tutelage of his friends, his education in emotional manipulation had been just as thorough in his training with blades and muskets. D'Artagnan moved around the large bed and offered his hand to the woman. She had stopped crying and stared at him with wide, hopeful eyes.
"Justine, come with me," he said earnestly, "Let's get you out of here," he added with a nod. A thin, pale arm snaked from between the folds of the voluminous cloak and a small white hand nestled itself into his warm, brown one. With an encouraging smile, D'Artagnan pulled Justine to her feet and with his rapier raised defensively in front of him lead her to the door. He wasn't exactly sure what to do next, but then he saw Aramis emerge from a room further up the hall, a teenage girl tucked protectively under his arm. The marksman caught his eyes and gave D'Artagnan an affirmative nod. Aramis leaned in to whisper something to the girl. She nodded and then pushed off from him running down the corridor toward D'Artagnan. D'Artagnan looked back toward the staircase to see two women huddled together on the landing, three of Demont's men forming a protective circle around them.
"Simone!" Justine encouraged as the girl neared them. The girl slowed as she neared them but instead of coming closer, she pressed herself back against the opposite wall, fear plastered over her face. D'Artagnan moved toward her, Justine still in hand, and Simone's eyes widened in terror, fixed on the Gascon's rapier pointed in her direction. D'Artagnan quickly shifted his grip, pointing the blade toward the floor while he gestured with his fingers for the girl to approach.
"Sssh, sssh, I'm not going to hurt you," D'Artagnan said, giving her an encouraging nod.
"Simone," Justine held out her other hand, gesturing to the frightened girl, "It's alright. He's a Musketeer." Simone glanced back the way she had come to see her original protector kicking in the next door in the corridor. Clearly still frightened, the girl found whatever courage she needed to rush into Justine's arms. Justine dropped D'Artagnan's hand and gathered the younger woman close.
"Justine, take Simone and join your friends," D'Artagnan said, urgently ushering them toward the other women on the landing. "Those soldiers will protect you. I have to find the others." Justine nodded and tugged Simone's hand, pulling her toward the rest of the emancipated girls. D'Artagnan's eyes widened in horror as his eyes followed the women. Simone's thin robe clung to her back, plastered to her body along the wet red trails of blood from dozens of weeping wounds. Someone had been whipping her violently.
D'Artagnan let out a low growl and turned to the next doorway. He couldn't understand how anyone could do that to a woman but at that moment he realized he didn't care. He would see them all safe and the men that harmed them in prison – or dead if any were unlucky enough to challenge him.
Six more doors lined D'Artagnan's side of the corridor and behind each one he found a different horror. In the first a naked woman was tied to a chair, her face bruised and bloodied from someone beating her. In the next the woman was unharmed but so frightened she was huddled into the far corner of the room, clinging to the heavy draperies lining the tall windows. Her eyes kept darting to the bed where D'Artagnan found two half-dressed men hiding, apparently a father and son. In the third room he finally met some serious resistance – two of the mercenaries hired to protect the establishment had taken refuge with three of the women in a large bedroom. D'Artagnan felt the feral smile take over his face as he realized the men were going to fight. He had no guilt when he left them dead on the floor.
The final two rooms on D'Artagnan's side were empty and as he returned to the corridor he looked anxiously around for Aramis. He had caught sight of him entering his last doorway before he himself had engaged with the remaining mercenaries but now he did not know where he had gotten to. Worried he made his way into the last room he had seen Aramis enter, but found that empty, a pool of blood gathering under a dead body on the floor. Apparently Aramis had met some resistance as well. D'Artagnan returned to the corridor and looked back down the long hallway where the women they had rescued had gathered. There were more guards there now and the din from the chaos in the salon had lessened considerably. A familiar head crested the top of the stairs and Athos appeared, face grim but seemingly wholly intact, with more of Demont's men at his heels. He stopped beside the group on the landing and he and the soldiers began ushering the women down the stairs. D'Artagnan moved to join him and ask about Aramis when a thunderous, clattering crash came from behind him.
"Aramis!" D'Artagnan shouted instinctively and turned to the heavy door that stood half open at the head of the corridor. Pulling his main gauche as he ran forward, D'Artagnan shoved the door the rest of the way open with his shoulder, skidding to a halt as he crossed the threshold. The room was in shambles and standing in the middle of the wreckage, a pile of bodies at his feet, stood Aramis with sword and rapier in hand and a dark countenance that looked ready to challenge the devil himself. D'Artagnan let out a small exhale at the violence in the marksman's eyes and remembered the battle lust that had overcome Aramis in their fight outside of Toutanville. D'Artagnan froze to the spot, chilled by the raw anguish emanating from the marksman and uncertain if Aramis recognized him enough not to turn that violence against his friend.