Patience
Chapter 25
The bright sun streamed down on the pitch as Porthos took his position next to Antoine. The new Red Guard glared at him.
"It's about time someone put you in your place," Antoine muttered as they stood before the King.
"Gentlemen," said Treville, "You will be fighting until one of you is either knocked unconscious, or forced to submit. Take your places."
The two men turned to face each other. As was customary between gentlemen in a competition of this nature, Porthos gave a short bow to his opponent. Antoine did not, but savagely delivered the first blow of the bout to an unsuspecting Porthos.
The Musketeers roared in anger as Porthos fell back a few paces with his hand on his jaw. Antoine leered at Porthos, smug satisfaction written all over his face. In that moment as his jaw stung slightly and Antoine's insufferable grin floated in front of him, all Porthos could feel was the united outrage of the men in his corner, the Musketeers.
Porthos grinned at Antoine, the fire of battle bright in his eyes as he raised his fists and approached the former Musketeer cadet. Antoine had his fists raised in answer. He threw two punches, which Porthos dodged easily, though the third hit him in the ribs. Porthos barely reacted. Taking a breath Porthos began his own attack delivering two solid jabs to the man's ribs, accompanied by a keen hit to the jaw that had Antoine careening away.
Porthos shook out his hand and grinned at the man, gesturing for him to launch his next attack. Realizing he was being mocked, Antoine surged with anger. He charged Porthos, delivering punches with his fists, all of which Porthos blocked, and responded with another strike at the man. A collective groan went up from the Red Guards as Porthos' fist made contact with Antoine's nose. An audible crunch was heard as blood began to pour down his face.
Porthos stepped back to allow the man to recover.
"This can all be over if you surrender," Porthos muttered.
Antoine spat at Porthos' feet and wiped the blood from his nose. "As if I'd ever surrender to someone like you. You're worthless. You belong on the streets. I'm glad I'm not a musketeer if they're taking your kind," he hissed, his words like venom pouring from between his barred teeth.
He launched himself at Porthos in an attempt to tackle him, but Porthos caught him and cast him to the ground. In a devious move, Antoine reached behind him and threw a fistful of dirt into Porthos' eyes before scrambling back to his feet. Again, the Musketeers howled in outrage.
"Really, Cardinal, that's cheating!" cried the King.
"I don't believe we set out rules for this match your Majesty," the Cardinal replied smugly.
Porthos shook his head and tried to rub the dirt from his eyes. He was met by a hard punch to his gut, which had him doubling over. Antoine took this to his advantage and drilled his elbow down onto Porthos' back. Porthos lurched away at the impact. He spun quickly to face his attacker again, still wiping at the dirt in his eyes.
From the sidelines, Athos had a hand on Aramis' elbow and was trying to restrain both himself and his brother from interfering. As much as they would like to intercede on Porthos' behalf, this was his chance to prove himself to the King. All they could do was watch with bated breath.
Antoine was relishing in his foul play and was showboating for his fellow Red Guards who cheered him on. Porthos waited patiently.
"You're nothing," Antoine hissed as Porthos absorbed blow after blow to his abdomen. "You should crawl back to whatever gutter you came from. Who do you think you are?" he said as he drew back his fist to deliver a devastating punch to Porthos' face.
The punch, however, never came.
As Antoine let his fist fly, Porthos reacted faster than a man his size should have been capable. Like lighting, Porthos' own hand grabbed the fist from the air. Antoine's eyes widened as Porthos' hand engulfed his and he howled when with a quick turn of his wrist, Porthos dislocated the man's elbow so his right arm hung uselessly at his side. Antoine fell back, clutching his arm to his chest, whimpering.
Glowering at the man who stood cowering before him, Porthos grabbed him by the throat and pulled him so they were mere inches apart. His deep voice echoed like thunder. "I'm a musketeer," he growled. "Do you surrender?"
Antoine's eyes' bulged in pain as he nodded and Porthos dropped him at his feet before turning away.
It happened in an instant when Porthos' back was turned – Antoine glared at Porthos, then leapt back to his feet drawing a blade he had hidden in his boot with his left hand.
"Porthos!" cried Aramis as the blade flashed in the sunlight.
Porthos spun on the spot.
His right forearm came up to block the blade in his attacker's hand as his left rose to deliver a devastating uppercut to the man's jaw. Antoine's limp body went sailing backwards, his eyes rolled up into his head as he hit the ground nearly ten paces from where Porthos stood panting. Antoine was breathing, but there was no question he was out cold.
The group of watching musketeers erupted into applause as the Red Guards dragged Antoine's body from the pitch.
"Well done Porthos!" Louis cried, bringing the cheers of the Musketeers to an end. "It's clear that yours is a talent that few should dare challenge. You fought with honour and with heart today. Let us hope you only continue to do so," he said. "Kneel," the King commanded as he descended from his dais.
Porthos knelt on the trampled dirt of the sparring pitch. Treville stood behind him with Aramis and Athos on either side.
"For your superior talents as a pugilist, you have earned your commission. For your service to me in my infantry, you have earned your commission. For your dedication to the regiment and your brothers within it, you have earned your commission. But most of all, Porthos, for your strength and your determined heart, you have earned your commission. I am not ignorant to the strife of my people, and I know just how long and hard of a fight you must have had to endure to be so recognized by my Captain and his men. I would be honoured to have you in my service among my elite Musketeers," said the King, as he drew his rapier.
Placing the blade on Porthos' right shoulder he said, "Porthos du Vallon, do you pledge yourself to my service as one of my Musketeers? Do you swear to obey my orders, to live and serve at my will? Do you pledge to uphold the honour of this regiment knowing that as one of my Musketeers you are representative of your King and Country? Do you swear to live and die alongside your brothers-in-arms in service to France, and to your King?"
"Yes sire. I swear," said Porthos earnestly.
"Then rise, Porthos du Vallon, as a member of the Musketeers."
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A/N: And there you have it! How Porthos fought/earned/won his commission and how a tragedy forged the bonds of legend.
Thank you so much for reading and reviewing this story. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. This story marks my one-year anniversary of writing for this amazing community. It was a long one, so I value, like Porthos, your patience and support throughout this journey. Cheers!