CHAPTER 29

Athos heard the crowd grow quiet and knew what it signaled; his opponents had entered the ring. After making one last check of his weapons, he stepped towards the gate waiting for Jehan to unlock it and escort him into the arena. Athos was surprised when instead a strange guard pulled open the gate and gestured for him for to proceed.

The ante-room was dark and he squinted as he walked into the bright sunshine flooding the arena. He forced his watering eyes to scan the section where the servants, who would die if he lost, were seated. There were four of them, which matched Jehan's story he would be fighting four men. One servant for each warrior he was supposed to battle. Jehan hadn't been lying and his eyes quickly whipped to the middle of the arena where a quartet of serious, well-armed fighters stood waiting to slaughter him.

His eyes scanned the hushed crowd next finding Aramis with the ease of one family member finding another in a crowd. Unable to locate D'Artagnan, he quickly spotted Porthos by the gate. The scowl on Porthos' face said it all; he was itching to be a part of this battle, which was something Athos could not afford to have happen. If he didn't win this duel, the Marquis would slay the four innocent servants. Athos was sure that any outside interference in this fight would be construed as a 'loss' even if he did manage to win. The Marquis, in his twisted mind, would then be able to slaughter the servants to slake his blood-thirsty need for murder.

Athos had to win this fight on his own merit even though according to Jehan that wasn't what the Marquis wanted either; he wanted Athos dead. But Athos couldn't let distractions cloud his mind. First things first: win the fight, save the servants and then he could worry about his own skin.

Keeping his weapons holstered, Athos moved towards where Jehan, Porthos, and the rest of the guards stood. He made sure he kept his hands partially raised in front of him indicating he had no intentions of drawing his weapons.

"Jehan." Athos stopped a few feet away from the trainer hands still in a neutral position. His eyes showed no emotion as he scanned each of the guard's faces, to include Porthos', before coming back to rest on Jehan. "I need your promise you won't interfere."

Though Athos' words were directed at Jehan, Pothos had the distinct impression they were really aimed at him.

Sneering, Jehan replied, "I wouldn't dream of it. Enjoy." Though Jehan didn't say it, Athos could hear the sub-text, 'Musketeer, and first son of the nobleman. For today you cease to be both'.

Athos' eyes shifted to Porthos again for a second. They were called the Inseparables for a good reason. An entire wordless conversation passed between the two men in that glance. Athos asked Porthos to stand down and the big guy agreed, but with conditions. If it meant standing idle while Athos was killed, all bets were off. A slight head tilt by both musketeers had the deal acknowledged though neither side was fond of the terms and conditions.

Having secured what he needed to hopefully keep the servants alive, Athos moved back towards the middle of the arena to face his four opponents. He stopped twenty paces away from the fighters.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to concede the fight now and avoid me having to kill the four of you?" he asked in a courtly tone. The response he received was well within the bounds of what he expected and with a sigh he drew his rapier, the sword ringing in the quiet air as it cleared the scabbard.

Winning this battle was not going to be about fair fighting. The deck had already been stacked against him for this to be an honest confrontation. The only way he was winning this fight was through sheer determination, sacrifice, and down and out dirty street fighting. Athos had learned the hard way as a Musketeer that sometimes ones honor had to be tarnished a little for the greater good.

"Was that the horn?" he facetiously asked as he drew and threw his dagger into the heart of his foe on the right before lunging to slash the knee of another fighter without warning. "My mistake. There it is," Athos declared without sincerity as the horn blared.

The man prone in the dirt with the dagger in his chest would soon be ready for last rights. The second fighter, also on the ground, was alive but it was dubious if he'd ever walk again without a limp. The remaining two warriors quickly drew their weapons and put some space between them and the lone swordsman that was facing them.

As the fight raged on, it was not one of Athos' better performances and Aramis and Porthos could easily detect that fact. Athos was holding his own, but not with his usual finesse or fighting skills. Athos' mind was clearly having a hard time focusing, his body was betraying him, and his brothers feared for him.

Porthos' eyes narrowed when he detected that Athos' opponents were maneuvering the fatigued musketeer into a trap and he was torn by his promise not to interfere. By the time Athos became aware of the trap it was too late.

Athos was positioned in front of the man whose knee he had gashed at the onset of the fight. The wounded warrior raised his sword preparing to slash at Athos' right leg. The musketeer's sixth sense alerted him at the last moment and he did a shoulder roll trying to avoid the blade, which only skimmed across his leg as opposed to cutting it deeply as intended.

However, being momentarily on the ground left him vulnerable. While he should have been able to spring nimbly back to his feet after such a roll, the wound in his side made him stumble on the recovery and he wobbled sideways into the path of one of the unhurt fighters. Seeing it was too late to avoid the collision, Athos twisted to avoid the man's blade and added a bit of velocity to his fall causing both of them to tumble to the ground. Had the man had his main gauche in play it might have been the end of Athos, but he didn't and the two went down in a tangle of arms and legs, both losing their grip on their swords.

Athos swung his fist and clobbered the man in the side of the jaw, while the other man returned the favor with a swift kick to Athos' newly wounded thigh. It became obvious that whoever got to their sword first was going to be the winner of this tussle. It appeared that was going to be Athos when his searching hand found the hilt of his rapier. However, when he attempted to lift it to skewer his foe his actions were thwarted by the remaining fighter who took his dagger and slashed Athos' right forearm.

The unexpected pain nearly caused the musketeer to drop his rapier, but his title as the greatest swordsman in France held a lot of truth. His training, coupled with his survival skills and pure adrenaline, had him quickly transferring the sword to his left hand before rolling away from the thrust aimed at his neck.

This time he made it to his feet, swiftly turned and delivered a lethal stab to the man with whom he had been wrestling. Three men now lay dead or wounded on the earthen ground of the arena. Blood dripped down Athos' face from a cut he wasn't even aware of receiving. A quick swipe of his sleeve got rid of it before it obscured his vision though he knew it was only a temporary solution at best.

Athos and his remaining opponent warily circled each other and it was clearly apparent that the remaining one of the original four warriors was in better shape than Athos.

In the stands, the Marquis sighed. "Such a waste of talent. It is a shame he has to die."

Athos stumbled as a frontal assault was levied on him by his opponent, barely fending off the attack. Aramis knew his brother couldn't survive much longer. It was time to act.

Suddenly, the Marquis found a pistol pressed discreetly to his side. "No one is dying here today," Aramis hissed in his ear. "Unless it is you for doing something stupid. Here is how this is going to go down. You will walk with me down to the gate and declare this fight is over. Then my brothers and I are going to take Athos and ride away from here. You won't send anyone to follow us. Do I make myself clear?" After a pause, Aramis added, "And I'm a King's Musketeer as are my three friends to include the one you have fighting for his life in your arena. Trust me, we don't miss, and we keep our promises."

While Aramis was coercing the Marquis in the stands, Jehan reached his boiling point as he stood by the gate. This fight was not going as planned. It appeared the wrong man might win and that simply couldn't happen.

Athos' back was toward Jehan when the trainer made his charge. Reversing the handle of his dagger, he viciously clubbed Athos in the back of the head rendering the man unconscious. "Finish him!" he yelled at the fighter who was surprised to see his foe collapse in the dirt.

A mighty roar cut across the arena as Porthos burst into action. He had kept his promise to Athos not to interfere until his brother's life was in mortal danger. That time had arrived. Now, it was Athos turn to honor his promise and let Porthos save him.

Sword flashing like a speeding bullet, Porthos bowled over Jehan as he headed towards the remaining fighter who wisely seeing an angry bear rushing towards him backed off.

Porthos let him go and instead knelt on the ground next to Athos. Though he wasn't sure how badly his brother was hurt there was one thing for sure, Athos wasn't climbing to his feet anytime in the next few minutes. Scooping the lighter man up in his powerful arms, Porthos adjusted his hold to lay Athos over his left shoulder keeping his right hand free for his sword. A firm hold on Athos' belt kept him securely in place as he moved across the arena towards the exit. Porthos couldn't help Athos' head from flopping and bouncing off of his broad back as he hurried across the ring; there was no time for finesse. Perhaps it made them even for all the times Athos had rendered him unconscious with a swift punch to the jaw when Aramis needed to stitch the big man's wounds. Both were cases of having to hurt your friend to help them, Porthos reasoned.

As Porthos was making his way to the gate with the unconscious Athos, Aramis was making his way to the same place with the very conscious Marquis. People were moving out of the way when they realized Lemione was being held at gunpoint. It wasn't until Aramis reached the gate where the guards stood that he ran into resistance.

Aramis tried to reason with the guards. "Please, step aside. I really don't wish to get blood on my coat, which will assuredly happen when I pull the trigger at this range and your Lord's blood and guts splatter on me."

But it was the Marquis Lemione's direct order and not Aramis' logic that got the guards to stand down. "Move out of the way you fools!"

Thankfully at that moment, D'Artagnan materialized at the gate. "The horses are waiting."

Porthos and Athos arrived at the gate and for the first time in months, the Inseparables were united. However, there wasn't time for a family reunion as they moved forward with their escape plans.

"D'Artagnan, get everyone into the arena," Aramis instructed the younger musketeer.

D'Artagnan used his sword and pistol to encourage everyone to move to the far side of the gate.

"Good. Where is the key to the lock?" Aramis questioned the crowd. When no one seemed to have the answer he said, "Never mind." After shoving the Marquis into the arena causing the man to fall in the dirt, Aramis swiftly exited thru the gate, pulled it shut behind him, and secured the lock. He hoped the key was not the hands of someone in the arena because he was trying to buy them time to escape.

"Thanks for the hospitality, but I don't think we will be returning. Let's go," he addressed his brothers as they made their way outside and to the horses.

The Marquis and Jehan stared in frustration and hopelessness as the four musketeers escaped. This was not what was to have occurred here today. The Marquis reached over and punched Jehan in the face out of frustration.

"Let's hope it takes a while for them to find the key," Aramis prayed as he scanned the unconscious form of Athos. "We are going to need all the time we can get."

"Here. Hold him," Porthos commanded pulling Athos off his shoulder and handing him over to Aramis as if he were a child's rag doll.

Athos' limbs wouldn't support him and Aramis not having the brute strength of Porthos found it a struggle not to drop the man in the dirt. "D'Artagnan, a little assistance please."

Between the two of them, they kept the unconscious man somewhat vertical though the physician in him had Aramis wondering what sort of aggravation they were causing to Athos' injuries.

After Porthos had mounted his rangy horse, he peered down at them from the saddle. "Ok. Hand him up."

The glance that passed between Aramis and D'Artagnan could be summed up in three words... are you kidding! Porthos solved the problem by maneuvering his war horse next to the three men, bending down from his lofty perch, tightening his legs to his mount's side, and hauling Athos upward by his belt. For all the brute force he used to get the wounded man on his horse, Porthos was gentle and careful as he arranged the man in front of him before wrapping one arm securely around his midsection while the other held the reins. "Let's go!"

The other two ran for their horses, quickly mounted, and started after Porthos who had already taken off. D'Artagnan lead the fourth horse so when Athos regained consciousness and was ready to ride, he'd have a mount. The young musketeer deliberately used the word when in his mind, and not if, trying to remain positive.

For the next hour as they cantered across the rolling countryside, putting as much distance between them and the estate as possible, Aramis worried about what this might be doing to Athos. He could see some of the injuries the warrior was sporting, to include a slash on his thigh and arm, as well as the one on his side, but wondered about the hidden ones. Add to that list a probable concussion and Aramis felt like every jounce and jolt could be putting a nail in his best friend's coffin. However, if they were being pursued they need to stay ahead because a fight at this junction might be disastrous.

Aramis made a decision when he glanced over again and saw Athos' wavy, dark haired head bounce off Porthos' chest again. Reining his horse to a walk had the ripple effect intended causing them all to slow their mounts. "I realize the need to put distance between us and any pursuers, but I fear for Athos' well-being."

Somberly, the Musketeer's gazed at the unconscious man being supported in the front of Porthos' saddle.

"I suggest that Athos and I continue onward at a walk, while you two go back and check for signs of pursuit. Porthos can switch to the spare horse which is fresher since Flip has been carrying a double load."

The silent exchange between d'Artagnan and Porthos showed they weren't happy with the idea, but had no better counter offer. "What about Athos? He can't ride," d'Artagnan asked.

"I suppose we can tie him to Flip like a sack of potatoes." The slight curve of his lips showed he wasn't serious, simply trying to lighten a dark mood. "But, I fear we would hear about that for the rest of our lives. No, it is my turn to bear my brother."

Maneuvering his horse close to Porthos', a team effort was undertaken to switch the unresponsive man to Aramis' horse. It was not an easy feat, but they pulled it off without dropping him. That too, would have been hard to explain when Athos finally woke.

Porthos changed horses to the one they had appropriated for Athos' use before handing off the reins of Flip to Aramis. With a little salute, the two Musketeers' wheeled their steeds about and headed back towards the estate to deal with any pursuers.

Aramis clicked to his stallion to start to walk and the horse flicked his ears in a disagreeable fashion letting his owner know he wasn't happy with this new arrangement. There was more weight on his back then normal and Flip was crowding him. Aramis patted the Spanish stallion on the neck by way of apology, but firmly insisted that he obey. With a snort, the horse moved forward and Aramis attempted to settle Athos a bit more securely in front of him, not an easy task considering the saddle wasn't built for two. Normally when riding tandem the second person sat behind the cantle.

It was about an hour later, when he heard the sound of approaching hooves and he stopped his stallion turning him to face the sound. Awkwardly drawing his harquebus, he held it at ready in case the guests weren't friendly. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until he saw D'Artagnan appear with Porthos close behind. He exhaled in relief. The two drew to a halt alongside of Aramis their eyes seeking out Athos first and then shifting to the gun, which was still pointed at them.

"Maybe you want to aim that in another direction?" Porthos mildly suggested.

Aramis gave them a smile. "Why? Are you going to give me bad news? If so, maybe it is correctly aimed."

"All good news!" D'Artagnan assured him as Aramis placed his harquebus back in its holder. "There is no sign of pursuit. We went all the way back to the edge of the woods by the prison and saw nothing."

"Perhaps they are still trapped behind the locked gate?" Aramis jokingly suggested.

Porthos shook his head no. "Nah, we saw people moving about just not after us. Guess we left a lasting impression. How's he?" The dark brown eyes were filled with concern as he gazed on the limp form of his brother.

Aramis' frustration became apparent as he adjusted his grip on Athos. "I was really hoping he would have regained consciousness by now. It has me a bit concerned."

All three men knew that was a gross under-exaggeration. Aramis was gravely concerned.

"If you are sure there is no sign of pursuit, I would like to set up camp and tend to his wounds while there is still light. There is a stream a few minutes back. That would be a good spot." Aramis glanced between his companions for concurrence, which he received.

The two turned their horses to follow Aramis who had headed his mount towards the stream. Once they reached the stream's banks, they found a relatively flat, dry, parcel to set up camp. D'Artagnan dismounted first, grabbed Porthos' cloak, and spread it on the ground as a makeshift bed. Porthos was off his mount next, and he walked over to Aramis who gently lowered Athos into his waiting arms. Porthos cradled Athos as carefully as if he were a new born babe, carrying him over to the blue cloak and gently laying him upon it.

Aramis was the last to dismount and once on the ground he rummaged thru his packs for his medical supplies. He began issuing orders for Porthos to gather wood, start a fire, and boil water, while D'Artagnan was instructed to take care of the horses.

While the other two went about their assignments, Aramis moved over to Athos laying his medical supplies on the corner of the cloak, but not unpacking them yet. First, he needed to see what he was dealing with and then choose the right tools.

Apologizing, even though he doubted Athos could hear him, he stripped the man down to his smalls. Luckily, it was warm and no chill would be taken by this act. Once his patient was nearly naked, he ran a practiced eye over the unconscious form. The blood-soaked bandage that surrounded his torso from the previous day's wound would definitely need to be soaked to get it off. The thigh and the forearm gashes were a bit more than a graze, though he wasn't sure if either truly required stitching. Wanting to examine the wound he knew Athos sustained on the back of his head, he slowly rolled the man over and then gasped. It wasn't the newest wound that surprised and momentarily took his breath away, but the healed scars from an older injury. Sometime during his captivity, Athos had been repeatedly beaten with a whip!

Porthos, who had the fire started and a pot of water rigged on it, heard Aramis' gasp and when he glanced over at the man and saw his ridged posture, he stood up and ambled over. "What's the matter?" but he answered his own question when he saw the marks on Athos' fair-skinned back. "He was whipped!"

D'Artagnan, who had completed staking out the last horse, saw his two brethren intently staring at Athos and his stomach did a slow roll as he hurried over to them. "What's wrong?"

Porthos voice shook with fury. "Someone whipped Athos. Like he was a beast."