CHAPTER 36
Though it was barely noon, three of the four men at the camp were hungry so d'Artagnan made them a meal. The farmer turned musketeer did justice to the rabbits though you wouldn't have known that by the way Athos picked at his plate of food. Aramis tried to coax Athos to eat more knowing the man's resources were being depleted and need replenishing. But in the end, Porthos had nearly a complete second meal as he scoffed-down Athos' leftovers.
After he had finished eating, Athos wandered slowly back over to the tree he favored sitting against. Lowering his aching body to the ground, he angled his back cautiously against the trunk before wearily closing his eyes against the mid-day sunshine. Suddenly, he felt something brush his forehead and his warrior's instincts took over as he batted the object away.
Quickly opening his eyes, they met Aramis' amused brown ones. "Apologies. I do believe I was supposed to ask your permission."
"Your lucky I didn't have my sword," Athos grumbled, but without conviction.
Aramis chuckled at his moody friend. "If you had your sword I would have taken a totally different approach." Moving his hand towards Athos' forehead again, he politely asked, "May I?"
"If I tell you I'm fine will you go away?" Athos asked, but his defeated tone indicated he already knew the answer.
A pious expression took over Aramis' appearance. "Fine? Athos don't perjure your immortal soul with such a lie."
"My immortal soul is far beyond redemption at this point," the swordsman retorted and the inflection was too serious for Aramis.
Aramis didn't like Athos thinking he was a lost soul for the religious man knew his God was one of forgiveness, mercy, and kindness. No matter what Athos thought, Aramis knew his brother's good deeds would far out way his bad ones come judgement day. However, he had yet to win that argument with the stubborn man sitting in front of him and now wasn't the time to try again. With a sigh of discontentment, he simply let the comment pass unchallenged and reached over to feel Athos' forehead.
The medic musketeer frowned and Athos who was watching from the corner of his eye knew it wasn't going to be good news.
"You seem warmer," Aramis mumbled softly under his breath not wanting the two musketeers on the other side of the camp to hear his proclamation.
"It's hot out," was Athos' quick counter-argument.
The marksman stood as he contemplated what to do about the return of Athos' fever. Aramis was worried about d'Artagnan and Porthos' well-being because his companions had been under a lot of stress since Athos' disappearance, as had he. The two men had been elated when it appeared Athos' temperature had been tamed last night and he appeared to be on the mend. The mood in the camp this morning had been one of hope and revitalization. If he declared that Athos' fever had returned, Aramis had no doubts the mood would spiral downward again. Positivity was as important for Athos' recovery as it was for d'Artagnan and Porthos' mental health.
His eyes roamed around the camp passing over d'Artagnan and Porthos and landing on the water skin near them. A big smile suddenly lit his face as an idea came to him. "Gentlemen, Athos has informed me it is hot," he announced in a voice pitched to carry to everyone in the camp, "So we're going bathing." Giving a delicate sniff with his nose, he added, "You stink."
D'Artagnan looked thrilled at the idea, Porthos skeptical, and Athos down right unhappy. But Aramis wasn't taking no for answer and he managed to herded them all to the river. Once there, d'Artagnan the farm boy who grew up with ponds was stripped and into the water in a flash.
Porthos stood hesitantly on the bank and after giving the river the once over, declared he would stand watch on the shore. No amount of persuading on their part could get him to change his mind.
"But last night you spent hours in that exact same river," Aramis reasoned with the curly-haired man who stood stubbornly, arms folded across his massive chest.
"It was dark and it was for Athos." That Porthos felt explained everything, though his brother's weren't so sure.
D'Artagnan standing in the shallows tried to clarify. "So you will only go in the water if it is dark and Athos is ill?"
"Water scares me. If I can't see it," he shrugged, "it's not so bad. I took my bath last night." He sat down on the bank indicating the end of the discussion and Athos eased down next to him.
The death-glare he received from Aramis had Athos complaining. "I too, took my bath last night. Or at least that is what I have been told."
"You," and there was no mistaking whom the 'you' was, "are getting in that river!" Aramis authoritatively commanded. "Let's not turn this into a wrestling match, shall we. Remember, you are the one that declared it was hot."
The flinch in Athos' shoulders indicated he had received Aramis' message loud and clear. His brother's determined attitude had him undressing with no further shenanigans and obediently heading into the cool water.
Athos actually liked the water and was a strong swimmer having had the opportunity to learn to swim as a privileged child. The fact he was comfortable in water had not gone unnoticed by his brethren over the years. D'Artagnan asked him about later, as the three men lounged in a deeper portion of the stream.
A small smile crept onto the corners of Athos' lips. "It was self-preservation, I guess. When I was a boy of seven my father gave me my first pony. She was grey with a gentle ride and the most evil sense of humor. I do think she was smarter than any horse I have ever owned except maybe for Roger. She was a great teacher having that awareness of who was upon her back and behaving accordingly. With a novice, she was like sitting on a wooden rocking horse: gentle, kind, and patient. As you progressed, she would push you harder as if she was testing and honing your new found skills. I think that pony made me into a better rider than any instructor I ever had."
The men couldn't help smiling at the image of Athos-the-child and his wise, grey pony.
"One day my human instructor decided it was time I learned to ride bareback and so there I sat, on her grey back, my legs against her warm skin. As always, she started out slowly and as my balance and seat grew more secure, she upped her game. One of her favorite tricks was to make an unexpected change of direction. I swear that pony could touch her nose to her tail, and could change between a walk and a gallop in one beat. I had many a bruise and bump as proof of her dexterity."
That brought another smile to their faces as the imagined a small boy, hair hanging in his eyes, being unceremoniously dumped in the grass by a mischievous pony.
"What was her name?" d'Artagnan inquired wondering what insight he would gain based on what the young Athos had named his first pony.
Unconsciously, Athos slipped into his Comte mode of speech as if he were reciting a lesson by rote. "My father was not a fan of naming livestock. I do believe he would have taken the same approach with the servants if it were proper."
Aramis and d'Artagnan exchanged sad glances, which Athos chose to ignore as he continued on with his tale.
"One summer day when we were riding bareback in a grassy field near one of the ponds on the estate, I learned another one of her peculiarities. Apparently, she was hot and took it into her mind to go for a refreshing dip without consulting me."
D'Artagnan laughed at Athos' deadpan delivery of that statement and Aramis wondered if the former Comte was as much as a control freak as a child as he was as an adult.
"That grey beast went from placidly walking to galloping full speed towards the pond. I had improved enough in my skills that I managed to stay on her back though I admit my hands were fully engaged in clutching her mane. I expected she would veer away from the water when she got close, but she didn't and plunged straight in the water moving further from the edge until she was fully swimming."
Unconsciously, Athos pushed his bangs out of his eyes with a wet hand as a slight grin appeared on his face. "What a swimmer that pony was cruising around that lake with me clinging to her back. When she finally tired, or perhaps got bored, she headed ashore and taught me another lesson. Wet horses are slippery! But after that we regularly went for a refreshing dip on hot days."
Athos sighed and while his face settled back into a mask of neutrality, his voice held an undertone of sadness. "She was a great pony and a good friend for a lonely boy. When I out grew her, she was retired to a field though I would still visit with her often. She never did get a chance to teach Thomas to ride as she was killed in a storm."
What Athos relay was that he had found her lifeless body in the field. When he went back to the house to inform his father of her demise, he had broken down and cried. His father had shown no sympathy. Instead, the grieving boy had been treated to a strict lecture by his father on stoicism and not getting attached to something that was merely a means of conveyance.
It had been the first of many lectures that were designed to make him into the respectable son of a nobleman and a future Comte. Being a quick learner, even at a young age, Athos didn't make the mistake of getting attached to an animal again at least not when his father was alive. However, it made a lonely life, even lonelier.
Aramis was suddenly hit with the recollection of occasionally seeing Athos and Roger riding thru the Garrison's gate on hot summer days slightly damp. "You swim with Roger, don't you?" he gleefully accused. The fact that Athos slightly ducked his head told Aramis he had guessed correctly. "Does he enjoy it?"
"I think so though not as much as that pony. I think she was part sea-creature. But, there is a quiet spot on the Seine where Roger and I sometime indulge in a swim," he grudgingly admitted. "It can be restorative."
Athos lapsed into silence and remained that way for the rest of the day. Aramis and Porthos were quite skilled in reading the subtle nuances that were Athos' moods and d'Artagnan was catching on quickly. All three men knew that something in the pony story had triggered a painful memory, which dogged Athos for the rest of the day. The musketeer further withdrew from the group, which if one didn't know the man, might have been overlooked as his normal behavior.
Athos tended to remain on the outskirts of social situations unless it was a fight and then he would be front and center. He sat, rode, stood, and watched slightly apart from his fellow man. When something was troubling his soul, he grew even more distant and it was that subtle difference the men noticed now.
Aramis was afraid Athos' health was deteriorating again, but when he asked and grudgingly got permission to check Athos' temperature, it felt within the range of normal.
For the rest of the day, his companions worked hard to break Athos' sullen mood, but they were unsuccessful. He wouldn't join in their banter, merely giving them an occasional half-smile, which never reached his eyes. He complimented d'Artagnan on his cooking, ate enough to appease Aramis, and then retired to rest even though everyone know he was wide awake as he lay apart from them.
Aramis had no illusions that Athos would allow them to stay at this camp another day here to gather strength though that was a battle to fight in the morning. They still had to get through the night. As he bowed his head to say his evening prayers, Aramis asked God to grant them a peaceful night. They needed it for Aramis felt in his bones that a storm was approaching.