CHAPTER 37
It is easy for the terrors of the dream world to slip through the cracks into the physical world during that thin sliver of time when one first wakes each morning. Porthos' first night on the slave galley had ended with him waking, eyes glazed with dismay and limbs flailing, in a full blown panic attack. His nightmares had revolved around him being a slave on a ship, chained to the deck like an animal, and upon waking he discovered his nightmare was reality. Uncontrolled blind terror seized his brain and he began to yank frantically at the rusty metal shackles which secured his ankles to the ship's wooden deck.
It didn't take long for Athos to be roused from his own uneasy slumber by the frenzied behavior of the man chained next to him. Blearily, trying to focus his sleep deprived mind, he watched as Porthos used his considerable strength to try to break free, unfortunately a fool's errand. The iron bands and chains were well forged and strong, as was the mechanism that fastened the shackles to the deck. Not an ounce of wood-rot was anywhere to be seen; nothing was going to pry the fastenings from their berth.
As Porthos' panic level escalated, his mind went numb, not even capable of processing the fact that his unsuccessful straining against the shackles was causing the skin around his ankles to be scraped raw and begin to bleed. The palms of his hands, bearing the callouses of a soldier, fared no better as he gripped the cruel iron links of the chain, trying to break them. Small rivulets of blood began to run from his hands to drip onto the ship's deck.
However, it was the chanting that ripped at Athos' heart. It was the low, guttural sound of a desperate, trapped animal that believes it is about to die. Porthos' repetition of 'no, no, no' was increasing in volume and his noisy actions were beginning to wake the other nearby slaves who started to grumble at the fracas. The situation went from bad to worse when, in the early dawn light, Athos saw the overseer peering about from his post by the main mast to see what was causing the disturbance.
"Porthos! Stop!" Athos commanded the frenzied musketeer, but to no avail.
The street fighter was so deeply rooted into his panic attack that he didn't register anything happening around him in the real world. His mind was locked in the nightmare which had complete and total control of his physical body. With renewed vigor, Porthos jerked harder on the chains and strained with his legs against his restraints. Fresh blood dotted the deck, as it dripped from his bleeding extremities.
With a stifled groan, Athos stiffly rose from the deck and shuffled the few feet allowed by his chain to Porthos' side. Grabbing the man's hands, he tried to make him release his death grip on the chain, but he was easily overpowered by the larger, stronger man. Glancing over Porthos' shoulder, Athos saw the overseer climbing down from his perch by the mast and heading their way with his whip.
With renewed strength, he grasped Porthos' shoulders and tried to shake the man to his senses. "Porthos. You have to stop. Now!"
Growing up as a future Comte, Athos had learned how to issue commands with authority and Porthos, being a soldier, automatically responded, releasing his hold on the iron chains. However, it didn't quite play out the way Athos expected when Porthos used his now free hand to fling the unsuspecting man into the hull of the boat. Athos collided solidly with the wooden slats and slid down into a dazed heap. As soon as his encumbrance was gone, Porthos grabbed the chains again and began his futile tugging.
The overseer's whip whistled through the air announcing his unwelcome presence in a most unpleasant manner. The leather strip bit hard and deep across the exposed back of the manic Porthos. However, the cruel lash of the whip had no effect as the enraged man continued to yank on the chain, trying to free his legs from their imprisonment.
Viciously, the whip descended a second time upon Porthos' unprotected back, leaving a red slash in its wake.
"Stop! He can't help himself " Athos cried out from where he lay in a heap against the bulkhead of the ship. He was desperately willing his uncooperative limbs to move, but they were sluggish in responding. In fact, his mind seemed more interested in simply shutting down, and he had to fight hard to keep the black dots on the edge of his vision from forming into a solid curtain.
As the whip began its downward descent once more, Athos finally got his legs to cooperate and he clumsily launched his body at Porthos, knocking him out of the path of the leather thong. Both men tumbled to the deck, Porthos on the bottom of the pile.
Though the whip missed its intended target, it wasn't discriminatory and instead its wrath rained down upon Athos' exposed back. Athos was barely able to contain his grunt of surprise at the pain, as the leather left a deep mark on his skin. However, he didn't have time to pay attention to that problem, as Porthos was attempting to buck him off like a bull. Wrapping his arms around the broad chest of his companion, Athos attempted to subdue the man, but to no avail.
The whip made its presence known once more upon his skin, but Athos didn't dare let it distract him. Porthos had managed to nearly extract one of his arms from Athos' grasp and the swordsman knew it was only a matter of seconds before he broke totally free. With a softly whispered word of apology, Athos suddenly let go of Porthos' arms, rolled off his back onto his knees and slugged Porthos in the chin.
The ex-Comte had a wicked right hook, which was well placed and sent Porthos reeling to the deck, where he slipped into unconsciousness. The overseer's whip, already on its path towards Porthos' back, instead hit Athos across the chest. The end of the leather flicked across the side of Athos' neck and face leaving a welt behind. Blood slowly welled up and mixed into his scruffy beard.
"Enough!" Athos roared, when he saw the overseer raise his instrument of punishment once more towards the fallen man. "He is subdued."
The overseer halted his motion, letting the leather strap dangle harmlessly at his side, as he considered the situation. While his job was to maintain discipline on the ship, he couldn't afford to injure his charges too much as that would make them unfit for their duty. While the slaves were certainly a disposable commodity, replacing them took time. The large man was indeed subdued, though unconscious was the accurate term. The smaller man, defiantly staring at him as he guarded the downed man, was an entirely different story. His defiance was plainly evident in everything, from his stance, to his eyes, to his voice. The overseer had a feeling this man was going to be trouble.
"Keep him in line or next time I won't be so lenient," the overseer sternly warned Athos, who gave a curt nod to show he understood.
The overseer stared at the shorter man for a moment more, confirming in his mind this man was going to be as much trouble, it not more, than the well-muscled man lying unconscious on the deck. The dark haired man, who was defiantly staring at him with his intense green eyes, wasn't the least bit subservient. The man showed no fear or uncertainty about the situation he found himself in, a slave on a Spanish galley. He would watch this man carefully and if the harsh life onboard this vessel didn't break him, the overseer would do it himself. Most men could be broken, he had found, eventually. And the few that could not, they ended up dead, another form of broken.
The man standing there, protectively, over his inert comrade, was beginning to unnerve him. "Sit. Now." the overseer commanded, harshly.
When Athos hesitated a moment, the overseer brought the whip into play once more, flicking it, albeit lightly, across the man's chest. It stung, but didn't draw blood.
One thing he had learned growing up was knowing when to fight and when to make a strategic retreat. Grudgingly, Athos sat on the bench, the overseer's point having been made and received. With a satisfied nod, the overseer turned and headed back to his post. Now that the conflict was over, the slaves who occupied the nearby benches turned away and settled down to grab a few more minutes of sleep before their harsh day began.
As soon as the overseer left, Athos slid off the bench onto his knees next to Porthos and felt for a pulse. It was strong and steady causing Athos to sigh in relief. Gingerly, he crawled away and carefully propped his whip-scored back against the side of the galley. Adrenaline was still coursing through his body and he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. Instead, he sat there with a weather eye on Porthos, wondering what he was going to do when the man woke once more. He had to convince the musketeer not to panic when he woke and found he was chained and a slave. Athos well understood the man's reaction, given his heritage, but if they were to have any chance of escaping this hell, they had to remain calm and wait for the right opportunity to strike.