Dear all, apologies for the wait this week. It had not been my intention to leave it so long before finishing and uploading this chapter but real life intervened as we hurtle towards the end of term (one more week to go) and there were deadlines this week for end of year reports and assessment marking. All good fun and thank you for being patient! Many thanks to all who responded and commented upon the last chapter.
Here we find out just what it is that Athos is getting himself into!
CHAPTER 50
I
Athos was drawing water from the well to take back to Porthos when word came that an additional muster had been called for ten minutes later as Captain Tréville wished to address them en masse. At that point he was speaking to the infantrymen elsewhere.
Returning the bucket to Aramis, Athos swiftly explained that he was going back outside to hear what the musketeer officer had to say. He stood by the door through which the Captain would appear, lounging against the wall and arms folded in a casually familiar stance as Tréville emerged and crossed to the steps leading up to the battlements. Going up several, he turned so that he could gaze down upon the gathered throng and, in doing so, he saw Athos in the background.
Briefly passing on Toiras' call for volunteers, he announced that the added proviso was that whoever came forward must be a strong swimmer. Further details would be given to those selected. Tréville headed back towards the door and had to pass the young musketeer, who pushed himself away from the wall as the officer approached.
"I am volunteering," Athos said simply.
Tréville stopped, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the younger man. "You do not know what it is for."
"Does any man yet who answers the call? Is the task so onerous that details are not being revealed until after the volunteers have committed themselves?" Athos asked.
"I do not think the Governor is callous enough to make a man follow through with his offer once he knows what is being asked of him. For many, it would be beyond their capabilities; for those who continue, it may well remain beyond their capabilities too."
Athos searched the older man's eyes as if he could read the message that lay behind them. "You are asking for strong swimmers. I am one."
Tréville glanced about him to ensure that no-one was close enough to hear what he had to say but he still lowered his voice for surety. "Perhaps, but we need swimmers who have both strength and endurance."
Athos raised an eyebrow questioningly as he considered what he had heard.
"Join me in the Governor's office and you will be fully informed," said Tréville, refusing to be drawn any further.
His head and his heart were at serious odds with each other. His head knew only too well that Athos was probably the best of the musketeers for what lay ahead and he was fully cognisant of the fact that the young man was purportedly a strong swimmer, but was he strong enough? That was when Treville's heart ruled and he wanted, more than anything, to refuse to allow Athos to proceed in what was undoubtedly a dangerous mission, to hold him back, to order him to return to the infirmary and sit in safety with Porthos and Aramis.
But he knew he could not do that because he was Captain of the King's Musketeers. The Governor had asked for volunteers and one of the King's men, one of his men, had responded. It was only to be expected of them. He had no doubt that more would have stepped forward had there not been the need for the individual to be a swimmer; it was a sad fact that not all of his musketeers had that particular skill but then again, it was not often called upon for their line of work.
In the end, eight men, including Athos, stood to attention before the Governor's desk and waited for him to speak. Given the seriousness of what he was asking, Toiras rose to be at eye level with the brave men who stood before him.
"Gentlemen, I thank you for being prepared to undertake a highly dangerous feat on behalf of the men – and women and children – who find themselves within these walls. You must, by now, have realised that our food supplies have almost gone. We are but a few days away from capitulation to the English. Indeed, I have instructed Captain Tréville here to attend upon the Duke of Buckingham on my behalf tomorrow to begin surrender negotiations."
He waited whilst the gathered men reacted. All had suspected that submission was imminent but it was one thing to think it and something else to have it spoken aloud, not as a possibility but as something that was inevitable, and it left a sour taste in the mouth.
"Whilst those negotiations are underway, I have a task for three volunteers. It goes without saying that I am proud of each and every one of you for being prepared to carry out this mission but it is not enough to seek men who are merely swimmers. You know that the English blockade the harbour and are vigilant along the coast of Ȋle de Ré, preventing us from leaving even if we had the means, and ensuring that ships from the mainland cannot render us any assistance. It is incumbent upon us to get word to the King and Cardinal Richelieu at La Rochelle of the dire state in which we find ourselves. I need three of you to swim to the mainland, a distance well in excess of twelve kilometres. The waters are cold, the tide strong and I cannot guarantee that the weather will hold. Whatever happens, you must leave at first light tomorrow."
The men looked at each other, some a little more nervously than others, and Tréville noted with pride that Athos, the only musketeer amongst them, stood stoically, not revealing what he was thinking at all. Toiras smiled reassuringly.
"If you know that you cannot complete the distance, then I ask you to leave now. Be assured that I do not think any the less of you."
There were mutterings and murmurings from some of the men and, reluctantly, some bowed awkwardly and headed towards the door. Tréville was not surprised to see that Athos did not even move an inch.
Three men remained; Athos and two others.
Toiras resumed his seat, immediately business-like. "You will report to the King that we are close to surrender, a week at most. Explain what has been happening and that we now protect a number of women and children. We must have immediate aid if the Citadel is not to fall into enemy hands; there needs to be a concerted effort to breach the blockade from the mainland."
He sat back and surveyed the three men who stood before him; one musketeer, a soldier from the other cavalry regiment and an infantryman from their uniforms.
"I have asked for three of you for obvious reasons; it is imperative that at least one of you succeeds in the task to update the King on what has transpired. It is not much but you will be given an additional meal so when you are dismissed, Captain Tréville will escort you to the kitchen where you will be fed. I would just ask that you do not speak of it; I am sure your colleagues would understand the need for the extra food but it might initiate unrest in a few. Until tomorrow then, gentlemen. I shall join you at the harbour at dawn. Rest well."
The men muttered their thanks and followed Tréville down to where Serge, already primed, was awaiting them with full bowls of steaming stew containing more meat than they had seen for weeks. None of them asked what it was, suspecting that a valuable horse had been sacrificed to provide them with a meal of substance. The Captain stood, the cook beside him, and watched as the men ate, two of them heartily mopping up the meat juices with chunks of bread torn from a loaf on a wooden trencher set before them. Athos ate carefully, slowly and almost with disinterest and Tréville readied himself for a verbal sparring match to ensure that the man ate what had been provided for him. Insufficient rations must have had a detrimental effect on energy levels and muscle function so that the Captain feared that one additional meal, no matter how wholesome, was unlikely to rectify the deprivation. Stomachs would have contracted somewhat and although two of the men were wolfing down food and seeking seconds, he was worried that their bodies would rebel.
"Easy, slow down," he admonished them. "There is food enough; making yourselves ill will not achieve anything."
Suitably chastened, the two men were not so frantic in eating and tried to initiate a conversation with the third volunteer.
"Good luck with that," Tréville thought, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth for he could see quite clearly from the body language that Athos was not in a sociable mood.
The musketeer did identify himself, however, when the others introduced themselves as Hubert and Vasselin but he continued spooning food into his mouth with an agonising slowness, anything to avoid engaging in idle talk, whilst Serge banged pots and plates around.
"Anyone'd think 'e didn't like it," Serge complained bitterly – and loudly enough for Athos to overhear. "I slaved away doin' that, I did. Made it for 'em, special like."
Athos shot him a wary glance and resumed chewing more rapidly as if in an attempt to show his appreciation. His eyes flitted between the old cook and the Captain so that Tréville deliberately turned his back on him in order to give another instruction to Serge.
"At eight this evening, I shall ask for him to come to my office on some pretext. Bring his evening meal there and give him my portion too."
If Serge thought of passing any comment on the command, he did not have the chance for, with a nod to the three men, Tréville strode from the kitchen and out into the courtyard.
II
"I thought you had got lost," Aramis said when Athos walked into the infirmary and took a seat at Porthos' side. There was no bitterness or angst in the tone; he was merely making an observation. "What took you so long?" He was so busy bathing Porthos' brow that he did not even turn to look at Athos.
Taking a deep breath, Athos thought of his reply.
"I was doing something for Tréville and the Governor, but that's all done so I am here now."
He might not have opened up to reveal the whole truth but what he had said could not be construed as a lie either; the two officers wanted him to eat and he had eaten. There was no satisfaction in the deliberate deception but Aramis had too much to worry about with Porthos than to burden him with any more concerns and Athos had made a decision. He knew the marksman would do all he could to dissuade him from undertaking the task but someone had to attempt to get the message to the mainland that the Citadel was desperately in need of relief. Seeing Porthos so ill and wasted was enough to convince Athos that the main priority was medical supplies. As far as he was concerned, that was justification enough to take the risk. His brother was dying and in need of help and he was the one who could provide it; it was not open to discussion.
"What was Tréville's urgent announcement then?" Aramis asked, bending to soak the cloth in the cold water before wringing it out, folding it into a strip and laying it on Porthos' forehead.
Athos watched the action. "He has been ordered by Toiras to begin surrender negotiations tomorrow with the English."
"We thought it was going to happen, but why muster the men?" His hands now free and not otherwise distracted, Aramis looked at him.
"I suppose they deemed it only right that they announced what was going to happen. Some arrangement will need to be made if we are all to become prisoners." Athos leaned forward, took one of Porthos' hands in his and stroked the dry, papery skin with his thumb as if absent-mindedly.
Aramis snorted his disdain. "We have been prisoners in here since the day the siege started."
"You know what I mean. We would be prisoners of war."
Aramis sighed, his attention fixed upon the limp hand that Athos held. "I know what you mean. I just hope for all our sakes that the English have some common decency and will provide us with food and the medical resources that we need." He thought for a moment. "Is that all it was about?"
Athos hesitated. "No, the Governor was wanting some volunteers for something but he has his three now and thinks that is enough." There was no way that he was going to admit to being one of the three and he hoped that Aramis would not pursue the subject any further.
At that moment, Porthos groaned and he struggled to open his eyes. It was the distraction that Athos had hoped for as, together, he and Aramis coaxed some sips of water into their sick brother and yearned for it to stay down.
Minutes passed and there was no sign of the horrifying retching that had left Porthos so debilitated. The minutes passed into half an hour and then an hour.
"Please, God, let this be a sign that Porthos has turned the corner," Aramis pleaded as he dared to trickle another spoonful past the parched lips.
"Amen," whispered Athos, just softly enough that Aramis would not hear him.
III
Tréville kept his word and summoned Athos to his office at about eight in the evening and made him sit as Serge placed another full bowl of food before him but he just stared at it.
"Eat," Tréville urged, picking up the spoon that lay on the table and holding it out towards Athos' right hand. When he still did not respond, Tréville sighed. "You have to eat; you need to build up your energy."
Athos turned stricken eyes upon him. "I have already had an extra meal; this is the equivalent of another two. How can I sit here and eat when people within this Citadel are hungry, when men have fallen ill because they have been unable to ward off sickness? When one of them is Porthos and Aramis has sat diligently beside him? It is Aramis at least who should be given this."
Tréville knew that he was not going to encourage the young man to partake of the much needed food until the situation was rectified and he nodded sharply to Serge who remained standing by the door. "Do it."
Serge had barely opened the door when Athos spoke. "Make some excuse as to why you're giving it to him but under no circumstances are you to mention that I have volunteered to swim to the mainland. He is to know nothing of that."
The Captain waited until Serge had gone. "You have not told Aramis yet about volunteering for this?"
"No," Athos said evasively. "There is time enough to do that before dawn."
Under Tréville's watchful eye, he began to pick at the food but the heaped bowl held no interest for him. He was still replete from the earlier meal for his stomach had contracted with the rationing and although he knew the extra food was a well-intentioned, practical gift, he was already feeling uncomfortable with the thought of forcing more down.
Tréville seemed to understand his reluctance. "I know the additional food is probably too little, too late, but we want to give you every chance possible to make the mainland." There was a pause and, when he spoke again, there was an undeniable pain in his voice. "Why did you do it, Athos? Why volunteer? Why do you always put yourself to the fore when there is danger?"
Athos, surprisingly, gave a soft, hollow laugh. "I did not see the volunteers queuing at the Governor's door. There were eight of us and even then, only three of us think – hope – we can last the distance."
"And can you? Honestly? Last the distance, that is?"
Athos fixed unwavering eyes on the older man's face. "We will find out tomorrow." When Tréville gave a low moan, he continued, "I have swum considerable distances but not this far in one attempt and not for a very long time." Suddenly, his face took on a far-away expression as he thought back to a life before the musketeers and the Captain could not help but wonder just what memories had been stirred.
"You did not have to do this," the older man reiterated.
Athos was brought back to the present with a jolt. "I know but I have to believe that I can do it, that I can reach the King and petition him for help for the Citadel." He took a shuddering breath as a more pressing reason rose to the fore. "I cannot just sit and watch Porthos die. You and Aramis might both say that I am being a coward and perhaps I am, but this way, I can attempt to bring him some relief, even if I have to swim back again with the necessary medicines in a waterproofed bag on my back. At least I feel that I am doing something constructive for him and Aramis, you and the other musketeers and then the Citadel." He gave a small smile. "In that order! Please accept and understand why I have to do this for if I know that you do, then I also know that you are the best person to explain this first to Aramis and, when he is better, Porthos."
"I think you imbue me with more influence over your friends than I have," Tréville smiled weakly.
Athos shook his head adamantly. "On the contrary, it will be better coming from you; I know it."
The two men fell silent, each lost in his own thoughts and fears about what the new day might bring. Athos' admission that he did not know whether or not he had the strength and stamina to swim to the mainland was a chilling reality and however much Tréville tried to reason with the marksman about Athos' departure, the Captain knew that Aramis would give him a very hard time as a result.
More than that, Tréville did not dare think what would happen to Aramis - whether or not he would ever recover - if Athos were to perish in French waters and Porthos finally succumbed to the deadly sickness. The young musketeer had survived the injury and psychological trauma of the Savoy massacre when so many of his brothers-in-arms had been slain but the loss of these two men, as close as blood brothers would be, might prove to be a loss too great. The Captain hoped and prayed that he would never have to find out.
IV
As he crossed the courtyard to the infirmary, Athos fought to adopt a calm demeanour for he did not want to alert Aramis to the fact that anything might be wrong or that he was planning to do something so utterly foolhardy. However, his enforced optimism was immediately dashed when he discovered that Porthos had suffered a renewed bout of sickness, losing the little liquid that his friends had encouraged him to swallow throughout the second half of the day and now, despite all of Aramis' pleas, he was categorically refusing even sips of water.
Aramis was at breaking point with exhaustion and worry, and Athos had to physically guide him from his chair and push him down onto the pallet beside Porthos' cot.
"You need to try to rest. Shut your eyes and relax at least," he continued hurriedly for he knew that Aramis was about to protest when he took a sharp intake of breath. "I am here now and more than able to see to Porthos' needs through the night." Once more he pre-empted a comment. "Of course I shall wake you if he seems any worse, if I think I cannot cope for whatever reason or, more than likely, when he stirs of his own volition and seems much better."
He tried to sound positive and perhaps Aramis was too distracted to notice any of the subtle nuances of Athos' behaviour, expression and tone that might have suggested otherwise. Instead, ignoring his own weariness and the fact that he should be getting whatever rest he could, it had been an easy decision to make that now, for one last night, he would be the one watching over his two brothers.
It did not take long for Aramis to cease his fidgeting and for his breathing to slide into the easy rhythm accompanying much-needed sleep. Athos stood, picked up the tangled blanket that lay on the floor and shook it out. Tenderly, carefully, he laid it over the musketeer in an effort not to disturb the sleeping man before turning back to resume bathing Porthos' fevered brow.
As he began his lonely vigil, he deliberately tied to blot from his mind all thoughts of their brotherhood: how they had met, how they had become friends, and how the obvious yet unlikely bond between them had deepened as the months evolved into years and they shared so many experiences – the good as well as the bad. He dare not dwell upon those memories for he knew they would be his undoing.
As the night wore on and there was a change of duty in those who were helping in the infirmary, Athos recognised Poitier and felt a pang of regret that the last time he had spoken to the other musketeer, he had threatened him. It was a recollection still at the front of Poitier's mind as he visibly recoiled when Athos approached him and asked that he take over watching Porthos when Athos had to leave before dawn. Word had spread about the volunteers though and Poitier, knowing the commitment that Athos had made, was delighted to be asked and only too pleased to be able to comply.
When the first fingers of light in the east became discernible, Athos rose from his seat and stretched to ease the stiff ache from his limbs. Crouching next to Aramis, he reached out a hand as if to touch the still shoulder but then seemed to think better of it. Although exhausted, Aramis could be a light sleeper if occasion warranted and Athos could not afford him stirring and asking awkward questions.
Straightening, he went to Porthos and stroked the hot forehead lightly. Several hours had now passed since the big man's last moments of lucidity. Tears welled in Athos' eyes for he did not want what was possibly his last memory of Porthos to be of this wasted stranger, drained of his enthusiasm for life. He bent swiftly, his lips brushing the man's brow as his hand cupped a roughened cheek, the beard untrimmed.
He stayed leaning close as he whispered. "Take care, my brother. Know that I love you, both of you, and that I go willingly on this task for you. Do not give up; continue to fight this thing. I refuse to say farewell and, who knows, maybe the fates will allow us to be together again soon."
Straightening up, he nodded to Poitier who had come to stand at the foot of the bed and now eased himself into the chair so recently vacated. At the door, Athos paused and looked back towards his two brothers, men who had come to mean more to him than life itself, who had inveigled their way into his existence in a manner that, at one time, he would never have thought possible. Having refused to say the word 'farewell' aloud, it now came unbidden to his mind and he swiped angrily at the lone tear that tracked its way down his face as he slipped out into the night.
A/N Just a brief thank you to Wimbledon, no less, for the surnames of the other two volunteers. Struggling for new names and too lazy to hit a notebook (where I had such information) that was only on the other side of the room, I was also watching the all French men's doubles finals so I took names from one player from each side of the net. Thank you to Pierre-Hugues Herbert and Edouard Roger-Vasselin.
