Although Aramis had awakened once, they waited in vain for him to wake the next day. They didn't leave him alone for a moment, one of them always with him, day and night.
They knew he was still in pain, as from time to time, he would let out low whimpers, trying unconsciously to grab for the source. Each time, one of them would patiently take hold of his arm and lay it back gently at his side, soothing words accompanying the actions.
They changed the dressings, checking to make sure there were no signs of impending infection, patiently rebandaging the wound afterwards.
They had decided to stay right where they were until their brother was able to ride in front of one of them in a saddle, taking their time to help him begin to heal.
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Porthos once again had Aramis' head in his lap as he slept. Athos and d'Artagnan had headed off to try and bag a couple of birds or a rabbit for their evening meal, Emile following in the footsteps of the Gascon.
They had barely left when Porthos felt his brother''s slight movements.
"You awake, sleepyhead?" he teased as Aramis' eyes once more opened. Obviously still only half-awake, his eyes roamed around, trying to understand where he was.
Porthos, seeing this, said, "You ran into a bit of trouble a few days ago, mon ami."
"At these words, Aramis' eyes flew open, confused, and attempting to lift himself up.
Porthos quickly laid him back down again, saying, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. You need to keep still before you break that wound open again."
Aramis' eyes still showed his confusion, obviously not quite clear-headed yet.
"You're going to be all right, Aramis. The trouble seems to be gone. But you need to stay resting. Athos and d'Artagnan are hunting us up some supper."
Seeing Aramis' tongue flick out to lick his dry lips, Porthos asked him, "Want some water?"
Seeing the tiny nod of affirmation, he gently laid Aramis' upper body down on the ground and rose to his feet.
Walking over to the doused campfire, he retrieved a tin cup, and opening a canteen, began pouring the water into the cup for Aramis.
He was almost finished when he heard a choked gasp from Aramis. Turning, to his utter shock, he saw a man pulling Aramis' head back painfully by the hair, a long hunting knife laid against his throat. Aramis' eyes were now open wide, filled with panic, and focused on Porthos.
Laying down the cup and canteen slowly and carefully, not wanting to trigger a reaction from the man, Porthos asked, "What do you want?"
The man, instead of answering, nodded his head to his left. Stepping forward was an average-sized man, his clothes proclaiming that he was a nobleman.
Out of the corner of his eye, Porthos caught the movement of a third man. They were surrounded. He could only hope that his brothers would come back and notice something was wrong before these men noticed them.
"Where is the boy?" the nobleman asked.
Porthos said, "There's no boy here. We're Musketeers on the King's business, and…." getting no further as the man nodded to the man threatening Aramis.
The man's knife moved slightly, instantly leaving a thin red line on the marksman's neck. Aramis' breathing began to speed up further at the increasing threat.
Porthos held his hand up in a placating motion, saying, "He was here. He brought us to our friend. But he left after that."
"You must think we are stupid," the man snarled. "We followed the tracks to this camp. I want to know where he is-now! Or your friend dies."
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Athos, d'Artagnan and Emile had good luck, two rabbits now hanging from d'Artagnan's hands.
They had just started back, when Athos stopped in his tracks.
He said, "Something is wrong. We need to get back quickly," the sense that his brothers were danger growing strongly in him.
All three of them quickened their pace, urgency now fueling the movements, d'Artagnan dropping the rabbits as he ran.
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Porthos desperately thought of what he could do to protect Aramis, but came up with nothing. Whatever he might try would end up with his best friend getting his throat cut.
Aramis lay, his head pulled back at an unnatural angle. The blade of the knife still lay, a deadly threat under his chin. Aramis' eyes never left his brother's face.
"Let's talk about this, "Porthos began, but was interrupted abruptly by the nobleman, who had signalled his man again. The knife rapidly flipped in his hand, and now the point was at his brother's jugular.
"We do not need to talk about anything. I want my property. The boy has it. If I do not get it from him, your friend dies. Now, tell me where he is!"
Porthos had never felt so helpless in his life. Aramis' body was now bent up in a bow shape, as the grip on his hair pulled his head even further back, causing his body to arch.
Obviously, the nobleman had a short fuse, and didn't want to wait any further.
He gave an abrupt signal to the knife man, but at that moment, two shots rang out.
The man with the knife released his hold on Aramis' hair, grabbing for his throat as blood blossomed directly in the center of it. A moment later, he collapsed.
The nobleman, hit in the chest, likewise wilted to the ground, a look of shock on his face.
The third man, recognising that since his master was dead, he wouldn't be getting paid for his services, wisely gave up.
Athos and d'Artagnan moved rapidly into the clearing, securing the single man who still lived, and making sure the other two were dead. When they finished, d'Artagnan called to Emile to come out from where they had hidden him.
They then hurried over to where Porthos was lifting a badly shaken Aramis back into his arms, talking all the while to sooth him.
They checked the cut on his throat, very thankful that it was shallow and would heal quickly. Athos took off his scarf and wrapped it gently around the wound. Then, they checked the stomach wound, but there was no blood on the bandage from his rough handling, for which they were really grateful.
So far, Aramis hadn't said a word, the shock having not worn off yet. His hand tried once to shakily lift up to check his throat, but Porthos caught and replaced it at his side, saying softly, "None of that now. We've replaced you as medic til you heal, mon ami."
Athos wondered aloud who the men had been, but suspected they could be the same men who had taken Emile's parents.
Aramis' voice very scratchy and hoarse from disuse, said, "The nobleman w..was the one who sh..shot me," staring across the clearing at the body. "I..I never kn..knew what they w..wanted."
Emile spoke up then. He had been listening intently to their words.
"They wanted what my papa hid for my uncle til he returned," putting his hand in his pocket as he spoke.
He pulled it inside out, but whatever was there was sewn closed.
Athos asked him, "Can you describe it for us, young man?"
Emile's little chest puffed out with pride when he was referred to as 'a young man'. Then he said, "It's a real big stone. It's dark green, and it's shiny."
He obviously didn't know what he was describing, but the Musketeers did. They had heard of the theft of the Comte de la Tonnerre's emerald. The thief had never been apprehended. It appeared now that Emile's uncle was guilty of the theft.
Emile was talking again."I heard my papa and my uncle talking. They thought I was asleep. The rich man had his men force my uncle to take the stone away from his home. They said they would kill my aunt. But then, my uncle ran away from them. My papa sewed the stone in my pocket so no one would arrest my uncle."
Athos was beginning to see what had happened. The Comte probably had money problems, and having such a valuable asset as a priceless emerald in his possession, had made sure it was insured, and then engineered the theft. He could blame it on a poor man, who would look as if it was an opportunity to enrich himself. Meanwhile, the Comte would resolve his money problem at Emile's uncle's expense.
He would have to talk to Treville about how it would be handled. It was a delicate subject when a nobleman of France was accused of such a crime.
Walking over to the lone remaining captive, he knelt down and said, If you want a slim chance of not being hung for your part in this, you had better tell us what happened to the couple you kidnapped."
The man, already terrified of the consequences he would face, eagerly told Athos that they had tried to beat the whereabouts of the emerald out if the boy's father, but no matter what they did to him, he refused to talk.
Finally figuring that they should get hold of the son and maybe then, the man would talk if he saw the young man threatened, they had headed back to the couple's house, only to find tracks leading away to the spot they were now.
"Where are the boy's parents?" he was asked.
The man hesitated, then said, "I'll take you to them. We were holed up in an old abandoned farmhouse about a half hour's ride from here."
D'Artagnan and Emile left a little while later, the captive slung face down over the saddle, with hands and feet tied underneath. Emile was excited that they would bring his parents back with them.
"Porthos and Athos settled an exhausted Aramis down once more, watching fondly as he valiantly tried to stay awake until the others came back, but failing.
They felt blessed to know the brother they loved would live now, despite having his life nearly taken away twice in less than a week.
They would lovingly watch over him every moment until he was once again strong enough to head back to the garrison.
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