Chapter Ten

Treville took a risk. He took a risk because he was not going to see four of his men die. He was going to do all that was in his power to save his men. If that meant putting himself in harm's way, as Porthos had done, that was what was going to happen.

He rose from his spot, sheltering behind the barrel. He knew he would only have one shot and he had to make it count. He levelled the gun at the man who was about to shoot Porthos and fired. He could not wait to see if the shot had found its mark. He was exposed and likely to already be in the sightlines of the other man who was trying to keep him pinned down. Treville threw himself behind the workings of the crane and pushed himself as far out of the way as he could. A shot embedded itself into the woodwork of the crane inches above his head. Treville scrambled up, pulling a dagger from his belt as he did so, the young man had made the mistake of stepping out from his hiding place. Perhaps he thought the Captain was going to cower out of sight and hope not to be attacked. Treville took a small amount of pleasure in the shocked look on the man's face as he threw the dagger in his direction. His aim was true, the blade embedded itself into the man's throat. The man dropped his gun and staggered back.

But Treville did not care about the man anymore. He was already rushing to Porthos' side. He went to grab the rope.

'No,' said d'Artagnan. 'The crane, swing us back in.'

Treville looked back and realised d'Artagnan was right. His men could hold on for a few more seconds if they knew they were about to be saved. He rushed to the crane and took in the ropes and pulleys, trying to work out how the device operated. He reached out to push a lever.

'NO!'

He stopped, his hand resting on the lever.

'That would release the other end of the rope,' said Marc as he skidded to a halt by the Captain.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered having a conversation with the Marc about his father being a designer. Marc was always good with anything mechanical. Treville stepped back and allowed his Musketeer to release a brake that was holding the crane over the river.

'Captain,' said Marc, indicating that he needed help to push the crane around on its pivot.

He glanced across to the cage, unsurprised to find Luc and Barbotin there. Luc was adding his considerable strength to the rope that Porthos was still clinging to as Barbotin leaned over the dock guiding the cage back.

'There's a padlock,' called Barbotin.

Treville looked at the three men that littered the wharf, he had no idea if they were dead or unconscious.

'One of them must have the key,' he suggested.

'That one,' d'Artagnan called.

Treville could see d'Artagnan nodding towards the man lying closest to the cage. Barbotin rifled through the man's pockets for a few seconds before finding a large key. He pushed it into the lock and pulled the padlock off the cage door. At the same time, Marc was securing something on the crane and tapping Treville's arm.

'You can let go now, Captain,' he said.

Treville realised he had been so caught up in the rescue of his men and not wanting to inadvertently make it worse that he had not moved from the spot for a few seconds. Marc was already at Barbotin's side pulling the door to the cage open and leaning forward to help the three men out.

They had not been able to raise the level of the cage which was still dangling over the river. D'Artagnan was helping Athos to reach across, keeping his friend steady. He had one hand hooked around the waistband of Athos' breeches and the other wrapped around the bars of the cage. Barbotin was leaning out and being held by the weapons belt by Marc. Treville stepped forward to aid his men, pulling Athos onto the wharf. Athos allowed himself to be lowered to the ground. He nodded that he would be fine as he applied pressure to the wound on his hand. Treville knew Athos would want them to concentrate on d'Artagnan and Aramis before tending to the injury.

'Take your time,' Barbotin was saying.

Treville returned to the cage in time to see Aramis gingerly easing himself onto the dock. The usually graceful man was struggling to pull himself up. Barbotin and Marc were forced to haul him the last couple of feet leaving the cage to swing away from the dock.

D'Artagnan grabbed onto the bars as the cage lurched back towards the stone wall of the dock. He tumbled backwards, hissing in pain. The cage rocked from side to side. D'Artagnan tried to hide the pain the movements were causing him.

'Sorry,' called Marc.

'I forgive you,' d'Artagnan managed to say as he pushed himself back towards the door of the cage.

Treville repeated his earlier move with Athos and helped d'Artagnan make it back to the safety of the wharf.

He looked at his three Musketeer and let out a grateful sigh. They were bruised and battered and would not be fit for duty for a few days, but they were all alive. Each man looked exhausted and cold on top of their injuries.

'Porthos, the crane is secure, we've got them out. You can let go,' said Luc.

Porthos was still clutching the rope firmly. Luc was trying to persuade him to let go; he had one arm around Porthos' waist and was trying to ease his fingers away from the rope. Treville wondered if Porthos was even aware of what was going on around him. The troubled Musketeer had convinced himself all the negative events of the last couple of days were his fault. He did not seem to know it was over.

'Porthos, we're safe. We're all alive,' said d'Artagnan. 'You can let go now.'

Porthos' knees buckled. It was as though he had been permitted to stand down. Luc took his weight and guided him to the ground. Barbotin was at his side.

'... they alright?'

'We're fine, Porthos.'

Treville knew none of his men was fine. Porthos had been shot. D'Artagnan appeared to have been beaten. Aramis was suffering from a head injury. And Athos was still recovering from his earlier encounter with their captors.

Barbotin looked between the four men for a few seconds. Treville could see the medic assessing their assortment of injuries. Barbotin shook his head with a sigh and looked at Marc.

'Can you look at Athos' hand, the stitches are pulled. I'll see to Porthos.'

Luc was keeping a gently restraining arm around Porthos' shoulders. The injured man was not ready to accept that his friends were safe and that he needed attention more than them.

'Captain,' said Barbotin as he started to improvise field dressings for the injuries Porthos had sustained. 'Can you find us some transport?'

Treville nodded. He was not above taking orders from his men when the time was right. He looked along the wharf spotting the old carriage that had been used to bring the captured men to the dock. He was about to walk towards it when Luc stopped him.

'Those two are still alive.'

The tall Musketeer indicated the first man that was shot and the man that Treville had shot to save Porthos.

The older man was clutching at a wound on his shoulder in much the same place as Porthos had been hit.

'Get him restrained,' ordered Treville.

The younger man did not look as though he would survive for long, his shirt was stained red around the wound. He had one handheld above him as though he was reaching out for something, or someone.

Treville crouched by the man and grasped the hand finding the young man trying to squeeze his hand. He turned his head slightly and looked at Treville with unfocused eyes.

'I'm sorry,' he said, his voice barely audible.

Treville leaned closer.

'They… they took me in… gave me… shelter… made me…'

The man's eyes started to close. He took a couple of stuttered breaths before looking at Treville again for a few seconds and saying his last words.

'There's no Devil,' he said. 'Only men…'

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D'Artagnan watched the Captain crouched over Claude. The injured man was saying something to Treville before he went limp. The Captain brushed his hand over Claude's face, closing his eyes. After a couple of seconds, Treville rose from the dead men and turned back.

'Is he dead?' asked Barbotin who was still dealing with the wound Porthos had to his shoulder.

Treville nodded before looking at Jacques who had been restrained by Luc using a couple of belts. The leader of the men had come around and had to be forced to remain seated on the ground by Luc's firm grip on his shoulder.

'How bad is his wound?' asked Treville.

'He'll live,' said Luc. 'The ball went through, it's a clean shot, not bleeding much.'

Jacques tried to pull away again but realised he was not going anywhere whilst he was surrounded by Musketeers and their angry Captain.

'Aramis?' asked Treville.

'He's passed out,' said Athos who was resting his uninjured hand on Aramis' shoulder as though he needed the contact to ensure Aramis did not fade away.

'We need to get them back to the garrison,' said Barbotin. 'They're all cold and Porthos and Athos need stitches.'

Treville nodded and walked towards the carriage.

'What's happened here?'

They looked up to see a few men watching them, looking at the bodies and the cage dangling from the crane.

Marc wandered across to talk to the dockworkers and enlist their help.

'We were lucky,' said d'Artagnan as he continued to watch the activity around them.

Athos nodded, 'although I do not feel particularly lucky at the moment,' he said. 'And we still have to deal with Porthos and his inevitable feelings of guilt.'

Porthos had not spoken since the rescue. He was sitting a few yards away from them, leaning against the crane staring into the distance. He did not seem to be aware of what was going on around him. D'Artagnan was reminded of the way he had behaved when Athos had been attacked the previous day. Although this time there was no longer any immediate danger.

'Let's get you up,' said Treville who had returned after bringing the carriage as close as he could to them.

As the Captain pulled him up to stand, d'Artagnan put pressure on his right foot. He regretted the move. Waves of pain rushed through him. He found himself being supported by Treville who was looking at him with concern.

'Ankle,' d'Artagnan managed to say.

'He was knocked to the ground by them a couple of times,' Athos said, 'and he was pushed down some stairs.'

D'Artagnan managed to hobble, with considerable help, to the carriage. One of the dockworkers appeared at the door of the carriage and handed him an empty sack to use as a blanket. He was soon joined by Athos who looked as bad as d'Artagnan felt. Aramis was carried into the carriage by Luc and Barbotin; he did not stir despite the manhandling.

When Porthos was helped up the steps, he sat opposite d'Artagnan but did not look at any of them.

'Porthos,' said Athos, 'we may not be fit but we are alive, and we have you to thank for that.'

'Barely alive,' muttered Porthos. 'Aramis is unconscious and neither of you is fit for anything.'

D'Artagnan glanced at Athos; they knew there would not be much they could do to help Porthos until he had accepted he was not at fault.

MMMM

Porthos was standing in the middle of the road. He watched the Devilman floating towards him. The many-eyed beast was joined by two more. They moved as one. Each raised their claws ready to strike him.

'Porthos, wake up. You're dreaming again.'

Porthos forced his eyes open and focused on Aramis who was leaning over him. He tried to remember where he was and how he had got there. He stared at the ceiling as flashes of memory assaulted him.

Luc holding him down as Barbotin wrapped an assortment of scarves and handkerchiefs around his shoulder and leg.

Someone saying Aramis had passed out.

Athos swearing at Marc before apologising.

D'Artagnan admitting he would need help to walk any distance.

The confusion of memories gradually ordered themselves.

'You're awake,' he said to Aramis, looking at the bruises and grazes on his friend's face.

'I've been awake for a bit, Porthos,' Aramis replied. 'I believe I had them worried for a while, but I evidently have a hard head and woke up feeling a lot better than I had been.'

Porthos blinked a couple of times and shifted slightly. He hissed in pain.

'You were shot, Porthos,' Aramis said matter-of-factly. 'You were shot in the back of the shoulder and the leg. Moving is not a good idea at the moment. Although, I will help you to sit up. If you promise to behave.'

Porthos nodded. As Aramis eased him into a sitting position and adjusted the pillows behind him he looked around the infirmary. He noted the empty, unmade, bed next to him and realised Aramis was not there acting as a medic. He was still supposed to be recuperating.

'You do realise, Aramis,' Athos said from the other side of Porthos, 'that neither d'Artagnan nor I will be helping you back to your bed. You are on your own.'

Aramis smirked, 'I think I can manage a few feet,' he said as he poured water into a cup and handed it to Porthos. 'Unlike either or you.'

As he took a drink Porthos looked his friends over. Athos was lying in the next bed, bandages wrapped around his arm and hand. He was covered in cuts and grazes much the same as Aramis.

D'Artagnan was in the bed next to Athos, his ankle lying on a pillow with a damp cloth draped over it. He had one eye swollen shut and looked quite uncomfortable.

'We all look worse than we are,' said Aramis who had noticed Porthos' frown as he took in his friends' appearances.

'What were you dreaming about?' asked d'Artagnan.

Porthos looked away.

'You need to stop blaming yourself,' said Aramis with a conciliatory pat of his arm.

'That's not what I was dreaming about,' Porthos said. 'I was dreaming about them and their eyes and claws.'

'Perhaps it would help if we updated you on what's happened?' suggested Aramis.

Porthos looked at him with confusion before he realised, he did not know all the details. He could remember what was going on around him to a certain extent, but most of it was clouded by the pain he was in.

'Whilst you were valiantly risking your life to keep us from crashing into the Seine,' began Aramis. 'The Captain managed to shoot Claude and Jacques before impressively impaling Pierre with his dagger.'

Porthos shook his head with confusion at the names.

'We got to know the three of them well enough to be on first name terms,' interjected d'Artagnan who had managed to push himself up to sit. 'Claude was the tatty one. The one you recognised. Jacques was the leader, the oldest of the three. And Pierre was the lad that had alerted Aramis and me to the attack on the blacksmith.'

'Marc, Luc and Barbotin turned up a few seconds later,' continued Aramis. 'They managed to get us to safety-'

'I remember Luc helping to hold the rope,' said Porthos. 'But nothing much after that, just bits and pieces.'

'I don't think you were fully aware,' agreed Athos. 'Barbotin and Marc patched us up before we used the old carriage to come back here. By then a few dockworkers had turned up. They helped to deal with the bodies of Pierre and Claude. You'd passed out by the time we got back to the garrison.'

'What about the leader, Jacques?' asked Porthos, trying to hide the concern and hint of fear that crept into him.

Aramis noticed and rested his hand on Porthos' leg, 'he wasn't killed. The Captain hit him in the shoulder, a similar wound to yours. But unlike you, he collapsed and passed out for a while. You, my friend, are made of stronger stuff.'

'And we are grateful for that,' said Athos. 'Even if you put yourself at too much risk.'

Porthos shook his head, he was not prepared to accept that he had risked himself. He had done what needed to be done. He realised his friends were all looking at him, their expressions ones of accusation.

'And,' Athos continued sternly, 'you are not to continue blaming yourself for this.'

He vaguely gestured at the state they were all in.

Porthos knew his friends were right. But he also knew he was not ready to concede that he was not to blame. At least not entirely. He still believed he should have foreseen the issues he would have. If he had not frozen when he and Athos were attacked, the following events would not have happened. Porthos knew it would take him a long time to forgive himself for that incident.

'Where's the leader now?' he asked.

'The Chatelet,' replied Aramis. 'They want us to testify at his trial. They're prepared to wait a few days for us to recover.'

Porthos nodded, 'has he said anything yet?'

'No,' said Athos, 'Claude said a few words to Treville before he died. And after looking through their belongings, it seems Claude was being used by the other two to perpetuate their illusions. He had been set up as a victim so that he could spread the rumours. Claude had very few belongings and was covered in bruises and scars. We think the other two were beating him to keep him in line.'

'He probably didn't know another life,' said d'Artagnan.

Porthos thought back to what Flea had said about the man. She had implied he seemed odd and not at ease with his surroundings. But Porthos found he could not be sympathetic to the man. Claude had still been partly responsible for the horrible events that had occurred.

'If you are alright now,' said Aramis, 'I would like to get some more rest. But if you need to talk about this, you know where I am.'

Porthos nodded, he watched Aramis carefully walk the few feet back to his bed and lie down. His friend did look pale.

'That goes for us as well,' said Athos. 'In fact, we will be annoyed if you do not talk.'

Porthos looked down for a few seconds before nodding.

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