Athos disliked the mission. There were many reasons he disliked the mission. It was pointless being the main one. The woman he and his friends were being sent to arrest had done nothing wrong. She had not harmed anyone; she had not caused crops to fail and she had not summoned evil spirits.

But the village where she lived believed that she had. They were threatening to have her burned at the stake if she was not removed and dealt with by the Crown. The landowner had enough influence at Court to persuade the King to deal with the woman. And, not wishing to annoy the landowner, the King had allowed the woman to become his problem. Or, more precisely, the Musketeers problem.

The elders in the village they were heading towards insisted that the woman was a witch. She was accused of a series of misfortunes to befall the village. Two women had died in childbirth, which was not uncommon. A man had not survived a fall into a well, which was not surprising. And two local farms had lost their crops. Which, given the bad summer the country had suffered, was happening in many parts of France.

The village needed a scapegoat, and the local healer was the one their eyes had fallen on. The woman was in her forties. She had never married and afflicted with a mild deformity. Her eyes were of different colours. The simple quirk of fate and her chosen solitary life had conspired to make her evil in the eyes of the villagers.

They were dispatched to arrest her and bring her to the city for trial, and no doubt, a horrific execution when the examiners decided they had tormented the poor woman enough.

Athos thought back to the brief words Treville had with them as they mounted up. He told them to be careful on their return. He told them not to turn their backs on the woman as she would likely disappear, never to be seen again. The Captain looked at them each pointedly, waited for them to nod their understanding, then ordered them to get on with their mission. None of them had spoken about the insinuation from their Captain, but Athos knew they all agreed. The innocent woman would not reach the Chatelet. They would make sure of that.

The village was big enough to have a decent-sized tavern, they headed towards it.

A small boy scampered up to them. He reached up for the reins of Porthos' horse before pausing and staring at the soldier.

'Are you 'ere for the witch? They've got 'er in the stable.'

Porthos glanced back, a look of annoyance on his face.

'Where are your elders?' asked Porthos.

The boy pointed towards the tavern.

Athos led the way into the tavern. The room was large and airy. All the windows were open allowing a slight breeze to sweep through. Two girls were busy wiping down tables and collecting detritus from the previous night's customers. A big shaggy dog stretched out by the fire. An old man with a pipe was sat on a stool as close to the flames as he could get, warming his hands.

'You must be here for the witch,' said a smartly dressed man. 'I'm Gerard, the landowner. We will be pleased to be rid of her.'

The old man by the fire scoffed but did not turn towards them.

'We would like to make this quick, to cause as little fuss as possible,' said Athos.

'Of course,' said Gerard, 'she's in the stable, being watched by a couple of the villagers.'

Athos turned to look at Aramis and d'Artagnan who nodded. They retreated from the tavern; Athos saw them turn towards the stable.

'She should be burned.'

'Sorry,' said Porthos looking towards the old man who had spoken, his voice distorted by the pipe in his mouth.

He pulled the pipe from his mouth and used it to point at them.

'She should be burned. Witch. She'll turn you all. She'll turn you into her kind.'

The man's eyes lingered on Porthos.

'Well not you,' he said with a nod. 'Your kind know how to keep yourselves safe from witches.'

Athos watched Porthos' mild amusement the compliment for his perceived difference.

'We will take her to Paris where she will be tried, if she is found guilty-'

'She's a witch, of course, she's guilty,' said one of the serving girls.

Gerard waved her away, she scowled at them and returned to her work on the other side of the tavern.

'If she is found guilty,' continued Athos, 'she will be punished, accordingly.'

'Good,' said Gerard. 'The sooner things get back to normal around here, the better.'

Porthos sighed, Athos shook his head.

'I suppose you don't believe she's responsible for the bad fortune around here?' asked the old man.

'That is not for us to decide,' replied Athos with as much diplomacy as he could muster.

He looked at Porthos and raised his eyebrow. Porthos nodded and turned towards the door.

'If you will excuse us, gentlemen,' said Athos. 'We will collect our prisoner and remove her from your lives as quickly as possible.'

'See that you do,' said the old man as Athos retreated from the tavern and followed Porthos to the stable.

MMMM

D'Artagnan nodded to the two men that were standing inside the door of the stable. They were armed with a pitchfork and a billhook.

'She's in the last stall,' said one of the men, pointing to the back of the stable.

Aramis was a few paces ahead, he turned at the last stall and stopped for a few seconds, before walking forwards.

'Madam,' Aramis said, 'we are not here to hurt you. We are going to take you away from here.'

D'Artagnan reached the stall in time to see Aramis pulling off his weapons belts. D'Artagnan felt sick when he saw the reason for his friends hurried actions.

The accused woman was sitting huddled at the back of the stall. She was naked. She looked up at Aramis with fearful eyes. D'Artagnan could see marks and bruises across her flesh. He guessed she was in her late forties or early fifties. Her lithe figure and, apart from the bruising, unblemished face, gave her the appearance of a younger woman. That alone would be enough for some villagers to accuse her of witchcraft. But a life away from the burn of the sun, or the toil of the land, often left people with paler skin and fewer lines on their faces. Her hermit-like lifestyle would not have helped her cause.

Aramis peeled off his doublet and held it out to the woman who was staring at him. D'Artagnan guessed the move was the first kind gesture she had experienced for some time.

'Please,' said Aramis, 'let us help you. When did you last eat?'

The woman looked at him, her eyes wide. There was not enough light in the dingy stable for d'Artagnan to make out her eyes. She reached out her arm for the offered doublet. She allowed Aramis to help her to slip the jacket on and even let him button it up for her. He wrapped his sash around her waist to act as a belt.

'We'll sort you out some clothes as soon as we can,' he said. 'Are you injured? I'm a field medic; I have some supplies with me.'

She shook her head, 'they pushed me around. Most of the bruises are when they ripped my clothes off me to search my body for marks...'

She spoke quietly, her eyes darting about with fear. D'Artagnan could not understand how the village believed she was responsible for their misfortune. He stepped back a few paces as Aramis helped the woman to her feet. She allowed him to put his arm around her waist to support her as they walked towards the stable door.

'She ain't going out there until she's tied up. Don't want her running off.'

The man with the billhook blocked their path.

'She's not going to run off,' said d'Artagnan, 'look at her, she's terrified. Step out of the way.'

'Tie 'er up,' said the other man, taking a couple of paces forward and using his pitchfork to bar their way.

D'Artagnan was aware of the woman faltering and pulling away from Aramis a little. Aramis spoke quietly to her for a few seconds. D'Artagnan could not hear, but he did see her nod her head once.

'Some rope,' said Aramis, holding out his hand.

The man with the billhook grabbed a coil of rope that had been lying by the door. He handed it to Aramis who glared at the man for several seconds until he backed off.

The woman meekly held out her hands and allowed Aramis to wrap the rope around her wrists. D'Artagnan could tell he was tying the rope loosely. The woman would be able to slip her hands free if she wanted to. He hid a smile at Aramis' plan.

The two men stepped aside once they were satisfied the witch was no longer a threat. D'Artagnan walked alongside the woman and Aramis, who resumed his position of supporting her. As they stepped back into the light, he was taken aback by the sight. All the villagers were standing watching them.

Athos and Porthos were waiting for them by the horses. D'Artagnan saw the look of disgust on their faces when they took in the state of the woman and the fact that they had been forced to clothe her. Athos turned to the landowner and said something. The landowner spoke to a couple of women who shook their heads for a few seconds before reluctantly nodding. One of them disappeared into the tavern.

Some of the villagers were jeering at the accused woman. The atmosphere was hostile. A few shouts about burning her and hanging her made her falter again. D'Artagnan wanted to offer her his arm to lean on but did not want the villagers to see how much they were helping their prisoner. Aramis had a firm grip on the woman, d'Artagnan wondered if she would have fainted if she was not held up.

They reached the horses.

'Let me mount up, and you can ride with me,' said Aramis who seemed to have gained a little trust from the scared woman.

She nodded and allowed d'Artagnan to take up escort duties for a few seconds as Aramis mounted up. D'Artagnan helped to lift the slight woman to sit in front of Aramis who said something to reassure her.

D'Artagnan turned back to the landowner and Athos who appeared to be arguing. The woman that had been sent on the errand returned with a bundle of clothes. She handed them to Athos with a disdainful look. Athos tipped his hat to the angry-looking landowner and turned to his horse.

The crowd of villagers were becoming more agitated. More insults were shouted at the woman. D'Artagnan saw the two men that had been guarding her stepping forward. The man with the billhook had it raised in the air menacingly.

'Time to go,' muttered Porthos as he mounted up and tossed the reins to d'Artagnan's horse towards him.

D'Artagnan agreed. He mounted and turned his horse away from what was becoming a mob of angry men and women. He was not surprised when a rock was thrown at the woman. The rock hit Aramis on the back. His friend did his best not to react. When a second rock was thrown knocking the back leg of the horse, Aramis twisted around and glared at the people.

D'Artagnan and Athos closed ranks on their friend, putting themselves in the way of the mob. But it was not enough. More rocks and some vegetables were thrown. Their only course of action was to leave as fast as they could. As the rocks rained down, d'Artagnan felt a couple hit him and knew he would be bruised. He watched each of his friends take a hit. Aramis' shirt was ripped, leaving a bloody mark along his tattered sleeve. Porthos nearly lost his hat and had to spend a few seconds calming his horse.

They pushed the horses into a canter and made their way from the village, as further missiles were thrown.

It was inevitable that one of them would be struck on the head. D'Artagnan moved his horse closer to the unfortunate Athos. He wavered dangerously, the mark the rock left obvious as a trickle of blood appeared on his face.

'We need to stop,' d'Artagnan called.

'No,' said Athos, 'put some distance between us, and them. I'll manage for a few minutes.'

D'Artagnan exchanged glances with Aramis and Porthos. Even the woman looked concerned.

But Athos was correct if they stopped within sight of the village the likelihood was that the villagers would resume their assault. They had no choice but to carry on. D'Artagnan hoped Athos would be able to ride alone for long enough.

MMMM

Authors note: To be continued in Chapter Eighteen.

Whumpee: mainly Athos. Featuring: Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan