Athos tilted his head to the left, felt the stretch of his neck muscles, and watched the flames of the fire as Aramis re-bandaged his shoulder. The flames flickered and sent sparks upward. Smoke drifted toward them as the breeze changed direction, but quickly returned to its previous position. Lightening fishtailed across the sky in the distance, its bright light illuminated the tree tops, and surrounding area before it quickly disappeared. Thunder rolled, and the loud boom caused both horses to jump, but hold steady at their ties.
Aramis took a deep breath. "Good thing you turned when you did," he said, and pulled Athos shirt over the freshly covered wounds, "you'd be dead if you hadn't." He paused a moment and met Athos' eyes.
Athos nodded, and rested against his upturned saddle.
Aramis leaned back on his haunches, rested his elbows on his knees, and rasied his eyebrows. "We should have stayed an extra night," he rubbed the base of his thumb, "you need to rest." He looked to his left when he heard the clips of shod hooves on stones and watched Porthos dismount, and walk alongside d'Artagnan who struggled with a one-armed hold on the blanket.
Aramis stood. "Well?" He placed his hands on his hips.
Porthos tied their horses, loosened cinches, and tossed two dead rabbits toward the firepit. He rubbed his face, glanced toward d'Artagnan who nodded and stepped toward the fire. He placed the blanket on the ground and revealed the weapons: five pistols, two daggers, two gauches, and Athos' sword. D'Artagnan then placed the bottle of whiskey on a rock and grabbed the rabbits for cleaning.
Porthos tipped his head toward Athos. "How is he?" Porthos ran a hand over the back of his neck.
"Stubborn," Aramis said, and looked toward the weapons cache. He watched Porthos walk past him and take a seat on a boulder across from Athos. "What happened?" Aramis turned and stepped toward the fire to add another broken branch.
Porthos rang his hands, rubbed his thighs, and took a deep breath. He glanced toward Aramis, clenched his jaw, and finally folded his fingers together as he rested his elbows on his knees. He licked his lips, winced, and exhaled slowly.
"What is it?" Athos asked. He shifted uncomfortably, and furrowed his brow.
"Auch is gone," Porthos said, and looked toward Athos. "We rode to the ravine to find your blade… d'Artagnan noticed Auch's body was missin' — no prints of him leavin'…" he rubbed his face and looked up. "We circled the area… searched for signs, but," he shook his head, "I fear the rains may 'ave washed 'em away." Porthos groaned, licked his bottom li, and rubbed his eyes. He glanced toward Athos with a look of defeat.
Athos closed his eyes, leaned forward, and looked at the ground between his knees. He ran his left hand through his hair, and paused with his palm and his fingers laced within the strands. "I sent word to the king that he was dead."
"I'm the one who told Marc," d'Artagnon said, and held a skinned rabbit by the leg.
Aramis looked at d'Artagnon and shook his head in warning.
"The responsiblity is mine," Athos said, and met d'Artagnon's eyes. Athos then looked toward Porthos and Armis. "Unless I've been demoted in rank?" He groaned, licked his bottom lip, and rubbed his eyes. "Shit!" He glanced toward Porthos with a look of defeat. "We need to get to Paris." He shifted to his knees and slowly stood.
"Athos," Aramis grabbed Athos' arm. "You'll never make it." He tightened his jaw and shook his head.
"We have no choice." Athos placed his left hand against the tree to steady himself. He flexed his jaw muscles , and he flashed concerned eyes from Porthos to Aramis.
"Knowing Marc, he would have sent Remy and he may have already arrived back in Paris, and the others are days ahead of us," Aramis said, "we'll never catch them — particularly in your condition. Our best option is to stay here, go back to the ravine in the morning," he looked toward Porthos who nodded, "and see if we can find any tracks — find Auch. I hit him, Athos… he'll not have gotten far, and he may have simply crawled off to die somewhere."
"We'll find 'im," Porthos said. "We'll find 'im an' we'll en' this." He rubbed his face and turned when d'Artagnan returned with freshly skinned rabbits.
Athos pushed himself from the tree and walked toward the sound of the creek. He pulled off the wrap that kept his arm secured to his chest and tossed it toward the boulders on his left.
"Where're you going?" Aramis said, rolled his eyes, and placed his hands on his hips. He rubbed the back of his neck, and pushed his hair upward.
"To piss!" Athos said, over his shoulder.
Porthos winced and glanced toward d'Artagnan who watched, but tried to focus on the meat he worked to prepare. "Let 'im go, Aramis," he said, and caused Aramis to pause. Porthos rubbed his face and watched the flames of the fire. "If we go back to Paris an' let the king know Auch is still alive…" he looked toward d'Artagnan, "he'll be well within his rights hang us all."
Aramis aggressively rubbed his face and groaned. "I should have checked." He sighed, bit his bottom lip, and looked up as another flash of lightening streaked across the sky. He rubbed at the tension in his neck, and took a deep breath. "What about scavengers — could they have dragged the body away?" He looked down and then met Porthos' eyes.
Porthos shook his head. "Not without leavin' me somethin' to track."
D'Artagnan laid the meat on a heated flat stone and listened to it sizzle. He could feel the tension in the air as the winds started to pick up. The flames fluttered, sent smoke toward Aramis, who stepped away. D'Artagnan scratched his nose, took a deep breath, rested his elbow on his knee as he listened, and watched the rabbits cook.
"He wouldn't go to Chalons, and he didn't return to the carriage," d'Artagnon said, and glanced toward Aramis as he took a seat on the exposed root of the tree they sheltered beneath.
Porthos nodded. "We would have noticed somethin'," he said. "The musketeers returned to Paris with the horses — Auch is on foot, which means he's not goin' to get very far."
Aramis nodded, folded his fingers behind his head, leaned forward and placed his elbows on spread knees. "I should've checked the body." He looked toward the clouds, and watched the leaves of the trees quiever. He lowered his hands between his knees, and released a groan from the back of his throat. "I should've checked."
"We 'ad other concerns, brother," Porthos said and felt the breeze against his skin.
"He wouldn't," d'Artagnan said, and flipped the meat. He glanced from Porthos to Aramis. "The king… he wouldn't hang us for what happened?"
Porthos raised his eyebrows and nodded. "We failed in our mission, lied about it —"
"We didn't know that at the time —"
"Doesn't matter — it will be seen as treason," Aramis looked up and met d'Artagnan's eyes, "so yes… we could be facing execution."
D'Artagnan shifted on his knees, rested on his haunches, and rubbed his brow. He turned and watched Athos return to camp and carefully settled himself against the underside of his saddle.
Athos raised his knees, and looked toward the fire. He grasped his right arm with his left hand."We'll ride to the ravine at sunup and head south from there. If he's aligned with Spain he may try and find his way back, but he won't travel through Paris," Athos said, ran his fingers through his hair, rubbed his brow, and then watched the flame of the fire.
"And if he's aligned with Rome?" Aramis asked.
Athos shook his head and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "Rome has moved their attention to the north and the east — they have little interest in Auch… and once word reaches Rome that he is indeed their former military commander it will be made clear of their stance against him or his claims — they renouced him and stripped him of everything."
Porthos sighed slowly and relaxed his shoulders. "We can manage one direction," he said. He looked toward d'Artagnan who nodded.
Aramis looked at the flames of the fire, and could smell the aroma of the rabbit that continued to cook. "How's your shoulder, d'Artagnan?"
D'Artagnan looked down at his arm still strapped to his chest and shrugged. "Better."
"Cut one of those in half," Aramis said as he stood, and pulled a hammered cup from his saddlebags. He filled it partway with water from his sheep-gut water jug and then motioned for d'Artagnan to place a portion of the meat in the cup. Aramis placed it close to the fire and met Porthos questioning eyes. Aramis tilted his head toward Athos and was rewarded with a nod of understanding.
"There's wild garlic growing by the creek as well as some cattails," d'Artagnan said, and stood. "I'll fetch some." He turned and left.
"He's nervous," Porthos said, with a chuckle, "and he doesn't hide it well." He pulled a sprig of grass from the ground and slipped the end between his front teeth and chewed. He grabbed his left wrist, and leaned forward with both hands between his knees. "Assumin' Auch is on foot with minimal injuries," he said. He pulled the grass between his teeth, flicked it toward the fire, and glanced toward Athos. "I'd find you first."
Athos nodded, and rubbed his face. He shifted uncomfortably, pulled his brows together, and bit the inside of his bottom lip. "If we don't find him," he looked up and met Porthos and Aramis' eyes, "the responsibility is mine." He tightened his fingers around his thumb and felt it pop beneath the pressure.
Aramis shook his head. "I will not watch you hang, brother." He met Athos' eyes, and shook his head. He wrung his hands, looked toward Porthos who had leaned forward, and looked at the ground. Aramis stood, rubbed his face, and turned his back to the fire. He looked toward the darkened clouds as the sun continued to descend.
"We'll find him," Porthos said as he tightened his fists. He listened to his knuckles crack, and said again, "we'll find him."
Athos nodded once, and returned his gaze to the fire as the flames flickered and moved in erratic motions around the wood. Smoke filtered upward, followed by sparks, as a breeze swept through the area. He watched d'Artagnan return, removed his arm from his sling once again, and sliced the cattail stem into chunks with the wild garlic. He added it to the meat, allowed the juices to blend and stems to tenderize. Once softened, he added a handful of vegetables to the cup.
"Who taught you to cook?" Porthos asked and watched d'Artagnan skewer the meat.
"My father," he said, and raised the side of his mouth into a subtle smile. "He was insistent upon it." He handed Porthos a heavy chunk of rabbit, "Used to say, no son of mine will go hungry." He deepened his voice, but he paused suddenly to fight his grief. He looked up when Aramis turned, grabbed the cup and handed it to Athos who took it with a nod of appreciation. "My father wanted me to be a farmer." He shrugged, handed Aramis a serving and watched him return to his seat between Athos and Porthos.
"He teach you to fight?" Porthos asked, and bit a chunk of meat off the leg.
D'Artagnan nodded. "He told me he learned while he served under the House of Guise…" he removed his portion of food and leaned back against a boulder, "he was injured, returned home, married my mother and they raised geese, cows," he shrugged as he took a bite of the meat, "and wheat."
"And then you were born?" Aramis said, with raised eyebrows. He tossed a bone into the fire.
D'Artagnan nodded again and shrugged. "I don't remember a lot of her," he pulled off a strip of meat, "but she used to sing," he chuckled, "the geese would follow her around the farm like dogs — my father called them ta zymarika tis." He shrugged in disapointment and shook his head. "I never thought to ask what it meant."
"Her dumplings," Athos said, and looked over the rim of his cup. "It's Greek."
Porthos looked toward Athos with a raised eyebrow and shook his head. He turned back toward d'Artagnan.
D'Artagnan laughed which surprised them all. He took a bite of meat, and tossed the bone into the flames. "That's all she could cook… dumpling stew." He smiled genuinely, and chuckled again. "My father loved her… but he hated her cooking — loathed it." He sobered and sucked the juices off his thumb. "He cooked most of the time." He focused on his meat as he took another bite and watched as another flash of lightening danced across the sky. "I think he enjoyed it."
"You were blessed to have him as a father," Aramis said, grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the rock, and took a pull. "Don't feel ashamed for grieving your loss of him." He stood, handed the bottle to d'Artagnan who took a pull, coughed, and slapped his chest.
Porthos laughed, slapped his thigh, and took the bottle from d'Artagnan. "Check for hair, my boy," he took a pull, and breathed slowly through O shaped lips, "this will put hair on your chest," he laughed again as he handed the bottle to Aramis, "an' your balls."
Athos tried to suppress his smile, but he couldn't. He nodded when Aramis handed him the bottle. He took a pull, and handed it back. The whiskey was smooth, with hints of spice that he couldn't place. He watched Aramis take another pull, chuckle, and hand the bottle back to Porthos who again teased d'Artagnan who took it in stride and gave it right back. They bantered, laughed, and talked about things that brought them joy. Aramis spoke of the women in his life and what he admired most about them: the shape of their hips, the tender curve of their shoulders, or the sounds of a soft voice in the dead of night. Porthos spoke of comfort outside the bedroom: the feeling of hot water on sore muscles, or the tender flesh of a freshly cooked steak. D'Artagnan admitted his love of simple pleasures: a woman's gentle kiss, the feel of a well trained horse, or the grip of a well used weapon. Athos watched, listened, and learned.
I'll have the next chapter (it's long) posted soon! Thank you for reading.