Chapter Two
A section of the path passed a few rocks that were lying close together, forming a low wall of sorts. Aramis saw a break in the natural barrier a few feet ahead on the right. He made a point of looking to his left hoping the man behind him would do the same.
He bolted. He did not pause. He ran. The effect on the men that had taken him captive was instant. Shouts from several of them sent the previously calm, if creepy, wood into an uproar. Birds cawed or called in a panic. Leaves and bushes shuddered as sheltering creatures reacted in shock. Aramis ignored it all. He plunged through the undergrowth, keeping his head down. He kept his left arm up, his bent elbow was employed to push light branches out of his way, his hand covering his face as brambles tried to grab at him with their prickly tendrils.
Aramis skirted the bigger boulders and scrambled over some of the smaller ones. His hat fell, betraying his route to his pursuers. Otherwise, the hard ground left no trace of his escape.
He could hear them crashing through the undergrowth shouting instructions and orders to one another. Aramis could not pick out any particular voices or words. He only knew he had to keep going. Keep going away from their noise.
After a couple of hundred yards, he turned a few degrees. He hoped it was enough to throw them off his trail. He slowed his pace a fraction and started to look for a likely hiding spot. He was prepared to climb a tree or secret himself in a muddy hole. He did not care if it meant the gang lost him.
A wide-based fir tree teased at the edge of the rough animal track he was following. Without thinking Aramis circled the tree and plunged into the tangle of low branches. Despite his doublet getting caught a few times, he managed to get himself to the shelter of the bare inner branches of the tree. Using the trunk for support he climbed a few feet using the strong lower limbs.
Then he became still. He slowed his breathing and clung to the trunk of the tree and listened.
He could hear them. They were still calling out to each other. They would not be aware that his escape had stopped. They would not be aware that if they were quiet, they would no longer hear him making his escape through the forest.
Aramis allowed himself a smile when he realised they were not going to pass right by his hideout. They had not spotted his slight change in direction. They were at least a couple of hundred yards from his location.
He remained where he was until he could not hear the gang anymore.
Then and only then did he climb down the tree and push his way out. He took a few deep breaths. He looked down at his doublet and breeches. Both were scratched and scuffed from his frantic charge through the forest. If he were to turn up to muster in such a state Treville would have him mucking out the stables. He chuckled to himself as he brushed the worst of dirt and dust from his leathers.
After a final look in the direction the gang had gone, Aramis turned and started to walk in the opposite direction. He knew it would take a while to reach the edge of the forest, but he had no intention of going in the same direction as the men that had tried to take him captive.
He walked at as steady a pace as he could manage given the uneven ground. With frequent pauses to listen for any pursuit, he made slow progress for a couple of hours. The trickle of a small stream drew his attention and after a final look behind him, Aramis gave into the need to take a rest.
He knelt by the stream and scooped water to his mouth drinking greedily for a few seconds. After taking the opportunity to wash the worst of the dirt and sweat from his face and neck Aramis found a large rock to lean again. He looked at the sky visible through a few gaps high above him.
The evening was wearing on and he would soon be plunged into darkness. Aramis knew he would lose the light quicker in the dense forest than if he was out in the open. There was no chance of him being able to continue in the dark. He looked around for somewhere that he could hide for a few hours until enough light returned for him to see by. An ancient tree with wizened bark and exposed roots provided Aramis with what he wanted.
Being careful not to leave any footprints he reached the old tree and rested his hand on the trunk for a few seconds before stepping down between two of the roots and pressing himself as far out of sight as he could. If any of the gang were to return, he could only hope his dark doublet would help to hide him. After a few seconds shifting about to get comfortable, Aramis settled for what he expected would be an uncomfortable few hours.
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Aramis slept a little. Or at least he woke up a few times which implied he had slept. But what sleep he got was not enough to leave him refreshed. After spending a few minutes stretching out his aching limbs and rocking his head from side to side to work out a kink in his neck he had acquired during his uncomfortable night, Aramis began walking.
A light rain penetrated the forest canopy leaving the rocky ground slippery in places. Aramis knew his lack of rest meant his reaction times were slower. More than once he struggled to catch himself from falling to the ground. When he finally crashed to his knees on a particularly smooth and slippery rock, he spent a few seconds staring at the rip in his breeches and wondering if his day could get any worse.
With a concerted effort, he got back to his feet and gingerly carried on, sticking to the dense area of the wood in the hope that the rain shower had not reached the ground there.
The forest seemed never-ending. Aramis knew that if he had been on horseback, he would have probably reached the edge of the trees in a couple of hours. But on foot and fatigued from lack of sleep and his escape the previous day meant he was slower than he might have been.
After another couple of hours, he paused to rest. He was hungry and thirsty, but he had found nothing suitable to sustain him for some time. The few edible berries he had found that morning had only made his hunger worse.
He leaned back against the trunk of a large tree and closed his eyes. He only intended to stop for a few minutes; when he opened his eyes, he realised the shadows had moved. He had fallen asleep; the exhaustion had caught up with him. Aramis cursed as he pulled himself back up to stand.
Something made him stop and look back the way he had come. With a sinking feeling, he realised what had woken him from his unplanned slumber. Several people were moving through the forest towards him. They did not appear to have spotted him, but if he remained where he was, they would be on him in seconds.
For the second time in as many days, Aramis ran.
But unlike the previous day, Aramis was already exhausted. He could not keep up the pace he needed to outrun the gang. He knew they were going to find him. As he continued to move as fast as he could he tried to ignore what he knew he had to consider. He tried to push it away, tried to look for other ways out. But he could not. The image of Martin thrusting the dagger into his heart filled Aramis' mind. The stark warning from both Treville and the contact played repetitively in his head.
The information could not fall into the enemy hands. It would be better for the information to be lost to everyone than lost to the enemy.
Aramis knew he could withstand torture. He had been captured and tortured before. But he had never been given an order from his commanding officer that he should not be taken captive before. Treville had not implied what Aramis should do if the possibility of capture became a reality. Treville had given Aramis a clear order.
And despite his best efforts to avoid it, Aramis knew he now had no choice.
He had to kill himself.
Aramis slowed his pace and allowed the thoughts to crowd his mind for a few seconds. He listened to the approaching men. He heard a shout as one of them picked up his trail. He was running out of time.
The question he had to answer and answer quickly was how he should kill himself. It was not something he had ever contemplated. The short answer would be to shoot himself, but he had no gun; the gang had disarmed him the previous day. They had relieved him of his sword and the slim dagger he had slipped into his boot. He had nothing with which to end his life quickly.
Aramis looked about, listening to the men getting closer. He continued to walk away from them, breaking into a run after a few yards. He skidded to a halt as the answer to his morbid problem presented itself. A wide ravine had opened up at the side of the rough path he was following. He peered over the edge of the ravine. It was deep; he could see the remains of an unfortunate deer at the bottom.
Aramis took a few paces back and contemplated what he was about to do. He was about to kill himself. He did not see it as suicide; he saw it as his duty. He was following an order. He was keeping the country he loved safe by not allowing the information he carried to fall into the wrong hands.
He was doing the right thing.
He looked skywards in much the same way Martin had before he took his life. Aramis recited a prayer. He crossed himself.
Then he focused on the ravine. He needed to make a run-up; he had to miss the rocks that jutted out. He did not want to break his fall and be left injured but alive at the bottom of the gully. Even if the gang following him could not get down to him, Aramis did not like the idea of dying in agony over the course of several hours or days. No. He had to die quickly.
He had to die then and there.
More shouting told Aramis he had no more time to think about his choice.
He took a deep breath and broke into a run.
With only a few feet between him and oblivion, his plan was foiled.
Searing pain in his thigh and the sudden inability to bear weight on his leg saw him crash to the ground mere inches from the precipice.
He landed hard; the air knocked out of him.
With the sound of the gang getting ever closer, Aramis tried to pull himself those last few inches, trying to reach the edge. If he could at least tip over the edge, he would make it harder for the gang to reach him. If he had to die alone and in pain at the bottom of the ravine, it would be better than being caught.
But that plan was also foiled. Hands were on him, pulling him back from the edge.
Aramis had failed.
Aramis had been caught.
With no reason to try to stay conscious, Aramis gave into the pain of the gunshot wound and sank into a regretful darkness.
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