Chapter Eight

'Armed men. Lots of them.'

Aramis rushed forward as Pierre crashed to his knees. The cadet was panting, his gasped breaths meaning he was in danger of passing out. Aramis and Leon grabbed the injured man and dragged him away from the gate.

As they did so, more shots rang out. Aramis heard them hitting the wood of the closed gate. He wondered if the attackers had not expected the man on the gate to react quickly enough to shut them out.

His mind raced through various reasons for the attack. But one thing dominated his thoughts. They were vulnerable. He was the only Musketeer in the garrison with six cadets and an old man who had not fired a gun in anger for decades.

Once they had pulled Pierre out of the way Aramis was not surprised to see Serge, his expression murderous, appear from the mess.

'Who is it?' he demanded.

Aramis shook his head as he assessed the injury Pierre had received. The shot had ploughed a furrow across his side, above his hip. The injury would be debilitating, but not fatal, provided they dealt with it. Although, Aramis knew there would not be time to deal with it properly at that moment.

'There were about thirty men,' Pierre managed to say. 'They came from… all directions at once. They stopped by that low wall we use to practice attacking from. As I closed the gate… they rushed forward.'

'You did well,' said Aramis. 'You've been shot, but it's not too bad. It's the same as the injury George got.'

Pierre lost focus for a few seconds, perhaps trying to work out who George was.

'The cadet I shot accidentally,' Jacques said.

Pierre nodded.

'Jean,' said Aramis, looking up at the cadet who had appeared beside them, 'get him to the infirmary. Patch him up.'

With help from both Aramis and Jean, Pierre got to his feet.

'I'm sorry,' said Aramis to Pierre. 'But you're not going to have the luxury of rest just yet. We're all going to be needed to defend the garrison.'

Pierre nodded, 'we won't be long.'

As Jean helped Pierre away, Aramis turned to the rest of the cadets. He had to raise his voice occasionally as the attackers were banging on the gates.

'Serge, can you help Paul and Jacques barricade the gate. Once that is done get yourselves armed.'

The three men nodded. Serge, who had assumed the poise of a soldier, turned away with the cadets in tow.

'You two, with me,' said Aramis as he rushed to the stairs and ascended, turning towards the Captain's room.

He tried the door. It was locked. He took a step back before kicking the door. It flew open, crashing back with a bang.

The cadets looked shocked at Aramis' apparent insubordination. Aramis chuckled.

'Trust me, he won't mind.'

He led the pair into the room and indicated for Simon to help him move a table away from the window. He glanced out before pulling the window open.

'Simon, we'll help you down, it's still a bit of a drop but you should be fine. Try not to break an ankle. That would be unfortunate.'

Simon looked blankly at him.

'He wants you to go for help,' said Leon.

Simon nodded his understanding and stepped towards the window, he looked down before looking back at Aramis.

'That looks like a long drop,' he said nervously.

'Someone has to go and you're one of the more athletic. I saw you climbing trees when we were on our field exercise.'

Simon's face reddened, 'there were some good-looking apples at the top of that tree,' he said.

Aramis smiled, 'give it time, and this won't be the only window you jump out of. Trust me, I've been out of a few.'

Simon gave him a quizzical look before climbing out of the window. Between them, Aramis and Leon lowered Simon as far as they could. He took a breath before letting go. He landed softly but lost his balance. As he scrambled up, he looked back at them.

The area outside the Captain's office was not visible to the men attacking the gate. Aramis could only hope they had not posted lookouts to watch for the very thing they were doing. He could hear the sound of the gates being hit by something heavy. Whoever was attacking the garrison had come prepared or had found something to use as a battering ram.

'Find the Captain,' said Aramis. 'He'll send some men back.'

Simon glanced towards the front of the garrison before running in the other direction, towards the Palace.

They watched him go only turning from the window as he disappeared around a corner.

The crashing at the gate was still pounding an unwelcome beat to the frantic preparations the few men could make to protect themselves. As Aramis and Leon returned to the yard, they could see cracks appearing in the gate. Paul walked up to them, grabbing a musket from Pierre who was valiantly pushing a hand card across the yard loaded with weapons.

'We could hear them talking. One of them was saying something about the armoury,' said Paul with a glance at the splintering gate. 'And I think I recognised one of them…'

'Recognised them?' asked Aramis.

'Their voice was familiar.'

'I think you'll get to meet them soon enough,' mused Serge. 'That door is not going to hold for much longer.'

The remaining cadets and Serge were watching the door as they grabbed muskets and pistols.

Pierre was standing awkwardly by the handcart checking the guns as he handed them out. The injured cadet looked pale but determined. His blood-stained doublet had been done up with the buttons askew and he had smudges of blood on his cheeks making him look quite fierce.

Jean was busy adjusting his belt and pushing pistols in at any angle he could find. Not practical for going into battle, but there were no hard and fast rules for defending a garrison.

Paul had pushed up his sleeves and grabbed a couple of the muskets. He looked determined. Aramis suspected he would be one of the first cadets to get into the thick of any physical fighting that occurred.

Jacques looked a little apprehensive, he picked up a couple of the pistols and checked they were primed before adjusting his power horns and nodding to himself. Aramis could see a slight shake to his hand.

Leon had wandered over to the couple of horses that were not in the stables and guided them in. The stable boys were ushered in after them. Aramis could see Leon talking to them and indicating for them to hide in the hayloft. He closed the doors across the stable entrance before joining the rest of them.

Aramis nodded his approval. He had not given orders for an injured man to sort out guns for them all. He had not asked Leon to see to the horses and secure the stable. He had not suggested they arm themselves with more guns than would normally be practical. The cadets had thought for themselves. They had not needed direction.

If the situation were not as grim as it was Aramis would have allowed his pride in the young men to show. But he could not.

Aramis looked around the yard, 'find some cover. Pair up. The better shot in each pair needs to be kept supplied with loaded and primed weapons for as long as possible. When it comes to using swords, just remember what you've been taught. You all know what to do. We train for this. If someone falls… they fall. We'll deal with them when we can.'

'Yes, monsieur,' chorused the cadets and Serge.

Aramis caught the old soldier's eye; he wanted to tell him to find shelter and wait it out. Serge had guessed what Aramis wanted to say; he shook his head.

'I am not going to watch these lads put their lives at risk and not stand beside them.'

Aramis nodded his thanks. He watched Serge take up a position with a collection of muskets in the doorway of the mess. The cadets had spread themselves around. Leon was with Jacques, their assorted guns laid out between them. Pierre was crouched awkwardly beside Jean, who had taken up a position tucked in the area under the stairs. Paul knelt a few feet in front of the hand cart using a crate as cover.

As the door finally gave way and the attackers pushed the makeshift barricade aside, Aramis used one of the support posts for the veranda as cover. He was closest to the hand cart of weapons. He picked up the first musket and levelled it at the gate.

'Make your shots count,' called Serge who was standing straighter than Aramis had seen in years.

With a final look around the yard, Aramis knew he had done all that he could. He only hoped Simon found the Captain quick enough to get help back to them before it was too late.

Several men spilt into the yard. Aramis aimed at the first one, a pock-marked sneering man in his thirties. He fired the musket; his aim was true. Aramis expected to find his mark each time he fired at such close quarters.

Other men fell. His cadets were doing what they had been instructed to do. They were not hesitating. Even Pierre, who was injured, was aiming and firing as quickly as he could.

As the loaded weapons were depleted Aramis saw Pierre and Leon start to reload for their partners. Jacques, whose shaking had stopped, was taking out men quickly and cleanly. Paul's aim was not as good, but he had disabled enough men to make a difference with the guns from the hand cart.

Serge was pinned down but holding his own. He flinched out of the way as a shot hit the brickwork a few inches from his head. But the old soldier did not let the near miss stop him.

The attacking men were not well organised. Aramis was sure some had turned and run when they realised they were being shot at. He wondered if they had been expecting to find only stable boys and an old cook. Had they known the rest of the garrison had been deployed to help with the protest at the Palace. As Aramis picked up the last loaded musket, he realised there probably was no protest. If they could hold the attackers at bay, the rest of the garrison might return before they became overrun.

Aramis grabbed a couple of pistols from the hand cart and moved out of his hiding place. He took out two more men before flipping the pistols and striking another. He was aware of the more able cadets following his lead.

He was sure the attacking men were not armed with guns, at least not many of them were, as there had been minimal return fire during the initial part of the attack. Perhaps the talk of the armoury was because the attackers wanted guns.

A group of four men picked out Aramis and charged towards him, forcing him back several yards. He lost sight of the cadets. There was little he could do to help or direct his men. Aramis could only hope he had trained them well enough to continue to deal with the attackers.

He wrenched his sword from his belt, and after using the remaining pistol as a club on the first man that came near him, he went on the attack. His movements were fluid; he did not have to think about what he was doing. The three men could not get past his defences. One man took a slice across his shoulder, debilitating enough to see him stagger back and crash to the ground. Another man seemed to think he could get the better of Aramis with a series of violent thrusts. Aramis soon proved the man wrong. The last man got distracted and quickly followed his fellow attackers.

As another group of men swarmed towards him, Aramis managed to catch glimpses of the cadets.

Paul had been injured. He was lying on the ground with Leon leaning over him, hastily applying a dressing as Jacques defended them both.

Jean and Pierre were working with Serge to keep another group back.

Aramis had no time to react further as the next group of men rushed towards him. Unlike the previous group, the men were working together. They were organised. Two of them split off from the others and circled behind him. Aramis could not watch them all. They pressed their advantage. He moved forward rapidly and feinted to the left before thrusting towards the closest man. The man cried out in shock as Aramis' sword slipped between his ribs.

But Aramis had no time to move onto the next man. He was grabbed from behind by the two men that had peeled off.

Images of the men who had taken him captive rushed through his mind as he was pulled backwards and tripped to the ground. All he could see were the grey walls of his cell. He tried to pull away. Pain exploded in his right wrist as he was kicked. The kick was accurate enough to cause him to drop his sword.

The second kick caught him in the side of the chest, knocking the air out of him. He tried to scramble up but was helpless against the men.

He could only help the cadets were doing better than he was.

MMMM