Athos' faced relaxed when he spotted his big black, who arched his neck and extended his head toward him. He ran his hand along the horse's jowl and scratched behind his ears. He opened the latch, entered the stall, and ran his hand along the big horse's neck, and then scratched his withers. Athos tangled his fingers within the black mane and leaned forward enough to rest his forehead against his mount's shoulder. He felt the heat, smelled the scent of horse manure, sweat, and hay.
The horse inhaled, shook his head, and took a step back to continue eating the remains of hay from his earlier feeding. Athos ran his right hand along his back, felt muscles relax, and tried to focus on the sounds outside of the stall: horses eating, stomping, and the occasional clang of metal against wood as stall gates were bumped.
Athos stepped back, placed the palm against the rough wood wall, and slowly slid to the ground. Roger patiently ate his hay, and sent leaves across the ground. Athos dusted them from his thigh, raised his knees, and sighed. He closed his eyes, but opened them again when his mind ran wild with the echoes of the day: children screaming, the wailing of a devastated father, pistols and muskets firing, the strikes of swords clashing, keys and locks opening and shutting, scuffling of straw against cobblestone. He tightened his jaw muscles and looked toward the back wall.
He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his forehead. His head was telling him to saddle the horses. Ride out. Leave. Depart from these lands as soon as he could. But his heart knew they couldn't — not in the shape they were in. Aramis had been correct. They were all dead on their feet, exhausted, and without a decent amount of food within the past seven days, they were half starved.
He turned suddenly when felt eyes upon him, and he looked toward the gate.
"I'm sorry, Monsieur," the young man said, "I was just feeding the horses… normally this horse tries to snatch food while I pass — I just wanted to make sure he didn't get himself cast in a corner or along the wall." He tossed more hay into the stall's wooden feeder and stepped away.
Athos rubbed his face and looked at his hands as they betrayed his inner turmoil. He extended one leg, rested his hand on his thigh, and listened to the grinding of teeth as Roger chewed, snorted, and swatted his tail.
Felix nervously wrung his hands. He looked at the food on the counter: honey, butter, hard breads and cheeses, a pot of hearty stew filled with vegetables and a chicken who had resigned her position as an egg layer. He paused a moment, thought about putting the meal in the dining room and thought better of it. Felix thought about leaving it in the kitchen and allowing the musketeers to serve themselves without fear, but he shook his head when he thought about Aramis having to face the bread counter and the knife that had sliced his palm. Felix rubbed his face, felt tired eyes protest to his mind's over zealous thinking. He looked around the kitchen and finally dusted his doublet.
He paused when he heard a knock at the back entry. With his chin held high, shoulders back, he stepped from the kitchen and opened the heavy door that lead to the stables. "Monsieur Rene," Felix said with a frown. "What is it?"
Rene, a young man still in the throes of adolescence: thin, awkward, and gangly with bright yellow hair and blue eyes, stood before him and ran the brim of his hat through the curve of his hand. Rene exhaled, looked down, and pulled a black leather purse from his belt. He handed it to Felix. "Found this on one of the men we buried today — figure the baron would know what to do with it."
Felix tested the weight and girth and shook his head. "A pity," he said, "what is the value of a life when you hold the power to take one?"
Rene shrugged and shook his head. "Not sure what you mean, Monsieur?"
Felix nodded. "It was a rhetorical question."
Rene sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "A man from today… he's in the stable — in that big black's stall."
Felix nodded and adjusted his hand on the door. "Is he hurt?"
Rene shrugged. "Don't know — just didn't want him there in case that stud acts up with the mares comin' into season — might prove a handful, and given what happened today, didn't think that man would have the strength to settle that horse — even if he does own him."
"I'll see to it," Felix said. He was about to shut the door but paused, and said, "Rene?"
The young man turned.
"Remy?"
Rene shrugged, looked down, and shook his head. "He's in a bad way… don't know what to do for him."
Felix nodded and exhaled slowly. "Go home to your family — we'll see you in the morning, yes?"
Rene nodded, turned, and left.
Felix took a deep breath as he closed the door. He looked at the leather bag and tightened his fist around the gathered fabric. "Foolish," he said, and walked toward the parlor.
Felix paused at the entry and watched Omar clean and bandage the wounds to Porthos' wrists. The old man moved stiffly, but never uttered a hint of discomfort. Aramis watched him, his right hand held close to his chest, cradled with his left. The bandaged appendage looked more like a club than a hand, and Felix stepped into the room when Porthos helped Omar stand to his feet and again relay his apologies.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Felix said, and he entered the room. "There is food ready." He looked toward Aramis and Porthos. "Your friend is in the stables —"
"I'll go," Aramis said, and then grasped Porthos' shoulder. "Get some food." He nodded toward d'Artagnan who was slow to stand. "Save some of that gorzałka for Athos," he chuckled as he turned toward the door, "he'll probably finish the bottle."
Felix stepped to the side and handed Omar the black purse. "The men found this on one of the men… Tomas I believe."
Omar pulled open the leather strings and looked inside at the coins. He nodded, closed the bag, and handed it back to Felix. "Give this to Remy."
Felix nodded.
"The bodies?" Omar said and looked toward Porthos as he helped d'Artagnan to his feet.
"Buried, my lord."
Omar nodded. "Please see that the musketeers are comfortable… I need some time alone."
Felix swallowed and watched him drag himself up the long staircase toward his room.