Belated Christmas greetings to you all and best wishes for 2022. Here's hoping and praying that it will see a little more normality returning at some point, although I believe I said that at the end of 2020!

Sorry for the silence since the first week of the month. Building work went into overdrive! The floor was laid, decorators arrived, drainage and guttering were done, Christmas decorations put up, eight bookcases and another unit were built and the big book move began. Not quite there yet as a couple of things need to be completed by the builders and I have more things to do myself in finishing equipping and dressing the room but I have my bespoke library and writing space at last! No excuses now! Lol!

A slightly shorter chapter today but I am staying with family for Christmas and New Year, a far cry from this time last year! I hope you have all managed to be with loved ones.

So, what's happening with the storm and some very bedraggled Musketeers?

CHAPTER 22

I

"You need to go below!" Jacquot bellowed to the Musketeers as they huddled together on the sacks, heads bowed and water streaming from their hats as another wave crashed against the hull.

They had moved the sacks away from the side to a new position against the forecastle, so they had more shelter at their backs and solid fixtures to which they had lashed themselves. Athos was wedged between Aramis and Porthos. He was exhausted and limp and had sunk into a miserable silence.

At the Captain's order, though, his cold hands reached out to grasp a forearm of each of his brothers.

"You go below," he insisted, his voice barely audible in the storm. "I will stay here."

"No!" Aramis and Porthos chorused.

"Below! Now! All of you!" Jacquot yelled, hanging onto a rope as he struggled to maintain his footing on the slippery deck. "I need to concentrate on getting this ship into dock without worrying about you three."

"You do not have to concern yourself with us," Aramis shouted above the wind in an attempt to reassure him.

"I am Captain here," Jacquot answered. "You are my responsibility whilst you are on this ship."

Athos raised his head. "Then we release you from that responsibility."

"It's not as easy as that," Jacquot shot back. "It is safer for you below."

Athos fumbled with the rope that bound him, freeing himself and pushing to his feet to face the Captain. "I will not go below," he ground out.

None of the Musketeers was prepared for what happened next.

Jacquot sighed and began to turn as if to walk away but then he suddenly wheeled back, fist clenched as he threw all his weight behind the punch that connected with Athos' jaw. The Musketeer's head snapped back with the impact, his eyes rolled in his head and he went down like one of the heavy sacks upon which he had been sitting.

"My ship, my rules," Jacquot snarled. "Now take him below; I don't care how sick he gets." He strode away, the rolling deck presenting him with no problems.

Aramis watched him go. "There are simpler ways," he said to the departing figure.

"Not sure what they are," Porthos grunted, bending and hauling his unconscious brother into a sitting position so that he could get a better hold of him. "At least I wasn't the one who knocked 'im out."

"We're still the ones who'll have to deal with him when he wakes up though," Aramis reminded the big Musketeer.

Between them, they manoeuvred Athos to the head of the stairs that led down from the main deck. The opening was square and led into the dark depths of the vessel. Porthos slid a rope around Athos' chest and under his armpits. Bracing himself as best he could, he lowered Athos down the stairs to Aramis who had gone first, straining against the dead weight. Despite his best efforts, Porthos could not allow for the rough sea, and he winced as he heard Athos' head connect with the wooden stairs.

"That'll keep 'im out a bit longer," he muttered to himself.

Aramis reached up and guided the figure down, sinking to the lower deck with Athos and untying the rope which Porthos had dropped before he, too, descended.

"Where we goin' to take 'im?"

Aramis looked to where the space beneath the stairs opened up. "We'll find a lantern and settle down over there, so we are at least close to the stairs. That might help when he wakes up."

The height between the decks was limited so that even Aramis had to bow his head to avoid cracking his brow on the low beams. Porthos, meanwhile, stooped like an old man to move about and he grunted his own displeasure. They both knew that the cramped conditions, whilst uncomfortable for them, would only serve to heighten Athos' anxiety.

"No good appealin' to Tanquerel's good side an' takin' up a corner of his cabin then?"

Aramis frowned. "With any luck, Jacquot will have us docked before Athos wakes up but if not …" he hesitated, "he won't want to be within the confines of a cabin, and we do not know how he'll react." He shrugged, "And if he doesn't react well, the last person he will want to witness that weakness will be Tanquerel. Now, let's get ourselves organised."

II

It did not take long to settle themselves on their damp cloaks, having sourced more fresh water and another bucket in case Athos awoke before they reached the safe harbour of Calais. The air below the closed deck was hot and stale and crew members moved back and forth as well as going up on deck, the blast of cold air refreshing as they exited but also admitting a sudden spray of freezing water and spray.

"Reckon I'll be 'appy when we tie up an' can go ashore," Porthos growled as the vessel lurched so that he had to put out a hand to steady himself. "I'm getting' tired o' this so I know Athos'll be fed up with it too."

As if he heard his name, Athos groaned and began to stir.

"Think I should 'it 'im again?" Porthos asked.

Aramis shook his head. "It's too late for that."

He watched as Athos scrabbled to sit up and looked about him wildly. There was no hiding the extent of the dark, intimidating wood and the low ceiling that exacerbated the claustrophobic sense. The flickering lantern cast eerie patterns in their immediate vicinity whilst a few others hanging at intervals through the cavernous space failed to keep the threatening shadows at bay.

The last Athos remembered was being up on deck; it had been cold and wet; the air had been fresh and although the sky had darkened with storm clouds, it was still daylight. But now ….

That was the moment when realisation dawned and the panic began to hit. He was already struggling to get to his feet when Aramis grabbed his arms to keep him seated.

"No, no, no, Athos. Stay still," he said, trying to get his attention as he placed a hand on his brother's chest in an attempt to soothe him. The next second, he was sitting on his rump on the wooden planks, the breath knocked out of him as Athos, eyes wide, began to fight.

"Enough!" Porthos roared, eager to regain control by catching him in a tight bear hug from behind and pinning his arms to his side.

"Cannot … breathe," Athos gasped, struggling against his captor. "Have to …. get out …."

Aramis scrambled to his knees and caught Athos' head in his hands. "Calm yourself. You'll be fine."

But Athos bucked against the hands that held him, his head snapping back and catching Porthos hard on the jaw. Fortunate that he did not put his teeth through his tongue, it only served to make the big Musketeer tighten his grip. "Keep still!"

"Athos, look at me," Aramis repeated. "Slow down and breathe with me," and he took one of Athos' hands and held it against his own chest. "Breathe in; now out." He said the instruction over and over again, keeping his voice steady and wondering if his brother could hear him above the creaking vessel. He could see Porthos speaking, his mouth close to Athos' ear, but could not determine what was being said.

Altering his approach, he cupped Athos' face again in his hands, holding him still.

"I have to get out," Athos insisted but it was encouraging that he was more coherent and his breathing less ragged. The fact that he might have unintentionally hurt his brothers further perhaps had registered with him and assisted in quietening him.

"Listen to me," Aramis persisted. "You can't go up on deck; it's not safe."

"It is not safe down here," Athos retorted, trying unsuccessfully to free his head.

"You are safer here than up there," Aramis went on. "We are close to Calais and will dock soon. Nothing can happen to us now. We are past the sands and will not run aground and there are no rocks immediately outside the harbour." He sent a silent prayer heavenward that he was not telling a falsehood, knowingly or otherwise.

III

It took time and much gentle coaxing from both Aramis and Porthos but, gradually, Athos controlled his breathing although he was drenched in sweat in the process; the fear that he felt at being closed in below the main deck was very real. His brothers knew of his terror and the reason behind it, but they had never seen it being manifested so clearly as now and they were disturbed and helpless in equal measure. They were doing their best to support him but thought their efforts fell short of what was needed for the horror in his eyes was distressing to witness.

They had seen the stoic, morose and angry sides of him; heard the extremes of caustic wit, the gentle words of encouragement and everything else in between; they had welcomed and valued his sharp, strategic mind and respected his silences, and they had experienced his bouts of bitter desperation when the ghosts of his past reared their ugly heads.

This terror, though, was something else entirely and it was disturbing; both would have done anything to spare him the pain for this was a very different Athos and it discomforted them.

Porthos decided that he could release his hold but did not move away, preferring to remain as the human wall against which Athos leaned as Aramis urged him to sip some water and continued to speak to him quietly.

Preoccupied as the Inseparables were, they did not look towards the shadows and so never saw Tanquerel watching them.

He frowned for the Musketeer Athos was an enigma. Intelligent and a highly skilled soldier on the one hand, here he was an utter mess. More to the point, he had slain Chesman despite being hampered with sickness. The Englishman had been inept in his task and easily dispatched as a consequence.

There was no concealing Chesman's demise from Tanquerel's employer and the news would be poorly received, so much so that the emissary had his own fears that he would be wrongly blamed for the incident. He needed to make amends, to prove that he was worthy of the task that had been set him and therefore he could no longer rely on others to fulfill their specific responsibilities.

There was no other way. He would have to take matters into his own hands in dealing with the Musketeers and the sooner the better.

He would begin with the nuisance that was Athos.