Chapter 6: Le Libre-Arbitre
Athos got startled a few hours later when he heard heavy steps coming down the stairs. Judging by his inner clock, it was probably about one or two o'clock in the morning. When someone busted the door open, the others awoke as well. Aramis and Isko didn't get very much sleep, but Reive, Ria and Hugo jerked awake with surprised sounds escaping from their lips.
The guard that provided them with food earlier rushed through the doorway, gripping a torch with his right hand and holding the door open with the left.
Athos held his breath, his heart nervously pounding loudly in his chest, as he watched a tall figure with a red cloak enter the basement. Considering the odd behavior of the guards, that was probably the leader of them. Their Baron.
Athos had his difficulties to make out the man's features. The dusky light from the torch was the only source of light in this room. The Baron had longer, messy hair, hanging tousled over his shoulders. He sported a dark goatee and cold, blue eyes.
They all hauled themselves up in a standing position, awaiting the Baron and what he planned on doing. Except for Athos. He stayed exactly where he was, a subtle gesture of disrespect.
"Gentlemen," the Baron spoke. "Excuse my late intrusion, but I fear we don't have much time."
His voice was low, but the tone in it was sharp and haunting.
"If you're planning on selling us to the King in exchange for gold, I'm sorry we have to disappoint you," Aramis stated annoyed, "you won't succeed."
De Terré huffed a laugh.
"No, my apologies. Let's be honest here, the musketeer regiment lost their reputation at the court. The King seems to place his trust into other people these days. He won't pay a single coin for you."
True, Athos thought and he exchanged a quick look with Aramis. The King seemed to count more on Rochefort lately, using every occasion to point out how much the musketeers disappointed him again, no matter how much they succeeded.
"I'm going to make this very quick. You've probably heard of my unfortunate fight with the Baron de la Serre. I'm going to attack him tomorrow morning, and I'm going to expulse him from his estate. It's mine."
"Incredibly stupid and childish," Athos murmured in a sour tone.
The guard with the torch took a step forward.
"Be careful here, musketeer;" he shouted, "this is Baron Raston de Terré you are talking to."
Anger welled up in Athos.
"A title doesn't make any actions less stupid!" he shot back, but his voice was still controlled as usual.
For a second, nobody made a sound. The other prisoners gaped at Athos, not sure what they just heard, while Aramis watched the scene with a curious stare.
De Terré frowned, all of his attention on Athos, who glared at him with his usual, piercing and self-confident expression in his eyes.
"You know?" he snarled, "I heard the stories about a nobleman who gave up his lands to fight among the musketeers, under a different name." He frowned. "Your presence reminds me of this story."
Athos indifferently raised both eyebrows. "Interesting."
De Terré didn't dig any further, and Athos couldn't help but be a bit relieved. "What is it, by the way?"
Athos just stared at him expectantly.
"Your name," de Terré added, impatiently shifting from one foot to another, "Who are you?"
Athos remained silent, not sure whether it was a good idea. But, on the other hand, what would de Terré achieve by knowing their names?
"He's not going to ask again, musketeer," the guard spat, pronouncing the last word with so much contempt that Athos felt a shudder running down his back. The swordsman exchanged a quick look with Aramis. The other musketeer shrugged, his eyes glowing in the dark irresolutely.
"Athos," he eventually answered between clenched teeth.
De Terré nodded and pulled out a little dagger from his belt to point at his prisoners.
"So what do we got here?" he said, talking more to himself than to anyone in particular, "Athos, the musketeer. Ria, de la Serre's maid."
He wandered to the opposite cell and threw a glance at it.
"Musketeer! Your name."
"Aramis," came the short and annoyed answer.
De Terré nodded briefly and turned on the heel to point at Hugo with his dagger.
"They told me you are Hugo, de la Serre's lumberjack. But I don't know about you…"
He eyes Reive intensely. The boy stood at the bars, not twitching a single muscle.
"Leave him alone!" Isko yelled and slammed his fist against the robust iron.
De Terré flinched slightly and his attention was drawn to the giant man, who stood at the iron bars of the next cell, his fists clenched around the iron and with the most intimidating expression Athos had seen in a while.
"You, my friend," de Terré started and fidgeted with his dagger, "I remember you. In a fight about two weeks ago, you decimated the number of my men by eight. What's your name, bastard?"
"None of your business," Isko growled.
"I fear it is. This is your son, I am sure." He pointed at Reive and suddenly, he drew his pistol and leveled it at the boy. Isko tensed before he swallowed hard.
"Isko."
A broad and dangerous smile spread across the Baron's face and he turned to look at each of them separately.
"Alright. Let me get this straight. You three…," and he used his gun to point at Aramis, Isko and Athos, "are going to fight alongside my men tomorrow at dawn."
Athos' breath hitched as he stared at the Baron in disbelief.
"You want us to fight and kill de la Serre's men for you?" Aramis exclaimed and his voice was full of derision.
"That's quite right."
"You can't force us to," Athos interposed calmly, but on the inside, he knew he wasn't going to have a choice.
"I have his son," de Terré snarled triumphantly, and wavered the pistol dangerously into Reive's direction, causing Isko to pull so hard on his chain the attachment on the wall creaked awfully. "And I heard enough about you musketeers and the values you claim to stand up for that you are not letting innocent people pay for your ... neglect. That's why Ria and Hugo are also here."
Athos looked over to Aramis, whose lips trembled violently as he tried to control his anger.
"You wouldn't," the marksman eventually hissed.
"Ah, I expected you not to take this seriously," de Terré stated and straightened up inches in front of Aramis' and Isko's cell.
Suddenly he turned around, aimed his pistol and fired.
The sound was deafening in the closed and small basement, and echoed on and on. Athos waited a few seconds until he uncovered his ears again, staring in shock at what just happened.
Reive was lying on the ground, his hand clutched around his upper arm, where blood seeped through his fingers and stained the fabric of his shirt red. Isko was roaring, slamming against the bars, joggling them with so much violence Athos was surprised he didn't excavate the door.
Athos and Aramis both stared in shock at the young boy lying on the ground of his prison cell, Hugo kneeling down next to him, the hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture.
"You will fight for me. If I hear one word about you trying to escape or trying to turn against my men, I will make sure the next shot won't go in his arm. You would be outnumbered anyway."
De Terré watched as Hugo tore a piece of his clothing and pressed it on Reive's arm.
"You win this fight for me, or watch how I punish innocent people for your lack of cooperation," he continued, "and that may not be the only thing you'd have to endure. I only ask one little favor: demonstrate your fighting skills tomorrow morning."
He gave a signal with his hand and the three girls they saw earlier rushed in, each of them holding a small stack of clothing in their hands. De Terré took them and threw one to Athos, the other two into Isko's and Aramis' cell.
"Put this on. You are my mercenaries now, so I want you to look like them. See you tomorrow."
And he turned on the heel and stormed out of the door, the guards carefully following him before they slammed the door shut.
Athos watched as Aramis tried to calm Isko down, patting his shoulder and squeezing it reassuringly. Isko, until now seeming very calm and gentle to his friends, turned around and grabbed Aramis by the shoulders, their faces only inches apart.
"Promise me, you will do what they ask. Promise me!"
Aramis nodded slightly, and as Athos looked closely, he even looked a little bit scared. Not of Isko, but of what was to come.
"We do not have a choice, I fear," he responded, his voice quivering with sadness, "they are sending you against your own people. Rest assured Athos and I will do everything within our power for the least violent outcome."
Isko let go and sank against the bars, watching his son with a longing gaze.
Athos exchanged a knowing look with Aramis.
He and himself, they knew how to fight without killing another one. They had enough training lessons to do that. And Athos knew both of them were going to try that tomorrow, if they didn't find a way to free the hostages before. But about Isko, they weren't so sure. He was sent against his own people, but it was the life of his son that was threatened.
Athos sighed and ran a hand above his face, before he started to put on the clothes he had just been handed. They needed a solution. And they needed it fast.
After about three hours of restless sleep, Athos awoke again, and he was greeted by Ria who offered him some water out of a can. He gratefully accepted and felt how the cold liquid restored the strength in his muscles and bones. Aramis and Isko were awake too. After de Terré had shot Reive, Aramis had been giving instructions to Hugo on how to treat the arm the best way, considering the possibilities they had down here. Now, both of them were leaning against the stone wall, and Athos could almost hear Aramis thinking intensely.
Both of them grew more nervous the longer they had to wait and the lesser time they had to come up with a solution. Athos had no idea how all of them could get out of this alive, so he decided to count on his ability to fight people without seriously harming them. Aramis would do the same. Isko – not so much. But Athos would feel better if he had an actual idea why de Terré declared war to this Baron de la Serre. Why he wanted to trample down and burn all of his lands, and fight all of his people. But he knew very well he was not in the position to ask.
Loud steps behind the doors announced the arrival of de Terré or his men, and Athos laboriously got up on his feet. Isko, Aramis and himself all wore the uniform of de Terré's mercenaries now, held in a dark grey. It had been quite a challenge to put on the corslet and the dark shirt above it thanks to their hands that were still shackles, but the profile of the clothing was made for that. Athos and Aramis' musketeer's pauldrons lay on the ground of their cells.
The door snapped open and de Terré entered, about six of his men behind him, all dressed in the same clothing, but with some sort of scarf disguising their faces.
When de Terré spotted Athos, Aramis and Isko, all standing up straight and wearing the clothes he gave them, he clapped his hands in an overjoyed manner.
"I see you decided to follow my instructions!" he exclaimed, his voice soaring an octave higher due to his obvious happiness.
Aramis snorted.
"You are making us choose between these people here, and the ones you want us to fight."
"That, musketeer, is true. But the way you are fighting de la Serre's men is up to you. All I want is winning this fight against de la Serre. I don't care how you do that. If you refuse to raise your sword against them, rest assured that your three cellmates here will not have a very pleasant or long stay here. The boy already doesn't look like he is enjoying this too much."
Isko growled, but thanks to a warning glare of Aramis, he kept quiet by the mention of his son, who lay sprawled across the floor of his cell, his face pale and his hand clutching his arm.
Aramis' eyes found Athos, and they came to a silent agreement. They were going to try everything to get all of them out of this unharmed. Even if they just gained a little bit more time by the end of the day would be considered a win. Maybe, during the battle, they were able to give the opponent, de la Serre's men, some information. But it had to be subtle. When that was noticed, who knew the outcome.
"Open the doors. And unshackle them," de Terré ordered.
Once two of the guards opened Athos' cell, one of them grabbed him tightly, while the other one undid the shackle around his wrist. He was shoved out of the cell and lined up next to Aramis and Isko, both flanked by two guards each.
"I'm sorry, but this is a measure I have to take," de Terré continued and the next moment, Athos felt a hand on his shoulders and he was gagged.
Same happened to Aramis and Isko, and Aramis' eyes squeezed shut as the gag strained the large bruising on his face.
"I can't let you spill information to my enemy, can I?" de Terré hissed and passed his mercenaries the same facial disguise they all wore and it was tied around the three prisoner's faces, leaving only the eyes exposed.
"I'd advice you not to take these off," de Terré snarled and Athos guessed he referred to the scarf around their faces. Well, his hands were free. He could undo it on the battlefield, but he guessed that de Terré would make sure he was watched every second.
All the men in the room now looked the same. Some were taller, some were broader, but all in all, no one was able to spot a difference. De Terré had his army, and he limited their personalities to two things: the hunger for money, and, in Athos', Isko's and Aramis' case, the sheer will to get everyone through this unscathed. That nobody had to pay for what they could refuse to do.
The two guards released the grip they had on Athos and handed him a weapon belt, equipped with his rapier and his dagger. With their faces disguised, and the weapons around their waist, they all looked the same, and more importantly, they all looked criminal. The holder for his pistol, however, was empty.
He raised a questioning eyebrow at de Terré and motioned to the missing pistol, since he was muted by the gag.
"That would be a risk for my men, Monsieur Athos," de Terré explained and turned around.
Athos shot Aramis an apologetic look and was surprised with the expression in his friend's one good eye he was greeted with. Under the blatant irritation was a small, but strong trace of fear creeping into the usually so fierce musketeer's eye.
Athos swallowed hard. This was not a situation they were used to. They have been beaten, captured, stabbed, shot. Separated, trapped and under fire. But they have never been slaves. They never had to shred their values, the values they have been taught their whole life, and who just grew stronger through the musketeer brotherhood.
Athos always claimed to stand up for his principles. That he served the King of France in the name of justice and to protect the country from all that wanted to bring it down on its knees. How could he still say that about himself after today? When he helped a madman to achieve his own, violent and immoral goals? When he was no better than the bandits he was arresting on a regular basis?
He closed his eyes and gathered himself, before he followed de Terré and his men out of the door, sensing Aramis behind him. He knew what he needed to try. And for the first time in a long time, Athos was honestly scared.
Learning that most of the mercenaries in de Terré's self proclaimed army were red guards that were hired in exchange for a lot of money didn't help to lift the spirits of the two musketeers. They were lined up in safe cover of the trees. The three prisoners were held as far apart of each other as possible, with Isko on the outer left side, Aramis in the middle, and Athos on the right, surrounded by red guards, also wearing the same uniform. It bothered him that his mind was still foggy, and too slow for his liking. For the past day, he had tried to remember how they had been able to drug him, but he did not remember anything after he and the others had been in Tréville's office. Still, he tried to focus. He knew what he needed to do.
The farmers and villagers they were about to attack were safely hidden behind a self-made wall, consisting of old rocks and rotten, wooden piles and beams. This was a prepared battlefield, Athos had no doubt. The men of de la Serre had been warned and they had time to prepare. The villagers for sure had firearms, and they were just waiting for them to enter the open scenery. Every smart strategist would've retreated now, realizing that de Terré was clearly at disadvantage.
But de Terré wasn't such a man. He was blinded by his anger and wrath, for whatever the Baron de la Serre did to him.
"Attack!" he bellowed and pointed at the village with a sword drawn.
De Terré's henchmen didn't hesitate for a second and started to run. Athos was locked on the spot, his eyes wide as he just waited for the shots to ring out.
"Move!" one of the disguised red guards shouted and pushed him forward. Athos stumbled through the mud but he regained his balance and joined the charge with a heavy heart.
The first row of henchmen was felled immediately by the rain of bullets. The villagers knew how to aim, or perhaps de la Serre had also hired soldiers from Paris. The red guards and everyone else who owned a pistol returned the fire, and they all used that opportunity to run towards the wall. Athos heard someone shouting commands behind the wall and within seconds, the men and women of de la Serre jumped over the barricade and drew their rapiers.
Athos took a split second to have a look at the defenders of the village. There were mostly civilians, armed with rusted blades and pistols, but they were swinging their blades as if they had practice. Even the red guards were surprised.
A man in front of Athos was attacked by a woman, and she fought and handled her sword so quickly that the red guard didn't even had the slightest chance. He went to the ground with blood seeping from a deep wound to the chest, his eyes staring up disbelievingly to the woman. She finished him with a fierce yell before she came running at Athos with a sword risen above her head.
Please don't, Athos thought, not wanting to fight against these people. The woman might be good, but he knew that he was better and far more experienced with a sword.
He made a step to the side before he drew his weapon, because he saw no other chance on how to parry her forceful and fast attacking blows. He immediately went into defensive mode, not wanting to hurt the lady, and he blocked all of her attacks with ease.
He spotted de Terré's most loyal henchmen, his bodyguard or whatsoever, about ten feet away, finishing his duel with a firing of his pistol. His eyes locked on Athos and he froze in his movements, noticing the little effort the musketeer made to bring this battle to an end.
He gave Athos a stare that spoke volumes, and Athos knew that if he didn't act right now, someone innocent might pay for it.
The woman launched another attack at him, and this time, Athos didn't raise his sword to block it. He dove underneath the blade and made a wide and quick step to the side, before he grabbed her sword-arm, wrenched it until she dropped the blade and dropped on her knees with a guttural scream.
"I'm sorry," Athos tried to say, but all that made it through the gag were muffled words, not comprehensive for anyone. She stayed on her knees, her eyes shut in pain and her hand clamped around her shoulder.
Athos' eyes found the bodyguard again. He granted him a small and satisfied nod.
The musketeer growled, the guilt and sadness about the current situation wrapping his mind in a cold embrace.
Before he had the chance to catch his breath, he was nearly overrun by two men at once. They attacked from two directions, but Athos, thanks to all these years of training, blocked their swords with facility.
The feeling inside that told him how wrong it was what he was doing here was now dominated by the sheer will to survive, and to manage not to be impaled by one of those rusty blades they kept swinging at him.
Athos landed a shot on one of the man's shoulder, nothing more than a shallow cut, but it was enough to startle his opponent. With one precise punch against the chin, the man was knocked out and he collapsed to the ground like a puppet whose strings have been cut.
The second opponent was a little harder to fight. He danced around Athos with so much agility that it was hard for Athos to realize that this was nothing more but a farmer who had been instructed in how to use a rapier.
With a trick he had been practicing with d'Artagnan a lot, Athos was able to slap the weapon out of his hand and force the man down to his knees. He planned to leave it like this, and not to knock him out or do something else that might incapacitate the poor man for the rest of the day.
But before he had the chance to move in any direction, a sharp pain exploded in his head and he saw stars as something hit him hard against the head from behind. His descent to the ground was immediate and the impact of the fall drew all the air out of his lungs. A foot on his wrist made him lose grip of his sword.
His vision was blurred, and his hearing muffled. He noticed the fuzzy outline of a man towering over him. It was that exact moment Athos knew he was defeated. The numbness spread from his mind into his entire body, and he could do nothing but wait for the man who brought him down to make the final strike.
His mind, even though it was fogged, processed a lot of thoughts at once.
Of all the different scenarios he had pictured of how he would go down one day, alone among the lines of immoral men, extradited to the mercy of a man he would've stood up for under different circumstances, wasn't one of them.
He always thought he would go down side by side with a brother, or to protect the life of one of them.
For the King.
For France.
Not like this. Not without any honor, not without a cause.
Now he lay here in the mud, the moments passing by slowly, all alone. Aramis wasn't there, probably fighting his own battle right now. Maybe he fell too. He was alone, and in a position he never wanted to be in.
According to his own moral code, he should've helped the vulnerable, the one being mistreated by justice. Now he was felled by one of them, and the worst part of it was that the world was going to think he fought for a violent madman with no honor.
He had failed Tréville. He had failed Porthos and d'Artagnan who would never understand how he ended up here. He had failed Aramis, leaving him alone in the hands of a cruel lunatic.
Please don't think wrong of me. I didn't mean to. I had no choice.
Athos now was able to see the blurred features of the man above him raise his sword above his head, preparing for the last strike. Muffled voices reached his ears, yelling, and another silhouette entered his view, shouting at the man, but Athos wasn't able to make out what they were saying. His lids grew heavy as the pain in his head became unbearable.
He didn't see the blade crashing down.