TRAVESTY OF JUSTICE.

Chapter Seventeen.

Noise...footsteps...who are these...voices...getting louder. Athos was suddenly awake as he scanned his surroundings, the two men, who were they. They were not the two from the Bastille. I...know. these men...the two associates of Madame Anon.

The swordsman clenched his teeth in pain as he felt a sudden kick to the ribs followed by a scornful laugh, he wanted to throw up, he felt dizzy, they are stacking up the kegs of gunpowder.

One of the men grinned as he turned and eyed the injured swordsman.

"You will be put out of your misery very soon muskereer...once this lot go up you won't know a thing about it, you will just be bits of nothing."

The other man snorted with ackowledgement as he turned to his comrade.

"Make haste, and pile them up high...we need to make certain there is nothing left for them to find." he ordered. "Tréville and the others will be here shortly."

Athos felt for the arrow at his side, his eyes averting to the two renegades as he reached for it, his vision becoming indistinct, he squinted his eyes again clearing the foggy shapes before him, he watched them as they continued to lay the fuses.

"That should do it." said the taller of the two as he uncliped his pistol and lit the flintlock.

"You better start yer prayin' boy." he smirked as he turned back to Athos.

The swordsman glared with a clenched jaw as he gasped through the pain in his side.

"GO TO HELL! he growled.

Both men began to chortle out loud.

"I do believe that is where you may be going musketeer." snorted the smaller man.

Having made a trail of fuses around the house the two men vacated at the back entrance closing the door behind them. The sound of horses hooves galloping faded away as they rode off.

Athos was breathing in gasps as he watched the flame travel towards the kegs. He twisted the arrow between his fingers as he endeavoured with all his might to reach the shackles. The smell of matchlock fumes filled the air as he struggled, the manacles so tight around his booted ankles the leather was congealed in blood, his hands shook with sheer cold and agitation as he twisted the arrow in the lock chamber around his ankles, the sudden stretching had made him bleed again, blood absorbing into his shirt.

ooo

Captain Tréville and his three men galloped through the trees as fast as their steeds allowed. Ned Wade and James Payne having succumbed to their dilemma and yeilded. The two men thinking they were about to be given passage back to England, his three men knowing full well that was never going to happen, not if the king had anything to do with it. All he wanted now was to get to Athos. The two Englishmen having informed them of his whereabouts.

Tréville came to a stop and held up his hand to halt the others as he noticed the house in the distance across the fields.

"That be the 'ouse! yelled Porthos as they came to a stop.

"It used to be a farm years ago...I remember it when I was about twelve." commented Tréville. "Been neglected for some time."

"I cannot imagine you being twelve captain." grinned Aramis. Prompting the others to laugh.

Tréville shrugged off a grin and quirked a brow.

"Come...lets go and free Athos and take him home."

ooo

Athos twisted and turned the arrow end in the lock chamber, his eyes keeping watch as the flame travelled along the fuses. His breaths becoming laboured as he gasped through his pain, his head was now throbbing, he felt like throwing up his entire stomach contents. His hands began to tremble as he endeavoured to unlock the shackle to no avail, his eyes fixed on the fuse flames as they slowly continued towards the gunpowder. Sweat had now beaded his face as he gasped and grunted to free himself.

ooo

The musketeers lept from their mounts and had tethered their horses to a large oak tree. The field had become a muddy mire, making it difficult for the animals to even trot let alone gallop.

"We will leave them here, the last thing we need is the horses becoming stuck in the mud." suggested Tréville.

Aramis took his medical bag from his saddle and threw it over his shoulder. The marksman didn't want to think what state they would find their friend in.

"Let us hope you will not need that." said d'Artagnan as they trudged through the mire.

Aramis sighed with a nod. "I pray you are right mon ami."

Porthos looked from one to the other, his features that of disgruntled dread.

"If they 'ave 'urt 'im bad...I'll kill 'em meself." he growled.

"Join the queue my friend." added Aramis patting his friends shoulder.

"The house is a somewhat hovel." commented d'Artagnan as he scrutinised the surroundings.

Tréville nodded. "They say the farmer killed himself after his family were slaughtered in cold blood by Spanish soldiers.

The musketeers swapped sorrowful glances with each other as they plodded the muddy terrain.

That instant the ground shuddered, as a hot blast emitted into the surrounding fields throwing the musketeers backwards off their feet, splintered wood, shards and cinders rained down onto the ground swirling in the air as lit embers and fragments spewed out in all directions. Black smoke plumes billowed outwards as the sudden blast ceased leaving what was once a dilapitated farm house into a heap of burning remnants and ash. Burning shards and splinters still fell from the sky.

A sudden silence enveloped the field and surrounding, nothing moved, just the sound of burning wood crackled in different parts of the open grounds.

The musketeers lay still, remnants of charred pieces of wood had scattered over the four mens bodies as they lay sprawled in the grass and mud.

oo

Aramis was first to rouse as he coughed and spluttered. The marksman wiping the bits of ash from his face, tiny splinters hung from his hair as he checked for the others.

Porthos and Tréville began to move followed by d'Artagnan. The Gascon also coughing up his guts as he tried to sit up.

The initial dazed shock waned swiftly as they became suddenly aware of what had happened. The four men stared wide eyed towards what had been a house, the beams still burning.

Aramis gasped out loud with despair as he rushed towards the burning embers.

"AAAATTHHOOSSSS! he shrieked. His voice breaking as he yelled. "NOOOOOOO!

Porthos grabbed the marksman before he got to the house. Aramis struggled with him to no avail, both men breaking down into tears as they slowly fell to their feet.

"He's...gone...Mis...he's gone! whispered Porthos as he held his weeping friend.

d'Artagnan sat on the grass, his head resting on his knees as he too wept openly, his shoulders shook as he choked and gasped.

Tréville stood rigid to the spot as he watched the remnants burn. His face was ashen, the lump in his throat was too big to swallow as he succumed to his own grief and sorrow.

He had lost one of his inseperables, he had lost the young man he thought of as a son, his lieutenant, his forward planner, the rational one. Was he about to wake up from a nightmare and see Athos sparring in the courtyard. Tréville had closed his eyes tightly, he opened them as he realised the the true, the tears still flowed down his face, the charred remains still burned. Athos was gone.

oooOOooo

TBC...

Hi Guys,

I know, a tear jerker. Sorry!

Hope you will still continue to read.

Thank you for the comments, love them.

Speak soon.

Pippa xxxx

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