"William!" Amalia shouted. She grabbed the skirts of her royal blue dress and ran for the riverbank. She stumbled, fell forward onto her hands and knees, and then struggled to her feet. "William!" Brown hair frayed from the long braid that snaked around the back of her head. "William!"
The boy waved his hands in the air, and tried to scream past the water that invaded his eyes, nose, and throat. The garbled cries of a child had everyone scrambling.
"D'Artagnan!" Athos shouted and pointed downriver. "To the break up ahead — and grab a rope!" He hastily unbuckled his weapons belt, tossed it aside as he ran toward the dock. "Porthos, Aramis, follow him!" He shouted over his shoulder. He tossed his doublet aside, pulled off his boots with awkward hops, and then ran along the dock. Without pause, Athos dove into the rushing water while staying as close to shore as he could, hoping to catch up with the child.
D'Artagnan tightened his fist around his horse's reins and swung them over the animal's ears, but the big black balked and tossed his head. Rather than fight with his own mount, D'Artagnan grabbed Kelpie's reins, swung himself onto the saddle, grabbed the rope Porthos tossed him, and then tightened his legs and urged the horse forward. Aramis quickly followed, with Porthos taking up the rear. They galloped along the river's edge, across the sandy banks, and kept watch for the boy and for Athos. The horses jumped downed trees, stretched their long legs, and chewed at their bits as their riders encouraged more speed in an effort to keep up and pass William and Athos, who struggled within the rapids while searching for the boy.
Water was a force all her own and a force that no-one dared challenge. Athos fought it, but found himself using the strength of the water to guide him in the direction the child had gone. Arms and legs met the unmerciful hit and bump of rocks and branches, while he struggled to keep his head above water, and listen for the cries of a boy lost within the rapids. Water hit the sides of the bank and continued to wash away the dirt and stones that held the roots of trees that were already at risk of falling.
They could not hear Athos' shouts as he called for William, nor could they hear the screams of the boy's mother as she was held back by Prince Henry. The roaring of the water that rushed along river, the slapping of water against the bank, and the heavy huffs of the horses' breath as they galloped along the sandy shore made little impression.
Prince Henry had run to his wife and pulled her from the bank of the river and they both fell backward to avoid its merciless force. Amalia cried for her son, frantically tried to escape her husband's hold, while Henry watched the musketeers as they galloped away. He could barely see Athos' head as he swam and fought the rapids. Henry could not see his son. As hard as he tried, he could not see him through the rapids. His heart sank and he found himself whispering words of prayer. The Dutch guards stood firm around him, guarding him from any threat should the moment of distraction prove opportunistic for the enemy. Weapons were out, and the men looked ready to fight.
Athos struggled, gasped for air, and searched desperately for flailing arms. The rushing water swept him down river as he looked for the boy. He could hardly hear the shouts from Porthos and Aramis as d'Artagnan rode Kelpie at a gallop along the water's edge. The big black stretched his long legs, his neck, and flared his nostrils. Foam dripped from the horse's mouth and splattered against his chest, shoulders, and legs.
A mottled scream echoed and Athos fought the water and turned to his left and spotted William, who was once again dragged beneath the surface. Athos struggled through blurred vision and then fought his way toward him. The water wasn't deep — not along the edge — but the force of the river swept him along despite his strength and skill as a swimmer. He used rocks, and tree branches, and then used the force of the water to guide him in the direction he wanted to go. He looked more confident than he felt. He knew the water, the overwhelming rush of it, and how easy it was to get lost within the rushing rapids.
Athos hit the trunk of a tree, felt his shoulder protest to the awkward movement, and then ducked beneath it. His shirt ripped near his sleeve after catching a broken branch, and he was once again forced down river. Athos looked toward the bank and watched Porthos and Aramis point frantically toward the curve in the river and William again appeared. The boy screamed, waved his arms, and was once again hit with a force he could not battle. Athos took a deep breath and shifted himself to quickly follow, and when he was close enough, he reached for William's arm and grabbed him. Again, the boy screamed and then frantically clawed at Athos before finally wrapping his arms about the musketeer's neck. He choked, coughed, and clenched his eyes tightly closed.
Athos wrapped an arm around William and looked for the others. Porthos and Aramis urged their horses forward. D'Artagnan had positioned himself near the water's edge. Astride Kelpie, he gathered the length of rope and once again nudged the horse's sides and felt him lunge forward.
"Grab the rope!" d'Artagnan shouted. With a broad swing of his arm, he flung it into the river and felt it tug as Athos grabbed it, but quickly released it when a sudden rush of water slammed him against an unseen ledge. Both he and William sank below the surface, but quickly resurfaced and gasped for breath.
D'Artagnan frantically regathered the rope and once again urged Kelpie forward. The big black followed his cues, shifted right or left depending on which heel his rider used. Then suddenly, to better gather his strength, d'Artagnan leaned forward, hugged Kelpie's neck with his left arm, positioned his body against Kelpie's left side, extended his right leg over the saddle and tossed the rope with his right hand. He felt it tug, felt Kelpie lean further to his left and bear the weight as they moved farther from shore. D'Artagnan pushed himself back into the saddle, felt Kelpie slow to a canter, and then a trot before he stopped completely. The big black huffed, flared his nostrils, flickered his ears forward, and tossed his head. White foam dripped from his mouth, his chest, and dripped down his side beneath the saddle blanket.
Athos gripped the rope and felt it pull and rip at the tender skin of his right hand. The force of the water shifted from his back to his side and he felt himself pulled toward the bank. He took a deep breath, adjusted his hold on William, who continued to cry with his arms wrapped around Athos' neck. Athos shifted, stumbled as his feet reached the rocky ground and he finally paused once he was on shore. Wet sand seeped between his toes, speckled his feet and ankles, and his britches hung loose on narrow hips. He patted William's back, spoke gently to him, and took a deep breath when d'Artagnan walked toward them.
D'Artagnan dismounted, and shook his head as he looked them both over. "I don't ever want to do that again," he said and pressed his hand to the boy's back. "How is he?"
Athos struggled to regain his breath and just nodded.
"That was impressive riding," Aramis said, and dismounted before his horse came to a complete stop. He stepped forward, looked William over as he continued to cling to Athos, and nodded in reassurance. "We should get him back to Paris. It's warm, but that water is chilly and who knows what's in it. He may succumb to illness if not careful."
William hitched his breath, coughed twice, and looked in the direction of his parents, who were hidden behind trees and the curve of the river.
"Are you alright?" Aramis asked and looked at Athos, who nodded and stepped toward Porthos, who pulled his horse to a stop.
"Get the boy back to his parents," Athos said and lifted William toward Porthos, who wrapped a protective arm around the boy's back as Willam flung his arms around Porthos' neck, and his legs around Porthos' waist. He reassured the boy with a firm rub to his back and nodded once to Athos. Porthos turned his horse toward the awaiting family and spoke softly to the boy, reassuring him.
"We should get them back to the palace — I'm sure the king will understand," Aramis said. "The child should see a physician."
Athos nodded, pulled at the front of his blouse, and then ran his fingers through his hair. He looked at Aramis, who grabbed his shoulder and nodded.
"If you had hesitated," Aramis said, "the boy would have drowned."
Athos exhaled through relaxed lips. "You should ride back to the palace, inform Minister Treville about what's happened. The rest of us will travel back with them."
"Are you alright?" Aramis said and looked again at Athos, whose britches dripped water from the ties at his calves.
"I'm fine. Go. Check the boy and inform Treville."
Aramis looked toward d'Artagnan, mounted his horse, and quickly rode off.
Athos gingerly walked toward a large boulder, took a seat, and leaned forward with his hands on his thighs. He threaded his fingers through his hair to push his bangs from his eyes, and spit. He breathed hard as muscles shook from exertion.
"Are you sure you're alright?" d'Artagnan asked and led Kelpie toward him.
"I just need a moment." Athos coughed once, spit again, and then wiped his mouth. He was exhausted, battling the rapids, searching for William, and getting the boy to safety had his muscles quivering and his lungs burning.
D'Artagnan gently ran his hand along Kelpie's neck and said, "He's got heart." He stepped backward when the horse rubbed his head against him. "And he never flinched."
Athos looked up, rubbed his face, and looked at his horse. "Maybe he deserves a drink."
D'Artagnan chuckled with a nod. He reached out his hand, pulled Athos to his feet, and walked with him back toward the Prince and his company. "I think we all deserve a drink."