Aramis entered d'Artagnan's tent and found him sitting on the edge of his bunk, coughing. A lantern glowed atop the small wooden box next to the head of the bed. Constance's locket rested next to it. D'Artagnan's heavy cough was tinged with mucus and came from deep within his chest. Sweat pooled around his neck, dampened the collar of his shirt, and ran in the shape of a V down his back. He looked toward Aramis and shook his head, and then coughed again. D'Artagnan rested his elbows on his knees, let his hands hang toward the floor, and hunched his shoulders. He looked miserable.

"Drink this," Aramis said. He handed d'Artagnan a cup of steaming tea and then pressed his hand to his forehead. "You're feverish."

"I'm freezing," d'Artagnan said. "I stood by the fire," he motioned toward the tent's exit, "but it got too hot."

"You spent two days fighting when you should have been resting."

"I will not," d'Artagnan paused, winced, and coughed again, "die of illness when my brothers are on the battlefield."

"Now you're being unreasonable and I, for one, will not explain that to Constance should the time come."

"She would dig me up and kill me all over again," d'Artagnan said. He covered his mouth with a cloth and spit. "It feels like there is something in my lung I need to expel."

"Fluid," Aramis said. He grabbed a stool and took a seat while he looked at d'Artagnan.

The young man was pale, sweat beaded his brow, his neck, and his flushed features. He sipped at the tea, groaned, and then coughed again.

"Drink it all," said Aramis.

"You sound like a mother —"

"I sound like a physician," Aramis said, "and a concerned one at that. Does the coughing get worse when you lay down?"

D'Artagnan nodded and with his fingers wrapped around the cup, he continued to sip. "The coughing comes in spells." His voice was rough, his throat raw, and his chest burned when he breathed.

"Are you coughing up blood?"

"No," d'Artagnan said. "Just phlegm."

"You need rest and plenty of tea —"

"It's awful," d'Artagnan said and cringed when he finished the last of it. "Honey, would at least sweeten it."

Aramis frowned. "There's honey in it."

"Not enough."

Aramis grasped his thighs and stood. He looked at d'Artagnan's bed, the single pillow and the blanket that Constance had sewn for him. "I'm going to find you more pillows." He took the cup. "That will allow you to lie back, but not flat… perhaps then you can sleep."

D'Artagnan rubbed his face and nodded. "Sleep would be good." He yawned, rested his elbow on his knee and then his cheek on his fist. "How many men did we lose?"

Aramis swallowed. "Forty one," he said.

"Forty one dead?"

"Forty one, including 23 wounded — we were fortunate." D'Artagnan pulled the blanket over his shoulders and nodded. "The cannons?"

Aramis quirked a smile and said, "Out of commission — at least for a while. General Sanchez agreed to a cease-fire until the battlefield could be cleared. Spanish and French are moving the bodies of the deceased with the help of the refugees."

D'Artagnan coughed again, this time deep within his chest, and then he covered his mouth and spit again. "I should be out there."

"Porthos is seeing to your men," Aramis said. "You need rest and time to heal. I have a feeling Athos will need us in the days to come."

D'Artagnan nodded. "It was a good idea he had… sending the men around to the far sides of the battlefield to attack… and using the rods to damage the cannons." He looked at Aramis. "They never expected that."

Aramis nodded and curled his lips into a subtle smile. "Athos is an honest soldier," he said and then turned to the exit. He paused a moment and looked over his shoulder at d'Artagnan. "He understands and respects war, but he will not stand by and allow his men to be slaughtered."

"What does General Raboin have planned that he has shackled his best men?" d'Artagnan rubbed his face in frustration and then coughed again. "Why thin his military and send men north and south of us and prevent the captains from acting in their best interests?" He frowned and looked at Aramis for answers he knew he did not have.

Aramis shrugged, scratched behind his neck, and said, "Perhaps it all falls back to what Athos mentioned to us in Paris…" He glanced at the tent exit and then said, "what the king and Treville believe about him."

"It's a waste, Aramis," d'Artagnan said. He shook his head and looked at the ground between his knees. "I don't understand why the king did not do something about him earlier?"

Aramis paused for a long moment, he clutched the cup in his hand, and then shrugged. "Maybe the king has hope that Raboin would be faithful to the oath he took, that perhaps at least one member of his family might be loyal."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I would hate to doubt those around me — those I should be able to trust." He looked at Constance's locket and then nodded.

"I'll find you some pillows and then you need to rest. Like I said. Athos will need us in the days to come, and he'll need those he trusts around him."

D'Artagnan frowned and looked at Aramis. "Do you know something?"

"No," Aramis said, "but Athos just led a charge that disabled Spanish cannons and Raboin's captains are looking to Athos for leadership. Once General Raboin sees that — if he hasn't already…" He raised his eyebrows and pushed back the canvas, "he'll react and he will not be kind."