Chapter 13

All five captains and Porthos dismounted at the bridge that crossed the canal to the chateau. Dried ivy hung from the curved arc of the wrought iron, and showcased the wooden arched doors that led to the chateau's entry. Its thick stems were interwoven with the iron rods that had been established a century before. The stone wall, also draped in ivy that would turn green come spring and expand its presence. It hid much of the happenings beyond the walls. Trees had overgrown, and the gravel along the bridge was embedded into the mortar.

Porthos gripped the reins of his horse and stood alongside the others. He swallowed, pushed his shoulders back, and clinched his jaw as the front doors opened and Raboin exited. Several armed guards followed him with Grimaud trailing behind them. His black cloak billowed, the fabric waved and rolled as it shifted in the winds and against his legs. The rings on his fingers glistened. The hood of his cloak once again shadowed his face.

Porthos kept himself from looking to where Aramis might be. His men and members of the captains' regiment stood behind them in the boxed formation. Their weapons were loaded.

The men were ready to fight. Any enemy of France was an enemy of theirs.

"Staging a mutiny?" Raboin shouted from the end of the short bridge. His armor glistened momentarily as the sun's rays shifted, and then suddenly, they were gone. He gripped the hilt of his sword and stood like a man ready for war.

"After careful consideration, General Raboin. We are relieving you of command," Captain Comtois said.

Raboin chuckled and shook his head. "We're in the middle of a war. The Spanish have acquired formidable weapons and the only reason you are here today continuing this fight is because of me. You would all be dead otherwise. Captain Athos has been placed under arrest and charged with treason. He's been found guilty and is sentenced to hang." He looked up at the sky and smiled. "Anytime now."

"Captain Athos has done nothin' of the sort!" Porthos shouted, and with a tightened fist pointed toward the ground.

Comtois grasped Porthos' arm and pulled him back. "Don't, Porthos. Look at his men — this has less to do with Athos and more to do with us — those of us standing in Raboin's way."

Porthos flared his nostrils, looked at Raboin and the men surrounding him that had suddenly shifted into fighting positions.

"Hanging a military captain is against protocol," Captain Fain shouted. "He is a servant of the king! He deserves a fair trial and if," he stressed, "he is found guilty, he should be brought before a firing squad. Hangings are reserved for the common people."

Porthos clenched his hands into fists and felt his fingernails dig into the flesh of his palms. His pulse raged, his heart slammed against his chest, and his lungs struggled to expand. He could feel his face warm and sweat started to roll down his back.

"A common death for a common man," Raboin said. "Have your men stand down and return to their camps. I will be kind enough to forget this little… insurrection." He waved his hand toward the men in formation. "My patience has run thin, gentlemen. I will not tolerate another act of aggression." He took a step forward. "Be thankful —"

The shot rang out.

General Raboin fell backward and landed against one of his guards, who lowered him to the ground. Blood rushed from the wound high on his left arm near his shoulder. One of his men wrapped the wound tightly to stem the flow.

"Hang him!" Raboin shouted. "Hang him!" He shouted again as his men shifted him to his feet. "You did this!" He pointed across the bridge at the captains. "You all forced my hand!" He grasped his arm, felt blood continue to soak the bandage and run toward his elbow. "I want him hanged!"

Porthos looked up in horror as Athos was shoved from the side door of the chateau. He fell to his knees and struggled to stand. His hands were tied together, his doublet was missing its pauldron, and they had covered his head with a canvas sack.

"Athos!" Porthos shouted. He tried to rush forward but was suddenly held back by Captains Fain, Comtois, and Guidry.

"You can't help him!" Comtois shouted as he struggled against Porthos' strength. "They'll kill you too!"

"Porthos!" D'Artagnan shouted, and quickly motioned for his men to take aim. "Get out of there!"

Porthos looked toward Athos as he was shoved onto the back of a horse.

Everything froze.

Time stood still, and even the winds stopped blowing.

Porthos looked at Raboin, who was hustled under cover of guard to the chateau, and Grimaud who stood like a gargoyle overlooking the church doors and watched Porthos' continue to struggle against the captains. D'Artagnan, who ordered his men to fire once they had a clean shot, and he searched for Aramis, wondering if the same characteristics that flowed through Athos' veins also flowed through his.

A slight twitch at the corner of Grimaud's mouth caused his lips to turn upward as he caught sight of Aramis braced against a tree and trying desperately to find a clean shot.

He wouldn't find one, and even if he did… he wouldn't fire. There was always a chance… There was always hope… Something might change at the last minute.

Grimaud turned, his cloak caught the winds, and he rushed back toward the chateau.

They slipped the rope around Athos' neck. The horse snorted, tossed his head, and swished his tail as he fought the restraints of those that surrounded him.

D'Artagnan fell to his knees, placed his hands on his thighs and lowered his head. Grief consumed him. He listened to the chaos around him. The men who wanted desperately to fire, but couldn't, Porthos who shouted for Aramis to shoot, still fighting with the captains as they tried desperately to hold him back.

The horse reared. Athos fell backward and the rope suddenly lax snapped tight as he slipped from the saddle. The men surrounding him moved out of the way as he kicked his feet and struggled.

Aramis struggled through tear-filled eyes.

He couldn't see.

He couldn't take the shot.

He couldn't save his brother from hanging.

D'Artagnan gasped for breath, fell forward onto his hands and knees, and buried his head in his arms. He knew without looking that many of his men dropped to the ground behind him. Not out of shock, but of loss. D'Artagnan looked up and watched Athos sway, kick his legs until they finally went still.