Chapter 11
General Sanchez was dead.
General Thorell mounted his horse, and with his captains and men by his side, he rode to the meeting site. Word had run rampant through the ranks. First through the ranks of the Spanish, and then the French. The fighting had slowed to small skirmishes. The wounded fell to their knees exhausted. Men overly stricken with grief and horror looked across the battlefield at the bodies that lay unmoving, some in piles, others looked to have struggled and tried to crawl back to their camps. A few horses lay dead atop their riders. Puddles looked red despite the dark clouds. The rain and the thunder continued to roll.
Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan stood with their companies. Marc leaned against his second in command, his shoulder draped over Mathias to remain standing. Levi had yet to be found. His men, however, stood strong and waited while others searched the battlefield.
"I'm tired," Porthos said. He stood with his feet shoulder width apart and he watched the refugees slowly emerge from their hiding locations. Mothers clung to their children, old men familiar with war, relived a time when they too had faced such atrocities.
Aramis clamped his hand on Porthos' shoulder and nodded. He turned toward the chateau. "I'm going to get Athos," he said. "I refuse to let him remain where he is at any longer."
Porthos nodded and d'Artagnan clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils. He wiped the rain from his red-rimmed eyes and then placed his hands on his belt.
"I'm going too," Marc said.
Mathias struggled beneath the shift of weight and strengthened his hold on Marc's wrist. "We'll follow."
"What about Levi?" d'Artagnan asked.
Marc cleared his throat and said, "He's out there," he raised his eyebrows, "but he's probably too damn tired to walk." He tried to sound confident, as though another loss wouldn't devastate them all. He stepped forward, winced, and then followed the others toward the chateau.
The mud sucked in their boots, and they struggled with every step. D'Artagnan slowed and assisted Mathias with his burden, and together they helped Marc toward the camps and then to the chateau.
Captain Pruette met them at the bridge that ran over the canal. He looked over Aramis' shoulder and watched the rest of the Musketeer Regiment, those still standing and those struggling to walk, move in formation behind them. He looked to his left and watched the Fontaine family walk toward him, Walnut and Piers leading the way.
"Raboin's men are fleeing into the woods behind the chateau. My men and Comtois' men have gone after them," Pruette said and then wiped his nose and mouth with his wrist.
"Raboin?" Aramis asked.
"Grimaud?" Porthos asked.
"Unknown at this time. A company of my men have surrounded the chateau — nobody will get in or leave without us knowing — for now, they're trapped." Pruette turned and looked at the chateau and then sighed heavily. "Thorell requested only he enter the home."
"We're here for Athos, Captain," d'Artagnan said and then suddenly choked as his voice cracked. "He's earned the right to be seen to by his men…" he paused, took a deep breath to collect himself as his eyes watered, and said, "his brothers."
"I will not to stop you — nor will my men," Pruette said and stood off to the side. He motioned for his men to do the same. They lined the bridge and spoke their condolences as several members of the Musketeer Regiment entered the grounds.
Men, too broken to be standing, hobbled through, some supporting others. A regiment that had started with 250 men had dwindled to less than 125. Not all were dead, some were simply too wounded to move, too exhausted to watch their captain be cut down and carried to his last resting place. Men who had been hardened by war found themselves raw and emotional as the day slowly ended.
The rain continued, and the winds remained relentless.
Porthos was the first to round the corner toward the stables and he paused when he spotted four of Pruette's men standing around the body of their captain. They had cut him down and covered him. They slowly backed away and allowed the musketeers to form a circle. Porthos stood like stone, unable to step forward as the pain grew too intense to manage. His chest burned and he struggled to draw breath. Tears pooled in his eyes and fell down his cheeks. He didn't bother blinking them away, instead, he just watched and tried to regain his strength.
Aramis knelt, clutched at the crucifix at his neck, bowed his head, and then grasped a handful of the blanket covering the body. He whispered words to a friend in death that he should have spoken in life. Words of thanks and regrets. Words of brotherhood and devotion. He looked at the blanket, the mud on the ground, the exposed stones that caused the rain to splatter.
"They couldn't even let him die in his own boots," d'Artagnan said. He looked away, felt the overwhelming emotion of grief, and then choked on his breath. He leaned forward, braced his hands on his knees, and took several deep breaths as his throat tightened.
Aramis frowned, looked toward the boots and then slowly pulled up the blanket to expose ankle length britches. Aramis then looked at the top of the blanket. He clenched and unclenched his hand several times, allowed his heart to race, and he swallowed. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and grasped the blanket once more.
"Aramis, don't," Porthos said. "Please don't — not here."
Aramis grabbed the blanket and pulled it back to expose the hood. "It's not him," he muttered.
"Aramis?" d'Artagnan said and reached for his shoulder.
Aramis shrugged him off and frantically untied the knot below the man's chin.
"Don't — we don't need to see —" d'Artagnan held his breath and looked away.
Aramis pulled off the hood, knelt in stunned silence for just a moment, and then stood. "It's not him!" He looked to the chateau, heard the firing of a pistol, and then ran for the building. D'Artagnan and Porthos chased after him.
"Clear the way!" Aramis shouted as he ran for the doors. He waved his arms and shouted again, "Move out of the way!"
Marc pulled away from Mathias and shouted, "Go!" He looked at the others. "Follow them!"
