Chapter 13
For all the skill Aramis had, it wasn't enough. He questioned his confidence whenever one of his brothers was injured; it was just his nature. He tried to hide it. To still his shaking hands, his racing pulse, and his fear of causing more injury. The others could see it. They knew without asking how much distress it caused him. Yet, he was the one they went to when suffering occurred, not the physicians.
All three of them had removed their doublets, their weapons belts, and changed into clean blouses after washing their arms, faces, necks, and hands. Unsure of what would be needed, Aramis requested they be prepared. Isabeau had collected their discarded clothing and delivered more bandages.
The wash basin turned red too many times to count. Aramis wiped at the entry wound, cleared away the blood, and cleaned the areas, and then, with careful precision, slipped the needle through tender skin and pulled. The wound came together nicely. He left a small section open to allow for drainage, and then carefully tied off the sutures. By the time he was done stitching the wounds to Athos' side, his back, and his arm, it was dark, and the early morning hours once again promised a hint of the sun. Candles burned, lanterns flickered, and the fireplace roared.
Aramis applied more salve to Athos' left wrist, and then carefully wrapped it. Both wrists were raw, his thumb joints were swollen, damaged tissue remained angry as it seeped.
D'Artagnan wrung a cool cloth and placed it over Athos' forehead as the fever continued to spike. His body, too exhausted to fight the battle ahead, had simply succumbed and failed to cooperate. He never moved, uttered a sound, or blinked an eye. Instead, he had lain still while wounds were cleaned, stitched, and bandaged.
Porthos stood by the window and watched the stars twinkle and the moon's casting glow peer only briefly through the clouds while d'Artagnan and Aramis stripped Athos of his remaining clothing and covered him with clean sheets and blankets.
Sweat beaded Athos' brow, his neck, and his chest. His chest rose and fell in quick successive pants, and he exhaled through parted lips.
Aramis sat in a chair beside the bed, leaned forward, and rubbed his face. Tired eyes glanced from Athos to d'Artagnan, who stood beside the fireplace, and then to Porthos, who continued to look at the sky.
"He saved my life once," Aramis said.
Porthos huffed, "He's saved your life more 'an once."
Aramis ignored him and said, "It was after Savoy…"
Porthos turned and looked at him.
"I wanted to end it… end it all," Aramis said, and ran a hand through his hair. "I went to a tavern looking for something to make it…" he paused, rested his elbows on his knees, and pulled the crucifix and ring from inside his blouse. He ran his thumb over the gems, and then carefully popped the cover off the locket and looked at the image within the ring. "I wanted something that would make everything stop. Athos wasn't a musketeer — at least not yet — but he stopped me from doing something that could have destroyed me." He looked at Porthos. "I never said anything because I realized I didn't want to die — not really. I just wanted to stop feeling… to stop feeling guilty for surviing when everyone else," he exaled slowly, "died."
Aramis shifted and rubbed his hands along his thighs. He looked at Athos and said, "He never judged me for it… and he never brought it up again."
"Why are you bringin' it up now?" Porthos asked.
Aramis shrugged, leaned back, and rubbed his bottom lip with his index finger while resting his elbow on the armrest. "I don't know," he said and then shrugged. "Maybe…" he paused, "maybe I want you both to know in case he doesn't make it."
"He'll make it," d'Artagnan said. "It's Athos… he'll pull through."
Porthos crossed his arms over his chest and leaned with his back against the window frame. He frowned when a soft knock came from the door and Isabeau peeked inside.
"My apologies, gentlemen," she said, and pushed the door open. "How is he?" She walked to the bed, took a seat next to Athos' hip, and then dipped the cloth into the basin of water and wrung it before gently pressing it against his forehead, cheeks, and neck.
"Weak," Aramis said, and shifted his knees aside to avoid hitting her skirt.
"Ninon has been standing outside for hours," she said, and looked at Aramis and then Porthos.
"I'll go," Porthos said. He nodded once, and then left the room.
"She has refused to come inside," Isabeau said. "I'm concerned that she'll catch her death if she stays outside much longer." She patted the back of Athos' hand as she stood and then dusted her skirts. "I'll have some food sent in for you." She turned to the door and then said, "General Thorell is in the library. He would like to see you when you're able."
"The mess in the library?" Aramis said, and pushed himself from his seat.
"Walnut and Piers took care of it, and I think the general is quite capable of managing the situation." She walked to the door and quietly exited.
"She reminds me of someone," Aramis said and looked at d'Artagnan, who quirked his mouth into a slight smile.
"What happens next?" d'Artagnan asked and then he grabbed another log and tossed it onto the fire.
"We wait for orders," Aramis said. "Thorell will notify Minister Treville."
D'Artagnan leaned against the wall and lifted his chin as he looked at the ceiling. "I miss my wife."
"I miss her cooking," Aramis said and chuckled.
D'Artagnan smiled. He looked at Athos and then asked, "What was he like as a recruit?"
Aramis raised his eyebrows and thought for a long moment. He looked at the ring on the chain around his neck and then lowered it to his chest. "Morose… stubborn… very direct." He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees again, and then pulled a string from the sheet. He wrapped it around his finger, watched the color change, and felt the pressure. "Athos nearly drowned on his first assignment." He looked at d'Artagnan, who met his gaze with interest. "I was still on the sick list, but Porthos, Levi and a musketeer named Pom were on the assignment with him." He rubbed his thigh, and then folded his fingers together. "They were searching for a ledger… the chateau they were ordered to search had been built over a body of water. It was near the end of winter and the water was frigidly cold," he shrugged and shook his head, "they got in without problems… but they couldn't get out." He chuckled and rubbed his face. "The only one who could swim was Athos…" he took a deep breath and continued, "They discovered an opening in the cellar. Porthos told me once it was similar to a cave under water. It was Athos who swam through it first and then got the rest of them to shore. He was nearly froze by the time he finished — and then he turned around and went back to search for the ledger."
"Did he find it?" d'Artagnan asked.
Aramis curled his lips into a subtle smile and nodded. "He found it… and then he jumped from a window and into the river to escape the men who had discovered him." Aramis gently pulled down the blanket from Athos' chest and exposed the scar on his right side. "Bullet grazed him here," he pulled up the blanket and sat back in his seat, "and he didn't know he'd been hit he was so cold by the time he got out of the river. It was a good thing Porthos was there. The damn fool may not have made it otherwise."
"He never does anything halfway, does he?" D'Artagnan curled his lips, but the gentle smile didn't reach his eyes.
Aramis chuckled and shook his head. "No." He grew somber as the string snapped at its most frayed edges and he tossed it to the floor. "He's either in or out. There is no in-between with Athos."
"It's what makes him a good captain," d'Artagnan said.
Aramis nodded, looked at Athos' pale features, and the faint flicker of his pulse on his neck.
