The musketeer was running hard. But he was tired. He would not last long. He would be re-caught. The baron found it amusing. The pathetic soldier thought he could escape. Escape from the baron. That was not going to happen. He spurred his horse on, annoyed that he had to circle a thicket of trees. The musketeer ran straight through the tangle of bushes, not restricted by the horse's inability to pick its way through the undergrowth.

The baron was aware that the musketeer had a gun and could try to shoot at him at any moment. He was aware the musketeer had a sword, stolen from one of his guards and hastily thrust into a belt as he ran. But the baron was also sure he had the upper hand over the running man.

He could hear the musketeer crashing through the thicker area of woodland. The baron wondered if the musketeer knew he had circled around and was waiting for him to emerge. The baron checked his gun was ready to fire. He was not going to pursue his prey any further. When the musketeer appeared, the baron would shoot him and end the hunt.

He could then return to his home and deal with the imbecile that had let the prize escape.

The musketeer did not appear at the edge of the tangle of bushes. The baron listened. He could hear the musketeer still moving about, but the movements were odd. Curious he dismounted and pushed his way forward. The sight that greeted him caused him to laugh heartily and raise his gun.

The baron would gloat about how he killed a musketeer for years. He would laugh with his peers about the time one of the King's elite men managed to trap himself. He would replay the moment in his head for the rest of his life.

MMMM

A few minutes earlier…

Getting away from the baron's man had not been difficult. A quick distraction and a punch to the jaw saw the overweight guard crashing to the ground unconscious. Aramis shook his right hand, straightening out the fingers, feeling the bruises starting to form. The overweight man had a hard jaw.

He grabbed the man's gun and sword, pushing the sword into his belt, and hoping it would not slip free as he ran. Aramis did not want to be encumbered holding both weapons but equally did not want to leave either behind. He needed whatever advantage he could grab. He considered stripping the man of his doublet, but the act of manipulating the heavy dead weight did not appeal to Aramis. He decided the weather was warm enough that he would be fine without a doublet. It was not far from the nearby town where they had been staying before he had been caught by the baron.

Aramis smiled wryly at the teasing he would get - and deserved - from the others, for being caught by the inept lowly baron who had ideas above his station. He looked forward to the teasing as he stole out of the baron's small chateau and to his freedom.

He thought he was about to make the easiest escape in his career when a shout encouraged him to break into a run. The baron, who had been stalking the area for any other loitering soldiers, had spotted him creeping across his ornamental garden.

Aramis ran as fast as the terrain would allow him. He was fatigued from the day and night of imprisonment and interrogation. He had to watch his step carefully and he was being chased by a mounted man whose patience was already wearing thin. Aramis knew if he was caught by the baron he would be killed.

He had the luxury of being able to run in a straighter line than the horse the baron was riding. Aramis charged through the centre of the stand of trees. The baron would have to go around. That would give Aramis a precious few seconds' lead and, with luck, enough time to get far enough ahead to reach, and cross, the river.

Aramis was not lucky.

A thick tangle of bramble bushes carpeted the ground. Aramis' pace meant he did not have enough time to stop himself from running into the bushes. He managed to step through the middle, but his progress was slowed. With his heart pounding and each breath, a heaved effort he lost track of where the baron was in relation to his slower progress through the thicket of trees. Aramis knew he had lost any advantage he might have gained by running through the trees.

His ankle became caught. Aramis cursed as he reached down to pull the offending tendril off his boot. The thorns ripped into his flesh. Aramis had no time to be careful, he would tend to the inevitable cuts once he reached safety.

If he got to safety.

Another strand of thorns caught his shirt sleeve. Aramis regretted not taking the overweight guards doublet. The thick leather would have at least saved him from being sliced and stabbed by the sharp prickles. The fabric of his shirt was caught. He wrenched his arm upwards cursing as the shirt ripped.

He could hear the baron's horse snorting after the effort of cantering after him. Aramis knew it would not take long for the baron to lose patience and come to find him.

He pulled his caught foot forward, surprising himself when the boot came free. He lost his balance and tipped forward, just managing to get his arms in front of him before crashing face-first into the bramble.

What felt like a thousand pinpricks and sharp slices hit his arms and chest as he fell. He let go of his stolen gun as he tried to pull himself free realising, too late, that left him weaponless. He could not reach the gun hidden in the mess of thorns without getting further caught. And his sword was trapped under him.

All Aramis could do was try to wriggle free of his unconventional restraints. He was sure no rope or chain could hold him so effectively prisoner. The pain of the thorns only added to his misery. Every time he tried to pull free the spiky tendrils seemed to close tighter around his arms. The thorns looped around his ankle were preventing him from getting his feet under him. He was well and truly stuck.

The laughter from the baron was not unexpected. Aramis managed to look up. The baron was standing over him barely able to contain his mirth. He raised his gun, aiming at Aramis, and fired.

To be continued…

Whumpee: Aramis.