Porthos reached the surgeon's tent and looked around. He could not see d'Artagnan. His heart sank. D'Artagnan had not made it. He wondered if Athos had been forced to abandon his body on the battlefield. There was no sign of Athos either. Were both his brothers dead? He cursed under his breath. He wanted to rip Du Froid apart. The General was the one responsible for the deaths of his friends. If Aramis died as well, Porthos would have nothing to lose by getting his revenge on the General.

The surgeon, who knew Aramis, approached them.

'Aramis?'

'I'm fine … see to d'Artagnan.'

Porthos shook his head, his increasingly confused friend was convinced d'Artagnan was with them.

'He's losing blood. I've not been able to change the dressing,' reported Porthos.

The surgeon nodded, before pointing to a couple of cadets who hurried forward and relieved Porthos of his burden. Aramis was lifted onto the surgeon's table. After pulling his doublet off, a knife was used to cut off the remains of Aramis' tatty shirt. The blood-soaked dressing was probably not making much difference.

'Where are the other two?' asked the surgeon without looking up from his work.

Porthos furrowed his brow.

'Athos and d'Artagnan? You are the inseparables after all,' continued the surgeon wryly.

'Haven't they been here?'

The surgeon, who was easing the dressing away from Aramis' side, glanced up.

'I've not seen them.'

Porthos looked back towards the battlefield, wondering if he might have walked straight past their bodies in his quest to get Aramis to safety. The reality that he was losing three of his closest friends on the same day began to sink in.

Aramis was weakly pushing the surgeon away from him, his pale skin only accentuating the blood that was spattered across his body.

'This will need cleaning and redressing. I'm not stitching it. The wound is too wide, but it is not as deep as it appears. He may be lucky if we can keep it clean.'

The surgeon's words were not the comfort Porthos would have liked. He watched numbly as the wound was cleaned and dressed. He helped the cadets to move Aramis to one of the vacant beds in the busy medics' tent.

Aramis was looking at the surgeon, 'Firmin,' he said, 'the ball is still in d'Artagnan's wound. I couldn't get it out. Du Froid … he wouldn't let me.'

Firmin looked up at Porthos.

'We were with d'Artagnan and Athos. D'Artagnan was shot. Aramis was hurt as he was dealing with the injury.'

He paused and looked away for a moment, trying, and failing, to squash the emotion down.

'Du Froid wanted to leave Aramis behind when he got shot. I couldn't do that … but neither Athos nor d'Artagnan have made it back.'

Aramis, who had been listening to Porthos, made a weak grab at his arm.

'You should have left me.'

Porthos did not know how to respond. Firmin rested his hand on Porthos shoulder and smiled sadly. The old surgeon had seen many battles, he knew what the men went through. The loss, the confusion, the guilt.

The moment ended with chaos at one end of the tent. The open-ended tent was surrounded by men with lesser injuries who were patching themselves up before returning to the battlefield. Porthos saw them moving aside as a stretcher was carried past them.

'This man needs help. He has been shot. The ball is still in his leg. He needs attention now.'

Athos' words were firm and commanding. But Porthos detected the worry.

Firmin bustled away calling out orders to his cadets. As d'Artagnan was carried past him, Porthos gasped with shock. The young soldier had somehow acquired further injuries, but not injuries typical to a battlefield. D'Artagnan looked as though he had been in a brawl. And he was soaking wet. Not just damp as the rest of them were. No. D'Artagnan looked half-drowned. He was shivering.

Athos stopped by him and looked down at Aramis who was pointing at d'Artagnan and mumbling something.

'Du Froid would not allow me to bring him here first,' said Athos. 'After Du Froid tipped a bucket of water over d'Artagnan they banished me from the tent. When I was allowed back in he was like that.'

Athos pointed in d'Artagnan's direction indicating the bruising to his face.

'I could hear them shouting at him and heard the punches land. It was akin to an interrogation, not a debriefing.'

Athos looked away with a shame-filled expression. Porthos offered what comfort he could.

'How is Aramis?' asked Athos after a few seconds.

Porthos shrugged, 'it could still go either way. Which I guess is true for both of them. But Firman is a good man. He'll do what he can-'

The interruption was one that Porthos was not entirely surprised by.

'I warned you what would happen if you disobeyed my orders.'

Porthos closed his eyes and sighed. Before he had a chance to say anything in his defence, he was grabbed by two soldiers. Du Froid appeared in front of him, his face close enough for Porthos to smell the expensive spirits he had been drinking. The General spoke to the two soldiers but continued to look at Porthos.

'Take him to the edge of the camp and have him restrained. I'll need a few minutes to assemble more men for the task.'

Athos stepped forward, 'you cannot do this without authority-'

'If you say one more word, you will be joining him. As it is I'm still contemplating having you lashed for your insubordination. I may have that done first and make him watch.'

Another of Du Froid's men pushed Athos back a few steps.

A low moan from the back of the tent drew the General's attention. Firmin was still working on d'Artagnan.

'Will he live?'

Firmin glanced up, 'I cannot say. If he had been brought to me sooner…'

Du Froid looked down at Aramis, who had managed to focus on what was going on around him.

'You nearly cost us that information. What kind of field medic are you?'

'Maybe if you'd let us return via a safer route d'Artagnan wouldn't have been shot,' said Aramis, his tone venomous, despite the pain he was suffering.

Porthos wondered if Aramis knew he was talking to one of the senior officers.

'It was your lack of care that brought us to this,' spat the General before glancing over his shoulder.

'That one as well, I don't want him in my army.'

Porthos could not believe what he was hearing. He pulled himself loose from his captors, soldiers who he knew were only doing as they were told. They were quick to grab him again.

'Neither Athos nor I could have looked after d'Artagnan out there. Without Aramis' help d'Artagnan would already be dead,' said Porthos before being shoved by the soldiers holding him.

'I have made my decision. Neither of you deserves your place in France's army. You have been insubordinate, and he has not performed his duty.'

Two more soldiers stepped forward and pulled Aramis from his bed. Aramis cried out in pain before slumping unconscious.

'Manacle them both, I do not want either of them escaping. One of you will remain and watch over them.'

Athos took a step forward. He was about to protest at the treatment Aramis was receiving, but Porthos caught his eye. Porthos did not want Athos to get himself in more trouble and end up joining them in front of Du Froid's execution squad. As it was, their friend was already treading a fine line. And if anyone was going to save Aramis and himself it would be Athos.

To be continued…

Whumpee: D'Artagnan and Aramis. Featuring: Athos and Porthos.