Chapter Nine

Aramis wanted to help he knew his help was needed. Athos and d'Artagnan were going to struggle to keep hold of the rope. Their lifeline. If the rope slipped through their fingers the cage would plunge into the icy depths of the Seine. With them in it.

But Aramis knew his limitations. The injury he had received had left him struggling to coordinate his limbs and to concentrate. It felt as though thousands of tiny hammers were hitting his head. There were moments when he could focus. He had managed to stop Athos collapsing completely when Jacques had grabbed his injured arm. But all too soon that moment of clarity was replaced by blurred vision and a wish to simply close his eyes and block everything out.

He watched as Athos screwed his eyes closed in pain. The wound on his hand was bleeding, the stitches ripped open by the pressure of tightly holding the rope. D'Artagnan was not in much better shape. He had been moving awkwardly since his encounters with their captors. Aramis guessed d'Artagnan had hurt his ankle from his reactions. Not that any of them were in a position to need to walk.

They were trapped in a cage, dangling over the Seine, and the only thing preventing them falling was the strength that Athos and d'Artagnan could muster as they clung to the rope.

Aramis shivered, he realised where he was sitting, slumped in the corner of the cage was damp. He looked down seeing water lapping over the edge. He blinked a couple of times and refocused on his brothers. It was obvious the rope was slipping; they had already dropped a few feet. Another couple of feet and the three of them would be soaked. The cold water would only add to their misery and make it harder to keep hold of the rope.

Aramis forced himself to concentrate on moving. He eased himself forward a little. The cage shifted. D'Artagnan glanced back at him but did not speak. Aramis wondered if he could see an encouraging look in the other man's eyes. D'Artagnan and Athos must have noticed they were level with the river. They must have felt the water beginning to soak into their breeches.

Aramis decided he did not care how undignified it was to crawl on hands and knees a couple of feet across the cage to get to his brothers. He was breathing hard as he moved next to Athos. Athos had his head down, his knuckles, white from the effort, wrapped around the rope. D'Artagnan nodded towards the gap between his hands and Athos'. Aramis reached up and grasped the rope, holding it tightly adding his waning strength.

He knew they would not last much longer. They were all exhausted. They were all injured. It was only a matter of time, perhaps only minutes, before one of them passed out.

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Treville was only a few feet behind Porthos. They had continued in the direction they guessed the carriage had taken for a few minutes before finding themselves on the banks of the river. A few small boats had been pulled up onto the muddy beach. Some larger vessels were moored in the centre of the river. There were a couple of men wandering along the bank a few hundred yards away. One of the men was holding the other up. Treville suspected they had been frequenting a nearby tavern and were making their way home.

Porthos was breathing hard as he looked up and down the river. Treville could tell his Musketeer was wound up. He was still blaming himself for everything. Nothing short of a perfect outcome would placate him.

But they both know what the attackers were capable of. And the chances were they would be prepared to go further with three captive soldiers. It was unlikely the three captured men would escape without further injury.

'There,' said Porthos, pointing to their left towards the paved loading area.

Larger ships were able to moor alongside the stone-built wharf and offload using cranes worked by local labourers.

Treville looked where Porthos was indicating. They could see a group of three men crowded around a crate. Two of the men were working the crank on a dockside crane. The crate was being lifted enough to swing over the river. As the crate moved Treville got a better look at it. He could not suppress a gasp. The crate was a sturdy looking cage. The three missing Musketeers were being held in the cage.

As they watched, one of the men pushed the rope that was holding the cage up towards the trapped men. The cage was dangling over the river. If the Musketeers let go of the rope the cage, with them in it, would plunge into the Seine. They would not stand a chance. The water was deep, the men would drown.

Porthos took a few steps forward before Treville stopped him.

'No,' he said. 'They'll be shot. We must think tactically.'

Porthos nodded, 'you're right.'

He paused for a few moments and took in the scene.

'We can get closer. We should be able to take out the men.'

Treville allowed Porthos to lead them along the dockside. The early morning light cast enough shadows that they were able to get within a few yards of the crane. The distance was still a lot to cover if they were to help the trapped man, but it was the best they could do without revealing their position.

They could see the men talking to Athos and d'Artagnan, they appeared to be taunting the caged men. Aramis was leaning against the far corner of the cage. He looked as though he wanted to help but was struggling to focus. Athos and d'Artagnan were holding the rope, but Treville knew they would not have the strength to maintain the hold for long.

One of the men said something about killing Porthos before the three started to walk away. As the men disappeared Treville knew, if they were going to save the soldiers, they had to do it straight away. He was about to turn to Porthos and make a suggestion. But Porthos had other ideas. He had already started to rush forward.

As Porthos reached the cage and went to grab the rope Athos yelled at him to keep back. Porthos ignored his friend and grabbed the rope adding his strength. When all three of the trapped Musketeers started to urge Porthos to leave them Treville started to look around for some hidden danger they had not seen.

But he was too late.

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D'Artagnan watched the three men walking away as he clung to the rope. The men had callously left them to their fate without even looking back. He felt the cold water of the Seine soaking into his breeches. He was already cold. Aramis was shivering next to him with his eyes screwed shut as he put all his remaining strength into holding the rope. A glance at Athos' hands told d'Artagnan that he would not be able to help them for long. The stitches had ripped, blood was dripping to the floor of the cage, mixing with the water that was seeping across the wooden boards.

It was only a matter of time before one by one they could not hold the rope any longer. Once one passed out or let go, when the pain became too much, the others would not be able to take the weight.

D'Artagnan tried not to think what his final moments would be like. He had heard from people who had come close to drowning that it was painful and terrifying. He had never thought his end would come in such a way. He was a soldier. Death on the battlefield was what he should have been dealt with. Not a death by drowning, trapped in a cage with two of his best friends, and the knowledge that his other friend was going to be hunted down and killed as well.

'They've stopped,' said Athos.

D'Artagnan looked at Athos for a few seconds before realising he was looking in the direction that their captors had gone.

'By that low wall… I can still see Claude's cloak.'

Athos was correct. D'Artagnan wondered why the men had stopped. Had they decided they wanted to watch the demise of the Musketeers.

'Treville.'

Aramis had uttered the name between shaky breaths.

Both d'Artagnan and Athos looked to their left along the stone-built bank. They could see the Captain crouched by a barrel, peering along the wharf. He was watching Porthos rush towards the cage.

D'Artagnan had not seen Porthos until that moment. Their friend was running towards the cage, his hand already reaching for the rope.

'They've seen him,' said Aramis with shock.

'PORTHOS STOP!' yelled Athos with urgency.

Porthos did not heed the advice. He charged forward; his intention clear. He was going to grab the rope and aid their efforts to keep them above the waterline. But by doing so, he was exposing himself to the three men that were responsible for the horrific events of the previous few days.

The cage jerked a little as Porthos pulled at the rope. It was obvious he realised he would not be able to pull them back towards the bank. Instead, he put all his effort into holding it still and stopping his friends from sinking to a dark, cold, death.

'Leave us,' said d'Artagnan as firmly as he could.

'Porthos, they're still here,' Aramis managed to say before looking down and closing his eyes again.

The move distracted d'Artagnan for several seconds. He watched Aramis waver, watched his grip loosen. But his friend managed to rally a little and clutch the rope tightly again.

At the same time, Athos had been shouting at Porthos to get back to cover. But Porthos remained resolute.

'I ain't leaving you,' he said through gritted teeth. 'Not abandoning you again.'

'You didn't abandon us before. Porthos. They're still here. Get back.'

But Porthos did not move.

D'Artagnan became aware of Treville standing up, leaving the safety of his cover, he took a few steps forward. The Captain looked confused; he looked around. D'Artagnan realised he had heard them shouting. He may not have heard what they were saying to Porthos, but he knew they were warning him off.

A shot rang out, piercing through all the other sounds.

A sickening silence fell on the dock for a few seconds.

Porthos' eyes had gone wide.

D'Artagnan felt the rope slip through his hands a couple of inches as the added help from Porthos disappeared for a few seconds.

Porthos had been shot.

D'Artagnan could not tell where he was hit, but it affected his ability to maintain his hold on the rope. And yet he did not let go; he did not retreat. Porthos remained where he was, stubbornly leaving himself in plain view of their attackers. An easy target for a second shot.

A second shot which might prove fatal.

Treville had dived for cover at the same time as the shot had been fired. He was searching for the man that had shot his Musketeer.

Athos pulled himself up slightly, causing the cage to rock.

'By the corner,' he said loudly, 'three of them.'

Treville focused his attention on the corner of the nearest building, next to the low wall. He indicated he had seen the men. D'Artagnan could see Jacques reloading his gun and speaking to Pierre. Claude was peering around the corner; of the three men, Claude looked the most indecisive.

Pierre shuffled along the low wall a little and peeped around the end. D'Artagnan could see him raising his gun and sighting along the barrel.

'Porthos, leave us,' he said.

'No. Help will come.'

'Not in time. Porthos, please,' d'Artagnan knew he sounded desperate, but he did not want to see his friend killed in front of him.

Two gunshots within quick succession followed. All three trapped men looked towards Porthos who had cried out in pain. His right leg buckled a little at the same time as his grip on the rope lessoned again. A tell-tale spray of blood had spattered from Porthos' thigh.

'Porthos get away,' ordered Athos.

'Flesh wound,' muttered Porthos. 'I'm not going.'

'You'll be killed if you stay there,' said Aramis.

'You'll be killed if I don't stay.'

Porthos looked at Aramis for a couple of seconds before looking at Athos and d'Artagnan in turn.

D'Artagnan knew they could not reason with their friend who seemed prepared to throw his life away in a vain attempt to preserve theirs.

Another shot rang out, followed by a scream from the corner of the building where the men were. Claude had collapsed. He had fallen away from the cover of the low wall, completely exposed. Although the blood that was staining the grubby shirt, he was wearing told d'Artagnan that even though he was now an easy target for Treville he was not worth bothering about.

Jacques glared at the man for a few seconds before looking towards Treville's hiding place. He fired his gun, causing bits of wood to splinter off the barrel the Musketeer Captain was crouched behind. Treville was pinned down and could not do much more than try to keep Jacques and Pierre distracted from their murderous attempts on Porthos' life.

Porthos was shaking, not from the cold, but from the pain and shock, he was no doubt feeling after being shot twice. D'Artagnan got the impression there was no further point in trying to reason with his friend. Porthos was blinking he would probably not hear them begging him to get to safety anymore.

Jacques stepped out from behind the wall and started to walk towards them. Treville tried to fire at him but was shot at by Pierre who was well hidden to be a worthwhile target.

Jacques raised his gun, levelling it at the Porthos' head.

D'Artagnan wondered if his friend knew what was about to happen. Porthos looked down at the three of them again, his expression one of regret.

Porthos knew what was about to happen.

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