CHAPTER THREE
"He is the Comte de la Fere," Aramis repeated.
No-one spoke as Aramis leant heavily on the table.
"What?" d'Artagnan finally asked, looking from Aramis to Porthos, no doubt in the hope that one of them would make sense.
"What are you talkin' about?" Porthos growled. "And sit down, before you fall down!" he added, his frustration showing.
"He doesn't know where he is," Aramis whispered. "He thinks he's the Comte still. And he doesn't know me."
"Well, he will know me!" Porthos said as he made to stride across the yard and into the Infirmary.
"Porthos, wait!" Aramis cried, turning and grabbing Porthos's arm.
"We cannot challenge him on this," he said, urgently. "It is due to the injury. Leave him to sleep, it may only be temporary."
"So, what do we do?" d'Artagnan asked, the shock of Aramis's initial statement beginning to resonate with them all.
The Comte de la Fere. An enigma, unknown to them.
"I think," Aramis replied, after a few moments, "We treat him with kid gloves. He has a concussion. He needs to recover from that, and then ..."
"Then, what?" Porthos muttered, still smarting from having been stopped going into the Infirmary. "What about Athos?"
"Then, we see what we have," Aramis replied, though his heart was heavy and his fears for his lost friend, hopefully temporary, were only just emerging.
He reached up and squeezed Porthos's arm.
"For the moment, my friend, Athos is gone. Athos is to that man what the Comte is to us. A stranger. We treat our patient with courtesy. As a member of the aristocracy. I will speak to the Captain and ask Dr Lemay for guidance."
He did not move though, sinking into his own thoughts. An eerie silence seemed to have settled over the yard. Finally shaking himself, he looked cautiously around. Luckily the Garrison was almost empty, thanks to the King's hunting trip.
"No-one has overheard us. We must keep it that way, for I believe Athos's mind is at stake."
With that, they all settled down dejectedly at the bench, their brotherhood suddenly balanced on a very fine chord; their Captain still awaiting an assessment of the stranger now in their midst.
In the end, Treville found them.
Stomping down his stairway, he came to a halt at their table, ready to tear a strip off Aramis for his failure to report to him. However, seeing their faces, his pace slowed at the bottom of the stairs and he took hold of the railing, fearing the worst.
"What's happened?" he said, his voice devoid of some of its potency.
Aramis looked up and, lost in thought as he was, was surprised to see the Captain. Shaking himself, he looked at Porthos and d'Artagnan and raised his hand, bidding them hold their tongue.
"I would speak to you alone, Captain," he said, his eyes drifting up to Treville's office above them.
Treville frowned and stared at each of them in turn, before turning and climbing the stairs once more, aware of Aramis following closely behind him.
Inside, Aramis told his tale to an increasingly incredulous Captain.
"I'm aware how it sounds," Aramis said, perched on the edge of a chair in front of the Captain's desk.
Treville was staring at him with an unwavering gaze.
"It sounds preposterous," Treville growled.
"I spoke to him," Aramis replied, lifting his face. "He introduced himself."
Treville reached behind him and took a bottle from the shelf. Opening a drawer, he pulled out two cups and poured a liberal amount into each.
"I need your counsel on this, Aramis," he said, having swallowed his liquor in one mouthful.
Aramis sat, twisting his own cup between his hands.
"I need to speak to Lemay," Aramis replied. "In the meantime, I suggest that we treat him as a guest under our care."
He raised a hand to his forehead and pushed his hair from his face.
"Unless you have another suggestion?" he added.
Treville huffed.
"Give me a Garrison full of unruly soldiers and I can function," he growled. "But this? No. I have nothing to suggest. I will defer to Dr Lemay," he finished, looking at Aramis. "And yourself."
"I have no experience of this. Head injuries, concussion, confusion, yes, but to lose awareness like this? To believe his life lies five, six years back? I am lost," Aramis stated.
He put the cup on the desk in front of him.
"Athos is gone," he said, incredulously.
"Speak to Lemay," Treville said, firmly. "I will concur with whatever he suggests, as long as it does not put Athos at risk. Do as you suggest. Care for our patient. In the meantime, I will despatch a rider to the Palace and request Dr Lemay returns at his earliest convenience.
oOo
Lemay duly returned with the rider and was ushered straight up to Treville's office where he found the Captain with Aramis and Porthos. All looked very grim. Aramis explained what had happened.
"Fascinating," the doctor murmured, before catching the look Treville and Aramis both gave him. "How is he in himself? What else did he say?"
Aramis looked a little contrite.
"I only spoke to him briefly. I panicked," he admitted. "What do you say to a friend who is suddenly a stranger? I had no wish to disturb him, and he was in an amount of pain. I gave him a potion for the pain and left him to sleep."
"He is alone now?"
"No. d'Artagnan is with him. We have removed his uniform from the room and we have agreed not to refer to him as Athos. He said I was the first Musketeer he had met. It may be too much for him to comprehend that he has been a valuable part of our regiment for five years."
"I agree. It would disturb him. You need to wake him often, though," Lemay said. "Concussion is dangerous."
"But once the danger is passed?" Aramis said.
Lemay appeared lost in thought.
"Perhaps it would be best to keep him asleep," he said, ignoring the question.
"We can't keep him drugged," Porthos growled, glaring at the doctor.
"We can in the immediate aftermath of the accident" Lemay countered. "It will give us some time to think. And time for him to heal."
"That's an excuse," Porthos said.
"So what do you suggest, Porthos?" Aramis said, in exasperation.
Porthos threw up his hands in despair.
"I don't know, but this don't seem right!"
"Porthos," Treville said quietly. "I understand your concern, but this is an unusual situation. Let's listen to what the doctor proposes."
Porthos folded his arms and leant back against the wall, looking at his feet.
Dr Lemay spoke up from where he had been listening.
"It will buy us some time until he remembers who he is. Or until we work out what to do. He won't be able to ride for a while but at least we can keep him well until his shoulder settles and his concussion eases," he said quietly.
"He won't do it," Porthos grumbled. "You know what 'e's like."
Aramis pushed off the wall and came to stand in front of Porthos. Placing his hand on Porthos's chest, he leaned in.
"Athos is gone, Porthos. As much as I hate to admit it. And I pray it is temporary. But, let us give him this chance?"
Porthos looked away. He knew he was outnumbered, but he could think of no alternative. He hadn't been able to bring himself to enter the Infirmary and see Athos, and if he was honest, he had no desire to. The ground had shifted beneath his feet, and his brother was, for all intents and purposes, now an aristocrat. Beneath his uncertainty, Athos was still there, somewhere, he knew, and he would still have his back. But, not today. And so he gave in, pushing Aramis's hand aside and striding from the room.
In the resultant silence, Treville spoke.
"It is agreed. Over the next two days, Athos will be kept as quiet as possible."
"Two days may not be enough," Lemay ventured.
"Two days," Treville ground out, his eyes finding Aramis.
"Agreed," Aramis said. "I will speak with Porthos and also d'Artagnan," he added. "They will see the sense of it."
Aramis knew, however, that their friend was otherwise a fit man and would soon wish to be on his feet. They needed a plan soon. If he was anything like "their Athos," it would be needed sooner rather than later.
Lemay picked up his bag.
"I'd like to see him now," he said, taking his leave of Treville.
Aramis and Treville shared a look, before Aramis followed. Ahead of him on the stairs, Lemay turned and looked up at Aramis.
"Above all you need to manage his concussion. Concussion is unpredictable."
"I know," Aramis replied. "Do you think his confusion will be permanent?"
Lemay sighed.
"I admit, I have no idea. I have not come across this before."
They made their way to the Infirmary and entered to the sound of retching.
d'Artagnan was holding a bowl with one hand, and with the other supporting Athos's forehead.
Aramis rushed forward and took the bowl from him.
"How long has this been going on?" Lemay said, rolling up his sleeves.
"A few minutes," d'Artagnan replied, stepping back. "He woke up and I just managed to get the bowl to him."
d'Artagnan poured watered wine into a cup and set it aside for later, as Aramis held the bowl. Lemay had opened his bag and was removing the laudanum he had brought with him. After several minutes, the retching ceased, but the pain it had caused to Athos's head and cracked collar bone had left him bathed in sweat and in considerable pain. Falling back against the pillows, he accepted the cup held to his lips and swallowed all of it.
No-one spoke. No questions were asked. They merely tended an injured man and settled him. Later, Lemay closed his bag and Aramis showed him out.
"I will be right back," Aramis told a worried d'Artagnan. "But he will sleep deeply now."
Athos would be senseless for several hours, by which time, they would have time to discuss their course of action. When Lemay had departed, Aramis returned to the Infirmary, relieving d'Artagnan.
A patient with concussion could not be left alone
He had a need to be beside his friend this night.
To be continued ...