Belated season's greetings to everyone and apologies that this chapter (and others) did not become a Musketeer advent calendar after all!
I hope you have all had a wonderful time and now you are preparing for the New Year.
So, what exactly has Bartholomew done to 'treat' Athos?
CHAPTER 41
When d'Artagnan returned with the saddle bag, Aramis set out its contents on a small table between the two beds, his hand hovering over the few bottles that he routinely carried with him. He was only half concentrating on counting the bandages as he watched Porthos gently settle Athos on the nearest bed, ensuring that he was covered with the sheet.
Bartholomew had moved the other patient and now stood at the end of the bed where Athos lay, sullenly watching proceedings. Theodore was struggling under the weight of blankets and sheets that filled his arms and d'Artagnan hurried to give him some assistance. The lay brother was heard quietly repeating the instructions he had been given and the young, would-be musketeer disappeared outside again to fetch the much-needed rope.
Aramis leaned over the bed and stroked Athos' forehead, masking the fear he felt at the heat being generated by the unconscious musketeer.
"Tell me what happened from the beginning and exactly what you have done for him?" Aramis asked, straightening and turning to fix Bartholomew with a stare. It had taken all his willpower not to say 'done to him' but he needed a concise and honest account and to throw accusations at the surly man might force him onto the defensive and, as a result, waste valuable time.
"He arrived two nights ago. Robert heard the horse and went to the gate and found him virtually unconscious in the saddle. When we got him in here, we saw that he had lost a great deal of blood judging by the amount on his clothing, on his hands, down his leg and over the horse and saddle. There was a deep gash on his left side, and it looked as if infection was already setting in."
"He'd lost a load of blood and so you decided to take some more," Porthos growled.
Aramis shot him a warning look for he needed Bartholomew to be open with him.
"The patient's humours were at odds; we were doing all we could to help," the lay brother replied, an edge to his voice.
"Athos. The patient's name is Athos," Porthos insisted dangerously. Aramis reached across the bed to lay a calming hand upon his arm.
"We did not know his name until you arrived. The man was near insensible; he was not capable of saying anything to us, least of all his name," Bartholomew persisted.
"We understand," Aramis said reassuringly whilst still holding onto his friend's arm. "And we are grateful that you took him in," he added deliberately, his eyes still locked with Porthos. "How many times have you bled him?" He tried to sound conversational.
"The first time was that night but the fever grew worse and so we did it a second time yesterday morning and again earlier today."
Aramis closed his eyes. If Athos had already lost a lot of blood, it was too often, rendering him even more weak and incapable of fighting the fever.
"And what else did you give him or do?" Aramis gave the lay brother his full attention once more.
"We used a number of things, but you must appreciate that his condition was serious when he arrived, and he continued to deteriorate despite our best efforts. The brothers who knew of such things have passed and we do not have their skills."
"So you keep telling us and we appreciate your efforts but tell me what you used," Aramis insisted, trying to ignore Porthos' muttered correction that he did not appreciate their efforts.
Bartholomew licked his lips nervously. "Our medicines have been depleted since the death of Brother Luke and I have tried to replicate them, but his writing was not always distinct, nor he did always include quantities or dosage. These were things he knew from years of experience whilst I have had to use trial and error."
"Just tell us what you used, man!" Porthos drew himself up to his full height and clenched his fists, his whole demeanour menacing.
"Wormwood, Saint John's wort, poultices of birch and ladies' bedstraw, crushed garlic cloves, willow bark, wolf's bane and senna." Bartholomew suddenly rattled off the long list, his eyes wide with alarm at the big Musketeer's aggressive stance.
"I know nothin' about medicines but it sounds too much to me," Porthos said, appealing to Aramis who groaned softly and nodded.
"Let me guess," Aramis began, his tone strangely flat. "You gave him the senna as a laxative and the hellebore as an emetic?"
Bartholomew nodded warily.
"I wonder at your doses. Too much of either of those can have serious consequences and mixed with the others? It can be disastrous," Aramis warned. "You gave him wormwood, no doubt for the fever, but that can induce vomiting as can the wolf's bane."
The lay brother looked genuinely worried.
"The Saint John's wort, birch and ladies' bedstraw were made into poultices?"
There was the nod again.
"You gave the willow bark for the pain but the wolf's bane as well? What about the crushed garlic?" Aramis could no longer hide his incredulity.
"I put that on the wound when I had stitched it. I needed to stop the bleeding, reduce the pain and help the healing process. Garlic is an aid against infection, but the wound showed all signs of that having set in already."
Aramis sighed. "I can see how you were trying to help him, but it was all too much too soon, and in those combinations …." his voice trailed off.
Porthos looked murderous but any outburst from him was avoided by the arrival of Anselm with two buckets of water and cloths.
"I will go and collect some more," the lay brother announced and promptly left again.
D'Artagnan and Theodore had completed their task in constructing makeshift walls around the bed from hanging blankets and sheets and awaited further instructions.
Aramis looked around at the lay brothers. "Thank you for your help. We will take over from here but do not go far in case we have need of you again. Actually," he added as an afterthought, "it is many hours since we have eaten so we would appreciate something for when our work is done."
"Of course," Theodore responded amiably. "We will address that at once," and he ushered his companions out.
Aramis looked at d'Artagnan. "You have a journey as soon as it is light. Rest now; use one of the other beds."
D'Artagnan's looked hurt. "But it's Athos and I want to help," he insisted. His expression changed into a frown. "I don't need protecting."
Aramis took a deep breath and wondered how tactfully he could explain his reasons. D'Artagnan was still relatively new to their group and what needed to be done now was intimate, intrusive even.
"I am not protecting you." He looked down at the figure on the bed. "I am protecting him. We all know what a private man he is. It is enough that I have to have assistance from Porthos, for if Athos has any awareness of what we are doing, he would be mortified."