Thank you to readers and reviewers after yesterday's chapter. Today, Athos' condition continues to cause grave concern to his brothers.

CHAPTER 43

Time wore on as Aramis worked and Porthos assisted. Much to his chagrin, d'Artagnan had been sent back to bed and despite his determination to stay awake in case he was required again – he did not mind how menial the task if it were to help Athos – he finally slept, but not before he had lain in the darkness, straining to hear the content of the whispers between Porthos and Aramis, afraid to miss anything and convinced that they were not being open with him. Even they were speaking little though.

Aramis was concentrating hard upon his delicate task and, with the stitches removed, he applied honey to the wound. Porthos held a candle as close as possible to where he was working for the lay brothers had no lamps. He probed the long gash in the flesh as gently as he could and sent up a silent prayer of gratitude that, at this juncture, Athos was not conscious for it would have been agonising. Satisfied that nothing detrimental remained in the wound, he flushed it out with water and patted the surrounding skin dry.

Straightening to ease the ache in his lower back from where he had bent over his brother, he took the needle that he laid out at the beginning of the process, held it in the candle flame until the heat threatened to burn his fingers and then dipped it into a glass of alcohol before threading it. Taking a deep breath, he bent low again over the supine figure and began sewing the edges of the skin together in his signature small stitches.

"Thank goodness the edges are not ragged," Aramis said, his relief evident.

"One clean cut," Porthos added objectively, trying to distract himself from the process by thinking more practically. "Too long for a stab, more like a slice."

"I agree. It does not explain how Athos came to be injured though. He would not have his guard down for an assailant to deliver a wound like that too easily."

"Unless he had been somehow disarmed."

Aramis shook his head. "Then he would have been dead."

"But perhaps he had lost his main gauche an' couldn't defend himself on that side." Porthos frowned. "Or maybe he was outnumbered an' one of 'em got in a lucky strike."

It was a chilling thought as to how close Athos had possibly come to being slain.

"He must have quite a story regarding how he escaped," Aramis added with a slight smile.

"It makes you wonder 'ow many of them there were an' how many of them 'e dispatched before they got 'im." Holding the candle steady, Porthos lay his other hand on the tousled curls of his unconscious brother. "I just want 'im to wake up an' tell us."

"You and me both," Aramis admitted with a wry grin as he attempted to alleviate their tension . "No doubt it is a tale of derring do. Trust Athos to have a grand adventure without us."

"We'll 'ave 'im recount it over a drink in The Wren," Porthos added, his face brightening.

"Of course we will. D'Artagnan will be there to hear the story too."

"It'll be time to wake 'im before too long," Porthos noted. "Get 'im on the road to Paris with that information."

Aramis grew serious again. "I know he doesn't want to leave here, and I understand for he fears the worst, but the thought of Athos' efforts having been unnecessary galls me. He must not have endured all this for nothing. Tréville needs that list of names."

There was a lull in their conversation as Aramis put in the last few stitches. He tied off the last one and snipped the thread. He smeared more honey onto a newly folded dressing and picked up a roll of linen. "Done. Now let's get him bandaged."

Porthos raised Athos into a sitting position, manipulating and holding him steady as Aramis wound the linen around the lean hips to hold the dressing in place.

"We'll replace it again in a few hours," Aramis announced when they had finished. "Now to check his arms where they bled him."

Again he had to soak off the bandages, but things were not as bad as he had anticipated. The crook of one elbow was fine whilst the other was just beginning to show the first signs of infection. Cleaning it and applying more honey, he bound both elbows again.

Porthos had fallen unusually quiet and Aramis knew that he was mulling over things. No doubt there would be a question before too long.

"All done," Aramis declared. "Let's move him to the clean bed."

Nodding, Porthos scooped up Athos into his arms and crossed to the second bed. Aramis held back the sheet and blanket until its occupant was settled comfortably and then covered him up to his chest.

Together, they set about gathering up soiled cloths and discarded bandages and moving buckets of bloodied water out of the way.

Having done all they could, they drew up chairs, one on either side of the bed, and sat down to keep a careful watch over their charge. Periodically, Aramis soaked cloths in the one remaining bucket of clean, cold water and wrung them out to wipe Athos' hot skin in the hope that it would cool him.

Suddenly he stood.

"Take over for me, please. I want to find their medical store to see what they've got. I somehow do not think we are going to get a sensible answer regarding how much they've given him. I might be able to ascertain the strength though."

He was not gone long.

"Any help to you?" Porthos asked, concentrating as he lay the wet, cold cloth on Athos' forehead.

"Bartholomew was correct; they have very little of anything, including what they have been giving to Athos. It told me nothing."

It was after five in the morning when Anselm silently appeared, bearing yet another bucket of water fresh from the well and setting it beside Aramis, replacing the one that had warmed to room temperature. Aramis nodded his thanks, but Anselm had more news.

"The innkeeper arrived with a horse and cart a little while ago. He said you had asked for one. Robert has stabled the animal alongside yours."

"Is Dupuis still here?" Aramis queried.

"Yes, we are giving him some food before he leaves. He had the foresight to borrow a horse for the return journey; he had tied it to the back of the cart."

"Tell him to reassure the owners that we will return it, but we have need of it for a few days."

Anselm dipped his head in acknowledgement and left them alone again.

"You're waitin' until Athos' fever's broken before movin' 'im." It was a statement rather than a question but Porthos frowned when Aramis did not immediately respond. "Aren't you?"

Aramis quickly looked about him as if searching for eavesdroppers and lowered his voice. "We could wait days before this fever breaks, bearing in mind how long he has been in its grip already. I want to get him back to Paris as soon as possible."

"Why?" Porthos demanded. "Surely there's a risk the journey will kill him, given how bad he is right now?"

Aramis chewed on his bottom lip, exhaustion lining his features.

"Aramis?" Porthos persisted. "Could he die if we move him too soon?"