IV. Into the Wild

The sun was beginning to rise and bathed the whole camp in a warm, golden light. It was bright, too bright for Athos' taste, but at least the sun now provided them the light they needed to assess their whole situation better.

And it wasn't a good one. The wooden stakes that formed the outer wall of the fortress still carried the gunshot holes from 1625, and they were now rotten and looked a little unstable. There was a giant hole in the wall where it faced towards the ocean, and Athos made a mental note that that needed to be fixed as soon as possible.

The other big worry was the condition of the gate. By the looks of it, Buckingham wouldn't even have to make any efforts in order to storm the fortress. What once used to be a barricade was now barely more than a few wooden planks, and even with the gate closed, Athos could see through the multiple cracks in the wood.

He sighed and ran a hand over his face. The musketeers, under the command and organization of Porthos, had spent the rest of the night building up the tents and establishing some sort of system to their shelter.

There was now a medic tent, as well as a tent Porthos referred to as 'the commander's tent'. Athos had silently groaned about the title, since he really didn't see himself or his two friends as the commander here, but the tent contained the maps and the letters they needed to come up with a strategy. They had split the supplies over three tents in total, and it had been Porthos idea, which Athos had to admit was quite good thinking.

Porthos had argued that should Buckingham attack the fortress and send someone to destroy their supplies, they would probably set them on fire. It would be better if they all weren't in one spot. There were some other tents as well, but most of the about fifty musketeers chose to sleep outside. About twenty of them, including Athos, Porthos and Aramis, were patrolling the fortress, and guarding the others while they got some well-deserved sleep.

Athos was currently residing next to the medic's tent, polishing and cleaning his pistol, and barely noticing how the exhaustion threatened to overcome him every two minutes. He had almost fallen asleep over his weapon when the strong and loud footsteps of Porthos shook him awake within seconds and had him on high alert.

"Relax, it's just me," Porthos grunted and came to a stop in front of Athos, casting a quick glance at the clean pistol he was now polishing needlessly.

Athos said nothing, waiting in anticipation to see if Porthos had something important to tell him, but after a few moments of silence he realized he wouldn't get answers if he didn't ask the questions.

"What are your thoughts about this?" Athos asked as casually as possible.

Porthos shrugged. "Nothing you can't see yourself. This camp looks bad, but if we work hard enough, we could make a decent shelter within two days."

Athos couldn't help but be surprised by Porthos' statement. He had expected a dark assessment, but he once again came to the conclusion that there was a lot more about Porthos than he had gotten to know over the past two years. Despite their rough situation, the musketeer didn't waste any time and chose to make plans for their survival instead of bemoaning their plight.

Porthos was exhausted too, but Athos could see that the musketeer chose not to show any of it. He looked energetic and strong, with an expression ready to take on the entire world if necessary.

That, for sure, couldn't be said about Aramis. The marksman had appeared out of nowhere, with two bags of medical supplies over his shoulders, and his expression was a mixture of sour and annoyed. He had caught Athos' and Porthos' voices and now strode towards them.

Porthos raised an eyebrow when he saw Aramis' face.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked out of curiosity, and folded his arms in front of his chest.

Aramis hesitated, but he just sighed. "Nothing. Nothing of importance, at least."

Athos steered his gaze towards the weapon in his hands again. "Feel free to share."

He could almost hear Aramis debating with himself whether he should hold back or let his emotions run freely. Athos looked up again and saw his assumptions confirmed when Aramis threw the bags to the ground, running a hand through his hair nervously.

"Well, this is the third time I'm getting shot at on this damn island!" Aramis complained with a pained expression. "I feel like all memories connected to this place are about war and battlefields. I'll have a word with Tréville as soon as we get back." He made a short pause. "If we ever get off this cursed place."

Porthos just raised an eyebrow. "Where's your optimism?"

Aramis scowled. "Stuck with the others, in a fortress I'm not in. Because we have different orders."

"Honorable ones, some might say," Athos interjected coolly.

Aramis sighed, and raised his hands in defeat. "Don't get me wrong, I'll do whatever I can. We all will. But back on this beach – back in Saint-Blanceau? Did you see any honor there?"

Athos opened his mouth to answer, but he closed it again when he made the decision not to go into detail. He changed the subject.

"Méchant said this camp was said to be in good condition."

Aramis snorted sarcastically and Porthos threw a sinister look towards the wooden wall. "Well, the bastard lied to you."

Athos shrugged.

"Aramis, can you go get Mathis and Arthur and secure the gate?" Aramis stared at Athos for a second, but then he saluted facetiously with the hint of a grin on his face and disappeared between the other musketeers.

Athos sighed and decided to stand up, securing his pistol to his weapons belt. He nodded towards Porthos with his head.

"We should make a plan on how to reinforce this camp. I could use your ideas."

Porthos grinned darkly. "Sure."

For a moment, they said nothing, and walked side-by-side in silence towards the hole in the wall, until Porthos raised his voice.

"He's just nervous, you know?" he explained. "'Aramis, I mean. He'll need some time to get used to the reality of this plan."

Athos said nothing at first, and pretended to be sincerely interested in the holes in one of the wooden pillars.

"Aramis has fought on more battlefields for the King than we have. I suspect he's getting tired of this."

Porthos just snorted in disbelief. "Aramis? Getting tired of fighting? Nah. More like getting tired of being sent into massacres." He stopped, and let his eyes swerve over the men around them, which led to him lowering his voice. "…but you are aware that this is what the Commander's orders are, right? You don't really think he sent us here so we can pose a real threat to the English?"

Athos slowly lifted his gaze to look Porthos in the eyes, and a rebellious expression crossed his face. "Buckingham knows nothing about us. I'm not planning on being used as bait for the English."

Porthos still looked worried. "Well, after last night, I think Buckingham is the least of our concerns."

Athos diverted his gaze again and looked towards the ocean, calm and soothing. It showed nothing of the storm that had happened last night, and nothing of all the blood that had been shed. "You're referring to the English General."

"The Butcher of la Rochélle, yes," Porthos agreed. "It seems like he's the one currently on our trail."

"I refuse to call him that." Athos raised an eyebrow. "But he acts on Buckingham's orders. And Buckingham will need at least two or three days to secure the beach, which gives us enough time to build this fortress into something useful." He couldn't help but turn a bit bitter towards the end.

A mischievous spark lit up in Porthos' eyes. "We'll all work together to make that happen, that much I can assure you." He gently patted Athos' shoulder.

"So, the plans you mentioned…?"

For the rest of the day, each musketeer worked hard on getting wood and steel to build barricades and strengthen the fortress.

Athos had asked Gino, their official field medic, to tend to the cut on his arm. It hadn't bothered him much since they had left Saint-Blanceau, but after Aramis had reminded him of the various ways this wound could make Athos' life miserable, he had finally given in and Gino, a very straight-forward and pragmatic man, had cleaned the blood-leaking wound and bandaged it neatly, without making a comment to which Athos was silently grateful for.

Once the swordsman had left the medical tent, he had trained briefly with one of the cadets, just to make sure he wasn't limited in his combat skills. Raising his arm high over his head wasn't exactly pleasant, but it was possible and that was all Athos cared about.

He quickly returned to his duties at the camp. Ten musketeers had volunteered to patrol the area and report any suspicious movements, but luckily, they had nothing to report yet.

Athos had worked together with Dénis, their architect, to figure out the best way to fortify the fortress, and later on, he had helped to get some wood to reinforce the weak points in the walls. In the afternoon, he had decided to get a little bit of rest himself, but after three hours he had woken and gotten up to assess the situation.

Porthos had taken over Athos' work on the hole in the wall, and it almost looked like there had never been any damage. He threw Athos a grim, but confident grin as he passed by, gesturing to him that the swordsman's help was no longer needed here.

Next to the campfire, he spotted Aramis, together with the grim looking Arthur and a tired looking Mathis. Athos instinctively turned towards the gate, and he couldn't help but be a bit impressed. The rotten stakes forming the gates had been tied to thick, wooden beams, making the gate more resistant and stable without losing any of its mobility. There were two new locking mechanisms, simple ones, but very effective by the looks of them. The gate could be secured with three beams in total now, in case they needed a full barricade.

Athos dropped on an old tree trunk next to Aramis and gratefully accepted the canteen of water his comrade offered him.

"That's good work," he simply said and gestured towards the gate.

Aramis grimaced, but he looked more or less content. "It should hold. It's the best we could do with the resources we have."

Mathis took a sip from a cup he was holding and threw Athos a childish grin. "The locks were Aramis' idea. I would've never come up with that construction."

Athos wasn't sure whether Aramis knew how admiring the boy's words sounded. He raised a questioning eyebrow in Aramis' direction, but the marksman just leaned back and answered Athos' unspoken question.

"I'm a man of many talents. Though I have to admit, stuff like that…," and he motioned towards the gate, "…was probably just lucky thinking."

"Oh, come on, give yourself some credit," Mathis insisted. "this gate probably wasn't that strong when it was built two years ago."

Aramis made a dismissive gesture, and he looked really uncomfortable. "Credit where credit is due. I had an idea, and you gentlemen," and he shot a glance over to Arthur, who was deep in thought, "...made it what it is now because I was too tired to continue."

Athos suppressed a sigh. "You haven't slept in a while. You should get some rest."

Aramis rolled his eyes. "Yes, Sir," he countered. "You can be really bossy, you know that? Doin' Tréville justice."

Athos grunted. "If you prefer to fall asleep while the rest of us go after Buckingham, go ahead, I won't stop you. But I don't want to hear any complaints later on."

Mathis, and even Arthur, laughed. Athos just raised the canteen to his lips and took a swallow.

Aramis had flashed him a quick grin and now turned his head from one side to another.

"Speaking of bossy, where's Porthos?"

Athos lifted his head to look for their friend, but he barely had to search.

"Bringin' you something we all deserve after the chaos of the last twenty hours," a deep voice sounded from behind, and Porthos, balancing five bowls filled with stew, emerged from one of the tents and dropped to the ground next to Aramis and Arthur.

"Oh, my friend, you sure know how to brighten up my day," Aramis said and took the bowl between his hands, gazing at it lovingly.

Porthos chuckled. "Save your blandishments for Celeste, will ya?"

Celeste, at least as far as Athos knew, was Aramis' current love conquest, a handmaiden in the service of a Parisian noble, and, for a change, she was not married. It had been about twelve weeks since they had last been in Paris, and for the first two weeks, Aramis did not shut up about her. Now, he rarely mentioned the woman.

A weird expression crossed Aramis' face, but he had it under control very quickly and smiled at Porthos, though Athos could see it was forced.

The swordsman also gratefully accepted the bowl Porthos handed him, and for a while, they sat side by side, eating in silence. After a while, Porthos and Aramis started telling the story of their last mission on Ré Island, the one mission where Athos had known something in his life had changed, because suddenly, he had been able to trust someone again.

Mathis was listening attentively to Aramis' dramatic tales and Porthos' slightly inappropriate jokes, while Arthur was acting uninterested, but Athos could see in his face that he was soaking up every detail of the mission.

Athos knew Aramis and Porthos were just trying to ease the tension that was undoubtedly hanging in the air, but he couldn't help but recall the truth of their last expedition on this island. It was a vivid memory, and a cruel one. Athos remembered nothing but blood and violence, and true fear and vulnerability while being exposed to the gunfire. And he knew that Porthos and Aramis, the two men he had grown to call his friends, felt the same way.

But as they were sitting here together now, near a little campfire and telling tales of a past victory, Athos knew that Aramis' and Porthos' intention was to alleviate the fear everyone here was feeling. To oppose it, to numb it. They were all musketeers, and that connected them. To his own surprise, Athos caught himself enjoying this tale, as inaccurately as it was being told. It felt like a gathering of friends, chatting as if they were just in one of Paris' old, filthy taverns.

And, most importantly to Athos, they were all equal. Equal in rank, and equally terrified of what was to come, even though nobody would admit it.

"Porthos, Aramis, Arthur, Mathis and Frederic," Athos' call rang through the entire camp early the next morning. The sun hadn't even begun to rise yet.

Slowly but surely, the named men appeared from all directions. He could see Porthos and Aramis coming out of the medical tent. Both looked tired, but they greeted Athos with an almost overwhelmingly friendly smile. Athos merely raised an eyebrow.

"What's going on with you two?" he asked dryly, and his eyes wandered towards the tent from which they had just emerged.

Aramis grinned. "We have set up everything in the medical tent now. We organized all the supplies, and we even went to collect some useful herbs." He looked a little confused at the lack of reaction from Athos. "Long story short," he continued with a sigh, "we are prepared now."

Porthos grunted and folded his arms in front of his chest. "Yeah, now we can continue getting' shot at."

Aramis exhaled slowly and grimaced. "Lucky us."

"Good," Athos answered to no one in particular and acknowledged the presence of Arthur, Mathis and Frederic, a young cadet, with a brief nod.

"What do you need?" Arthur asked.

"Come with me," Athos merely responded and marched towards the gate. When he passed the musketeer standing closest to the gate, he leaned over.

"Théo, look after the camp. We will be back soon."

The musketeer frowned. "Where are you goin'?"

"Scouting, securing the area. We need to find out where the English are, and how likely they know where we are," Athos informed him smoothly.

Théo shifted nervously from one foot to the other, his eyes scanning the men standing in front of him. "Don't you think you should take more men with you?" he asked, clearly uncomfortable asking, since technically, Athos, Porthos and Aramis had been given the command for now.

Athos on the other hand just shrugged and answered calmly: "The fewer we are, the less likely we'll be spotted. I'll send for reinforcements if necessary."

Théo bit his lip, but he nodded and turned to organize more groups to work on the camp.

Porthos opened the gate and headed out first, Athos, Aramis, Arthur, Mathis and Frederic on his heels. They put some distance between themselves and the camp, and eventually came to a stop behind a tall rock near the cliff.

"So, west of the camp is nothing to be secured. Only cliffs and water, impossible for Buckingham to approach silently," Porthos asserted.

Athos ran a hand through his hair. "We merely have a problem should he decide to send his ships over to this side."

Arthur's sharp eyes were fixed on the said spot, and he shook his head. "A problem, indeed, but not a grave one. The waters here are not deep enough for the ships to come close enough to use their cannons."

"Which means we're safe from their cannons, but they can still send soldiers over the water," Athos pointed out sharply.

Arthur raised a placating hand. "True, but we shouldn't forget that we're not the main target. We're just a splinter group of the French troops, it's the Commander in the main fort they want to defeat."

Aramis chuckled, sounding almost scornful. "First and foremost, they want this island, and they'll want to kill every French soldier they encounter. Don't ever underestimate them."

"I'm not," Arthur growled and seemingly took a deep breath to defend his statement even further, but Athos cut in first.

"We have to get to know the terrain. See whether there are shelters nearby, and where exactly the English troops are residing."

"Shouldn't we wait to act until the Commander sends his orders? Or until he sends a general to take the command?" Frederic, the cadet, raised his voice. "There's no one here authorized to give the orders."

Anger and impatience welled up in Athos, but Porthos spoke first.

"I do believe Captain Tréville was quite clear about this." His words left no room for objection.

"Frederic," Aramis started and approached the man slowly, putting a hand on his shoulder, a dangerous grin on his face. "If you want to put your fate into the hands of someone who isn't even here, feel free to do so. I understand that your lack of experience may result in doubts of the capability of the musketeer regiment."

"I'm not…," Frederic started to protest, but Aramis cut him off again.

"I suggest you return to camp if you don't feel comfortable with a musketeer's task. And if you believe we are…what did you call it?"

"Unauthorized," Arthur helped out grimly.

"Right," Aramis continued with a devilish smile, "If you believe us to be unauthorized for this, you can report to your superior. Who, by the way, is nowhere to be seen yet."

Frederic desperately looked from Aramis to Athos, but it was Mathis, looking very impatient, who stepped forward and put a hand on Frederic's arm.

"Go," he said with faked kindness. "The camp needs your help. Maybe next time you can come with us."

Frederic apparently did not see how to get out of this, so he threw one very furious look towards Aramis and trudged back towards the camp.

"Was that really necessary?" Porthos asked. "You scared a potentially great musketeer away." He did not, however, sound too concerned.

"He was setting the wrong priorities," Aramis defended himself. He didn't look sorry at all. "I didn't mean to be harsh, but we cannot spare the time to argue about authorities."

"Aramis is right, doubt is the last thing we can use now" Athos growled and took a step forward. "I suggest someone goes scouting in this direction," he pointed south, "carefully, because Buckingham's troops are most likely somewhere there."

"I'll do it," Aramis volunteered, and neither Athos nor Porthos looked surprised. Out of all of them, Aramis seemed the most capable of scouting without being caught or noticed. And he was the most experienced for this kind of mission.

Athos exchanged a quick look with Porthos, and nodded. "Fine. Be careful."

Aramis saluted flamboyantly. "I always am." With that, he quickly took off to the south, one hand on the hilt of his pistol.

"I'm not even going to comment on that," Porthos said, and Mathis chuckled.

"Mathis, can you go in the direction of the main fort? We need to gather information on the status of the rest of the Commander's troops." This time, Athos was asking first. He did not like to send Mathis, a very young man, that far into unknown territory, but it was their best shot.

Mathis' eyes lit up, it was no secret that he felt the urge to prove his worth. "Yes, sir!"

Without wasting more time, he too went into the said direction, which left Athos, Porthos and Arthur with the south-east route, which soon led them to an area of tall grass and several trees. Athos was sure that they had passed through this same area, all those hours ago when they fled from the beach.

There was a large field with tall grass right in front of them, and Athos and Porthos silently agreed on splitting up to make sure there were no hidden threats. Arthur stayed close to the trees,

After half an hour of searching the area, Athos had to come to the conclusion that muddy ground, broken trees and the occasional rabbit were the most dangerous things in this area, and he returned to Arthur, who was already exchanging a few words with Porthos. Both of them looked up as soon as they heard Athos approach.

"We should check the forest," Arthur said nervously. "There's something about it."

Porthos shrugged. "Well, it won't hurt."

Together, they slowly approached the tall trees, and Porthos lifted his hand.

Hear that? he mouthed towards Athos, and needlessly pointed towards his ears and brought a finger to his lips.

Now, Athos could hear it too. It was the sound of metal, hitting something over and over again. A hard, but slightly dull surface by the sounds of it.

Again, and again.

Athos immediately turned his head, just to make sure they were covered. He had a feeling that he always needed to watch his back on this island.

Suddenly, in the matter of a second, the source of the sound revealed itself and Athos' eyes widened with alarm.

"Get down!" he hissed sharply and pulled Porthos by his sleeve down into the tall grass.

"Wha…?" Porthos started to ask, but he froze as soon as he too spotted the distant figure. A man appeared between the trees, carrying an axe over his shoulder, his face red and sweaty.

He was mumbling something quietly, but loud enough for Athos' to hear some words.

"…not getting scared….whatever they like…not my war…".

French, Athos thought, but didn't relax one bit. Just because he was speaking their language didn't mean he was a friend.

The man turned away from them and started jogging, paying no attention to not being followed. He obviously didn't seem to care.

Athos gestured the other two to follow him, and as quietly as he could manage, he followed the man. It took a good amount of skill and a sharp hearing but they managed to stay hidden and follow the track of the man, but he just continued running towards where the trees formed a thick wall, about one and a half miles south of the wooden fortress the musketeers currently occupied.

The three musketeers hid behind some tree-trunks, before they lifted their heads to see where the man had unknowingly led them.

Porthos hissed angrily, and Arthur let out something that sounded like "Oh damn." Athos just stared at the sight.

"This is…," Athos started and took in a deep breath, choosing his next words carefully. "…not exactly unexpected."

"I cannot believe it," Porthos murmured, loosening the grip around his sword.

Athos barely moved, but a little sigh escaped his lips and he squeezed his eyes shut. Arthur to his other side spoke his feelings out aloud.

"As if we didn't have enough problems."

"Those are civilians," Athos pointed out needlessly. "French citizens. They need protection." It was a statement, not a question.

Porthos growled in confirmation, and a fourth voice diverted all of their attention from the village.

"If it lightens up your mood, that isn't the biggest problem." They turned their heads and spotted Aramis, approaching them quickly. He looked deadly serious, and continued to cast glances over his shoulder, as if scared he was being followed. "A group of Buckingham's troops is scouting the area, heavily armed. It won't be long until they reach the village."

One of two calmer chapters which are much needed I believe. Thank you for reading, and thank you for the kind comments.