XX. Prevail or Sacrifice
"Today is the day, gentlemen." Suard's voice was loud and clear, and echoed off the fortress' walls to burn the words into the minds of the musketeers assembled in front of the gate. "Today is the day we finally gain the upper hand."
Porthos wasn't sure what reaction Suard had expected, but he was rewarded with absolute silence. Not even the civilians uttered a single word. The General waited another few seconds to let his words sink in before he started pacing in front of the assembled lines of soldiers. Porthos was standing in the front row, flanked by Athos and Aramis.
"Thanks to the ongoing efforts of the Cardinal on the mainland, we have averted another crisis," he explained casually and Porthos couldn't help but roll his eyes. Almost leaving the men to starve was just another crisis? But his curiosity about the General's master attack plan got the better of him, and he continued to listen attentively.
"But now," Suard continued, with a somewhat satisfied grin on his face, "now, it's up to us to turn the tables. Once and for all. I have laid out a plan, an attack plan, and if we succeed, we shall force the Butcher back to Buckingham and off Saint-Blanceau, which gives us a chance to secure the beach." He made another pause, and he seemed to remember something. He turned to Athos.
"Did you take care of the hole in the wall?" he asked, and before Athos could answer, Arthur jumped in.
"I repaired it after the last attack on the fortress. It is secure."
Suard's eyes snapped towards Arthur, but he nodded slowly before he started pacing again. "Very well. That means the civilians should be safe during our absence."
"Does that mean you intend to leave no musketeers here in the fortress, in order to protect them?" Aramis questioned. Porthos elbowed him hard for the lack of respect in the marksman's voice. Not that he did not share the sentiment, he merely thought it was dangerous to show it so openly.
Suard's eyes lit up with a hateful spark when they landed on Aramis. "Yes, Aramis, that's exactly what's going to happen. We need every man for this operation, and if all goes well, we won't be gone for more than a few hours." The stare he gave Aramis spoke volumes. Porthos knew that Aramis and Athos were doubtful of the General's loyalty. They hadn't shared yet the exact reasons why, stating that they didn't want to endanger Porthos with the knowledge, but he knew they wouldn't make such an assumption needlessly. Aramis had promised to fill him in as soon as it was safe. But there was something between Aramis and the General, and if Porthos saw it right, it almost seemed as if Suard was scared.
"You all will be split into groups. Group A will sneak towards the eastern end of the beach, group B will attack from the west. Our goal is to chase them off the beach and, if possible, cut off their retreat towards Buckingham. Aramis, to Porthos' left, managed a stiff nod, and Porthos opened his mouth to pose a question, but the General wasn't finished yet.
"We will have the element of surprise on our side. Eadmund's troops are weakened by sickness and a lack of supplies. It is our chance to strike."
Porthos caught Athos' gaze from the right. How does he know? Porthos mouthed, but Athos just shook his head warningly and turned his head back towards Suard.
"I know the past days have been difficult, but we need this chance to take back control," their commander continued. "I expect everybody to fight with everything they have. Sharpen your blades, prepare your guns. Athos, you and I will lead Group A. Guillaume, you take group B. I want everybody to be ready in about thirty minutes."
Porthos had a comment ready, but he bit his tongue. All these days of planning a coordinated attack, and this was what the General came up with? Porthos did not know whether to blame it on incompetence or evil intentions, not that it made much difference.
The musketeers immediately began to scatter all over the fortress, collecting their weapons and preparing for a fight. Athos, Aramis and Porthos were rooted on the spot for a few more seconds, digesting the so called 'plan' they had just heard. Porthos had to be honest, he was glad that they were finally doing something, but he wasn't sure whether this was the way to do it. He opened his mouth to voice his doubts aloud, but a kick caught him in the shin and he looked to Athos, who once again shook his head warningly. The reason revealed itself very soon.
"Aramis, you take a group of marksmen. There is an abandoned farmhouse, near the cliffs west of Cévry. We will be handing the godless Protestants to you on a silver platter." Suard had approached them. His voice was ice-cold, but he maintained the tone of authority appropriate for his rank.
Aramis clenched his teeth. "Should we await your signal?" he asked, and added a barely audible 'Sir' at the end of his question, but Suard paid him little attention.
"Just shoot every Englishman you see. Do you think you can handle that?"
Aramis nodded stonily.
"Good," Suard didn't even look at Aramis. "Gather your men, and leave immediately. If you don't hear anything otherwise, return when it's dark. Porthos, Athos, in my tent, in ten minutes."
With that, the General turned and headed towards the spot where they kept the English prisoners they had taken during the attack on the fortress. Porthos doubted it was a good idea to leave them here alone with the civilians, but a quick look towards Lucien, who was targeting the prisoners with hateful looks, assured him the civilians were aware of the possible danger.
"Alright, my friends," Aramis said mildly, and Porthos turned his head to catch his friend's gaze. "I'll take Arthur, and five more marksmen. Eric should join me too. And you two," he said sternly, letting his gaze swerve over Athos and Porthos, "watch out for each other, will you?"
Porthos coughed. "What about you? Who will look out for you?"
Aramis made a dismissive gesture. "I'll be fine. I have Arthur with me. Besides, it's you who are running with Suard. Make sure his orders don't get you all killed, 'cause sometimes I have a feeling that's exactly what he aspires to do."
Athos attempted something that looked like a comforting smile. "No promises."
"I'll see you all when the sun sets," Aramis said sincerely and squeezed their shoulders. "And, for all you hold dear, please take care."
Two hours later, Athos was lying down on the dunes not far from the Butcher's camp. General Suard was standing a few lengths behind him, and as usual, Porthos was by Athos' side. His friend was clearly suffering from the effects of his captivity, but despite his best efforts, Athos had not been able to convince him to stay in the fortress. Not that Suard would have authorized that anyway.
The space in front of them was open, but they were in a very dangerous location. Only about two miles behind them was Buckingham's camp, or at least parts of his camp, supporting the siege on the citadel. The Butcher's camp on the other hand was about half a mile west, but they would use the unoccupied beach in front of them to attack from the east and since the other group of musketeers, Group B, would be attacking from the west, they hopefully would have Lord Eadmund trapped on the beach between them.
However, most of Athos' remaining optimism was destroyed as soon as Théo's arrival was announced with heavy footsteps running towards them. Athos crawled backwards on his elbows and gritted his teeth as pain shot up his arm, but Porthos was there to pull him to his feet, just in time to witness Théo coming to a slithering halt in front of General Suard.
"Sir, Lord Eadmund has gathered many men around the south-western end of the beach. Many more than we anticipated. The resistance will be greater than expected. A lot greater."
Suard briefly acknowledged the statement with a flick of his wrist, before he turned his gaze back towards the open space in front of them. "I am sure that Guillaume and his men will prevail. They will distract the enemy, and open the escape route for Eadmund's men towards the north-western direction."
Where they will run straight into Aramis' group of marksmen, Athos thought, but he didn't voice it out loud. This was not what Suard had explained earlier.
"I thought we were supposed to attack at the same time, in order to have the Butcher's men in a trap," Théo answered, confusion written all over his face.
Suard hissed. "Lord Eadmund has us outnumbered. We wouldn't stand a chance. If we attack their backs on the other hand…"
"They are a diversion," Porthos suddenly spoke, and approached Suard slowly, his hands raised reproachfully. "Group B is a diversion. And they don't even know about it."
"It's a necessary move, so we can clear the field from behind," the General answered, barely looking at Porthos. He made a dismissive gesture. "If they are as good warriors as they claim to be, they should be fine. We're coming to help them as soon as the distraction works, and we get the element of surprise on our side."
"Why didn't you tell them the real purpose of their attack?" Porthos demanded to know sharply, and Suard's eyes flashed dangerously.
"Because they wouldn't have fought with the same passion and determination, and you know that it's true, Porthos."
Porthos just stared at the General, trying to comprehend his commander's intentions.
"Sir. May I speak to you in private?" Athos clenched his teeth. Hard.
Suard threw him an annoyed look. "We don't have time for this."
Porthos, who had known exactly why Athos had asked, threw his hands up in despair. "Then we'll ask you in front of everyone, if you don't mind: What is your plan?"
Suard furrowed his brow, and anger glistened in his eyes when he noticed that the musketeers were beginning to mutter mutinously among themselves. "As I explained," he growled and straightened up to face Porthos, who was still about half a head taller, "the damn plan is to do your duty, and we, together, will clean Saint-Blanceau of the English disease."
Porthos just kept shaking his head, and the rest of the musketeer group was now watching in hostile silence. Athos kept a steady gaze on the General.
"No, Sir," he repeated with all the respect he could manage. "We want to know what your real plan is. What is the purpose of sacrificing musketeers for a slim chance of defeating not even a fifth of the English forces?"
Suard almost looked like he had to laugh. "You should know your limits, soldier," he answered calmly, but Athos continued.
"You are a general, a soldier, a strategist. We have given you countless plans over the past weeks, yet you chose to ignore them for the benefit of your own 'great' attack plan!"
"You could have come up with something better," Porthos supported his friend. "But you deliberately decided against it."
Athos took a step back, to bring some distance between himself and Suard. The General looked like he was being cornered by the musketeers that he had gathered around him, yet he clearly did not see the soldiers as a threat.
"You must have a reason," Athos continued, his voice barely more than a whisper. "A higher purpose for this, a purpose you refuse to share with the men who are going to die for you."
"Yes, but the reasoning behind my plans is none of your concern, Athos," Suard cut him off.
Something inside of Athos suddenly crumbled. The wall he had built to protect himself and his brothers collapsed, the wall that had allowed him to act as he was expected to act, respecting the chain of command. And as he looked around at the faces of the other men, defeated and scared, he suddenly did not care anymore about acting properly subordinate.
"As soon as it unnecessarily endangers the lives of these men, it makes it my concern." Athos spoke calmly but coldly. "Every single man here is willing to die for King and country, but not for the egoism and selfishness of an incapable commander."
For a moment, Suard did not say a thing. Then, suddenly, he grabbed Athos' injured arm, so that Athos needed all of his self-control not to hit his commander, and dragged him out of hearing. No musketeer followed them, none except for Porthos of course, who did not dare to leave Athos' side.
Suard ignored him completely, and focused on Athos, his eyes wild with anger and fear.
"You talked to Aramis, didn't you?" The General's voice was devoid of any emotion, but the expression on his face was more than threatening. "I was right in thinking he was going to be a problem."
Athos furrowed his brow. "For what, for knowing that you once fought for Marie de Medici? That's not a crime anymore. Is that why you wanted to get rid of Gino? Because he knew?"
Suard showed his teeth. "The medic died in an accident. And he should have kept his mouth shut. I don't know what he told Aramis, or what he in turn told you, but I am still your commanding officer. And despite what you may think of me, we have a common goal, don't we?"
Athos withstood his angry look. "My purpose is to get the musketeers off this island alive."
The General's face turned bitter for a split second, before he huffed. "And you are doing this in fighting against the English intruders. You are killing the English in order to save your friends, and don't you dare to deny that."
"I am not," Athos retorted, barely able to contain his anger. "But this doesn't seem like we're doing this in order to fight for the King, or to fight for…"
But Suard didn't let him finish. "The King? Hell, the King has sent you here to die for him, in case you haven't noticed. He doesn't care. He doesn't care about me either."
Athos made another step towards the General, forgetting every sense of authority that used to be between them. "Sir, I don't care about your personal feelings towards the King, but every action you have taken since you took command of our regiment has been to damage the King's reputation, and to harm those under his protection."
"After everything that happened, after my brother…," Suard hissed, clearly aware that Athos already knew about that. "Don't ask of me to forgive that."
Athos felt a pain coming up his throat, a pain he had locked away the past two years and images of Thomas lying in his own blood flashed before his eyes. He blinked rapidly to get rid of the picture, and he felt Porthos' steadying presence by his side.
"Your brother was as much a victim as you are making us now."
Before Suard had a chance to argue, or even do something more severe, Porthos jumped in. Athos knew that Porthos had spent the past minutes trying to put together a puzzle he only had pieces of so far, but he understood quickly.
"You are using these men. Using us. To, what…get your revenge? On the King?"
"Do you have any idea what you are accusing me of?" Suard's hands were trembling dangerously, and Athos saw how he clasped his hands tightly around the hilt of his weapon, his knuckles white.
"Fairly," Athos retorted.
"This is your last warning, Athos. I'm still in charge. Your musketeer brothers are already attacking the beach, so you can either argue with me about honor and truth, or you can do as you are told for once and help me do our duty, help me to drive the Butcher from the beach and save the lives of your brothers-in-arms. Everything else has to wait."
With that, he turned around and strode back towards the waiting group of soldiers, who had watched their superior the entire time, speaking not a single word. Suard walked past them, raising his armed hand high in the air.
"Follow me. Let's support the rest of the musketeers, and slice the Butcher's throat!" A short war speech, a motivational speech to embolden the spirits of these men.
The musketeers didn't move an inch. All of them turned their heads and they looked at Athos. They looked at Porthos. As if they were waiting for confirmation. Porthos and Athos shared a brief look, and then they nodded in unison.
It wasn't until then that the musketeers drew their swords and pistols and followed General Suard down the slope and onto the beach.
As soon as they left the shelter of the trees and entered open space, the air was filled with fighting noises, and the smoke and fires about half a mile ahead assured them that Guillaume's group indeed had already started the attack, unaware that there would be no help coming immediately.
Suard gestured to the others to follow him, and the entire group fell into a fast trot, their steps silent due to the soft sand on the beach. It took them too long, much too long, to reach the camp. It had been at least twenty minutes, in which Guillaume's group, mercilessly outnumbered, had had to fight alone and unsupported.
Athos was already feeling the effects of his exhaustion, but the adrenaline that began to build in his veins was drowning out all other sensations. As expected, they had been able to approach unnoticed, as all of the Butcher's troops were engaged in the battle on the other side of the camp.
Suard kept going and pushed further into the English camp, burning and destroying everything in his path. The musketeers followed his example and burned the tents and knocked over the stacks of supplies, the few that were there. Athos and Porthos on the other hand just kept going, heading towards the fight to support their comrades that were already embroiled in a gruesome battle.
Without waiting for an order to do so, Athos raised his pistol and fired. His bullet hit an English soldier who was about to stab a musketeer, who turned out to be Frédéric, in the back. Frédéric was too busy to even acknowledge he had almost been killed.
Porthos to Athos' other side roared indignantly and pulled out his broadsword with his right hand, while he was armed with a rusty iron rod in his left hand. Athos too grabbed his sword and moved his pistol to his useless left hand, before he threw himself into battle.
Suard had been right, they had taken the English by surprise. They were unprepared for another group of musketeers. But the swordsman couldn't help but wonder how many musketeers had paid with their lives for that.
He felt like somebody else was guiding his arm when he crossed swords with a tall, lean Englishman. Steel clashed against steel, and the amount of force behind his opponent's strike was something he had not expected. Luckily, he wasn't alone.
It was Porthos who lashed out with his sword and caught the English soldier in his upper chest, which left the man stumbling backwards and wielding his sword menacingly in front of him.
Athos gained no joy from this fight, nor did he feel like this was the right thing to do. Something just felt very wrong, but it was his survival instinct that screamed at him to keep going. He continued to send one strike after the other against the injured man's blade until he was able to gain the upper hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw how Porthos was distracted by two English soldiers, one of them a captain, judging by the uniform. They attacked him from both sides, but Porthos, even in his weakened state, was not easily defeated. He landed a punch against the captain's jaw, knocking the man back and gaining space to deal with the two assailants one at a time.
Athos' eyes landed on Guillaume, only a few lengths away, who was struggling against the choke-hold of one of Eadmund's men. Athos, after assuring himself that Porthos was managing, jumped over his dead opponent and stabbed forward, missing Guillaume by inches, but piercing the Englishman's chest precisely. The man let go of Guillaume and sank to the ground.
Guillaume swayed dangerously, but his eyes found Athos. "Where on earth have you been?" he yelled over the noise, but he didn't expect an answer. He just turned around and crossed swords with yet another enemy soldier.
Athos on the other hand suddenly felt something clashing against his knee and his leg gave in for a split second, but he managed to keep his footing. He internally cursed his useless arm, but his right one lifted the rapier just in time to block a blow that surely would have killed him. He heard a frustrated growl somewhere to his left, and he turned around to block another strike. This Englishman was about Athos' height, but judging by his appearance, he still had two useful arms. Athos dove underneath the next blow and sent two strikes against the man's blade. The soldier merely made a step to the side and Athos did not know whether his reflexes weren't at their best or if he had just been sloppy, but suddenly, the Englishman was much too close, grabbing Athos' left arm firmly and giving it a twist.
Athos was unprepared for the pain that erupted in his arm and let out a sudden yell, dropping his pistol. Out of desperation, he smashed his own head against his opponent. He could feel the grip around his arm loosen and he swayed.
Athos stumbled backwards and his feet got caught in something. He lost his balance and crashed to the ground, his rapier up high to defend himself against a fatal strike. The English soldier, only armed with a dagger now, reached back to end the battle, but Athos managed to grab a discarded pistol with his left hand and smashed it hard against his opponent's temple. The man was instantly unconscious and fell to the ground motionless.
Athos turned his head to see what he had fallen over, and he felt something cold in his chest when his eyes landed on the body of the cadet Daniel. The front of his uniform was drenched in blood, and blood spots were decorating his neck up to his cheek. The big, brown eyes were staring into the sun.
Athos had no time to react in any way. A warning yell from Porthos made him leap to his feet and duck his head. He heard the hiss in the air as the bullet missed him only by inches. Athos' eyes darted towards the battlefield, and he could see Lord Eadmund. Athos hadn't seen him properly before, but he didn't question that this was indeed the English General. The clothing gave him away, and the way he kept yelling orders at the English soldiers, all while fighting off musketeers on two fronts like a rabid dog of war. He definitely didn't fight with elegance, but displayed something of Athos' fighting style combined with Porthos' and Aramis' all in one. It was impressive.
On Eadmund's signal, the English soldiers once again raised their pistols and fired at the musketeers, who had shifted towards the outer corner of the camp. But Athos could also see that the English had started to retreat – many English soldiers, with panic written all over their faces, started running towards the forest, and towards the escape route left open for them.
Athos took cover behind a wooden wagon, and pulled Porthos into cover too as the English soldiers suddenly started to fire the gunpowder they had left, again and again. He heard wood burst behind his back, but Athos made a mental note to thank Aramis for blowing up so much of the gunpowder supplies a few days ago.
"Athos, where is Aramis? Where are the marksmen?" Athos turned his head and spotted Théo, whose left cheek was bleeding badly. The musketeer ducked his head behind the remains of a tent. "We could really use them right now."
"Suard sent them to the ruins of the farmhouse, near the shore. They are supposed to cut off the escape route of the Butcher's men," Athos panted and twitched when a bullet wheezed past his head and buried itself in one of the wheels next to him, sending tiny splinters of wood everywhere.
Théo's eyes widened, and he broke cover and ran towards Athos just as another two bullets hissed through the air and missed their target. "The old farmhouse? Near the cliff?" His eyes darted towards the open sea, as if it held the answer to all his questions.
Athos grabbed him by the arm. "What is it?"
Théo swallowed multiple times before he managed to get the words out.
"I was on patrol with Suard a few hours ago. The English ships, Athos, they have moved to that side of the island, to block the French support ships that would come from La Rochelle. If they still have cannons on them, and know that French soldiers are hiding in the building, they…"
Athos understood immediately. "Suard knew about the ships?"
Théo nodded, and a frightened expression crossed his face. "I thought he told you. There is evidence of a naval battle on that side of the island, which the English have clearly won." His hands were clawing on Athos' sleeve. "Athos, if they see French marksmen shooting from there, they…"
But he didn't get to say anything else. Thunder exploded in the distance, loud and destructive, a sound that would haunt them in their dreams. And it was too close to be firing at something at sea. Athos froze, and Théo's eyes went wide.
"They will rip the shelter apart…" he finished slowly, his voice trembling.
Porthos to Athos' other side started shaking.
And there was one single thought that had control of Athos' mind. That Suard had willingly and knowingly sent the marksmen to their death.
Thank you to all who are still reading!