XXIII. Stand Unshaken
The sun was beginning to disappear behind the distant horizon, painting the sea in its dark golden light when the outlines of the musketeer fortress came into sight. Théo kept pushing Suard forward, and Porthos followed with Athos only a few lengths behind them.
Athos' heart was pounding heavily as fear crept over him from the sheer silence that surrounded the fortress. He exchanged a quick look with Porthos, noticing the worried frown on his brother's face.
"Hold!" That was Guillaume's voice, and Athos was sure that there were weapons pointed at them.
"Easy, it's us!" Porthos yelled back.
"Porthos?" Guillaume, wherever he was, did not sound convinced, and it increased Athos' worry even further.
"Yes, damn it, lower your weapons and open the gate!" Porthos answered, and luckily, their comrade complied. With an awful creaking sound, the gate opened just enough to let a man through, and Guillaume appeared in the open space and started walking towards them. A surprised expression crossed his face when he saw General Suard and Théo, but he chose to look at Athos as he approached them.
"What happened?" Athos demanded to know immediately.
"Six Englishmen. None of the civilians were harmed; they claim that the English were hesitant to hurt them." He shrugged. "You care to explain what you did to our commander?" There was no reproach in his words, it was more a strangely indifferent curiosity.
"Suard tried to kill Athos, and he got some of the marksmen killed," Porthos explained very shortly.
Guillaume released a stuttering breath. "So I believe it's also thanks to him that you arrived so late in Saint-Blanceau?"
Athos just nodded. "He used you as a distraction."
Guillaumes eyes wandered towards Suard, still kept at gunpoint in front of Théo, and he hesitantly made a few steps towards him. "Is that true?"
Suard audibly gritted his teeth. "Strategically, it made the most sense. Yes, it's true." He narrowed his eyes. "Your comrades just admitted to insubordination and mutiny. Are you an obedient and loyal soldier, or do you just want to stand by and watch this happen?"
Athos felt his right hand snap towards his own weapon in an attempt to silence Suard, but he needn't have worried. Guillaume tilted his head. "We lost about a dozen men on that beach. Losses that could have been averted if you wouldn't have waited there to save your own skin. This has nothing to do with insubordination or mutiny." He straightened back up and exchanged a quick look with Athos and Porthos. "It's about surviving. And we won't survive this with you in command."
Théo sent Athos a questioning look, and the swordsman managed a stiff nod. Théo passed through the open gates, keeping Suard in front of him.
"Come," Guillaume said mildly and gestured towards the gate. "Quickly, before any English soldiers come back."
Athos and Porthos quickly followed him inside the safety of the walls, and the gate was closed shortly after. Porthos leaned onto his knees, taking in a deep breath, while Athos was frozen on the spot, his eyes glued to the much diminished number of musketeers scattered all over the fortress. Most of them were sitting on the ground, surrounded by caring civilians and worried comrades. Some looked worse than others. How many men had they lost today? And how were they supposed to prevail against Buckingham and Lord Eadmund?
Athos feared that should Buckingham's siege of the citadel continue to be unsuccessful, the frustrated Duke would unite his forces with Lord Eadmund again and take out the few musketeers that were left here at the fortress. It wouldn't require much of an effort. He believed the English considered taking the citadel too important to just be abandoned, but Décart had successfully defended the position for weeks now. Buckingham too would be having his fair share of problems concerning supplies or wounded men and looking for a way to break the stalemate.
Athos spotted Mathis on on his knees, next to a few other musketeers surrounding someone on the ground. Mathis instantly leapt to his feet with an energy Athos could only envy. He himself was shaking, and his wet clothes had drained the last bit of energy he had had. His arm was on fire, and his muscles were strained and exhausted.
Mathis walked straight towards them, coming to a slithering halt in the sand.
"Where's Aramis?" Mathis greeted them instantly, getting straight to the point. "We need a medic. Robert needs urgent treatment and…"
"He might be dead," Athos cut him off harshly and staggered towards the wall. "All the marksmen might be dead."
Athos felt his legs giving in and his fingers desperately tried to get a hold on the wooden posts of the fortress walls. Black spots were dancing in front of his vision and Mathis' voice as well as Porthos' unusual calm words sounded as if they were far away. The last thing he saw were the bodies butchered by the English cannons in front of his inner eye before he fell into darkness.
"Athos, hey!" Somebody was waving in front of his face, and gently slapping his cheek. "Come on." Porthos, Athos recognized.
He slowly opened his eyes and blinked rapidly to clear his blurred vision.
"What?" he croaked back at Porthos who hadn't stopped calling his name.
"You blacked out." That was Mathis' calm voice. The young musketeer was standing in front of Athos, casting worried glances towards his friend. By the looks of it, Athos couldn't have been out for long. A few minutes, maybe. In a way, he felt embarrassed, but he suppressed the sentiment and chose to admit his physical exhaustion. His emotional one was a different matter. He groaned and tried to sit up, feeling Porthos' hand at his shoulder helping him.
"It's alright. It's your arm, I believe. Those wounds aren't healing." Porthos sent Athos a stern glare. "Aramis was right. You should have been resting."
"Resting is a luxury we cannot afford," Athos growled and ran a hand over his face.
Porthos turned towards Mathis on his other side. "I do so hate it when he's right." His flippant remark lacked its usual good-natured agreeability, indicating how far from fit Porthos himself was.
"Where's Suard?" Athos groaned.
"In front of the medical tent," Porthos answered briefly. "Théo's watching him."
"So, what now?" Mathis asked and handed Athos a cup filled with clear water, which the swordsman took gratefully and dumped down his throat at an instant.
"Now," Athos panted and grimaced when he leaned onto his injured arm to get up, "now we inform the others. And you," he glanced at Mathis, "pass the word. Everyone deserves to know why we brought our own commanding officer back at gunpoint."
When the night fell and their camp was lit only by torches rammed into the sand, the surviving musketeers gathered, longing for new orders. For an update on the entire situation.
It was Mathis who took it on himself to speak to the remaining musketeers. He gathered the men around the medic tent, and the civilians came too, taking the places between the soldiers. Some of them gave the musketeers a helping hand, others merely stood there, trying to be a comforting presence in all that was going on around them. Athos had sat down near the wall, leaning against it, trying to give his body a bit of the rest it so desperately craved. Porthos, as usual, was by his side.
Mathis shortly explained what Athos and Porthos had decided to do about Suard, and apart from two men, one musketeer as well as the cadet Frédéric, nobody spoke up in their commander's defense. Athos released a stuttering breath of relief. He had feared the musketeers unity would be distorted, but strangely, all of them seemed closer than ever. And most of them even supported Athos' and Porthos' little revolt.
When Mathis had finished, he pulled out a small piece of paper, one he and Athos together with Porthos and Théo had prepared only a few minutes ago. It was a new list, with the current status of each musketeer.
"We have chased the English off Saint-Blanceau," Mathis continued with an unsteady voice, sending uncertain glances towards Athos, who just nodded reassuringly. "But we don't have the men to hold the beach should they return." Another pause, and Mathis gulped before he began reading the list. He read at least ten names before he looked up again, confirming the fate of their comrades with the simple words: "Fallen in battle."
Even the civilians couldn't hide the sheer shock. Athos could see Lucien's face pale and many of the women were clinging to each other, searching for support and strength. A soft murmur spread through the rows until Mathis spoke again.
"From those who fought at Saint-Blanceau, there are five men who are still missing and whose fate is uncertain." He looked at the list and named the five soldiers. He took a deep breath, looked at Porthos and Athos for reassurance and continued, the eyes of all the musketeers glued to the young man's face.
"General Suard also sent a group of marksmen towards a farmhouse near the cliffs, to cut off the English escape route. The house was destroyed by English cannons from the ships." Mathis' tone was surprisingly calm and sober. "We have reason to believe the General knew the English ships were there and for reasons of his own sent the marksmen into a trap. Athos and Théo have investigated the fate of our friends."
"What about them?" Guillaume spoke up amidst the crowd of musketeers. "Did they make it out of there?" Athos noticed how he sent hateful glares towards Suard, who was watching the whole scene in silence, his face resembling a mask of stone.
"I have to report you the deaths of the musketeers Eric, Dénis, and Dorian, as well as the cadet Pierre," Mathis continued with a low voice. "Athos and Théo found them in the ruins of the destroyed farmhouse. Aramis, Arthur and Philippe are missing." A shudder ran down Athos' back. He, and especially Porthos, had insisted those three be listed as missing. Though there was a possibility they were buried underneath the ruins, there was also the slight chance that they had escaped, and that they were still alive somewhere on this damn island.
Athos had to watch all color drain from Guillaume's face, and his eyes slowly and dangerously turned towards Suard.
"Porthos," Athos murmured warningly, knowing he was of no use right now, but his friend had already noticed.
Guillaume, his eyes filled with tears and anger, had leapt toward Suard, with his main gauche ready to slice their commander's throat. Porthos ran over and blocked the musketeer's way, grabbing the man by the upper arms.
"Who are you to decide whose lives are worth saving?" Guillaume spat into the commander's face, while Porthos' strong arms still kept him at bay. "Why did you try to get us all killed?"
"Calm down, Guillaume," Porthos growled, but Guillaume continued to struggle.
"I…We deserve answers," Guillaume was unraveling, completely lost in his sorrow and despair.
Porthos violently shook his friend and steadied him, looking him straight in the eye. "We are far from perfect, but we're not like him. We are not murderers, we are not cold-blooded killers. He will face court-martial in Paris."
Athos now too had slowly approached and kept some distance between himself and Guillaume, fearing what else the musketeer might do. "He will be brought to justice, Guillaume. For Gino, for the civilians who died because of him, for Eric and the others."
Guillaume appeared to go limp, Porthos' arms seemingly being the only thing keeping him in an upright position. His pale eyes darted towards Athos, almost looking hostile, but with a tinge of defeat. "We both know it isn't justice that's reigning in Paris. Suard is noble. He will never get the punishment a man of lower birth would get."
"Killing him, as much as I'd love to assist you with it, is not an option," Athos spoke, his voice leaving no room for an argument. Guillaume slowly nodded, almost as if he understood, and slowly moved back into the crowd of musketeers.
Athos felt the stares of all the soldiers on him, and he knew that with Suard removed from command, they were searching for someone to give any orders. For someone to take on the responsibility, the burden nobody wanted to bear.
Athos tiredly raised his voice. "We have to get a little bit of rest, and then, we will go and secure this part of the island."
And search for survivors, he added in his mind.
"Monsieur? Do you hear me?" A deep voice called out to him, but Aramis couldn't place it. He did not recognize it. He felt someone gently shake his shoulders, and suddenly his eyes snapped open when realization hit him.
He was still in the small hollow by the cliffs, with Philippe's body to his right and Arthur's limp frame to his left. But there was a fourth person in the hollow with them, and Aramis' hand instinctively flew to his dagger.
"Easy," the man said. "I am here to help." Aramis narrowed his eyes and took a closer look. The man was about Treville's age, with his brown, shoulder-length hair already streaked with grey. He had dark circles under his kind, blue eyes and the jacket he wore was much too big for his lean body. Aramis knew the face, but he could not place it. He had seen him before, but he didn't remember when.
"We heard the cannons attack," the man continued to explain. "I thought we should look for survivors. I already guessed that you musketeers were the target this time. Why else would they be attacking an empty farmhouse?"
Aramis still tried to process all of it, and suddenly, the memory returned. He remembered being on the hills near the musketeer camp, together with Arthur, Athos and Suard. And a boy with his father, seeking shelter.
The father's eyes, which had been filled with desperation and anger at the time when Aramis and Athos had had to send them away on Suard's orders, were now filled with a numbness. With pain.
Aramis did not need to ask what had happened to the boy. To Jacques.
"I am so sorry." Aramis' voice broke. "We should have…"
The stranger looked up, realizing that Aramis had understood. "You had other orders, I heard your commander. I don't blame you." The man pressed his lips into a thin line. "Tell me, how can we help you?"
Aramis furrowed his brow. "We?"
"When you musketeers cleared Saint-Blanceau, the captured citizen of Ré Island were able to flee. I have found shelter with others who were hiding from the English and the French. You all need medical attention. We don't have much, but there are some supplies we gathered out of what once used to be Cévry." He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a bag filled with water and some fruit.
"Here. It is all we have been able to spare."
"Where are you hiding?" Aramis wanted to know, sitting up properly now and ignoring the aching pain in his back.
A crooked and empty smile formed on the man's face and his gaze wandered towards the ground. "I think we both know I am not going to share that information."
"Listen," Aramis started, and with a side-glance on Arthur, he noticed that his friend was awake now too. "I don't ask you to trust me. I have no right to ask that from you. But if you and the others go to the musketeers' fortress, there will be help offered to you."
An angry expression crossed the father's face. "Even if we made it through the forest to the other side of the island to this fortress, your commander denied my son his help once. I'm a good judge of character. He'll deny it again."
"I didn't say ask the commander to help you," Aramis replied bitterly. "Ask for the musketeers Athos and Porthos. They will grant you shelter."
"We did fairly good on our own," the man snapped rudely. "It cost too much, but we're surviving." He closed his mouth and slowly let his gaze wander over the three musketeers again. He seemed to realize that now was neither the time nor the place for arguments or accusations. Philippe was still unconscious, Arthur was continuously painting the sand red with his blood, and Aramis had little to no physical strength left.
The man cleared his throat. "I'm alone, so I can probably only take one of you, for now. I will come back should the English let me."
"Take him," Aramis nodded towards Arthur, who looked like he was barely aware of his surroundings. "And try to save him."
The man raised his eyebrow. "The other one looks even worse, if that's possible."
"But Arthur here still has a chance of surviving his wounds." Aramis could hear himself say it, but it didn't quite reach his brain. It was one life versus the other. Not fair, but he had to stay rational if he wanted to save one of them. And his mind and his heart both knew that Philippe was beyond saving.
The man nodded and put Arthur's arm around his neck. Arthur was so pale and weakened by the blood loss he barely noticed it, but he reached out to Aramis and the marksman grabbed his hand and squeezed it.
"God bless you," Aramis said to their savior and brought a hand to his heart, in an honest gesture of gratitude.
"You know, I thought I should hate you," the old man said and turned his head one last time. "For what you did to my boy. But deep down, I have the feeling you are a good man. A good man, who tried his best, even if the circumstances required tough decisions. In the end, we're all just tryin' to leave this godforsaken place, aren't we?"
Aramis nodded stiffly.
"If the English don't kill me before then, I'll send help for you," the man continued. "Until then, keep your head low, and your wounds clean. And pray." He shook his head and continued to walk away.
Athos was ankle-deep in bright, green grass. The smell of flowers and rain hung in the air, and he heard the wind soflty brushing through the branches and leaves as he stood in front of his home. It seemed to be late summer, and the sun was high up in the sky, bathing his estate in a warm, golden light.
A scream destroyed the aura of color and peacefulness around him. The green turned to grey, and the smell of flowers became a stench of death.
Athos made a step into his house, confused and on high alert.
Another scream tore through the air and Athos was spurred into action, taking two steps at once. The air felt a lot colder when he reached the end of the staircase and he ran around the corner, where he came to an instant and violent stop.
The sight before him was shattering. The woman he loved, with her wild, beautiful locks over her shoulders, stood near the wall, the blade streaked with blood still in her shaking hands.
His gaze wandered down to the ground where his eyes found his younger brother. Thomas was lying in a pool of his own blood, the stab wound still leaking and his eyes were closed, his mouth still open with his last call for help.
Athos wanted to leap forward, towards his brother, towards his wife, but suddenly, none of them were there anymore.
The scenery changed and he found himself standing on a pile of burning wood and the walls around him seemed to explode. The sound was deafening, but yet he was unable to move. Where the body of Thomas had been only moments earlier was now another body, covered in rubble and charred wood, the eyes staring blankly into space. A phantom fist punched into Athos' chest when he recognized Aramis. He tried to move forward, tried to reach his friend and help him, but his feet were held fast on the fire. He turned his head to call for help, but instead, he saw two people engaged in a life and death duel. He would recognize the fighting style anywhere, and he could do nothing but watch as Porthos was disarmed by his opponent, a shorter man with an impressive armor in which Athos recognized the face of General Suard.
Athos was yelling angrily, as he tried desperately to break free of his frozen state, but the invisible bounds were strong and he could do nothing. He kept struggling and after what felt like half an eternity, he was free, and he jumped down from the pile of wood and started running towards Suard and Porthos, with his sword drawn, ready to do what was necessary.
"Athos!" It was Mathis' voice that pulled him out of the dream. Athos' eyes snapped open and his upper body bolted upright. His forehead and chest was bathed in sweat and he blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the images that had burned themselves into his inner eye.
"Athos!" Mathis called again, and the young musketeer stepped into Athos' eyesight and furrowed his brow. "Are…are you alright?"
"Yes," Athos lied and got up to his knees. "What is it?"
"Porthos has ordered a patrol to secure the area between the fortress and Cévry. They found somebody." If Athos wasn't mistaken, there was a spark of hope in Mathis' eyes. "Come. I thought you should have a look."
Thank you to jmp for the kind review, I really appreciate it!