Chapter 36

Athos was frozen, stunned. He hardly felt the nails biting into the flesh of his palms as he clenched them in anger. He had been unaware of her presence at first but then, remarkably, she had stayed close throughout his captivity, so he should not have been surprised; but he had been dumbfounded by the tirade of disgust she had lain at his door. A coward? Perhaps he had been, in many ways, but never when it came to his own personal safety; Porthos reminded him of the fact far too often.

Slowly he turned, shuddering as he forced himself to view the only potential means of escape. The narrow opening yawned before him like the gaping mouth of some revolting monster. Who even knew where it may lead? He may become stuck at any point, and die there; when the powder ignited, the tunnel may come down around his ears; there was absolutely no guarantee it would provide an escape at all.

Like someone in a dream, Athos found himself walking toward it, throat dry, heart hammering against his ribs, and he had not even reached a decision yet – or had he? Was he really going to stand here waiting for his own destruction? What if he was not killed instantly? That would be no way to die either. Still angered by his wife's vitriolic goodbye, adrenalin coursed through his veins. No, a coward he certainly was not.

Crouching in front of the grille, there was a part of him that hoped he would not be able to move the rusted metalwork – that would give him the perfect excuse. But they would never know that, they would always believe he had not made the attempt, that his nerve had failed him, that he was indeed a coward. Grabbing the rough bars, Athos pulled hard. At first nothing happened, but as he tugged harder still, he felt a slight movement. Placing one foot on either side of the grille, he heaved with everything he had left, and suddenly, with a wrenching groan, as though they had been pulled out by their very roots, the bars gave way, and Athos fell backward, the grating still clutched in his fists.

He thrust it to one side, and stretched out on his stomach. The opening was little wider than his shoulders, and he lay for a moment, trying to find the courage to make the first move; to put his head and shoulders inside that narrow, black abyss. The swordsman could not describe the emotion he was feeling at that point. Embarking upon a journey into that tunnel was as painful as the notion of thrusting his hand into a scalding pot of water – his entire being was screaming at him to stop, to back away.

Gradually, he repositioned himself. He had to have his arms free, as even the thought of having them pinned to his sides made him nauseous. So, taking a deep breath, Athos placed his arms out in front of him and shimmied in through the opening, and into the darkness.

The floor beneath him was rough, covered with a layer of dust and small stones; debris that had fallen from the roof, over the years. Thankfully, he could not feel the wall rubbing against either his back, or his shoulders, and for that he was very grateful. Bit by bit, he snaked forward. The air was cold and dank, and occasionally he thought he could hear a noise, but he put the idea from his head, not wanting to consider the source of any such sound.

Little by little, Athos began to believe he could do this, and despite the pounding of his heart and the dryness in his mouth, he was managing to keep his terror under control. It helped that he could see nothing, but as his confidence increased, Athos attempted to look up to check if there was any sign of daylight.

He regretted it instantly, as his head smacked against a rough and very hard, rocky outcrop, and he felt the resulting blow send shockwaves along his body. He gritted his teeth, a small moan escaping his lips, the strange tickling sensation upon his cheek the only indication that it bled. Heart beating even faster, he pulled himself forward once more, but his instincts began to scream for him to stop, his body sensing a change. He was not even aware of his pulse quickening, as the passage – already too tight – now began to scrape along his shoulders. The tunnel was narrowing.

Athos closed his eyes again. Not that it made any difference – he had been inside this living hell for hours, or minutes or seconds, who knew? He had no idea anymore. He pulled his knees up in an attempt to propel himself along, but could not pull them high enough to make much headway; he needed another method of manoeuvring. Digging his toes into the floor, he pushed, angling his shoulders and, at the same time, pulling with his elbows. Rough, hewn rocks dug into the flesh of his arms and chest.

Athos did not think it could get much worse when, to his horror, he came to an abrupt halt, his back caught by the outcrop – the very one he had struck his head upon. He could no longer go forward or backward.

This time, he could not override his sense of terror with reason, and panic finally won. Athos began to struggle, but the more he wriggled, the more the rocky roof tore into his back, whilst the floor cut through his inner arms and ripped at his chest. As he lashed out within the confined space, dust and stones covered his body. He was stuck, and destined to be buried alive. Beyond terrified, he lay still, his breathing so fast that he thought his lungs would explode. So this was it. His body would not move, and the ceiling floor and walls all pressed in upon him as though they were shrinking. He heard a mewling noise, which began to grow and increase in pitch until it sounded unearthly, unnatural, chilling. He cringed, shivering in the dark and dreading what it could be, until he realised the sound came from him, deep within – the reaction of a man experiencing his own worse nightmare, living through his own live burial.

Panic still ruled every thought, his body reacting involuntarily to his plight, and it was only the pain caused by his struggling that eventually forced him to calm. Sweat ran down his face in rivulets; he could feel it coursing over his skin, stinging when it reached the hundreds of small open wounds that now marred his stomach, back, and arms.

His mind was reeling. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He wanted to tear at his own skin, tear himself from out of this trap. He could not think straight, and he gulped in air, which just made his chest even more painful. He fought hard to regulate his breathing, his throat ragged and burning, so dry, coated with dust. At least the effort gave him something to think about, and gradually he forced his lungs to co-operate, the coughing slowly subsiding.

As Athos began to regain some semblance of control, so he began to fully appreciate the position he was in. He would die here, in this tunnel. Not the quick, honourable death of battle, not even the result of a drunken fight – no, here in a dark pit filled with despair. Perhaps this was what he deserved. Perhaps all those nightmares, all those regrets, perhaps those spectres that haunted his dreams would enjoy watching his descent into madness. Perhaps the ghost of Thomas would be appeased by such an end.

Then another face crowded his consciousness. I knew you were not fit to take my name, my title… too sensitive, too weak…. His father's voice echoed in the darkness, and he could hear the derision in his tone. The future Comte… afraid of the dark... His spiteful laughter bounced off the encroaching walls, and Athos wanted to put his hands over his ears to drown out the cruel cacophony, but he could not – he could only gouge out the soil and rock beneath his fingers and scream.

He had no idea how long he lay there, inert, tears mixing with the dirt and blood upon his face. It felt as though it had been hours, a lifetime, but in reality, it could only have been mere seconds.

Then, from somewhere, another voice, a different tone… We need you Athos, I need you… Treville, Captain, mentor, the only real father figure he had ever known… do this for us… Yes, he would, he would try again, for his Captain, and for his friends.

He took a deep, slow breath, and attempted to push his body as far into the ground as he could. At first, all he could feel was the searing pain upon his back as the linen shredded even more and the ceiling scraped at his flesh with jagged fingers, cruelly intent upon holding him fast within their clutches. His face was forced into the dirt and, momentarily, he felt the panic begin to build once more, as the floor of the tunnel suffocated him.

Athos gritted his teeth and released a feral growl, as in stages, he worked past the agony and pushed through it. Grain by grain of dust, he began to make progress. The pain was now fierce on his upper back, his shoulders having passed through the narrow spot already. He felt the knife-like granite slice through his skin as he attempted another push, then nothing; he was no longer aware of any pressure upon his body – not on his back nor upon his shoulders. He pulled again, and this time he moved more freely. Again and again he began to advance.

Once more, he was aware of a subtle change; nothing drastic, but something had altered. He could make out his fingers – not well, but just a little, and the tunnel was lighter. Could that really mean he was nearing the end? Was daylight making its way inside? With a renewed energy and an almost frenzied desire for freedom, Athos crawled further and further. Occasionally he would feel the rock upon his shoulders and his breathing would hitch, but so far he had not encountered another spot where he was completely stuck.

Yes, there it was; a wink, just a small flash – surely it was daylight. Athos was about to laugh – he had done it – when a distant rumble halted his movement. Dust dropped from the roof above, immediately followed by a wave of heat and a sound that assaulted his senses, as the earth all around him seemed to buckle and writhe. All Athos could do was tense his body and tuck his head down as best he could, but really he was able to accomplish little in the way of protection. He felt a rain of debris on his head, his legs and his arms. Please, God, not now. Do not let me be buried alive.

ooOoo

Milady, the King and the Musketeers burst out of the fortress running, through the ancient archway, grabbing the grazing horses and mounting swiftly; riding to the far side of the moat before anyone spoke another word.

Milady was the first one off her horse, breaking into a run when, once again, Porthos barred her passage and grabbed her arm. His eyes flashed with surprise when a small dagger was pressed against his throat.

'Take your hand off me, or I will slit your throat,' she hissed, her green eyes filled with anger.

'Porthos,' Aramis pleaded, his voice calm and steady. 'Milady, please, there is no need for this.' He felt the full force of her fury as he made a move toward her, and her eyes met his.

'Really? Then tell that to this big oaf, who keeps thinking he has the right to manhandle me whenever he sees fit!' Aramis would have laughed at the comment had the woman not been holding a knife.

'Porthos, just let her go,' Treville instructed, though his voice sounded weary.

The big Musketeer snorted. 'Just curious where she was plannin' to run off to.'

Milady pulled her arm from his grip and lowered her blade, glaring at him in astonishment. 'Exactly where did you think I might be running to? Gaston? Really? Even now?' She shook her head and threw up her hands in frustration. 'If you really want to know, you fool, I was going to try and find where that tunnel emerges. Or are you not interested?'

Porthos ran his hands through his hair. 'You really think he will attempt it?' he muttered, still not trusting her one little bit.

'Yes. I certainly do not believe he will do nothing.' Her voice broke ever so slightly, and Aramis spoke again.

'She is right. If he is in that tunnel, we need to find where it comes out.' They looked at each other, mistrust still heavy in the atmosphere, until the Captain's voice broke the impasse.

'Very well, let us do this properly and put together what we know. Milady, where on this diagram was the outside window?' They turned as one to see that Treville had drawn a rough diagram of the fortress from the slim information he had gleaned.

It took Milady a moment to realise what he was asking her, then she crouched at his side and added what information she could. Treville persisted. 'So the tunnel probably runs in this direction.' He drew a straight line, his hand hesitating briefly, and then continued. 'Underneath the moat.' He looked up, aware from his men's reactions that they understood his meaning.

'What is it?' Milady urged, sensing the unspoken communication between the men. 'What is wrong?' She attempted an air of annoyance, but Aramis could clearly hear the fear in her voice, and even the King eyed the men with anticipation, aware they knew something he did not.

'We do not know how much powder is in that cellar, but when it blows…' He could not finish the sentence – what he was suggesting was too horrible to contemplate.

'You are saying it might breach the structure of the tunnel… that it might fill with water?' she asked, eyes filled with horror. But the question was purely rhetorical – she did not need the Musketeer to speak in order to have her answer, his expression was answer enough.

'Then we must hurry. If he is in there he needs to get movin',' Porthos shouted, already heading in the direction indicated by the diagram. 'We need to make sure that entrance is clear.' Despite his injury, he was gone before anyone else could comment, but they were soon on their feet, following in the big man's wake.

They shouted and searched, panic evident in their calls, but in the end, it was the explosion that showed them what they were looking for. There was a deep rumble from the ground beneath their feet, then the blast spewed bricks and debris up into the air as the fortress disintegrated, dust and smoke blocking out the sun. Flames blazed high into the air, and covering their heads they took shelter, as fragments of the château rained down upon them.

'Look!' cried Aramis. 'Over there!' A little way ahead and up a small incline, smoke appeared to be billowing out of the hillside, and the searchers felt a spark of hope as they raced toward the spot, hardly daring to consider what they might find.

ooOoo

Whilst outside the entrance to the tunnel voices were crying out for his attention, Athos could hear nothing. The blast had rendered him almost completely deaf, only a ringing inside his ears penetrating the effects of the shockwave.

He lay still, frightened to move, frightened to ascertain just how much damage had been done to the tunnel. When the debris eventually ceased to fall upon him, he readied himself to move. There was a little weight upon his legs, but it did not feel as though he were trapped. Gingerly, he shook his head. Dust filled his mouth and he began to cough, a dry racking sound, so parched that the sensation tore at his throat, making him heave. When nothing further occurred, he began to move forward, just as before; only now with every move, dust and stone fell upon his head, a continuous reminder of the weakening structure.

The noise he had attempted to ignore when he first entered the tunnel was still evident, only now it had changed, coming more regularly and with more intensity. To begin with, the swordsman had feared it was merely vermin, and though he had no particular fear of rats, he had not relished the idea of coming face to face with one, literally, under such circumstances. However, now the noise was amplified, it became apparent it had nothing to do with rats – in fact he rather wished it had, because the alternative was worse, far worse. If he was not mistaken, the noise he had heard before had been dripping water – only now it was no longer dripping.

It did not take long for Athos to begin feeling the dampness soaking through his clothing just a little, but how long it would take to cover him completely, or how deep it would get, he dared not imagine. He was trying to crawl a little quicker, but if he caught the sides or top of the tunnel, he was showered with yet more debris.

Athos' breathing was becoming laboured, probably through the smoke and dust he had been forced to inhale. His chest hurt, but whether because his lungs were painful, or whether it was slashed to ribbons, it hardly mattered anymore. Despite the freezing cold water, he was hot and his arm ached abominably, the infection he suspected in his wrists merely confirmed. However, the most important thing right now was the tiny sparkle of light he thought he had glimpsed before the explosion. However, it had since disappeared, and he considered the possibility it had been nothing more than a trick of the mind, teasing him with cruel hope, for there was no longer any sign of it.

Athos, moved at a snail's pace. His shoulder sockets were protesting; they had taken quite a battering over the last few days, but the position he found himself in now, with his arms doing most of the work, was almost the last straw. His fingertips felt raw, and so sore, and occasionally a particularly sharp rock or stone would send pain searing across his palms, which were not faring much better. He was having to pull harder, and more than once he had feared he was stuck, the roof of the tunnel bearing down upon him. But it was not just that – he sensed more of an incline, which explained why it was not just his rapidly weakening state that was making it so much more difficult for him to make progress.

Athos reached forward, his fingers touching something soft. As he felt around, loose dirt fell upon his hands and bits of rubble rolled upon his head. His breathing began to increase, and his heartbeat pounded in his chest. A roof-fall – the way forward was blocked. Oh God, he was trapped!

ooOoo

All five of them reached the source of the smoke at the same time, dust raining down upon them. Porthos coughed and spluttered as he threw himself upon the grass and clawed at the bushes and foliage surrounding the area. With help from the others, he gradually cleared a space, and a grille, very like the one inside the fortress cell, was revealed; the good news being that it was a little larger.

'This is it, this is the way in. Athos! Athos can you hear me?' Porthos' booming voice seemed to be eaten up by the darkness, and was followed only by silence. He turned to face the others, his desperation clear from the desolate expression on his face.

'That does not mean he is not in there, just that he cannot hear you,' Aramis pointed out, attempting to be positive.

Meanwhile, Athos could feel a growing pool of water settling beneath the lower part of his body, which soon would cover his legs entirely. The fact the tunnel rose just a little, meant his upper body and head may remain above water a little longer, but eventually, if he could not clear the rubble, submerged they would be. Stone by stone he tried to dig his way through, but with little room to manoeuvre, he only pulled more rubble down upon his head.

Porthos took hold of the grate and pulled with all his might, even though the pain it caused made him cry out in agony. Still, it was enough, and he found himself hurtling backward as the grate came away in his hands.

'That is enough!' Aramis cried. 'Before you make another move, I will look at that shoulder.' The look on his face dared his friend to argue, but the big Musketeer just nodded in agreement, a sure sign he was in pain.

Whilst Aramis began cutting away cloth and tutting over the wound, the King and Treville knelt closer to the hole. 'Here,' Aramis said, passing a small lantern and flint to give them a little light.

Treville lay flat on his stomach and wriggled his head and shoulders inside the gap. He could see a fair way, but the feel of the walls touching his body made his skin shrink in fear. Pulling out, he shook his head.

'God knows how Athos would cope trying to crawl into that tunnel. I have no particular fear, and just attempting that much made me cringe. I cannot get far enough inside to see what is happening.'

'Let me try, Captain. I am of slighter build than you,' the King offered. This time all eyes were on the monarch, even Porthos, who was gritting his teeth whilst Aramis closed his wound. Louis smiled. 'I may be a King, but I owe my life to Athos – twice I believe. Let me try.' Not waiting for permission, he lowered himself down to where Treville had been, moving slowly forward, as he had seen the Captain do, pushing the lantern in front of him. He managed to crawl in as far as his knees, bit-by-bit slowly being swallowed up by the narrow passageway. Treville was just considering calling a halt on the attempt, when he heard the King's voice.

'Captain, if you would be so kind as to pull me out now please.' Treville hesitated, not sure how to comply, before seizing hold of the King's ankles and pulling him slowly from the hole. When Louis finally emerged from underneath the dust and grime, he was very pale indeed.

'That is not something I would willingly do again.' He swallowed hard, and Aramis passed him a small flask. The King took it gratefully, taking a swig of the contents. Sighing, with no small amount of relief, he smiled. 'Apologies, I could not go any further, it was terrifying. I almost hope Athos decided to stay in the cell, at least it would have been quick. Though nobody had dared to say such a thing, it had been upon everyone's mind, but hearing it stated aloud, they shivered at the mention of the grim alternative.

Still the King continued. 'I do believe the roof has fallen in a little way up ahead. It was quite recent I should think, most probably from the explosion.' He let the snippet of information drop into the conversation not realising the impact it would have upon his audience.

'Athos could be behind that blockage!' Porthos bellowed, making a move to stand.

'Whoa, there is no way you would ever fit into that space my friend, even if I had not just sewn up your shoulder.' Aramis smiled sadly at the big man.

Milady had stood quietly, watching and listening. She looked from man to man and made her decision.

'I am smaller than all of you.' She began to take off her cloak. 'I will go into the hole.' She took her dagger and cut into the full sleeves of her once elaborate gown, making a tearing sound as she pulled them away, her torso now much narrower and streamlined. Nobody had said a word.

'Well, I will not be offended by your lack of effort to dissuade me; I shall try not to take it personally. All I ask is that you tie a rope around my waist then, if I cannot reach Athos or move the debris, I would appreciate you pulling me back out.' She searched from face to face, unsure if she could trust them to do what she asked.

Treville began to move, fetching a length of rope from Aramis' mount. 'Thank you,' he said simply. 'You have my word, we will help you out if you pull upon the rope.' She knew he was sincere; he may not like her, but he would not kill her deliberately, at least not like that. She let the Captain tie the rope around her waist and, once they were both happy it was secure, she took a length of it in her hand, along with the small lantern. Bit by bit she crawled inside the hole.

Being so much smaller, unlike the men she was not as aware of the walls closing in upon her. She pulled herself forward, grateful for the rope and the lantern, but fighting off thoughts of being stuck in such a place, in the dark, with no one waiting to help.

At last, she saw the roof-fall before her, just as the King had described. It appeared to be mostly dirt and small stones, with no indication of large rocks, and as the passage was wider for her, unlike Athos she was able to push the debris away to the side. At first it worked, but the more soil she loosened, the harder it was for her to navigate the growing piles.

Sighing in exasperation, she tugged on the rope, hoping that the Musketeers would respond. With a sigh of relief, she became aware of the rope pulling her backward. She pushed with her hands and, with a little assistance, she slowly made her way back along the tunnel.

As she emerged into the daylight, she screwed her eyes shut as the brightness dazzled her.

'Well?' Porthos asked, making no attempt to hide his meaning – he was asking about the tunnel, not her wellbeing.

'The tunnel is blocked, as the King suggested. I can loosen the fall, but I need it out of my way and there is not enough room to move and crawl past the rubble I have shifted. I need to bring it to the mouth of the tunnel a little at a time. What can we put it in?' Five pairs of eyes searched the area for inspiration.

'We have a cooking pan, but it is only small,' Treville offered. Milady's gaze settled upon Aramis.

'Give me your hat.' she instructed, holding out her hand. Aramis raised his brows, his own hand flying protectively to his head gear. Porthos even managed a chuckle.

'Give 'er your 'at,' the big man chortled, unable to hide his mirth at his friend's discomfort.

'It is only a hat, Aramis,' Treville added, he, too, attempting to hide a grin.

Reluctantly, Aramis handed over one of his fondest possessions. 'Do not lose it,' he requested, attempting to maintain some dignity despite the reaction of the party around him. Rolling her eyes at the absurdity, Milady turned to Treville.

'Re-tie the rope around my ankle. It was hard to move and dig with it in my hand; this way you will getter better leverage, and I can tug it much more easily.' Treville did as she requested, and when the rope was secure once more, with hat and lantern, she re-entered the tunnel, moving a little quicker now she knew what she was doing. When she reached the blockage, she pushed the hat before her and dragged at the soil and rubble, pulling it into the recess until she could fit no more inside. She tugged upon the rope, and this time, though it was not pleasant on her arms and knees, she moved quite swiftly backwards through the tunnel. Without a word, she emptied the collected wreckage and returned to the obstruction once again.

Time and time again she repeated the manoeuvre – ignoring Porthos' request for information the minute she appeared – but she was tiring. Aramis had offered to treat her cuts before she entered yet again, but she had declined either rest or attention until she could make the journey no more.

ooOoo

Athos tried once more to pull at the debris, but yet again it simply fell upon his head, making him cough and wheeze. He was shivering uncontrollably now, lying in freezing cold water up to his chest. It was only rising slowly, and he hoped that maybe it would only rise so far and he would still be able to breathe. But what difference would that make? He could make no further progress, and perhaps drowning would be quicker. He was beyond terror now, and could not even control the rapid beating of his heart, though at the very least, the heat it produced may stop him from succumbing to the numbing temperature of the water. Athos had lain still for several minutes when suddenly dirt fell upon his head once again. At first, he did not react, but when it happened again, only this time quite substantially, he dared to raise his eyes.

For a moment Athos thought he was hallucinating – the cold, the shivering, the infection, all beginning to take over his sanity. The dirt before him appeared to take on a life of its own, moving and snaking toward him. Was the ground shaking again? Oh God, do not let it be the moat. Athos groaned out loud at the prospect, as even more loose soil covered his fingers.

Milady stopped digging. What was that? Had she heard a sound? 'Athos! Athos, can you hear me? It is I, Anne. Athos, answer me, god damn you!' Gasping with exhaustion and despair, she collapsed, laying her face on her arms and listened, heart beating out of her chest.

Athos watched the grains of dirt slither from the pile, then thought he heard a voice. He scowled, was his reason finally leaving him? Was he to die alone and mad, in this hell hole? But no, he heard the voice again. Anne? Was that his wife's voice? He almost laughed at the irony – the one spectre he would expect to enjoy this spectacle – but he could no longer even manage that.

'Athos, speak to me. Do not think you are going to die in this stinking tunnel. Speak to me – you will not ignore me again. Please… Olivier… please answer me.' This time the voice sounded so desperate, Athos could not help but respond, even if it was to converse with phantoms from his memory.

'Anne, even now you berate me. But at least you are here, so I suppose I will not die entirely alone.' He managed to smile, the water now almost to his armpits.

Even though she could not quite make out the words, she heard the deep rumble of his voice, and began to cry and laugh in equal measure. She clawed at the dirt, pulling more and more into the hat and, just as she believed she would have to empty it and begin again, her right hand shot forward.

As a pale white hand appeared like a vision before him, Athos' heart almost missed a beat, but the voice that accompanied it suddenly sounded so very real.

'Athos? Athos are you there?'

As the hand came closer, Athos reached forward and grasped the cold, soft fingers. 'Anne, is that really you, or is this just one, final, cruel illusion?'

Milady cried out in shock, as her hand was suddenly gripped by ice cold fingers. She heard his voice clearly now, even though it was raspy and ragged, and tears ran freely down her face.

'Yes, Athos, it is me. We are going to get you out of here now, just be patient a little longer.' She stroked those long fingers, so happy to know he was alive.

'Anne, I am h… appy… but as to being patient... th… there is a slight problem.' The tone of his voice made her stomach roll.

'What? Apart from being stuck in a narrow tunnel? Is that not enough?' She tried to keep her tone light, but her heart was thumping against her ribs. Was he injured, paralysed? What? She dreaded his reply.

'Explosion… compromised the tunnel.' She could hear him struggling to talk. 'It is slowly... filling with water… it… it is up to my… sh… shoulders and rising… quite qui… quickly… so… cold.' She could clearly hear the shivering in his voice as it broke and faded. He was running out of time.

'I must let go now, I need to go back for help. I will return, I promise. Do you hear me, Athos?' There was no immediate answer. 'Athos, do you hear me?'

'I can… hear you.' She felt his fingers slip from hers.

'Do not dare go to sleep on me, Athos, not now you have come this far. Wait for me, please, I beg you.'

'You… do not… beg.' She heard a strangled chuckle, followed by a rasping cough. Wincing she replied, quietly but sternly.

'Well I am begging now.' With that, she tugged hard on the rope, and immediately felt herself being pulled along the tunnel. She was no longer aware of the pain, merely the rising sense of excitement and urgency.

As she burst out of the tunnel, she cried out at the same time as Porthos.

'What the bloody 'ell you been doin'?' he growled out in impatience.

'He is alive, alive,' she spluttered, tears of joy and fear running down her filthy face.

'What?' Treville barked, holding his hand out for Aramis' flask. Once she had swallowed the brandy, she began to speak.

'He is just beyond the roof-fall, but the water is rising, and it is up to his neck. He is freezing and losing consciousness. How injured he is I cannot say, but he needs to get out now, and I am not sure how we are going to achieve it. Captain, he does not have much time!'