Porthos watched as the water splashed toward his helpless friend. There was a yell from Treville telling Aramis to help d'Artagnan before they surged forward towards the builders. Porthos knew they could not all help d'Artagnan, much as they wanted, they needed to deal with the builders first.

He purposefully did not look towards the pit; he did not want to be distracted by whatever was going on. But it was plain from the cry of pain from d'Artagnan that he had been hit with the water which was mixing with the powdered lime. Porthos tried not to think about it. He focused on the men he had to deal with.

The three of them faced six men. The man Aramis had shot was lying on the ground, blood still sluggishly pumping from the wound to the neck.

The builders managed to split themselves to fight the Musketeers two apiece. Porthos was faced with a grey-haired man and a younger man who looked scared. Porthos knew which of the two would be easier to deal with. The grey-haired man was wielding a gun which he fired towards Porthos. The shot went wide leaving the man with no other weapon. He flipped the gun, ready to use it as a club. Porthos did not feel inclined to take on the man. He fired his own gun with more accuracy. The younger man, distracted by the collapse of his friend, did not even get a chance to react to Porthos' main gauche being sliced across him.

As he turned to help his brothers, he found one of the two men that had tried to take on Treville had peeled off to fight him.

The young man was wielding a sword, which was too heavy for him, he was taking two handed swings with it. Porthos dodged out of the way of the first swing before making use of the man's momentum. The swing had left him exposed on his left, Porthos took a step forward and lunged with his sword, the blade penetrated the man's chest. The shock of the assault caused the young man to drop his sword and stumble back. Porthos did not have to worry about the man any longer.

'Porthos!' yelled Aramis.

He looked around, taking in the rest of the skirmish. Treville was well on the way to dealing with the man he was fighting. Athos was fighting with two men but had it under control.

Treville and Athos would be fine, Aramis was the one that needed help with d'Artagnan.

Rushing to the edge of the pit he paused, looking down.

Aramis was on his knees frantically trying to move the squirming d'Artagnan away from the water that had landed around him. The uncut limestone was smooth, the water had rolled over the top of it directly towards the restrained Musketeer. D'Artagnan had been chained in such a way that he could not move more than a few inches. Given time the water would have soaked away, through the limestone, but there had been no time before it had reached the unfortunate captive.

D'Artagnan was crying out with pain as the water mixed with the powder on his bare legs. Aramis was pulling at the chains, he looked up at Porthos.

'Hold him still, I'll shoot the lock, I can't do it with him moving too much,' Aramis ordered.

Porthos nodded and jumped down, he could see Aramis' problem. It was apparent that they could not treat d'Artagnan where he was, the powder needed to be washed away with more water than they had. The very thing that had caused the turmoil d'Artagnan was suffering was also going to help him. But d'Artagnan did not know that all d'Artagnan knew at that moment was pain. Porthos could not imagine how much pain his friend was in, the expression on d'Artagnan face gave Porthos a clue. He threw himself over the struggling man holding him still. As he did so he knew the exposed flesh on his forearms was likely to get burned, but it would be a small price to pay if it meant saving his brother from further torment.

With d'Artagnan pinned down firmly, Aramis moved back a couple of paces and levelled his gun he fired at the lock keeping the chains around the post at d'Artagnan's feet. The lock sprang off. Porthos watched as Aramis quickly reloaded and primed the gun.

'Please hurry,' said Constance, tears streaming down her face as she watched her lover struggling against the pain.

Aramis moved to the chain that was keeping d'Artagnan's wrists bound, he fired a second time.

'Get the chains off him,' said Aramis before glancing at Constance, 'we need water, lots of water to wash it off him.'

Constance blinked a couple of times before nodding.

'The other side of their camp, there's a stream. I don't know how far; it can't be too far.'

Porthos unwound the chains from d'Artagnan's wrists but quickly had to grab at the man's arms as he tried to reach his injured legs. D'Artagnan was incoherent with the pain, Porthos grabbed d'Artagnan, pinning his arms to his side as Aramis finished releasing his ankles. Without a word, the two Musketeers grabbed their injured brother and carried him to the edge of the pit. Treville was there, he helped to steady d'Artagnan as Porthos clambered out. Between them, they carried the still crying man towards the campsite. Aramis ran ahead of them before pausing and pointing to where the stream was.

'Get his shirt and breeches off first, we need to wash it off not make it worse,' said Treville pointing at the dry powder that still lay on d'Artagnan clothes.

Once stripped they carried the confused man into the centre of the fast-flowing shallow stream and lay him down. He struggled against them for a few seconds, his mind no doubt telling him that water would make his injuries worse. As the cold water washed the lime away and cooled the burns d'Artagnan gradually calmed down before going limp in Porthos' arms.

MMMM

Athos watched d'Artagnan being carried away, he looked down at the dying man at his feet, then at the other bodies lying sprawled around him. At least two were still alive. He glanced at Constance who was kneeling up and straining to see what was happening with d'Artagnan.

'Let me restrain these men,' said Athos, 'then I will free you.'

He hoped he sounded calm; he did not feel calm. As he had been fighting, he had heard the anguished cries from his brother and Aramis' barked orders to Porthos. The situation had been tense, he was almost glad he had been distracted by the skirmish.

'The key to the lock,' said Constance between sniffs, 'the man with the grey shirt, it's in his pocket. That's Babin, the leader of them.'

Athos was in the middle of binding Babin's arms behind him. He could not help feeling a little pleased that the leader had survived the skirmish. He had been hit on the head as he fought with Treville, the bruises were already darkening on the side of his face. The man would probably not wake up for several hours. Athos pulled the key from the man's belt.

'They are doing what they can for him,' said Athos as he jumped down into the pit, skirting the remains of the dead man.

'That's Simon,' said Constance quietly, 'he tried to help us. They killed him in front of us.'

Athos recognised the shock in Constance's eyes and the worry for d'Artagnan. He pulled the chains loose and helped her to stand, she was shaking and weak. Athos slipped his arm around her waist and held her close as they moved to the side of the pit, he helped her up before again helping her to walk towards the stream. They did not know what would greet them when they got there. They could not hear d'Artagnan's cries of pain but did not know if that was a good thing or not.

What they found was slightly reassuring. Porthos and Aramis were crouched in the stream on either side of a limp d'Artagnan. The Musketeer had been stripped and laid in the water. Treville turned to them as they stopped at the edge of the water.

'He's alive,' said Treville.

Constance wilted slightly in Athos arms, he forced her to sit on one of the larger rocks at the edge of the stream, he sat next to her keeping his arm around her. She watched her lover intently.

'Aramis says that they need to make sure all the lime is washed off and the water is supposed to help to cool the burns. He passed out; we'll have to wait until he wakes up to give him the painkiller. From the looks of him, he's going to be in a lot of pain.'

Treville shook his head in disgust.

'Two of them survived,' said Athos, 'including their leader.'

'Good,' said Treville. 'I don't like attending hangings, but for a man capable of doing… this… I will make an exception.'

Porthos pushed himself up to stand and splashed back towards them.

'Aramis says we're going to struggle to get him on a horse when he wakes, the burns are bad on his legs, but he'll recover,' Porthos said quickly when he saw the looks of shock on his friend's faces, 'but it's not going to be easy… He'll be left scared.'

'But he's alive,' said Constance quietly.

Athos glanced back towards the building site, 'LeBrun's cart, we'll use that. We need to transport the prisoners as well.'

Porthos moved off towards the campsite, 'I'll see if there's anything of use in the tents.'

Athos looked back towards d'Artagnan and Aramis. The medic was looking back at him, his expression grim.

'This was too close,' said Treville with a sigh. 'This should not have happened.'

'Babin, the leader,' said Constance, 'he was mad. He thought he could lead the craftsmen in a demand for better pay and conditions. But it wouldn't have worked.'

Constance went back to watching d'Artagnan and Aramis for a few seconds before she spoke again.

'Do you think we could bury Simon? He deserves better than the rest of them. He did try to help us and was as much a prisoner as we were.'

Athos nodded and held his friend a little closer, 'I think we can manage that.'

MMMM

A little later…

Aramis squeezed Constance's shoulder, she looked up at him with a smile and lay her hand over his.

'Thank you,' she said.

They had carried d'Artagnan to one of the tents at the side of the building site. D'Artagnan had been laid on his side, his legs arranged so that the worst of the burns were not touching the rough blankets on the camp bed. They had covered him with blankets, Aramis had left the burns exposed, not wishing to cover them until they had no choice. The red and white marks covering the backs and sides of d'Artagnan's legs looked angry. There were blisters, some of which had burst during their hurried treatment. D'Artagnan looked pale, his expression still one of pain and discomfort even though he was unconscious.

'I've got the painkiller ready,' said Aramis as he put the cup of liquid on a small low table by the camp bed.

'Will it make him sleep as well?' asked Constance.

Aramis shook his head, 'I don't think so, but I've been told it's very strong so we can't give him too much at a time.'

He could hear activity outside the tent, the bodies of the men, apart from Simon, had been put together and the two unconscious builders had been tied to the cart ready to be taken back to face their fate. Porthos and Treville had walked off with a couple of spades to find somewhere suitable to bury Simon. Athos was busy searching the tents and surrounding area for anything they might need to prove that Babin had plans to cause protests or strikes amongst the other craftsmen. Although they doubted much evidence would be required against the men to see justice served on them. Constance had told them that the other surviving man was Marcel who seemed to be just as evil and misguided as Babin.

A pained moan from d'Artagnan had both Constance and Aramis leaning over the injured man. Aramis firmly held d'Artagnan still, one hand on his hip and one on his shoulder. Constance took her lover's hand in hers squeezing it to show him that she was there.

'D'Artagnan,' said Aramis as calmly as he could, 'try to keep still. You have burns on your legs if you move you are going to make the pain worse.'

D'Artagnan slowly opened his eyes, he focused on Constance.

'I'm alright,' she said. 'They're all dead or captured.'

D'Artagnan managed a small nod.

'I've got some painkiller here,' said Aramis, holding up the cup. 'It's stronger than the mixture I make, have a few sips.'

Constance lifted her lovers head slightly as Aramis held the cup to his lips. D'Artagnan managed a few sips, pulling a face as he did.

'Give it a few minutes,' said Aramis. 'I'll let the others know you're awake. Constance, I'll only be outside, call me if he gets agitated.'

With a last look at d'Artagnan who was staring straight ahead, his brows furrowed against the pain he was in, Aramis left the tent.

He thought back to all that had gone on. The uncomfortable trip to the Court of Miracles, the lack of clues to where their friends had been taken, the fraught struggle to help d'Artagnan. Aramis was very much looking forward to the moment when they were all safely back in Paris and d'Artagnan was out of danger. He knew there was still a chance of infection in the burns, particularly the ones that had burst. He would have to dress them, a process that would cause his friend more discomfort, and then the dressings would need to be changed. The ordeal might have been over for them, but d'Artagnan still had a long way to go.

Treville was walking towards him, brushing dirt from his hands as he did so.

'We found a spot a little way into the woods near the pit. Porthos is just finishing digging the grave. Has he come around yet?'

Aramis nodded, 'I've given him the painkiller, it will hopefully only take a few minutes to work. I think he should be fine to travel once I've dressed the burns.

'Good,' said Treville. 'I'd like to get back to Paris and be done with this whole sordid business.'

Aramis could not agree more.

MMMM

Porthos had held Constance's hand as they watched Aramis say a few words over the freshly covered grave of Simon. As Aramis had crossed himself and put his hat back on Constance had taken a step forward and rested her hand on the rudimentary cross that had been made for Simon.

They had given her a few moments before walking back to the cart where Athos, Treville and a very uncomfortable d'Artagnan were waiting. Poor d'Artagnan had suffered when Aramis dressed the wound. The medic had constantly apologised for causing pain to his friend as Porthos and Athos held the injured Musketeer as still as they could. He had almost passed out again but not quite, the painkiller doing its job to dull the pain a little.

Now they were heading back to Paris. Constance was sitting beside d'Artagnan, holding his hand. The two prisoners who had both come around were sat, firmly tied and gagged as far from d'Artagnan as they could be put. Porthos had quickly grown bored of the dirty looks the pair were giving them all and blindfolded the two men causing them to complain through their gags. Porthos was fairly sure Treville and Athos had seen him clout the pair to shut them up but had decided not to react.

Athos was driving the cart, his horse tethered to the back. Treville was riding alongside the cart watching the prisoners. Aramis and Porthos were following, keeping an eye out in case there were any more murderous builders in the area.

'Will he be alright?' asked Porthos quietly.

Aramis took a few seconds to answer, 'I've done all that I can. I hope we were quick enough. Time will be his healer.'

Porthos nodded, 'time, and knowing that the men that did this to him, and killed those two unfortunate brothers, will be dealt with.'

'They did have a point,' mused Aramis, 'conditions could be improved, but they've gone about their protest in the wrong way, harming innocent people will not solve anything.'

'And we get left to pick up the pieces,' concluded Porthos.

The End.

Authors note: I hope you enjoyed it. If anyone has any suggestions for a follow-up, perhaps something happening as d'Artagnan recovers I'd happily accept a prompt.

I would not recommend looking up the effects of quicklime when it's mixed with water. It is not pretty.

Whilst looking for inspiration for a title for this story I came across this mad quote from Harry Houdini…

'To cause the face to appear in a mass of flame make use of the following: mix together thoroughly petroleum, lard, mutton tallow and quick lime. Distil this over a charcoal fire, and the liquid which results can be burned on the face without harm.'