Weighted Scales
Chapter 7
They sat in silence in his cell.
One paced. One glared. One was still as stone.
One gently caressed his hand.
One looked over all of them.
There were no words to describe their situation.
The words of hope had all been spoken.
Jests were no longer possible.
They were simply together.
And together they waited.
oOo
The hour seemed to fly by in an instant, while simultaneously drag on for a lifetime.
Much too soon, yet not soon enough, the guard rapped on the door and led Aramis back to the courtroom. Christine walked proudly next to him, his manacled hand held tightly in hers. The others walked as a guard around them, the jailers bringing up the rear.
Aramis took his place while Christine and the others filed into the gallery.
The King marched gravely to the dais with the Queen at his side. He took his seat and solemnly regarded the assembly before him.
"I believe I have made my decision, but I will allow both parties to make one final plea," said Louis.
"I can say no more than what has already been said, my lord. You know me, sire, know the man I am. I once again swear my fealty to you and will accept the consequences of your judgement whatever it may be," Aramis said, lifting his chin proudly, his dark eyes meeting those of the Monarch.
The Comte approached the dais, his anger quelling much of the illness that had been previously rattling his body. He stood proud and strong now, his hand twitching slightly near the jewelled dagger at his hip. "This Comte murdered my son. Unprovoked," he hissed. "I have provided two witnesses to testify to his crime. He claims my son attacked a musketeer? Where is the proof? He is a Spanish spy and will seek to overthrow you before long, your Majesty. It is time you weigh the value of his loyalty and service compared to mine," he said, each syllable cold and menacing.
the King's eyes widened and something in Porthos snapped. He pushed forward suddenly, incensed by the Comte's final statements. No amount of gold could ever compare to the lifetime of service Aramis had offered the crown, and Porthos would be struck dead before he would let an exchange of gold lead his brother to the galllows.
"Your majesty, if you choose to execute or punish Aramis, then you'll have t'execute me as well for I woulda acted the same way in that situation. All of us would, and if ya need proof that the Viscomte tried to murder Athos, then make the Comte show you his dagger. I'd bet my life that it's missin' its tip which is a match to the one we pulled from Athos' back!" Porthos growled. "I'd bet my life on it," he repeated.
Athos and D'Artagnan stepped forward to align themselves with Porthos.
"We all would," said Athos.
Christine and Treville stepped forward, unifying with the others in their stand before the King.
"This is outrageous!" the Comte cried. "How dare this mongrel make such an accusation!"
"The blade that was used bore your family crest – the stag and the crow. It was not recovered at the scene of the attack. Nor was the body of your son found among his men," said Athos.
"Silence! This bastard killed my son! I demand justice!" screamed the Comte.
"Allow us to examine your dagger, de Gaulle," said the King, suddenly stern.
"My son was murdered! I demand justice!" he screamed again and stared wildly around the courtroom for support. The eyes of the other courtiers quickly looked away. The Comte's mouth dropped open as the rage spilled out of him at the betrayal by his peers. Releasing a ferocious guttural scream he pulled the broken blade from its sheath and leapt towards the dais.
The Queen let out a cry and the King pushed back on his throne, but Aramis leapt forward and intercepted the mad Comte.
He raised his bound hands to stop the Comte's attack and the blade came down and entered his chest. A shot rang out and the two men crumpled onto the courtroom floor.
oOo
It was chaos.
The courtiers panicked and surged about like wasps from a disturbed nest.
Treville pushed forward calling his musketeers to protect the King and Queen.
Louis' eyes were fixed on the bodies of the men lying before him.
Porthos threw the lifeless body of the Comte de Gaulle off of Aramis; Athos' pistol shot had pierced his side, driving the life from him and reuniting him with his son.
Aramis lay bleeding on the courtroom floor.
Christine threw herself down at his side, D'Artagnan next her as Porthos and Athos stood guard against the frenzied crowd who were being forced from the room by the palace guards and other musketeers.
Aramis' eyes were wide and panicked. The ornate blade protruded from high on his chest close to his shoulder where the wound slowly seeped blood.
"The King," Aramis panted.
"He's safe. We all are. Lie still so I can help you," Christine soothed putting pressure around the blade.
Aramis squeezed his eyes shut in pain but nodded his head.
"Fetch the surgeon!" cried the King, but it was unclear if any of his panicked staff took action.
"We need to get him out of here," said D'Artagnan, seeing the continued madness of the crowd.
Christine nodded. Porthos pulled a tablecloth from a table nearby sending an arrangement of flowers tumbling to the floor and handed it to Christine.
"Aramis, love, I need to pull this blade so we can move you," she said calmly. "It will hurt and the bleeding will increase once I do."
He nodded his understanding and locked his eyes on her. He lifted his left hand to cover hers where it continued the pressure on the right side of his chest. He gave her hand a squeeze and nodded for her to begin.
She kissed his lips, then fixed her eyes on D'Artagnan.
"Swiftly, and straight out," she instructed and he nodded his understanding.
With a quick smile at D'Artagnan, Aramis locked his eyes onto Christine. If these were to be his final moments he wanted her face and those eyes to be the last thing he saw. She stared determinedly back at him. She would not let him die.
D'Artagnan's hand hovered over the blade. He took a deep breath, then grasped its handle and pulled firmly.
A violent cry tore from Aramis' throat and Christine immediately pressed the tablecloth Porthos had handed her over the wound, which had begun to bleed more forcefully. D'Artagnan threw the blade to the floor. Aramis paled to match the starched white cloth – the blood transferring from the man to the material rapidly.
A rumble and a clatter and Porthos had liberated another tablecloth.
Christine pulled Aramis' shirt aside, the blood having run down his side to stain the bandages still binding his bruised ribs. Grasping the second tablecloth, she cast the first away and quickly examined the small entry wound. Though the blood still flowed from it, it was not saturating the second covering as quickly as the first, though at this point Aramis was no longer conscious.
"Alright, let's move him," said Christine, her hand reapplying pressure to the cloth and the wound.
"This way," said the King, pushing his way forward with Treville.
Porthos knelt and lifted Aramis carefully in his arms, Christine's hand a steady constant on the breast of his brother, and they followed the King and Treville from the room, Athos and D'Artagnan following with the Queen.
oOo