Chapter Four
"It's me, Silas," the old man whispered, as he placed a cold wet cloth over Athos's eye.
It felt good, though Athos did not respond. He had been conscious for a while now, but had kept his eyes closed, listening for any sound around him. When none came to him, he had drifted off, to the sound of the blood thrumming in his ears.
Silas had crept in after the Vachon brothers had gone. He found Athos slumped on the floor against one of the thick wooden posts that supported the roof, with a rope around his throat and one around his waist, which also tied his hands behind him.
When Athos did not reply, the man took the cloth away and looked at him in consternation.
"I am not one of them, Monsieur, I assure you. Though I do know them," he said, before slowly crouching down in front of him, knee joints cracking as he did so.
Finally Athos looked at him, his face expressionless.
"Alright," he said, his tone of voice flat, "Kindly enlighten me."
It was a tone that Silas would come to recognise, as Athos refused to be cowed by the brothers, and spoke to them as if what they were saying was of utter disinterest to him. But right now, this was their first meeting since events had taken a turn for the worst and that tone was aimed at him, as Silas knew there was no reason why this man would trust him.
"We don't have long," Silas replied, hurriedly. "They are drinking in the field."
"Then, you had better make a start," Athos growled, as he cautiously stretched out his legs.
And so, Silas sat down awkwardly and began to tell him about the Vachon brothers and how they had taken control of the village.
As Athos listened, the shadows lengthened and soon, Silas grew agitated.
"Why did you not defend yourselves?" Athos asked. "I passed through your village. It was deserted."
"We were all old," Silas replied. "The Vachons chose wisely. Once the crops were ruined, we were lost."
"So they deserted, and left you here alone," Athos stated, dismissing further comment.
But Silas replied angrily;
"That is not a word you should use lightly, Monsieur," he said, curtly. "They went with my blessing."
When Athos did not reply, Silas turned to go.
"I must go, they will be back soon."
If Athos had a free hand to dismiss him, he would have done, but he suddenly thought he had been uncharitable and a further thought struck him;
"Stay out of sight," he said, his tone a little softer. "Their enthusiasm may spill over."
The old man gave him a look of determination and got to his feet. Dusting himself off, he looked down at the man in front of him.
"I am no sport for them, Monsieur Athos," he said, sadly. "I can do little, but I will not abandon you."
With that, he dried off Athos's eye with the sleeve of his own shirt, and squeezed his shoulder.
It was meant as a comforting gesture, but left Athos with a feeling of utter foreboding.
Left alone but armed with a little more information, he contemplated his situation. These three brothers were common brigands. He had no information that would be of interest to them. This was a straightforward captor and captured scenario. No doubt he would learn more as time went on. One thing worried him though; the safety of the old man, for he was now sure that Silas was as constrained as he.
oOo
The shadows lengthened further, though it was not yet dark in the barn.
Athos had tested his bonds and studied what he could see of the barn. He had even managed to rise to his feet, wanting any further encounter with Raymond to be at eye level.
He was thirsty, but did not hold out for any charity from the three men who, according to Silas, would soon return. Food held little interest to him normally, until he was deprived of it but he knew his limits and just how much time he had. If they wanted to take their time, though, they would have to give him water and some sustenance, or it would not be an even game. Odious as Raymond was, Athos had a feeling he would want some sort of encouragement to mete out retribution.
It was the giggling that first alerted him.
The doors were pushed open and the three stood inside, the dipping sun at their backs, so it was impossible for Athos to see their expressions.
Such laughter, though, was disturbing to him, for children laughed like that. And unhinged adults.
The three came forward unsteadily. They had been drinking all afternoon according to Silas and now they looked very interested in engaging with him. Athos took a quiet, deep breath and allowed his expression to turn to stone.
He could see their faces now, and Raymond held back.
Ah, it was the turn of the two younger ones, he thought to himself as he laced his fingers together behind him and straightened his back. One of the two stepped forward, almost falling over. He had something in his hand, which he held up, inches away from Athos's face.
His pauldron.
"Found this in your saddlebags," he sneered; Henri or Phillipe, Athos did not yet know which, laughed crazily.
Athos merely met the man's unfocussed gaze with a blank expression. The man staggered a little, unnerved that he had not had a better reaction to the evidence in his hand. Raymond took the pauldron from Henri and ran his fingers over it before beginning his own drunken laugh.
"Gentlemen, what we have here, is one of the King's bully boys. It's not every day we have a Musketeer to entertain us!"
Athos's heart sank. Today was obviously one of those days when being a Musketeer would not work in his favour.
Outside the barn, alerted to their return, Silas listened, unseen by the Vachons. His suspicions had been confirmed. Athos was no ordinary soldier. He was a King's Musketeer. To harm him was to harm the King himself.
His heart heavy, he did not stay to watch the Vachon brothers commit treason.
He retreated to his cottage back in the village, a little way along the track from his barn. He was powerless to help but at that moment, he knew he was this Musketeer's only hope. Later, at full nightfall, when the brothers rode away to drink in the tavern, he would come back and see what he could do.
Since the beginning of the year, as each villager had fled, Silas had collected what little they had left behind for his own small store cupboard. The brothers had ransacked the empty houses, but had no need of a few abandoned potatoes, a small sack of flour, or the windfalls from apple trees, when they could ride out to the taverns and eat and drink their fill. They were not impeded by hunger or despair. Or the lack of money, it seemed, at least having enough to sustain themselves.
Left in his own cottage, Silas could still prepare something to sustain him. He could still forage in the woods for berries, fungi and herbs. There was still the odd rabbit to snare. He had once found a few rounds of cheese in one of the empty houses, too cumbersome to carry by whoever left them, weary of oppression but not yet starved enough to care. Silas was grateful it was summer, for he knew he would not survive the winter under the Vachon's rule.
The nearest village was some distance. Country folk were insular people who kept themselves to themselves. No-one would want to challenge the brothers for fear of their own village falling foul of them. To date, no-one had spoken up against them, for fear of reprisals and so the brothers went unchallenged. Silas understood it. Perhaps the brothers would eventually extend their brutality to other villages at some point but at the moment they had what they wanted – a base for their operations, now abandoned and drawing little interest from anyone who may stumble upon it, and a tavern within riding distance. They had left Silas alone, presumably expecting him to go the way of his fellow villagers. Indeed, he kept himself mostly out of sight so they barely registered him. Unfortunately, they had come by just as the Musketeer had, and they were now firmly in Silas's territory; his field and his barn. It was still Silas's barn though, and he would protect it. The future of the village depended on it.
Silas had been a soldier in his younger days and he would do whatever he could to help the soldier now at their mercy. No common soldier at that, if his speech was anything to go by. Once the brothers turned their attention from the fact he was a Musketeer to the idea he may be of noble birth, his days would be numbered.
If Silas could trust anyone with his secret, it would be this man. All they had to do was stay alive until the brothers got bored and moved on, or rescue came. Musketeers, he knew, were not only loyal to the King, but to each other. Soon, they would be looking for this one, he was sure of it.
That day could not come too soon.
To be continued ...