Chapter Nine
Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan rode on.
They had been incredibly lucky to have come across the Red Guard as they had. If Athos was in this other village, he must have deviated from the main route on his return to Paris from the Baron de'Bouvier's estate. They had been, in fact, on their way to the Baron to see if Athos had been detained with him, and would not have known Athos's whereabouts if they had not been drawn to the gathering of Red Guard.
Under normal circumstances, Red Guard and Musketeers liked to keep a healthy distance from each other, but after Treville had confirmed they both had an interest in finding Raymond Vachon and his cohorts, it had becoming increasingly possible that Athos had fallen foul of them. Moreover, they were sure that the Baron would have sent word if anything had occurred that has prevented Athos from returning, so this new lead was promising.
"How far?" Porthos shouted now as they rode, newly invigorated in their search.
They had taken a turn, only to come to a dead end.
They had no idea what the village was called or where the barn was in the village.
Turning back, they retraced their steps. In the height of the summer, the tracks were overgrown and the branches of any trees that lined the tracks were in full leaf, which made it difficult to scout ahead.
"Can't be far now," Aramis shouted back, slowing his horse a few moments later as a lone cottage came into view.
They kept a slower pace as they passed it, but it was empty; there was no-one around to ask directions. Going a little further, more buildings came into view. There was no smoke rising from chimneys, no sound of inhabitants and no animals.
"What the 'ell is this?" Porthos grunted in frustration as they rode slowly through the whole village, looking for any sign of a barn.
"There's no barn here!" d'Artagnan said impatiently, stopping his horse and turning around in his saddle. "It's deserted."
A few pigeons sat in the branches of a nearby tree, but they were the only living creatures they saw, and soon, they were through the village and back on the track.
"Have we taken another wrong turning?" Aramis said, beginning to look flustered. He took off his hat and wafted it in front of his face, running a hand through his unruly hair. Suddenly, he raised himself in his saddle and shouted.
"Athos!"
He was met with the sound of the pigeons taking flight, but nothing else. d'Artagnan rode ahead a little, before turning to address them.
"There are fields up ahead," he called. "Fields mean barns," he added, hopefully.
"Lead on, farm boy," Porthos shouted.
They spurred their horses now and headed toward the fields. A few moments later the trees along the lane thinned out and the three friends could see two fields ahead. But they were uncultivated. In fact, they were as dead of life as the village had been.
"Athos!" Porthos yelled, but to no avail.
d'Artagnan left the track then and walked his horse into the field. Aramis and Porthos stayed behind, looking around warily.
Ahead, something seemed to catch d'Artagnan's eye and he dismounted, dropping into a crouch.
"He's found something," Aramis said, tersely.
d'Artagnan had in fact, found a stash of empty wine bottles that littered the side of the field, in a spot beneath an over-hanging tree. His picked one up and held it up to his friends.
"Just an empty bottle," Porthos grunted, as he turned in his saddle to look back the way they had come. "Maybe we should go back. We've obviously missed it."
Suddenly, d'Artagnan waved his arm and yelled.
"There's a barn over there!"
He had thrown one of the bottles into the trees in disgust and suddenly seen the shape of a building in the field behind. Shoving his foot in the stirrup, he quickly mounted up and eased the horse through a gap in the trees.
Aramis and Porthos needed no encouragement to spur their horses onto the field to catch up with their young friend, and, side by side, the three friends made their way to the barn in the distance, dust billowing around them from the dry earth.
Looming up in front of them, as they made their cautious approach, the barn looked as bleak as the village.
"Is this it?" Aramis asked, desperation now taking root.
"Only one way to find out," Porthos replied as he dismounted and walked his horse the final short distance, dusting himself down as he went.
Soon, he was joined by d'Artagnan and Aramis, also dismounted and looking around.
There was a broken water barrel next to the large double doors. Porthos peered at it before pushing his booted toe into the wooden slats of the barrel.
"There's a hole in it. It's been blasted," he grunted, before looking up at them.
They each unsheathed their swords and made their way to the barn.
After the bright sunshine, it was dark in the shade of the barn, and Aramis mimed for Porthos and d'Artagnan to scout around the side and back to find any attached buildings while he went cautiously toward the large double doors. They were unbarred and he pushed one of the doors open on creaking hinges.
d'Artagnan and Porthos joined him moments later having both circled the barn and found no other buildings, or exits.
Side by side, the three walked into the depth of the barn.
oOo
Once inside the dark interior, at first, they saw nothing. The barn was empty and smelled stale. Several small holes in the roof sent thin shafts of sunlight down into the main area, pooling on the earthen ground. To their left was what looked like a covered hulk of machinery; ahead of them, nothing.
Without a word, they split up; Porthos taking the left, d'Artagnan the right and Aramis continued on a central path through the middle of the barn. Each held their swords as they walked, for it was a shadowed space that could hide any number of assailants.
It was eerily silent though, save for their boots on the hard packed earth.
And then, they all heard something.
Laboured, but there. The sound of ragged breathing.
They all stopped in their tracks.
As their eyes and ears further adjusted, they saw a post at the end of the barn. On closer inspection, they saw that there was someone on the other side of it, visible only by a glimpse of shirt at either side of the post and up-stretched arms; where hands were tied to a crossbeam above with a thick rope.
They all instantly knew who it was.
"He's here!" Aramis shouted, breaking into a run.
d'Artagnan and Porthos quickly followed. They each rounded the post and converged on him shoulder to shoulder. Held by the ropes above him, Athos was gagged and unconscious, his chin on his chest, his face hidden by his hair. Coming to a momentary halt, they stared in shocked silence, before Porthos pulled out his paring knife and, moving back around the post, he reached up.
Aramis pulled off his glove and reached out a trembling hand to untie the gag, throwing it to the ground in disgust. He pushed two fingers into Athos's throat, seeking a pulse. After an agonising moment, he squeezed his eyes shut and released a relieved breath that indicated to Porthos and d'Artagnan that they were in time.
d'Artagnan looked wildly back toward the barn door, half expecting to be discovered, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword, ready to guard his injured friend and brother.
Aramis pulled off his remaining glove and reached up, placing his hand on Athos's forehead. Easing his head up, he peered into his face. He sucked in a breath at the sight of the vivid black-blue bruise beneath his eye, the eyelid swollen. Holding his breath, he gently traced his fingers down the side of his friend's face, feeling the swelling beneath his cheekbone, noting the bruised lips.
"Make haste, Porthos," he said, his voice cold with anger.
The weight of their brother's body on the ropes had pulled them so tight, Porthos was having difficulty cutting through the thick, twisted hemp. Ready for the moment he succeeded, Aramis and d'Artagnan supported Athos's body, putting a shoulder under each arm, the action bringing Athos to his senses with a painful, stifled cry and hitched breath.
Aramis and d'Artagnan made eye contact, their faces grim.
"It's us, Athos," Aramis soothed. "We're cutting you down. Hold on, just a little longer, brother."
"Hurry," d'Artagnan muttered, as Porthos continued to saw. It seemed to be taking forever. They were all breathing harshly now.
Porthos grunted in response. The rope was tarred in places, making it hard to cut. Aware he was causing Athos pain, his temper flared.
"I am hurrying, dammit!" he growled low in his throat, the fingers of his free hand pulling at the stray cords.
Porthos cursed under his breath, and Aramis bent his knee and pulled a long thin blade from his boot, handing it quickly to Porthos, who threw his own knife down in disgust.
"Easy, easy," Aramis was whispering urgently as Athos tried to take his own weight, failing miserably as he could not pull his feet under him.
His breath was coming in gasps as his head hung down and d'Artagnan reached out to take his jaw and ease his head back to ease his breathing. With what looked like supreme effort, Athos managed to hold his head back and his breathing eased slightly.
d'Artagnan grunted as he continued to take Athos's weight.
Athos slowly turned his head and, for a moment, they stared into each other's eyes, neither comprehending how or why this had happened.
"Ready?" d'Artagnan whispered. They both knew he wasn't.
Athos blinked, slowly.
A look of despair swept over his face. It was not in his nature to show vulnerability, but in unguarded moments, his expression spoke volumes.
"I know," d'Artagnan said, softly enough for only Athos to hear.
"Nearly there!" Porthos shouted.
"Ready?" Aramis called then, his face turned toward Porthos.
"We won't let you fall," d'Artagnan said, louder now, as they waited for Porthos.
Athos closed his eyes and took a breath as he felt Aramis and d'Artagnan straighten and tighten their hold on him.
His brothers were not in his eye-line, though he felt them holding him and suddenly Porthos grunted as the rope was finally cut through and with a painful jerk, Athos stifled a scream as his wrists were freed and his tortured shoulders shot bolts of red hot pain through his muscles as his arms dropped. He slumped to his knees, saved from hitting the ground by a brother on each side, bearing his weight.
To be continued ...