Chapter Eleven
Aramis had, for now, done all he could.
All that was left was to wash Athos's face, which was streaked with dried blood and dirt and was badly bruised.
Pouring water onto a clean cloth, he squeezed it out and then began to carefully wipe; studiously avoiding his swollen eye. As he scrubbed carefully at the side of his face, he moved his hair away, and suddenly froze. The lower part of Athos's ear was crusted in dried blood and as Aramis carefully bathed it, it became apparent by the straight cut beneath that it had been sliced.
He leapt to his feet, surprising Porthos and d'Artagnan, who looked up at him, now pacing angrily in front of them.
"What is it?" Porthos asked, standing and going over to Aramis.
"What's wrong?" he asked, dreading some terrible injury that Aramis had just uncovered.
"They cut his ear, Porthos!" Aramis cried, shaking himself free from Porthos's hand on his arm.
"Say what?" Porthos asked, frowning.
"They sliced his ear," Aramis repeated, softly, turning back.
Porthos almost laughed, but this was serious. Aramis had been working solidly on dealing with the many cruel injuries Athos had suffered, yet he was almost undone by the sight of a sliced earlobe.
Then, Porthos understood. It was the last straw. Aramis had kept his composure as he had uncovered the bruises; Athos's severely chafed wrists had made him as angry as the cracked ribs, but he had quietly carried on. Finally finished, he had discovered an injury that must have hurt, but worse than that, so close to his face, he wondered how it had happened. How it was done. What Athos had endured before it happened.
Aramis took a few deep breaths as Porthos squeezed his shoulder. Then he returned to Athos's side to reach for his needles. His hand shook as he tried to thread the needle, and d'Artagnan gently took it from him. Aramis hadn't sewn the cuts in his legs, afraid of sewing infection in, but he could do this one small thing, before they turned in for the long night ahead.
d'Artagnan passed him the threaded needle and leant forward, gently putting his fingers behind Athos's ear to give Aramis better access as Aramis finally placed three small stitches into the delicate skin.
"Won't even leave a mark," Porthos said, proudly.
At his words, Aramis suddenly put a hand over his eyes as a sob caught in his throat.
d'Artagnan looked helplessly up at Porthos, who pressed his lips together and gently nodded reassurance to him. d'Artagnan quietly rose to his feet and left the barn to tend to the horses, as Porthos pulled his friend up and into a firm embrace.
"Now then," Porthos said, fondly. "Don't you fall apart on us. Athos needs you."
It was enough.
Aramis sniffed and pulled himself up.
Running both hands through his unruly hair he turned his face away.
"Just tired," he murmured, before turning back and locking eyes with Porthos.
"We all are," the big man nodded.
oOo
The barn was dark now. Standing outside, the open doors to his back, Porthos kept guard. It was unbeknown to them if the Red Guard had apprehended the Vachons but it was their habit to stand watch. Moreso, when one of them was injured.
Bright stars studded a black sky. A large, full moon hung low in the sky, casting an eery white light and dappling the dark trees with streaks of moonlight, softening the otherwise black shadows. The only sounds were the occasional call of an owl high up in the trees ahead or the sudden ruckus as a wood pigeon took flight.
Porthos looked back over his shoulder, through the open barn door. He could see Aramis, illuminated against the black background in a pool of light from one of the oil lamps that d'Artagnan had found and managed to get working. Aramis was kneeling over Athos, working on his leg once more and was oblivious of being watched. d'Artagnan was sitting on the ground with his back against a stall, eyes closed but not asleep, his lips moving as he talked softly with Aramis.
The night passed slowly.
Porthos made his third circuit of the barn, his ears alert to any noise that did not belong, his eyes darting over the trees and shrubs that surrounded them. Taking his place once more in front of the barn doors, he lifted a water skin and took a long drink.
oOo
Once Aramis was satisfied that he had done all he could, he stood and worked the cramp from his back muscles before walking over to Porthos, just outside the barn doors.
Standing quietly beside the large man, Aramis looked up at the stars.
"A beautiful night," he said softly.
Porthos hummed in agreement, before turning to look at Aramis.
"You alright?"
Aramis looked surprised to be asked.
"Me?" he said. "Yes," he added. "I'm better now we have him settled."
His eyes drifted down to something Porthos was holding.
"What's that you've got there?" he said.
Porthos lifted it up; a jumble of leather straps and buckles.
"Harness and tack. It was hanging from the post inside the door there. It's old and the leather's dry, but I think we can use it," he said, jingling the harness and winking at Aramis. "Looks like no-one has used that cart for a long time."
"Maybe they didn't have the heart to let it go," Aramis replied.
"Maybe," Porthos grunted, before looking Aramis in the eye.
"How is he?"
Aramis ran a hand over his forehead, kneading fiercely;
"I'm worried about his head; he has not maintained consciousness since we found him. He has a couple of cracked ribs, I'm sure, looking at the concentration of bruises. And, you've seen his leg. Also, I fear for his shoulder muscles. Not to mention his wrists, his knee and his eye."
"Not too bad then," Porthos said, gently nudging his friend's shoulder.
Aramis did not respond. His eyes dropped to the ground and he kicked half-heartedly at the dirt, before he reached up and tugged at his hair.
"We've got 'im back," Porthos said at his side.
A long moment stretched between them before Aramis straightened and looked at him.
"We have," he smiled.
"And tomorrow," Porthos added, firmly, "We take 'im home."
"In the cart," Aramis smiled.
"In the cart," Porthos chuckled, knowing that Aramis was thinking about Athos's reaction if he knew the manner of his transportation.
oOo
The morning dawned bright and sunny once more and the three friends picked up the corners of the cloaks that Athos had spent the night on and bore him as best they could over and up onto the cart.
Aramis wrapped the edges of the cloaks around Athos to keep his upper arms tight at his side, his forearms and hands resting on his chest. One of their horse blankets was folded and placed under his head and another under his knee. The last cloak was retrieved from the stall and draped over him. Despite the heat of the day, his skin was cool.
With that, Aramis climbed onto the bed of the cart and sat at Athos's side to watch over him.
d'Artagnan tied Aramis's horse to the back of the cart while Porthos managed to fix a combination of harness, reins and rope between his horse and the cart. Porthos's horse was strong, by necessity, and placid. He accepted the task with a stamp of his hoof, as if eager to be off. d'Artagnan would ride ahead while Porthos drove the cart.
"Don't even know the name of this place," Porthos grunted as he took his seat.
"It doesn't matter," d'Artagnan replied, tersely, as he climbed into his saddle and took up his reins.
"I doubt we will come back," Aramis agreed, from the back of the cart; his hand resting gently on Athos's head.
When they were all ready, Porthos shucked the reins. His horse, used to his command, stepped forward, as d'Artagnan led them out of the barn at walking pace into bright sunshine and onto the track back to the main route back to Paris. In the back, Aramis positioned himself so that his body shielded Athos from the heat of the sun.
They could not make speed in the old cart and it took over two hours to cover the distance but at the sight of Paris over the horizon they all breathed a sigh of relief. They had stopped twice for water and to check Athos, who was still cool to the touch, but looked as comfortable as he could be, under the circumstances.
When they got closer to the city, d'Artagnan looked back and raised an eyebrow. Aramis gave him a wave and d'Artagnan took off, riding hard to the Garrison to warn Treville of their arrival.
Porthos watched him as he disappeared over the pasture land before turning and looking down at Aramis.
"It's nearly over," he said softly.
Resting a hand on Athos's chest, Aramis nodded in relief.
To be continued ...