Chapter Twelve
The Infirmary was ready when the cart rolled into the Garrison yard. The patrol had returned the previous night with news on Athos and the other three Musketeers, and preparations had been made. All the men came out and Treville came down the stairs before the cart had rolled to a stop. Porthos jumped down and gave Jacques the reins. Jacques looked at the web of rope and reins that attached the horse to the careworn wagon and looked a little perplexed.
Porthos clamped a hand on his shoulder;
"We'll decide what to do with it later," he said, at Jacques confused look.
Jacques nodded and held the horse firmly, keeping the cart still.
Porthos turned and went to the back of the cart, as Aramis jumped down. d'Artagnan joined them and together they pulled the cloaks toward them and manhandled Athos down from the cart, before manoeuvring away and off toward the Infirmary.
"Back to work!" Treville shouted at those men standing around impotently. "I know you want news, and I will give it as soon as I know."
As Musketeers began to disperse, Treville followed his newly-arrived Musketeers into the Infirmary building.
"He's 'eavier than he looks," Porthos grunted, as they moved down the corridor and into the main room.
They continued down to the end of the room to the physician's room, where Aramis sighed in relief at the sight of Dr Lemay, setting the contents of his bag on the table in the corner.
"On the table, please," he said, unnecessarily, but the men obeyed, gently laying Athos down, before turning him in order to retrieve their cloaks and clear the way for the doctor.
d'Artagnan reached into his jacket and retrieved Athos's document wallet, which he handed to Treville, who was hovering in the doorway.
"Mission complete," he said quietly, as Treville nodded.
"Gentlemen," Treville then said, addressing Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan, "Let the doctor do his job. Go and clean up and we can await his report."
"With respect," Aramis replied, without taking his eyes from Athos, "I'm staying."
"Aramis," Treville sighed, his hands tightening on the wallet in his hands.
"We're officially off duty, right?" Porthos spoke up, and Treville knew he had lost his argument.
"Very well," he replied, "If that is alright with Doctor Lemay."
Lemay looked from the men in front of him to their Captain. He was not a stranger to this and he knew they would keep out of his way. Aramis could be of help to him and so he gave an affirmative tilt of his head.
"I will be glad of the assistance, Captain," he responded.
"I'll be in my office," Treville replied, wearily.
With that, his gaze fell on Athos once more, and he turned to leave.
"Thank you, Captain," he heard Aramis say as he left.
oOo
As Lemay began his inspection, the three friends fell into a practised routine.
Despite the warm day, d'Artagnan lit a fire in the grate and then went to fill a pan with water to boil on the kindling. Porthos left to prepare a bed in the far room, which, from experience, he knew Athos preferred. Aramis rolled up his sleeves and opened the cupboards, pulling out bowls and bottles and rolls of bandages.
Lemay gave him an approving look. He was well versed with the care the Musketeer regiment gave to their men. He had been impressed when he had first seen the Infirmary, and had helped advise on what stocks and stores were needed. When he met Aramis, who was keen to improve his skills earned on the battlefields of Northern France, he had not hesitated in sharing his knowledge.
Lemay could see that Athos had been cleaned up as best as he friends could accomplish. He listened to Aramis's account of how they had found him and how they had spent the night as he began to divest Athos of his clothes. Aramis continued his account as he took over, allowing Lemay to gather his instruments and lay them out on the cupboard behind them.
By that time, the water was boiled and d'Artagnan filled a bowl for Lemay to drop his instruments into, as he liked to do. Next, he filled another bowl for the doctor and Aramis to wash their hands; another practise that Lemay encouraged.
d'Artagnan then tucked his hands under his arms and stood back, awaiting instructions, as Porthos entered with a nod and came to stand next to him.
"Let's see what we have here," Lemay announced, before moving to stand behind Athos and putting gentle fingers into his hair. Feeling his scalp, he hummed when he came to the back of his head and felt a hard knot.
"That's a significant lump," he murmured, looking up at Aramis, who had explained the injury in his account.
"He hasn't really been conscious since we found him," Aramis hesitated, resting his hand on Athos's arm.
Lemay did not speak. Aramis wondered if he had heard him, but experience had shown him that when involved with a patient, the good doctor became very absorbed and forgot about his surroundings. In this case, Aramis thought, that was a good thing, and his eyes darted to Porthos and d'Artagnan at the foot of the table, who both nodded reassuringly at him.
"I would be more concerned if there was no lump," Lemay offered, though he did not explain further.
He then ran his hands over Athos's bruised ribcage.
"Nothing broken, but probably a couple of cracked ribs."
Aramis looked up when Porthos growled. Porthos shook his head and pressed his lips together, without further comment, and Aramis turned his attention back to what the doctor was doing.
Lemay next began to run his hand over Athos's shoulders, his eyes darting to his abraded wrists.
"You have no idea how long he was tied like that?" he asked.
"S'how we found 'im," Porthos said, drawing Lemay's attention. "But at some point, he was sat on the floor, judging by the tracks 'e left in the dirt."
"Tracks?" Lemay asked, looking puzzled.
Porthos leant forward and put both hands on the desk, palms facing each other.
"Width of 'is body," he said. "And, in the middle of that, scuff marks made by his boot heels, from lockin' his legs in place, once he was strung up."
d'Artagnan raised his eyebrows at Aramis. Porthos had mentioned Athos "digging in," but not that he had been in a sitting position."
Porthos shrugged his shoulders and turned his gaze back to Athos.
"Why isn't he wakin' up?" he asked, his eyes flicking to Lemay, who had reached Athos's hands and was in the process of turning one over to look carefully at it.
"Concussion, exhaustion, blood loss and possible internal damage," he said, without taking his eyes off Athos's hand.
He looked up then and saw them all staring at him.
"Most probably," he added, before looking at Aramis.
"Did you know he has a broken finger?"
"What!" Aramis exclaimed, distraught, taking a step forward and leaning over the table to examine the hand Lemay now held in his own.
Lemay turned the hand over, looking at the grazed knuckles.
"We know he fought them," Aramis said, "but I had not realised ..."
"Easily missed," Lemay said, kindly. "I will bind it to the next one and it will heal on its own."
"But his hands are alright?" d'Artagnan asked tentatively, afraid for any damage that may impede his sword skills.
"They seem so, apart from the obvious abrasions," Lemay replied.
Silence fell as Lemay worked quietly on.
"From what I can see," Lemay now addressed Aramis, "You have all done your best for him. Now, to the leg," he added, pulling up a chair and placing it next to the table so that he was eye level with the leg in question, peeling back the bandage that Aramis had wrapped around the poultice he had placed over it the night before.
He sucked in a breath that unnerved them, but was then silent while he peeled the poultice and set it aside.
"You made this?" Lemay asked, addressing Aramis but not looking up.
"I always carry something to make a poultice," Aramis replied, flatly, praying it had done some good at least.
"There is some infection here," Lemay replied, and Aramis's heart sank. "But not as much as I would have expected, from your account of his tribulations."
Porthos grinned at Aramis, who ran a hand over his face in relief. Making a fist, he gently pumped it in triumph in Porthos's direction.
Lemay turned to the cupboard, but d'Artagnan beat him to it, picking up the bowl with his instruments and carrying it carefully to the table.
Lemay nodded his thanks and reached for a needle.
"I'll do that," d'Artagnan said, offering to thread it.
"Thank you," Lemay replied. "Wash your hands first, if you would."
While d'Artagnan was engaged in doing that, Lemay took a cloth and poured a clear liquid and began to clean the many cuts and slices on Athos's swollen leg.
"His knee is badly swollen," he said as he worked, to no-one in particular.
"Standard practise," Porthos grunted.
When Lemay looked up, he explained. "Damagin' a knee. It easily subdues an otherwise awkward captive," he muttered. "An' I reckon, Athos here, would have been very awkward."
"I do hope so," d'Artagnan smiled tightly, as he handed the threaded needle to the doctor,
"This may take a little while," Lemay said. "If you want to come back?"
"We're stayin'" Porthos replied, instantly.
"Yes, of course you are," Lemay smiled shyly at him. "Perhaps you can help me bandage his injuries."
For his part, Porthos was in no mood for smiling, and Lemay ducked his head and continued his work. Later though, after they had finished helping the doctor, Porthos brought him a cup of Treville's best red wine, as an appeasement for his gruff manner.
"Sorry," he said.
"That's quite alright," the doctor replied, accepting the wine and taking an appreciative sip.
As he finished his wine, he gave them instructions.
"He needs fluids. Lightly salted broth for the blood loss and watered ale would be very acceptable. Watch him tonight, I expect him to wake tomorrow, when his body has had rest and fluids. Keep his leg elevated, keep him warm. Watch his ribs, keep him still. Once his body has settled, in a few days, he will benefit from a warmed oil massage on his shoulders. There may or may not be torn muscles, but they are badly strained. And ..."
"And?" Aramis asked, rolling down his sleeves.
"If he does not wake tomorrow, send for me."
In the silence that followed, Porthos took a step toward the doctor.
Lemay looked up uncertainly, as Porthos reached out his hand. Lemay handed him his empty cup. Porthos though, set it down without a word, and held out his hand again, his eyes boring into Lemay. Lemay carefully took it, and experienced his first handshake from the large Musketeer.
Aramis exchanged an amused look with d'Artagnan, before they became serious once more and turned to look at Athos.
Athos's chest, thigh, wrists and fingers were now firmly bandaged.
"He's ready to move now," Lemay added, stepping back from the big man.
To be continued ...