When all three Musketeers had read the missive, the silence was deafening, until Porthos finally broke it, his voice far quieter than normal.
"What do we do now?" the very words unusual for coming from a man who was always ready to jump right into any trouble he met. But this time, the consequences either way could cause the death of one of his brothers.
"We need to sit down and come up with a course of action," Athos said.
Aramis, whose eyes finally lifted from the patch of dirt he seemed to have been studying, spoke. "It's me they want. If I..."
He didn't get any further as Porthos interrupted. "You're not walking right into their hands to your death! I'll tie you to your bed myself to stop you."
"Maybe I can talk..."
"You'd be dead as soon as they laid their hands on you. No, Aramis, out of the question. You're not going anywhere," Porthos retorted.
"Athos..."
"No, Aramis," the swordsman quietly stopped his brother. "Porthos is right. These men have proven that they have one goal in mind, and they will do anything to gain it. I have seen them up close..." stopping for a moment as memories of the torment he had endured forced themselves back into his mind.
Aramis, guilt mixing now with his worry for d'Artagnan, laid a hand on Athos' shoulder and squeezed, saying, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring back that incident."
Athos shook his head slightly as if to rid his mind of the pain he had gone through, and continued. "You do not have anything for which you should apologize, Aramis. As for our dilemma, trading yourself for d'Artagnan would not work from several sides. We do not know if d'Artagnan is even...alive. If he is, they would not release him if they gave yourself to them as he can identify them. You would be giving them what they want, but we would be torn apart at your loss," the last said so softly, his voice was barely audible. "We will not allow you to sacrifice yourelf, mon ami," he added in a quiet but commanding voice.
"What can we do then?" the marksman asked.
"We demand proof that they have d'Artagnan, and that he is alive."
"How do we do that when we don't have a clue as to where to send a message?"
"We leave a message posted on the garrison gate," Athos said. "Anyone as interested in a Musketeer as this group is has had eyes on the garrison since we got back. We do not know their identities, so they could walk right up and read the paper." After a moment, he added, "if the individual who happens to see it an even read," almost as an afterthought.
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Later that day, a wiry-looking man with a face like leather stopped as he passed the garrison gates, squinting at the paper hung there with a nail. Moving closer, he studied the words for a few minutes. Then, looking around, he didn't see anyone observing him, and so took his time reading it again. Snatching the note off the gate, he scurried away, a crafty little grin plastered on his face now.
From an upper level room inside of the garrison, Porthos, whose turn it had been to keep watch, moved quickly outside and down the steps, shouting for Athos and Porthos as he descended.
They met him before he reach the bottom step.
Athos asked him, "They saw it?"
Porthos nodded, describing the man he had seen, saying nothing about him looked familiar. He told them also about the smile he had seen on the man's face, the one he wanted to remove with his fists.
"So, now we wait for their next move," Athos grimly said.
Porthos was observing Aramis, who hadn't said a word since their morning discussion, whih was highly unusual for the usually talkative marksman. He and Athos' eyes met and Athos nodded, their expressions almost identical and worried.
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After dinner, at which Aramis continued his silence, staring down at his food while he ate, he excused himself and headed off to his room.
Much later, his door silently opened. The marksman emerged, hat pulled down low over his eyes.
Taking a deep breath of relief that the courtyard looked deserted, he started to move away from his door when Athos moved to his left side, and Porthos to his right.
"And you were going where, might I ask?" as the swordsman laid a gentle hand on his brother's shoulders.
Face fallen, Aramis' plaintive voice replied, "Let me go. Please!"
Porthos answered, "You know we can't do that."
"I can't live with myself if d'Artagnan is killed because of me."
"And we cannot bear to see you killed if we can prevent it, Aramis. We have had much the same discussion already," Athos said.
"It's my decision. He wouldn't even have been taken except for me."
"Having two lives forfeit is not the answer, mon ami. We will get him back, but not at the expense of sacrificing yours," gently but firmly steering his brother back into his room and into a chair. Porthos closed the door behind them. Then, he and Athos sat down on either side of their distraught brother.
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Porthos told Aramis, "If you give yourself up, you won't be saving d'Artagnan's life, Aramis. He is a witness. They can't afford to leave him alive. They will kill you both. You know that."
Athos added, "You are just badly worried at the moment, as are we all. If you were to give yourself up to them, both of you would be killed. They cannot kill d'Artagnan right now, as Porthos just said. They need him alive."
" He is their only bargaining chip right now," continued Porthos.
Aramis listened to his brothers, fingers restlessly threading through his hair from from front to back. Their words were beginning to get through to his tormented mind.
He knew they were right that the hooded men would take d'Artagnan's life quickly and brutally once the got their hands on him. But he couldn't bear the waiting, not knowing what condition his brother might be in.
He also knew that both of his brothers would feel the same as himself if the situation were reversed, though. They were called The Inseparables for good reason.
Finally lifting his head, he met each of his brother's eyes, his pain revealed plainly to them, and saw the identical emotion looking back at him.
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Later that evening, Porthos threw a blanket on the floor in front of the door, and was asleep within minutes. Athos had said he would be back to spell him in a few hours. Aramis felt lovingly smothered by his protective brothers. He also knew he would be going nowhere without at least one of them's company for the time being. Heavy eyes finally closed, almost against his will.
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Athos, who had replaced Porthos midway through the night, was awakened just as the rays of the morning sun were lighting up the sky by an urgent call outside. It was the guard at the gate, he thought, as he quickly got up off the blanket and on his feet from where he had been asleep moments before. He found Aramis getting out of bed, tousled curls askew and sleepy eyes looking at him. Moments later, the door flew open at Porthos' entrance.
Heading out the door, they made straight for the gates, where the night guard held up a burlap bag. When they reached him, he handed the bag to Athos, who asked him when it had come.
"It was here when I came down to relieve Jacques," he said with a disgusted face. "I asked him, but he didn't see or hear anything. He didn't even see the bag! Probably fell asleep during his watch," he scoffed, showing his disdain for the previous man's lack of watchfulness.
Sighing over a missed oportunity to possibly have glimpsed the person delivering the bag, Atos made a mental note to himself to inform Treville of the previous guard's inattentiveness.
Turning his attention to the bag, he slowly opened it, not really sure what to expect inside.
Reaching inside, he slowly pulled out a very familiar brown doublet. "D'Artagnan!" Aramis and Porthos loudly exclaimed, worry instantly redoubled at the sight.
The jacket, which had been wadded up in the bag, as Athos opened it revealed several large splotches of blood.
Athos and Porthos looked at each other, both thinking the same thing; if it had been difficult to keep Aramis from wanting to sacrifice himself before, they knew it had just become ten times more difficult.
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That night during Porthos' watch, he woke to the sound of wild thrashing and Aramis crying out in his sleep, his voice laden with pain and guilt. "Let him go! I'm the one you want. D'Artagnan! Don't hurt..." By that time, Porthos was at his bedside, massive arms wrapped around his brother to soothe his frenzied brother.
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D'Artagnan had no idea what day it was, of what time of day in the dark cell in which he was confined. He also had no idea how long he had been there.
His hands and feet had long since gone numb. His mouth was bone dry from the gag , even though they had actually given him a cup of water-yesterday, two days ago, he just wasn't sure. The cloth in his mouth had leeched it right out again, though. His body was cramping from laying in the same position for so long.
He was helpless, and hated the feeling, but there was nothing he could do about it. He just hoped his brothers would somehow find him before these men's evil plans could come to fruition.
The same hooded man had come in several times since he had been there, always taunting him. All d'Artagnan could do is glare back at him from his position on the floor.
He heard booted feet approaching his cell again, this time two pair. Any break in the routine was very noticeable when he had nothing else he could do. The same man unlocked and entered the cell, this time followed my a second person, hooded as well.
They came over and stood looking down at him. D'Artagnan worked hard to keep his unease at their looming presence hidden from his features.
The first man said, "We delivered your doublet today. I can just imagine the shock on the faces of those friends of yours when they pulled it out of the bag all bloodied," laughing at his own comment. D'Artagnan noticed that the second person didn't seem to find the comment amusing . Curious.
The older man saw d'Artagnan looking at his companion. "He's wondering who you are, boy."
Looking down at d'Artagnan, he continued. "I'm initiating my baby brother into the good life, as if it's any of your business. It doesn't matter if you know more than you should, because you won't be around much longer anyway. That brother of yours that we are after? If all our information about you Inseparables is true, seeing that doublet of yours all bloody will drive him right into our hands. Then we will be richer than we ever could have imagined."
Every word was like a hammer to his heart. Yes, that was exactly what Aramis would do. He had to escape. There had to be a way.
"Mattieu, when did you become like this? Was it when you were a soldier and saw so much violence? You know I don't want any part..." his words cut off as his brother backhanded him across the face.
"Who took you in when our parents passed on? Put food on the table? I expect obedience from you, not defiance. You're in this now. There's no backing out. Whatever we do, you will be hung for, too, if we're caught. Don't go feeling sorry for this one, either. He's a dead man, like you will be if anyone suspects you of having a soft heart. Now, go help Albert with the supplies," giving his brother a rough shove towards the cell door, and following him out, the young man's head swiveling around to look back at him as he went. The cell door clanged shut, leaving d'Artagnan once more with his thoughts in his solitary confinement. But, in his mind there was a small ray of hope now.