Laurent kept wracking his brain for any tidbit of memory that could possibly assist the Musketeers he sat at the table with, and remembered that that he and his brother had walked almost in a straight line from the rundown house where they lived in Paris to the city gates.
When he described what he remembered of the gates, all three Musketeers recognized it as one they sometimes used when heading out of Paris on a mission to the south, although most of the time, they used the one slightly to the east of it, as it was closer to the garrison. They rarely strayed from the road on that route, so they wouldn't have come upon any ruins. But they figured it had to be set away from well-travelled roads because of the risk of escaped prisoners to the people who had frequented the road on business, and because in the event of such a happening, they would have been easier to spot by their pursuers. They were guessing, of course, but the other ancient prisons they were aware of had used the same type of precautions by their builders.
Laurent didn't remember much about the trek outside the city, though, but Athos figured that four men on horseback could explore the area fairly quickly, including Laurent in the four.
The prison, besides being mostly underground, probably had acquired quite a bit of underbrush, weeds, etc. in its long period of disuse. It wouldn't be easy to spot. They wondered if possibly someone in the area in which it was located had dropped the information during an evening drinking at a Parisian tavern, and with Mattieu's fascination with prisons, his curiosity had been peaked at hearing about it. Once he had seen it, his memory brought him back to use it when he needed somewhere to take Aramis.
Athos first obtained permission from Treville before they readied the horses and prepared provisions for a 2-3 day stay outside the walls. They thought it would be more helpful and quicker to locate by staying in the area. Time was also of the essence. Aramis had been missing quite a while now. They had no idea what condition he would be in when they found him (not voicing the unspoken fear of themall that it could very well be too late by the time they found him.
When everything was ready, they took off with a thunder of hooves out of the garrison gates, bearing extra weapons to take out the villains when they had located the prison.
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It had been some time since his tormentor had visited him. Aramis wondered, in one of his lucid moments, if the amount and length of abuse to be given him had been specifically laid out by Richelieu, or had his tormentor just tired of what he may have considered a game. Either way, he was grateful for its termination, even though the pain from what he had been dealt had added to the lightning bolts of agony that rippled through his body at various intervals, the result of the last vicious kick that had landed in the center of the wound in his side. It came most often when he attempted to shift positions. It also bled when he moved , causing him to limit his movements.
He was close to freezing now in his underground prison. His doublet had been taken off of him when his punishments had begun. The shirt and breeches weren't nearly enough to ward off the chill, so he pressed himself against the wall his hands were tethered to in an attempt to shelter his body a little, continuing to curl up from the pain he was in. His throat was sore now, and a cough that was developing, which only exascerbated the wound again.
He wondered dully how long he had been there. Had his brothers been forced to give up their searching and resume their duties, being told he weas a lost cause? It would suit Richelieu perfectly to rein them in, and Louis usually followed his advice. No matter how much his brothers might beg to continue the search, Treville's hands would be tied if the two of them called a halt to it.
The shackles chafed against the skin of his wrists when he made any movements. Generally fastidious in his appearance, he knew he was very dirty from lying on the floor continually, and his hair was stringy, falling down in his face. Dirt was under his fingernails from having to scrabble in the dirt whenever he had a cramp and had to move a little. His voice was scratchy from disuse. He had been in the dark for so long now that he wondered if his eyes would be permanently impaired.
He wondered if his body and his mind would start to struggle to go on. He didn't want to die, but he would lose his mind if he went on in this living death much longer.
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His brothers and Lauren had spent the whole day and long into the evening combing the countryside for any hint of a building other than the occasional farm, stopping as short a time as possible to eat a midday meal.
They had seen a surprising number of deserted remnants of buildings, but almost all were either abandoned farmhouses, barns or other outbuildings, and an occasional manor house. This was a somewhat secluded area, d'Artagnan telling them the ground wasn't the best for farming, but that hadn't stopped farmers in other areas from working the land as best they could. They wondered what had happened in this valley which was not all that far from Paris to cause the sparse population, and why it wouldn't be of more general knowledge among the people of the city.
They had also seen very few people, mostly a farmer here or there, busily at work and not paying much attention to the four riders.
Resuming their search once more, they again fanned out to cover more ground as they had done in the morning. About an hour later, d'Artagnan gave an exuberant shout over something he had found. They all hurriedly joined him to see a very old, crumbling foundation of a building, only to have Laurent deflate their excitment almost immediately.
"It doesn't resemble the building I have in my memory," he told them, clearly wishing that it had, for their sakes. "The stone used in this building is a reddish-brown, but the stone I remember was greyish. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the color before," hating to have to give them the bad news.
"You do not need to apologize for anything, Laurent," Athos told him. "If it was not for those memories of yours, we would have been at a dead end as to where to look, or what the building might look like. We will continue as long as we have enough light left to see, gentlemen."
They again fanned out, eyes peeled for any hint of the remnants of a grey building, their gazes ever downwards towards the ground, lest underbrush and weeds block them from finding it as they rode by.
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Aramis heard them coming again, shielding his eyes before the blinding light could hit them. They were unlocking the grate, then lifting it.
"Well, look, he's still among us," the same man said with a laugh, "well, sort of," laughing still harder.
"Move aside, Mattieu," Richelieu's voice said, and Aramis wondered what he wanted this time.
Poking his head over the rim of the pit, Richelieu stared down at him. Aramis couldn't see what he was doing, he just knew it made his skin crawl being at the man's mercy. The silence stretched a little longer, Richelieu obviously enjoying his power over the Musketeer he detested.
Then, he finally spoke. "You do not look like you are doing very well, Aramis. Poetic justice, I would say. You are finally paying for the arrogance you constantly exhibited to me. Not so confident now, are we?"
Aramis just let him talk, giving him silence in return. Richelieu had probably hoped to goad him into saying something for which he could mete out another series of 'punishments', but Aramis wasn't playing his games for him.
"Just how long do you think it will take for you to die-or go mad? Hmmm?" Still the silence.
Richelieu sighed very dramatically before saying, "At least I can take comfort knowing you will not be a thorn in my side for very much longer, by the looks of you. Pity I couldn't do it to all four of you, but it would have been too obvious-for now." Aramis' breath had hitched at the implied threat to his brothers.
"You, however, are the worst of the bunch. You will not be for much longer, though. Hungry? Thirsty? Hmmm?" then turned and vacated the space, his footsteps moving across the room above as he left.
"I don't think he likes you very much, does he?"
He tried to ignore Richelieu's comments, and now the head man's, obviously made to get under his skin. Then, he heard the bread and wine beng lowered down to him again, and the snick as the knife cut the rope used.
"Maybe we will bring these to you again in a few days-if you still exist by then. You never know what can happen down there," and as his chilling words died away, there was silence as the grate was closed and locked, the light extinguished, and he heard the receding footsteps.
Do I look like I am at death's door? he asked himself. Are there records of how long men last down here? Or have they revised their plans for me?
He wished his mind would stop asking questions, questions he had no answers for. All he was able to do was lie there in the darkness for whatever would happen.
Wearily, he stretched himself to reach the bread and water they had left, only to find that his rations, meager as they had been, had been cut in half.
As strong a man as he was, he nearly wept in every-increasing despair. What they had been giving him was not enough for a child, let alone a fully-grown man. His stomach rumbled nearly endlessly, and his tongue and throat were bone dry. How could he survive for much longer on this?
Mattieu, he suddenly realized that Richelieu had said. At last he knew one of the henchmen's names, not that it would do him any good down here. With the name of one of his Lord's disciples, he chose to practice evil instead. How did he and the others become the villains that they had? His exhausted mind told him he might well never know in this life.
He turned once more to his only source of solace, praying to be delivered from this waking nightmare he was trapped.
A short while later, the encroaching darkness claimed him, and he once more surrendered to it. A lone tear finished its way down his cheek, leaving its trail through the dust and dirt that had accumulated there.
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The Musketeers finally called a halt to their search well into the dark of the night. They were all despondent at the fruitless result of hours combing the land. They had left with such high hopes, confident in thinking they would at last see their brother that day, only to have those hopes dashed.
Starting a fire and setting up camp around it, they were mostly quiet as they ate a bit of bread, an apple, and a little wine, turning in moments after finishing, only for the Musketeers to find themselves restless and awake half the night.
Morning came with a renewed determination as they broke camp. Mounting up, they set out on the new day's search.
It was once again d'Artagnan who began waving his arms and calling to them late in the morning.
When they had joined him, looking urgently around to see what he had found, he pointed off to the left. Not seeing anything, they started to urge their horses forward, but d'Artagnan quickly but quietly stopped them.
Frowns of confusion on their faces, they gathered around him and looked intently at him with questions in their eyes.
"A man with a musket just disappeared there," he said very quietly. "I had just caught sight of a jumble of grey stone when I saw him. He's obviously guarding the place. We need to be very quiet and careful that we don't alert him to our presence."
"D'Artagnan is correct," Athos said. "Not only do we not know how many men are inside, but we do not want to risk them harming Aramis. We do not know where in there he might be yet."
Leading their horses a distance away so they wouldn't attract attention, they then began to move in a crouch and silently towards the point d'Artagnan had seen the ruins. They had barely gone any distance when Athos held up a hand to stop.
He pointed into the distance, and they could just make out a large, ornate carriage moving at a good pace, with a large detail of riders accompanying it. It was much too far away to identify*. Athos said, "That may be the unknown figure who is orchestrating and financing this whole affair. Whoever he is and however much I would like to apprehend him, the carriage is too far away now to go after and apprehend without a fight, giving ourselves away to the men inside the building and endangering Aramis further. His day is coming. Let us go rescue our brother."
*Often, people of rank had a family crest emblazoned on the sides of their carriages.
I may have another small chapter ready mid-week, if I find the time to write.