CHAPTER 6

After the Captain left, the two musketeers separated to gather the supplies they would need, with Aramis getting food and medicine, while Porthos got some simple camping gear and their bedrolls. With Porthos looking like a pack mule under the bedrolls and Aramis a woman on her way home from market laden with baskets, the two men made their way to the river.

"Did something happen on the battlefield today," Aramis asked as they trudged under their loads towards the river.

"Whaddya mean?"

"Lieutenant Roudon said, earlier, that the Captain was discipling Athos. And then you started to ask the Captain…"

Porthos interjected. "It was just Roudon being a bastard like always. He gave a command that Athos didn't like, felt was dangerous…"

This time Aramis interrupted, "To you. Roudon does that, disrespects you, treats you like…"

"And Athos overrode it and got the others to follow him, not Roudon."

"That sounds like Roudon, and Athos. We're you in danger?" Aramis asked and Porthos' silence told him all he needed to know. "You were. Athos was right."

"But he's made an enemy of Roudon. And that man won't forget," Porthos said ominously.

They arrived at the river, then headed upstream to where the Captain had said he left Athos. The conversation about Roudon was shelved for the time being. They found their third, sitting on the ground, back against a grey speckled rock, facing the river where the last rays of sunlight were tinting the water a pinkish gold.

Porthos exchanged a worried glance with Aramis when Athos didn't react to their arrival. In the months they had worked together, the swordsman had proven he had good hearing, was a light sleeper and was very alert. No one snuck up on him, unless he was deep in his cups, and even then, it was a challenge. Since they didn't see how he could be drunk, Treville had chosen not to share that fact, a sense of foreboding struck their souls.

Getting no reaction when he called his friend's name, Aramis hurried over to the sitting man's side and confirmed what they feared; he was unconscious. Two long, elegant fingers reached out to check the swordsman's pulse and Aramis sighed with relief when he felt it was steady and strong. An even better sign was that Athos' eyelids began to flutter as he started to rouse.

"It's me, Athos. Aramis," the medic soothingly said as he knelt in the grass next to him.

Green eyes blinked a few times before opening to stare up at him, unhooded for once and displaying pain and confusion. Seeking to gain information that he didn't think his patient was alert enough to supply, Aramis let his fingers brush aside Athos' unruly brown hair to linger on his forehead, checking for signs of fever. Not quite awake enough to form a coherent sentence, none-the-less Athos sluggishly turned his head away from Aramis' questing fingers, which made Aramis grin.

"Even half-awake you are a recalcitrant patient," Aramis chuckled. "Can you tell me where you are hurt?" Aramis' eyes drifted, searching across Athos' body.

"Hurt? Sleeping," the swordsman slurred as he let his heavy eyelids drift shut again.

Porthos dropped the gear he was carrying some ways back from the river's edge before he walked over to join Aramis, who was kneeling next to Athos. Aramis, who had good olfactory senses, wrinkled his nose as he leaned even closer to his patient. "Where is the tavern I missed on the way to the river?"

"He's drunk?" Porthos questioned, his voice a mixture of disgust and concern as he looked at Athos, who was slumped against the rock.

Sitting back on his haunches, Aramis studied the inert form in front of him. "Drunk? Not by his standards. But having imbibed, most definitely."

Porthos shook his head sadly. "On a hot day like this? On an empty stomach? Pretty stupid."

Though he didn't open his closed lids, Athos murmured his concurrence with the tail end of Porthos' previous statement.

"I'd say that was a lesson learned, albeit the hard way," Aramis remarked with a small grin as he rose to his feet. "Do you need assistance removing your garments, Athos?"

Again, there was a muttered reply, which could have been anything from 'thank you,' to 'go stuff yourself,' the latter being more likely. However, 'no' wasn't the right answer, no matter in what form it had been issued, so Aramis gave a little nod to Porthos who reached down and hauled the stubborn man to his feet. Athos gasped in surprise as his eyes flew open to stare up at his brother's grinning face.

"Slung over my shoulder like an escaped wench or walkin' on your own?" Porthos politely inquired of the surprised man.

The swordsman didn't verbally reply, but rather pulled himself free from Porthos' grip, discovered he wasn't quite capable of standing on his own and careened into Aramis, who steadied him by slipping an arm under his shoulder.

"It seems our brother would rather be escorted by me to the ball." As Athos regained his balance, he sought to pull free from Aramis too, which earned him a scolding and a tighter grip around his torso. "I'd think this through again, unless you really do want to look like a sack of grain slung over Porthos' shoulder. It isn't far to the bank. Surely you can stand my company for that long." Again, there was a mumbling that Aramis chose to ignore as he urged Athos towards the river's edge.

Once there, Aramis, with much protest on Athos' part, undid the few remaining buttons on the swordsman's black leather jacket and Porthos drew it off from behind.

"Ah, Aramis. I don't pretend to be any judge of styles, but isn't that a peculiar spot for a hole?" Porthos held the jacket aloft and Aramis walked over so he could see the rent in the left side.

Two sets of brown eyes rotated back to where Athos stood, swaying slightly. "I'll bet," Aramis began as he moved closer to the swordsman, "we'll find a matching slit in that black shirt he has on. And, I'd even go one further to speculate that there is a matching rent in that lily white, though somewhat fur-covered, hide." Aramis reached out and found the hole in Athos' shirt.

Steam practically rose from Porthos' collar as he advanced on Athos. "You're hurt? When? From the battle? And you've been hiding it? Haven't you learned anything!" Porthos was inches from Athos, his face contorted with anger.

Athos winced as he shrugged. "I…I do not know." Exhaustion washed over him and he hung his head and uncharacteristically leaned on Aramis for support. "It was… there was…" Wearily he closed his eyes. "Not like the books," he mumbled wearily.

Like a sleepy child, Aramis gently led the battle-worn man to a flat boulder on the river's edge and continued to undress him, removing the shirt to examine the sword wound. Athos didn't protest at all and even tried to be helpful, though Aramis gently brushed the clumsy fingers aside.

"I got this, Athos. Just try to relax while I wash off some of this blood."

Porthos immediately fetched the clean rags he knew Aramis had packed, brought them to the river's edge, soaked them in the clear, cool water and handed them to the medic. His anger, which had been driven by fear for his brother, evaporated.

"You know better than to hide a wound, Athos," Porthos admonished again, but with no bite to the words. "And you never should have been hauling those dead bodies around. You should have told me."

The swordsman kept his head bowed and sincerely said, "I didn't want to appear unwilling to do my duty. I apologize."

Anger flared back in Porthos' voice as he watched the ugly gash emerge under Aramis gentle scrubbing. "Damn it, Athos. I don't want your apology. I want your word you won't do this again. That is not a mere pin prick."

After the 6-inch slice was washed clean and exposed, Aramis began to examine it. The swordsman hadn't opened his eyes since Aramis had begun and he was starting to slump over, so the medic indicated for Porthos to support him.

"Ya know, Aramis. Some of those Spanish bodies we hauled off didn't look none too healthy. And he was handling them with that open wound." Porthos' voice underlined his concern.

Aramis, who had cleaned off the area, was staring at the wound, considering his next action. The wound itself was not as bad as it first looked; it was long, but not really deep. He didn't think it needed stitches to close it. It would be sore, but not too troublesome to the musketeer. However, if what Porthos said was indeed correct, it would be a good precaution to scrub Athos down from stem to stern.

"Porthos, strip, then strip him. We're all going to have a Saturday night bath." With that, Aramis began removing his own clothes until he was bare-naked. Once the other two were in a similar state, Aramis and Porthos gently maneuvered Athos into the river. Aramis found a rock in the deeper part of the stream where he could seat Athos and the water rose up to the man's shoulders. Athos bit his lip when the water hit his wound, but soon found the cool liquid actually took some of the sting away and some of the heat out of his body. Athos didn't, or more likely couldn't, find the energy to resist Aramis' rather intimate scrubbing, nor fight Porthos, who was supporting his jelly-like limbs. The medic even scrubbed the swordsman's hair so by the time he was hauled from the river, because he could barely walk from exhaustion, he was squeaky clean.

He revived somewhat on the solid land and after Aramis had bandaged his torso, he insisted upon getting dressed without any aid. Smartly, Porthos had thought to bring Athos' saddlebags so the musketeer had access to clean clothes. While Athos went through his heroics trying to dress without aid, the others made dinner. By the time the simple meal was ready, Athos was so fatigued from dressing, he simply dropped down on his bedroll and drifted off to sleep. Aramis silently shook his head when Porthos' quirked an eyebrow, inquiring whether he should wake the sleeping man to eat. And so, the two musketeers ate their own second dinner in silence.