NOTE: Sorry. Major work issue and back-to-back 20 hour days. Missed the posting. Two today to make up.

CHAPTER 20

Day three found Athos in the familiar position of being tied to Roger's back once more. Before mounting, Anton had allowed him a few moments of freedom, enough so Athos could rip a piece of material off the bottom of his shirt and fasten a crude bandage around his injured right hand. After he was finished with his rudimentary medical ministrations, he had been trussed up like a Noël goose on Roger's back once more. Roger had taken this new riding arrangement in stride and stood quietly as they ran the ropes under his belly. The only concession made for today's ride was Athos' hands were tied in front of him. Athos wasn't sure why, perhaps in deference to his injuries, but for whatever reason, he was grateful.

As they rode along, Athos scanned the countryside and, based on his knowledge of the area, judged they were less than a day's ride from the Spanish border. His headache had scaled back to a dullness that was probably just as much due to lack of food as anything else. His hand, however, was a different story. It throbbed when he jolted it, which, given his riding position, seemed to happen more frequently than he'd wish. He couldn't seem to find a position where it didn't get jostled by the movement of his horse. The cuts on his side, face and bicep had scabbed over and weren't giving him any trouble at the moment. His ribs were sore, but he'd had worse from falls off horses as he grew up.

Late in the afternoon, the soldiers stopped to rest the horses once again. In the past two days, they had set up camp for the night at about this time. But today, Anton showed no indication that he planned to stop for anything other than a rest break. The soldiers did unpack a few items to make some food for themselves. Athos decided that since they were close, the Spaniard was going to make a final push for the border. As was the norm, he wasn't freed from Roger's back and was forced to sit there, sore, hungry and thirsty while the others took their break and stretched their legs.

As Athos sat on Roger watching the soldiers eating, he noticed that the herd of stallions was behaving in a restless manner. It started with them flicking their ears back and forth as if they heard something. Next, some of them started to raise their heads, as if smelling something on the breeze. A few were gazing off into the distance, giving every sign that they expected to see something approaching. Glancing at Roger's head, the saw the black stallion's ears were also pitched forward as the animal stared off into the distance.

The area in which they stopped for a break was a fair-sized clearing, though there were scattered rock outcroppings and trees, so visibility was limited. There was a stiff breeze whistling through the trees and the leaves were making a rustling sound. Athos shifted in the saddle trying unobtrusively to look around the grove. He wasn't sure why, but he had a distinct feeling they weren't the only people in the area.

He and the horses must not have been the only ones whose nerves were on edge because Anton raised his eyes from the plate of food he was eating to scan the vicinity. With a frown, he handed his dish to the soldier next to him and walked a few feet towards the stallions who were beginning to mill about. After a moment of contemplation, he turned decisively and issued orders to two men who immediately ran to their horses, mounted and rode off.

Turning, Anton barked out more commands and the soldiers began scurrying about cleaning up the items they had taken out to prepare the food and stowing them. Anton had his horse brought to him and motioned for three other soldiers to mount, one who grabbed Roger's reins and drew him over to the small group where Anton sat on his horse, waiting.

In the distance, the sound of musket fire split the air. Cursing, Anton issued orders to the rest of the men, then he wheeled his mount and took off at a run with the three other soldiers following, including the one who was holding Roger's reins.

As the five men disappeared up the trail, chaos broke out in the clearing. Ten musketeers burst into the area and a second volley of gunfire took place. The musketeers overpowered the surprised soldiers and in less than fifteen minutes the Spanish had been subdued. When order was finally restored, the musketeers were in possession of the stallions and the fifteen remaining Spanish soldiers were on the ground, dead, wounded or kneeling in submission. It didn't take Aramis and Porthos long to discovered Athos was not amongst them.

Porthos used a little more force than necessary to drop the soldier he had been holding onto the ground. "Where is he?" the frustrated streetfighter shouted when he was unable to find any sign of this friend.

Aramis turned to one of the kneeling soldiers and started questioning him in Spanish. The man must not have given the right answer because Aramis reached out and backhanded the man across his cheek before barking out his questions again. This time the soldier must have responded in a better manner, though it was quite clear that Aramis was not happy with the reply.

Aramis straightened and turned to face his friend. "The leader and three others headed out as we came into camp. They took Athos with them. They are probably running for the border."

"I don't care if we have to chase them into the very capital of Spain. We are not abandoning Athos," Porthos declared firmly.

"Of course not." Aramis agreed before he turned and issued some commands to a nearby musketeer. When he was done, he rejoined Porthos. "DuPort will take charge here and you and I, my friend, are going to Spain."