CHAPTER 22

Porthos and Aramis pushed their horses harder than they ever had before and the noble steeds answered the call. The well-conditioned horses flew down the trail, swiftly closing the gap between themselves and the Spanish soldiers. Time was of the essence and the musketeers feared the Spaniards, already having lost the stallions, might decide to kill Athos and simply disappear into Spain.

Porthos, who was in the lead, was scanning the trail in front of them as they rode along. Abruptly, he yanked his horse to a stop almost causing Aramis and Fidget to run into him.

"Why are you stopping!" Aramis barked as he fought to get his horse under control. The animal was clearly not happy at this unexpected stop which nearly caused a collision with her stablemate's rump.

"Ahead. Where the trail enters into that ravine. Perfect spot for an ambush," Porthos explained as he methodically continued to scan the road ahead. "With that curve, we will be going in blind. Someone on the slopes, with a gun, and we're as good as dead."

Aramis looked at where Porthos was indicating. "You're right. We'll be sitting ducks if there is a skilled marksman around that bend, or even a bad one. Can we go around?"

Porthos shook his head. "No quick way around. And if we lose them, Athos is as good as dead."

Aramis nodded in agreement as his mind whirled trying to come up with plan. It wasn't fear that stopped them from simply taking their chances and riding straight through the ravine. But if one or both of them were shot that would also seal Athos' fate. If the Spanish soldiers were lying in wait for them, they had to draw them out. Frustrated, Aramis circled his horse trying to find a solution for this dilemma.

They needed a way to hide in plain sight which indeed would be a good trick. Trick. Suddenly, it hit him. Aramis recalled something he had seen when he was on guard-duty at the Palace. It was a long shot, but it might work and he had no better idea.

Turning to face Porthos he declared, "I have a plan. Dismount and tighten your girth."

-MMMM-

The soldiers on the slopes of the ravine peered intently at the trail below, anxiously waiting for their targets to appear. When they heard the hoof beats, both men rose slightly and sighted down the barrel of their muskets. When the two horses came into view, walking abreast of each other, the men blew on their fuses and began slowly to squeeze the trigger. However, just before they engaged the firing pin, they stopped, realizing they had no target. The two horses were rider-less!

Had the soldiers chosen to keep a low profile, they might have lived. But both stood up to get a better view of what was going on below, and that sealed their fate. Two gunshots rang out and the soldiers dropped neatly to the ground. Gravity rolled them down the slopes, bouncing them off rocks and trees, until they sprawled to a stop on the track below. Neither one moved, the bullets and the terrain ensuring they were no longer a threat.

After a second, with a grunt, Porthos landed on his back on the ground between Fidget and Flip joining the two dead soldiers on the road. The horses flicked their ears in his direction, but otherwise remained motionless.

"Damn. That was hard. It takes a hell of a lot of strength to hold yourself hidden like that, gripping the stirrups and the saddles," he groused as he lay there staring up at the underbellies of the two horses.

Aramis' voice floated in the air. "That's why I had you to tighten the horses' girths. Wouldn't want the saddles to slip sideways and you get kicked in the head by a stray hoof."

"Wonderful. My arms and legs feel like I've been wrestling a bear," Porthos complained, stretching his sore muscles as he lay prone on the ground.

Aramis, who had been crouched behind the animals using them to shield him from the soldiers' view, straightened his back as he grinned down at the complaining man. "That, my friend, is why you did it. You're the strong one and I'm the good-looking marksman with whom all the ladies fall in love. We each have our role to play." The marksman clipped the two now empty pistols to his belt.

Climbing to his feet as he brushed dirt and twigs off his clothes, Porthos sarcastically quipped, "Good shooter, yes. Good looking, no. Big mouth for talking women into bed, yes."

Aramis tut-tutted at his friend as he held a hand in mock horror over his wounded heart. "Surely you think better of me than that, Porthos."

"Not at the moment," the streetfighter answered as he rubbed his bruised elbow. "Where did you see that trick?"

"At the Palace. I was standing guard as the King watched a troop of equestrians from the Duchy of Bavaria, I believe. Those riders did all sorts of amazing tricks on horseback for the amusement of his Majesty. They rode these stallions with an odd name. Lipizzaner or something like that."

Aramis, shook his head as he recalled their airs above the ground. "Those horses did astonishing moves and the riders feats of pure magic. At one point, two of these white stallions came out of nowhere, galloping side by side, in perfect rhythm, stopping in front of the King. Suddenly, a rider popped up from between the two animals where he had been hidden from view. The King was delighted with the trick. However, while it was an amazing feat, I mostly remember it because when the rider sprang up out of nowhere, right in front of the King, we almost shot him. It was a close call…for the rider. He had eight muskets aimed at him though luckily none of us pulled our triggers."

"Poor bloke."

"Had we pulled the trigger, indeed. But as it happened, he remained unscathed. I do recall his dismount was a touch more, shall we say refined, than yours," Aramis joshed his friend.

"Yeah? Well next time you hang on for dear life between two moving horses…"

"Walking horses…the acrobat rode between two galloping horses."

"…and I'll crouch behind the horses and shoot the bad guys," Porthos finished as he adjusted his clothing now that he was done brushing off the dirt.

"But I'm the superior shot," Aramis declared without bravado.

"I'll practice," Porthos quickly retorted as he moved towards the horses' heads.

Turning serious, Aramis walked over to the dead soldiers lying face-down in the dirt. Using the toe of his boot, he turned them over one at a time so he could see their faces. "Neither one is the leader," Aramis remarked with a sigh.

"Didn't think we'd be that lucky," Porthos threw over his shoulder as he untied the two horses. The Lipizzaners might have been well-trained enough to keep perfect pace with each other, but Flip and Fidget were not, so the musketeers had secured them together. Before they mounted, Aramis handed Porthos his pistol and they each reloaded since Aramis had shot off both of them.

"If these two are here that means the other two and Athos must be fairly close," Porthos theorized as he shoved the rod down the muzzle of the pistol to tamp down the powder.

Aramis clipped his rod into place, shoved the pistol onto his belt and mounted his horse. "Then we'd best be off."