CHAPTER 44

Athos huddled under the blanket, his back to the door, shivering in misery. It wasn't as bad this time as when he first arrived, injured, at the garrison he kept reminding himself. But withdrawal, in any form was not fun, especially when you were going through it alone. He went through cycles of wishing either Aramis or Porthos was with him to offer comfort or being happy they weren't there to see his suffering. He knew he had brought this on himself, first by not learning his lesson the first time he dried out and retreating once more to the bottle for comfort. Secondly, he had gone too far in striking Roudon and putting Treville in a position where he had to punish him.

After the swordsman had been placed under arrest, Captain Treville had been called out of town to accompany the King on a state visit. Injuries and prior missions unfortunately left Roudon as the ranking officer in the garrison and unless Treville wanted to do an on the spot promotion, he had no choice but to leave him in charge.

Word of the unrest in the garrison had already made it to the ears of the Cardinal's spies, and no doubt to the man in red himself. Treville didn't dare make any more controversial moves until he was able to judge which way the winds in the palace were blowing. Had Roudon somehow managed to get the King's ear on his quest to rid the musketeers of anyone who was not nobility? The King was fickle enough to listen and act, especially if the Cardinal, who was no friend of the musketeers, was hissing in his Majesty's ear.

Reluctantly, Treville left on the mission, taking many of Roudon's stanch supporters with him and leaving Aramis, Porthos and who he thought were on-the-fence musketeers behind to, hopefully, balance against Roudon. Before he left, he pulled Aramis and Porthos aside and warned, ordered and nearly begged them not to cause any trouble with Roudon while he was gone. As he rode out the gate later that day, he wondered what kind of regiment he'd find upon his return.

It wasn't until they were on the road, escorting the King and Queen on a visit to Lorraine, that the fact that Athos would most-likely suffer from withdrawal sickness presented itself to Treville's mind. Treville wasn't a cruel man and when he had ordered imprisonment for Athos, it wasn't his intention to make the man suffer. It was going to be brutal for Athos to go through the sickness alone. It simply never crossed his mind. Treville hoped that Aramis or Porthos would be more mindful than he and would visit Athos in jail to offer aid and comfort as the swordsman dried out.

However, that was not to be under Roudon's watch. Like their Captain, neither Aramis or Porthos thought about Athos going through withdrawal, but oddly enough the one who did was Lieutenant Roudon. He had an uncle, an embarrassment to the family, who drank too much and periodically, the family would dry him out. His uncle was confined to his rooms, with discreet servants and a small measure of wine daily to ease him of his addiction. Still, Roudon had witnessed first-hand the suffering his uncle went though, even with the comforts offered him. Roudon was going to be sure Athos was offered nothing, so his suffering would be as great as possible.

First, he placed guards, one hundred percent loyal to himself, on the prison, Then, he banned all visitors. Next, he had the cell stripped of all but one small, thin blanket. Let Athos feel the shivers and shakes the withdrawal would wrack upon his body. He recalled his uncle, when detoxing, would crave food, especially sweets which seemed to help with the alcohol cravings. He instructed his loyal guards that the food that was delivered by Serge not be given to Athos. Athos was only to have a few scraps of bread each day. Roudon also had the guards ration Athos' water to the bare amount necessary to keep him alive.

Last, but not least, when Athos was at his worse, Roudon would visit him and add to his torture. He had been concerned that Athos might attack him, and so he had the swordsman chained to the wall by his right wrist, the one with the semi-healed hole in the palm. There was enough chain that Athos could walk around most of his cell, which was quite large since normally it was used to hold multiple prisoners before they were sent off to one of Paris' official prisons. Roudon knew exactly how far the chain would stretch and, if he was worried about Athos attacking him, he would retreat to the safe boundaries. Only once, and Roudon had to admit Athos was quite delusional that time, had Athos tried to attack him. But the chain drew the swordsman up short, cruelly grinding into the skin on his wrist and causing rivulets of blood to soak his shirt sleeve. It had delighted Roudon to see the man sink so low, behaving like a wild animal.

Another of his favorite taunts was to enter the cell with a full bottle of wine and then proceed to spill it over the dirty, stone floor in a slow measured fashion. He'd then sit on a stool, in the safe zone, and watch to see if Athos was desperate enough to try to lap the wine from the puddle on the floor like a cur. He'd watch in sadistic delight as Athos sat on the floor, since the mattress from the cot had been removed, quivering as his body demanded he debase himself and lap the wine, while the small amount of pride he had left tried to keep his cravings in check. Only once had Athos' mind and body betrayed him and unwillingly, he found himself on his hands and knees, hovering over the puddle of dirt-tainted wine. Had Roudon's cruel voice not whispered 'Do it. Drink like the dog you are', Athos had no doubt he would have done his best to lick the wine from the floor. But Roudon's voice touched a piece of his rational mind that still existed and he swiftly rose from the floor and launched himself at his tormentor. The iron shackle dug into his wrist though he blocked the pain as he struggled to gain the inches, he needed to reach Roudon. But it was not to be and the Lieutenant, laughing at him, remained tauntingly out of reach.

After that incident, Athos vowed never to give Roudon the satisfaction of seeing him break again. So, when Roudon entered the cell on one of his torture missions, Athos remained lying on the floor, facing the wall, back to his tormentor. No matter what the man did, Athos didn't give him the gratification of seeing him break, even if it meant clenching his fist so tight his nails cut bloody crescents into his palms, or he bit the inside of his cheek until the metallic taste of blood coated his tongue. He remained unresponsive.

Roudon, aggravated because his prisoner was spoiling his fun, upped his torture tactics. One time he poured an entire bottle of wine over Athos' body. His clothes greedily soaked up the liquid leaving Athos smelling like a distillery. That night, Athos was nearly driven out of his mind smelling what his body craved, but couldn't achieve. At one point in the night, he stripped himself of the wine-smelling garments and wrapped himself in the moth-eaten blanket, shivering his way through the rest of the darkness. Just before dawn he got dressed again, not intending to give his captors any idea how badly their cruelty had affected him.

At the end of three weeks, his cravings were gone but his misery continued. His right wrist was infected, his palm growing stiff again and a low fever settled in his body, not enough to kill him but enough to make him miserable. From only being offered water and stale bread, he dropped weight from his already lean physique. His clothes and his body were so pungent even the rats in the cell had taken to avoiding him.

Roudon entertained a secret hope that Athos might die of his own accord in that miserable cell, but his wish was not fulfilled as the swordsman stubbornly clung to life. Aramis and Porthos had requested to visit Athos the first week of his imprisonment and every week thereafter, but they were brusquely ushered away. The two had debated whether to push the issue, but then they remembered their promise to Treville, not to cause any issues while he was gone, so they left when they were told.

At the end of the fourth week, his prison time served, Athos was removed from his cell during morning muster and made stand in front of the entire regiment, while Roudon made an example of him. After the dim lighting of the cell, the morning sun, even though weak, burned and made his eyes tear. Malnutrition and fever left him weak and though he tried to stand still, he couldn't manage it and trembled before his fellow soldiers.

Roudon droned on, repeating Athos' crimes and embellishing upon them. At one point he rolled up a sleeve and had the regiment bear witness to the wound on his forearm, the one he claimed Athos gave him in the cell when he had attacked him without provocation. In reality, he had been injured by a street urchin, who had attacked him when Roudon had stopped him from stealing. The boy, whom he had grabbed by the collar, had turned on him and slashed him with a piece of metal. The iron was sharp enough to cut the skin on Roudon's arm. Furious at being attacked by one of those he despised, he had drawn his sword and run the boy through. The baker, the victim of the theft, had been grateful that Roudon had solved his problem once and for all. It hadn't been the first time the street rat had stolen from him, but it was now his last.

Aramis and Porthos were horrified at the condition of their friend, but they restrained themselves from rushing forward because of their promise to Treville, and due to the mood of the men surrounding them. In the four weeks Roudon had been leading the Musketeers in Treville's absence, it seemed more of the men were flocking to his platform. Those in the musketeers who were not nobility, he, Porthos and a handful of others, were slowly being isolated. They feared if Captain Treville did not return soon, they would be run out of the garrison, or worse, by Roudon and his supporters. It was amazing how much Roudon had been able to influence his peers.

That day, as every day for the last few weeks, Aramis and Porthos and the rest of the commoners were assigned to the worst duties of the day. Usually, it was patrolling the worst sections of Paris. On particularly nasty days, it was standing guard at the Palace, outside, even though the King was not in residence. Sometimes it was working in the armory, polishing, sharpening and repairing the never-ending pile of weaponry. And once, when the stable lads had a bout of the runs from eating God-knows-what leaving the stable shorthanded, they cleaned stalls, brushed horses, polished tack and saddled horses for all their fellow brethren gaining new appreciation for the life of a stable lad. That night they stunk so bad they were forced to ride out to the river and bathe. No one wanted their stench in the washrooms of the garrison.

Aramis and Porthos had thought they smelled bad after that assignment, but nothing compared to the smell of dirt and sickness wafting off of Athos as they approached him after Roudon had released the men to their duties. Athos had just stood there, in a daze, as the men gave him a wide berth as they went about their duties.

Trying not to cringe as he approached him, Aramis placed a hand on Athos arm to guide him away. Being a field medic, he could smell that somewhere, his friend was sporting a nasty infection and it took only a second for him to spot the swollen right hand.

"What are you doing?" Roudon's voice boomed out as Aramis began to lead Athos away.

Aramis stopped, gave Porthos a warning glance to behave, and put on his best disarming smile as he turned to face Roudon. "As the resident medic, I'm taking Athos to get cleaned up so I can examine him. Surely you can smell the odor of infection."

"All I smell is piss and filth. You have duties of which to attend. He can look after himself. And Athos, I expect you cleaned up and present at muster tomorrow or so help me God I will throw you right back in prison." Turning away, Roudon headed for Treville's office which he had taken to using since the Captain had left.

Aramis and Porthos stood, watching the man leave as they debated their next move.

"Go," croaked the rusty voice, stripped of all the normal rich baritones that had once made up Athos' melodic tones.

"And what are you going to do? You can barely stand," Aramis accused Athos. "I'm not leaving you alone."

"I'll manage. Go to the stream. Bathe," he replied, struggling to get his words out.

"You need more than a bath. You need medical attention too," Aramis contradicted his friend.

"Later. I'll manage," Athos stubbornly repeated. "Go."

Knowing when he was on the losing end of an argument Aramis went for the compromise. "Here's what we're going to do. Porthos will go to your room, pack some clean clothes, towels, swing by the kitchen and grab some food and meet us in the stable. I'll escort you there, saddle Roger, somehow get you in the saddle and then pray to God you can actually ride by yourself to the stream."

"I can. Roger knows way. No need for God."

"So you say," Aramis replied, rolling his eyes heavenward and saying a simple prayer for stubborn friends. "When we can, we'll come to the stream."

"Don't shirk your duties," Athos rasped.

"My God Athos, you are the only one worried about our duties. Today, like many days in the past, we are to patrol just outside the Court of Miracles, Porthos' old stomping grounds, trying to keep the riff-raft from stealing hapless strangers blind."

"Many of them are just tryin' to survive," Porthos rumbled, sticking up for his old mates.

"I don't care if they rob the rich merchants who are too stupid to stay out of that section of town. But I don't like when there is violence, which we are seeing more of," Aramis noted, which caused Porthos to nod in agreement.

"I don't like or understand it myself," Porthos said in a puzzled tone. "You can rob a person without hurtin' them. Slip in, slip out. I don't know what they are teachin' them these days, but I have half a mind to make a visit and find out," Porthos declared as he pondered why things had changed so much since his days of living there.

"Please," Aramis cajoled. "I only want one patient at a time to take care of and I know from the past this one is a handful," he said looking meaningfully at Athos who had begun to shuffle away towards the stable. "I have half a mind to let him try to saddle his own horse. I have a feeling Roger and I would both get a laugh."

"It ain't right, Aramis."

"Oh, I wouldn't actually do it," Aramis replied, a little hurt that Porthos would think that of him.

"No, I don't mean that. I know you'd never do anything to hurt Athos. I mean what Roudon did to him in the cell. He tortured him. You know it, I know it and I can't see how the rest of the musketeers that saw him today couldn't know it."

Feeling better, Aramis replied, "Yes. You and I see that they tortured him. It makes my blood boil, that and the fact I can't treat him now. But, as for the others, people see and hear what they want. And at the moment, the majority of the musketeers, at least a majority of the nobility, want to see the picture Roudon is painting for them and hear the lies he is weaving. Captain Treville best return soon, or those of us who don't have the blessed blood running in our veins may have to vacate the musketeers if we want to survive. Look at what Roudon did to Athos and he got away with it. Makes me wonder what is next on his agenda and if we want to be here for it."

"You're not serious. Run away? I have never run away from anything and I don't plan starting now," Porthos declared, anger clearly coloring his voice.

"Don't think of it as running away, but more of a strategic retreat. Surely you have been in enough battles to know that sometimes it is better to retreat and fight when the odds are more in one's favor."

"Still don't like it," Porthos muttered grumpily.

"Nor do I, so let's hope it doesn't come to that. For now, let's focus on getting Athos back on his feet." With that, Porthos headed for Athos' room and the kitchen and Aramis hustled after Athos towards the stable before the stubborn man did try to saddle Roger by himself.