Chapter Five

'What d'ya think we're gonna find?' asked the older man.

The younger one was looking up at the hanging man warily. D'Artagnan wondered if he was worried the man would suddenly spring to life, but it was obvious he was dead, the deathly pallor of his face leaving the watching Musketeers in no doubt.

They had crept closer to the two poachers who were absorbed in their observations of the hanging man and had not noticed four armed men approaching them. D'Artagnan had wanted to move into the small clearing but Athos had stopped him from rushing forward with a hand on his arm and a shake of his head.

'If they run and tell others we are here the mercenaries could find out,' Athos had whispered.

D'Artagnan nodded his understanding. They were undercover after all.

'I have an idea,' said Aramis, 'stay down.'

They crouched down and watched as Aramis walked quickly into the small clearing near the body. The poachers turned around and stared at him a little surprised to see someone walk so confidently toward them.

Aramis had pulled his gun and was vaguely pointing it in their direction. He was talking to them in Spanish. D'Artagnan picked out the odd word and guessed Aramis' intention was for the men to think he was one of the mercenaries and therefore not afraid to kill them.

It worked.

The older poacher grabbed his son and dragged him away, the son stumbled as they went but was pulled up by his father. They disappeared quickly; the noise of their retreat could be heard for several minutes as they crashed through the undergrowth.

'Doubt they'll bother us any further,' said Aramis as he slipped his gun back into his belt.

'Good thinking,' said Porthos with a friendly slap to Aramis' back.

D'Artagnan approached the body and looked up at the dead man. He wondered if the man had really deserved to die or if his death was more for Treville's benefit, to scare him into being compliant?

'If you two steady him, I'll cut him down,' said Porthos who had moved behind the dead man, his main gauche already in his hand.

Between them, d'Artagnan and Athos held onto the man and supported his weight as Porthos sliced through the rope. As they lay the man down Aramis knelt by him and crossed himself. They paused respectfully for a few moments as Aramis prayed for the man's soul.

'Let's hope his death is not in vain,' said Aramis as he slipped his cross back inside his shirt.

Athos started to go through the man's pockets as Aramis undid his doublet and felt around the man's body for anything that could help them. The man wore good clothes, the mercenaries appeared to have been paid well. His arms were tied firmly behind his back, the rope had cut into his wrists, probably as he struggled and begged for his life. His legs were bound with more rope around his knees and ankles. The mercenary's leader clearly did not want his condemned man to escape.

'He's got nothing on him,' said Aramis as he sat back on heels, looking up at them. 'Other than a few Spanish coins.'

Porthos was looking at the man's boots, his brow furrowed, 'his boots are dusty.'

D'Artagnan crouched down and ran his gloved finger along the side of the dead man's boot.

'The poachers said he was carried here. His ankles were tied together before he got here,' said Athos.

'Wherever he was before he was brought here must be dry...but not indoors,' concluded d'Artagnan as he brushed the dusty dry earth from his gloves.

'It's pale, almost sandy,' suggested Aramis. 'Aren't there caves in this area?'

'I've heard that they're haunted,' said d'Artagnan with a grin, 'the locals won't go near them.'

Athos nodded, 'even with the recent rain showers, a cave without a water source nearby would have remained dry and dusty.'

Porthos had wandered a few yards away, 'they went back this way,' he said pointing at the ground. 'They wouldn't have gone too far on foot, and they wouldn't have gone too far in this terrain carrying a non-compliant man.'

The caves had to be relatively close. The hanging had taken place a short distance away, perhaps to build up the tension for Treville? Or the oak tree was the most suitable place to string the unfortunate man up on.

D'Artagnan looked back at the dead man. Athos had crouched next to him and was pulling off the man's scarf, a dirty yellow square of cloth that had been folded to tie around his neck. The scarf had become loose, no doubt during the man's struggle at the end of the rope.

Athos looked at the scarf for a few moments before looking up at Aramis who had moved to stand next to him. Aramis reached out his hand and took the scarf from Athos without saying anything. D'Artagnan looked at Athos who seemed to be silently apologising to his friend. The plan that had obviously formed in Athos' mind was shared by Aramis, and d'Artagnan could guess what it was. As the only one of them who spoke Spanish fluently Aramis was the only one of them who could try to infiltrate the mercenaries and locate the Captain.

'The poachers mentioned that all the men wore these,' said Athos as he watched Aramis look at the scarf for a few seconds.

Porthos looked annoyed at the unspoken plan but resigned to it happening.

'It's do or die anyway,' remarked Aramis as he tied the scarf around his own neck. 'I'll either get away with it...or not.'

MMMM

'If I can get him out, I will,' said Aramis as they watched the cave entrance.

'But don't risk failure,' said Porthos with mock seriousness. 'We wouldn't want to upset the King by having him forced to hang the four of us.'

Athos watched Aramis give Porthos a glare before grinning at him, 'we won't fail.'

'It is a shame we have no idea how far the system of caves goes,' said Athos.

'I will make a note whilst I'm in there,' replied Aramis. 'For future cave rescues.'

Athos shook his head as Aramis and Porthos smirked, the lightheartedness of their whispered conversations belying the seriousness of the situation and the danger they were all about to put themselves in.

They had walked quietly towards the caves taking a while to scout the area before settling themselves behind some rocks several yards from the largest cave entrance. Two mercenaries were sat outside the entrance, they were tending to a fire and not paying much attention to their surroundings. There were enough other men dotted around the area that there was no need to actually guard the largest entrance.

The other men were engaged in simple tasks, preparing food or cleaning weapons. There seemed to be assigned jobs, Athos could tell the mercenaries were disciplined enough to follow their leaders' orders. They had yet to see the leader, or at least did not think they had. None of the men milling about appeared to have the qualities of a leader.

Two smaller caves were being well guarded, making them unsuitable for Aramis to try to get in by. But the other cave entrances had given Porthos an idea to help them with recovering their Captain. Once Aramis had found Treville the plan would be executed.

'When you find him,' said Athos, 'make sure he understands he is not to engage in any fighting, he should just escape and meet us at the shepherd's hut. He has to understand that. The information is more important.'

Aramis nodded, 'I will issue my Captain the order,' he said wryly.

'He'll enjoy being ordered about by his men,' remarked Porthos.

'Good luck,' said d'Artagnan.

Athos watched as Aramis took a moment to gather his thoughts before moving away from them. He walked casually towards the mercenaries who paid him no attention. The men were all dressed in similar plain clothes, Aramis did not look out of place. As he reached the entrance to the cave one of the men tending to the fire looked up at him and said something. Aramis replied, causing the man to chuckle. With a nod to the man, Aramis disappeared into the caves.

The watching Musketeers could only wait. But they would not be idle whilst they waited. Porthos and d'Artagnan slipped away to work on the second part of their plan.

MMMM

Treville studied the back of his new guard's head, a scar had left a path of bald skin travelling diagonally across the man's scalp. The wound would have been significant, the man was probably lucky to be alive. Treville had seen men with wounds to their heads left with limited ability when it happened on the battlefield, he had witnessed the men being killed as a kindness. The brutality of their lives never more starkly laid bare.

Carlos, the dim-witted guard who had been pushing him about earlier had been sent for a break by Herrera who, although stern with his men, understood that they needed to be rested to be at their best.

The new guard, whose name he did not know, had not spoken to him much, and when he had spoken it had only been in Spanish. Treville could follow some of what the man had said, but had not responded to him, the action, eventually earning him his current view of the guard. The man had turned his back, with a noncommittal grunt and was now sat on a rickety stool at the entrance to his rocky cell.

The dim light that was thrown into his prison by the torch the guard had pushed into the loose dry dirt next to his stool did nothing to improve his view. The cave walls were jagged, the flickering torch making the dark recesses seem darker.

He tried to shift slightly to get more comfortable, but no area of the wall behind him seemed even vaguely smooth. His shoulders hurt and his wrists were sore where he had pulled at his ropes. The mercenaries had not hurt him much, although he had remained restrained since they had pulled him from his horse.

Herrera had visited him a few times, bringing water which he was allowed a few sips of. They had not given him any food. If he was held for much longer the lack of food would start to trouble him, Treville guessed the poor treatment was to keep him placid. He sighed, the treatment was working, there was no chance of escape from his current position. The narrow entrance to his cave cell meant he could not sneak out. He had become confused as they pushed him through the intricate cave system despite trying to remember the left and right turns and knew he would not be able to navigate his own way out easily whilst trying to evade the Spanish men.

Treville knew his best chance of escape, if no rescue came, would be when he was handed over to Herrera's paymaster.

He looked towards his guard when he heard the man speak to someone else. The unseen man replied Treville hid a smile when he recognised the voice.