Chapter Seven
These past days had been a blur to Aramis. Unconscious, half conscious, shivering and sweating… he had no idea what was happening out there. When rational thought surfaced he often wondered if he was dying. There was so much pain... but worst of all he couldn't breathe. That simple action we all take for granted suddenly became a battle, and Aramis wasn't sure he could fight it any longer. The young musketeer felt like he was drowning on dry land, but something kept him going… Porthos and Athos, they had not left him, and he would not leave them. They kept him dragging in breath after breath, even when the pain of his ribs urged him to still his lungs, he defied it. The choking it brought on was agony. And once or twice when Aramis' vision sparked and his breath wouldn't come he knew he was dying… but a hand at his back and a whisper at his ear seemed to pull him through. They couldn't quite fend off the fever borne nightmares though. Through hazy eyes Aramis saw blood stained snow, and on more than one occasion he woke to find a grey faced Marsac standing over him. The dead of Savoy grasped him with rigid, cold hands. He was sure they would drag him down to hell…
And maybe he deserved it.
But now he woke, feeling clear headed for the first time in a long time, and he was greeted with the news that Porthos was dead. Athos was still in denial, he wouldn't say what they both knew… Porthos was dead… whether by musket ball or the hangman's noose, he was dead. And the young musketeer's first thought was that they should have died together. He felt a piece of himself had been cut away. And grief gave rise to bitterness and anger. They never left a man behind. Aramis found himself lashing out at Athos, blaming him for Porthos… He couldn't stand to have the man there.
When Athos left, Aramis stared at the ceiling, letting tears gather in his eyes and run to stain the bedclothes. His chest seized when he tried to sob, so Aramis had to tame his breathing into hitched breaths. Although it was tempting to just let go… let his lungs struggle and cease, drift away… But there was the memory of a hand at his back, urging him to keep breathing. Athos. And the more he thought the more guilty he felt. This was all his fault after all, they would still be at the garrison doing their duty if it wasn't for him… and Aramis knew the chaos of battle, how could he blame Athos for a split second decision when one of his own had led to all of this?
Some time later the door creaked open and Athos slipped in with a bowl of broth. Their eyes met only briefly before Athos set it down on his bedside table.
"Do you want help sitting up?" Athos kept his voice even.
Aramis tried pushing himself up with his good arm, but the pain flared from his broken ribs and it only took one sharply inhaled breath before Athos' hands were there supporting him.
"Shall I…" Athos left the question unfinished as he went to sit down and hold up the bowl.
"No, let me try." Aramis indicated a space on his lap and Athos set the bowl down. The young musketeer stared at it for a moment before raising the spoon to his lips.
Athos said nothing more. He was content to sit in silence, it was his way after all. He could probably go on pretending not a bad word had passed between them, but Aramis felt it hanging over their heads as oppressive as a storm cloud.
"I'm sorry…" Aramis had only to breach the dam with those two words, and the rest followed quickly after. "I should not blame you. How can I blame you after everything? You did what you had to, and doubtlessly Porthos did what he had to. I just couldn't bear losing him… I've lost so much already, my home, my love, my child… I can't keep losing things Athos."
Athos was quiet for a moment before he met Aramis' eyes. "You've still got me."
"And I pushed you away… I'm sorry Athos, I'm so sorry. You have lost so much as well, and all on my account. I owe you my life ten times over and look how I treat you… I'm sorry." Aramis felt suddenly weak and breathless. "I'm sorry… Athos, I'm sorry."
He wanted to say so much more, but that one word was all that came out between laboured breaths.
"I know you are." Athos leaned forwards to put a hand on his arm. "And I forgive you. You hear me? I forgive you everything. You're right, I have lost much, but I still have something left... We have each other. Porthos would want us to keep going. We have to stay strong."
Aramis managed a slight smile. "For Porthos."
Athos returned it with a rare smile of his own. "For Porthos."
The young musketeer raised the spoon with a shaking hand and kept eating. Being forgiven he suddenly felt cleansed, as if he had walked from confession after being absolved of his sins. Though he didn't feel like eating much he tried his best to finish the bowl off, he had to get strong again. He was filled with a new sense of purpose. They had to keep going… to Spain, perhaps beyond. This wasn't the end.
Feeling the dark cloud hanging over them disperse Aramis raised an eyebrow at Athos. "You're looking a little more… pristine."
"Yes, well I've had a wash. I'll get some water warmed for you once you've finished that. Then you can spend the rest of the day resting, I'm afraid I'll be spending the rest of the day mucking out…"
"You won't be staying pristine for long then."
"I don't suppose I will." Athos let out an amused sigh.
Once Aramis finished his broth Athos helped him limp to the dining table where he played with Laika while he waited for some water to warm up. The young musketeer really wanted to wash himself, but standing at the basin for long wasn't on the cards, so Athos placed a chair down next to it and gave him a hand. His bruised arm sat uselessly in his lap.
"I feel like a child being scrubbed at by his mother…" Aramis muttered as he tried to grab for the cloth Athos wielded mercilessly.
"I'm not your mother, but you are being a child… Let me help."
Aramis reluctantly gave in to Athos' ministrations. In truth it was easier - not that he would admit that - just taking his shirt off had been painful enough, trying to wash around his injuries would have been no better.
They were just finishing when Tilda bustled back in.
"Oh heavens no, don't put that back on him!"
Athos paused with Aramis' shirt in his hand.
"It's more a rag than a shirt. I think my son left some clothes behind on his last visit, you're roughly the same size. Let me go and fetch a fresh shirt. Athos, you can have one too once you've finished with the animals. Oh and your horse is making a bit of a racket out there."
"I'd better go and settle him down…" Athos dropped the shirt and made for the door.
When he was clothed Aramis went limping after him. Athos would probably tell him to stay put, but he was never one to take inactivity well. The young musketeer found Athos in the barn holding on to Henri, stroking down his neck while speaking softly. The horse had his head high in the air, ears to attention, and every few moments he would let out an ear splitting neigh.
Aramis was just about to ask who he could be calling for when an answering whinny sounded in the distance. Henri got all the more excited and called out again. Soon after the sound of hooves flying along grass reached them.
"Storm!" Aramis shouted as his horse came charging up. Of course, it was really d'Artagnan's but after all this time he had become quite fond of the gelding.
Storm slowed to a trot and dashed straight past Aramis into the barn. He went to sniff at Henri and the two horses soon settled into grooming each other. Aramis came over to check his horse. Storm looked a little worse for wear, ragged, with his saddle slipped to one side and his reins snapped. But thankfully he seemed to be unharmed. It brought a spark of hope to Aramis' heart seeing that something thought lost could return to him.
Athos secured Henri and went to take Storm. "Wonders never cease… we thought you long gone lad."
Aramis longed to untack and groom his horse. It was instilled in him from a young age that you always took care of your horse before yourself, but this burst of activity had taken what energy he had. The young musketeer suddenly felt light headed and stumbled a step.
At this Athos frowned. "Go back inside and rest Aramis. I'll take care of him."
He would normally argue and protest he was perfectly capable… but it was clearly untrue. Aramis' body was begging him to lie down. So slowly he went to limp back inside. The journey back to bed seemed to take ten times longer than his journey outside. When he finally reached it he found Tilda had changed the sheets. It was quite pleasant climbing into a fresh bed free from the air of his illness. Although his sickness had for the most part passed, it still lingered with tendrils of weakness and wheezing… Aramis was dead to the world the moment his head touched the pillow.
~oOo~
Later that evening the three of them sat around the fire with Laika. They listened to Tilda tell stories of her younger days. They were happier days, when the house was filled with children and laughter. In turn the two musketeers spoke of their exploits... as much as it was safe to do so. They thanked her profusely for her kindness. Tilda had fed and clothed them, she even found some spare reins for Storm. Athos was about to protest when Tilda started putting a few bits together for their journey, he didn't want to leave her without, but she would hear nothing of it. Tilda gathered together warm clothes and food that would keep.
The next day saw Athos up bright and early, it seemed he wanted to repay Tilda's kindness. He set about feeding the animals and making a few repairs. It was a loud hammering noise coming from outside that woke Aramis. For a confused moment his sleep addled mind perceived gunshots, he lay back relieved on realising what it really was. Taking a few experimental deep breaths Aramis winced as a familiar pain flared along his ribs. He managed to shuffle himself upright and took a sip from the pain tincture on his bedside table. It spread a strange sense of warmth through him that muted all the aches and pains. It couldn't stop the coughing though. Aramis gave a few harsh barking coughs before resting against the headboard… It still hurt to some degree, but at least he hadn't brought anything up.
Aramis sat quietly and looked around the room. It was small and cosy, though a layer of dust had gathered on all the surfaces. It clung stubbornly to the coarse fur of a teddy sitting on the chest of drawers opposite. Carved wooden animals stood by him like soldiers all in a row. Aramis got to his feet and walked over gingerly for a closer look. The first he picked up was a fox. He brushed away the dust to find it was painted bright orange and white, though time had leached some of the colour away. A lot of care had gone into making it. The surface was sanded smooth and its features were carefully etched. There was also a rabbit and a dog… or maybe a wolf. At the end stood a hawk, its wings spread wide and proud… but no, there was another. It had toppled over so Aramis nearly missed it. The figure was painted entirely black. He picked it up to set it right and found it was a little horse.
Suddenly a feeling of sorrow took the young musketeer… These had been carved by a caring hand. Perhaps they were made by a father for his son. He would have done the same for his own. Aramis imagined himself sitting beneath the shade of a tree whittling a toy horse for a child he would never know.
"It looks rather like your horse doesn't it?" Tilda's voice coming from the doorway made him jump. He hadn't realised she was standing there watching.
"He's not mine, not really… I'm just looking after him for a friend." Aramis went to set the horse back down.
"My husband made them, he was always good with his hands... You can keep it if you like."
"Oh I couldn't. Not if your-"
Tilda cut him off. "It's seeing no use here, other than gathering dust." She gave him a warm smile. "You'll just be looking after it for a friend."
Aramis took the little figure back up and closed his fist about it. "I'll take good care of him."
"Now come on, you're missing breakfast."
Tilda turned away and made for the kitchen. After putting the little horse away in his bag Aramis followed at a slower pace. His leg was still tender to walk on. He found Athos polishing off his plate, seemingly eager to get back to work. He also seemed eager to leave.
"Do you think you will be able to ride later?"
Aramis winced as he sat down. "Well, I have at least one hand for the reins. I might manage an easy pace."
"Good. We should move on…" Athos eyed Tilda carefully. "Our family will be worrying about us."
"Quite." Aramis took in a careful breath. He really didn't like the thought of riding. "Could we not set out tomorrow morning?"
The young musketeer watched a brief conflict pass over Athos' face.
"One last night in a soft bed, that's all I ask." Aramis pressed.
Athos was slow in his answer. "Alright… I'll get everything ready now, but we must away at first light tomorrow. We cannot linger." His eyes drifted to the old lady bustling about the kitchen. "Besides, we cannot impose ourselves on Tilda for much longer."
That caught her attention. "Oh my dear, you are no trouble at all. As I've said before - I'm quite enjoying the company. And you're getting a fair few jobs done I haven't been able to do. I'm not as young as I used to be."
"Really Tilda, we'll eat you out of house and home if you let us."
"Who said anything about letting you?" Tilda gave wry smile.
"Right, I'd better finish repairing the fence before Tilda comes after me." Athos made to leave the table.
"I'd be the very worst of your enemies young man!" She shouted as he went out of the door feigning a desperate dash.
~oOo~
After finishing his own breakfast Aramis went to doze in front of the fireplace. The warmth and gentle crackling lulled him away, and then Laika joined him. She put her head on the young musketeer's lap and insisted on being stroked. The rhythmical motion and soft fur sent him even deeper into sleep. He imagined soft skin and warm arms. There was no crackling fire, just a gentle whisper of lips at his ear before they found his own. That hazy vision was ripped away violently in a hale of gunfire, Aramis swore he heard Porthos shout "Go!" before he was shocked back into the waking world.
The fire was burning low... Aramis frowned at finding his hand hanging in thin air. Laika had gone. Everything was quiet but for a fierce growling. Slowly Aramis turned his head to find Laika snarling with her nose pointed at the door. Moments later Athos burst through, his eyes wide and frantic.
"Riders are coming! We have to go!"
Suddenly Aramis was thrust back in time to that fateful night when Athos came knocking at his door, two terrible words on his lips… They know.
Athos ran about, grabbing bags amidst a stream of harried words. Aramis froze. His breath caught in his throat and his thoughts were like treacle. He knew he had to do something, but his limbs just wouldn't seem to work.
"Aramis! Get up! You have to get up now!"
He wanted to. His legs just wouldn't obey.
And then Athos was there in front of him, crouching down, placing a hand on his knee.
"Aramis, we have no time, we have to go…" The hand shifted to take a grip on his good arm and moments later Aramis was on his feet.
The deafening maelstrom seemed to fade away as he heard a heavy set of boots hit the ground outside. A voice filtered through the door. "Leon, check the buildings. Mathieu, go around the back."
A hefty knock came at the door, and for a moment all three of them looked at each other, breath caught in their throats.
Tilda was the first to make a move. "Go out the back door, I'll stall this fellow."
"You can't…" Athos started, but Tilda interrupted.
"I can! This is my house! I'll not have these brutes knocking at my door and traipsing around my property like they own it. Go!"
The knock came again, heavier and a little more furious.
Athos paused, seemingly about to object, but then he thought better of it and dragged Aramis to the back door. He put down their bags for a moment and took out his pistol. They knew to expect Mathieu…
On hearing footsteps crunch on the ground outside Athos opened the door a crack and stopped behind it. Curiosity led the man to push it open, and when he stepped inside he met the butt of Athos' pistol. Mathieu dropped to the ground, senseless, and Athos let out a stream of curses at seeing his strikingly familiar uniform. The Red Guard had caught up to them.
As Athos was picking their bags up again he heard Tilda open the front door and a gruff voice rang out.
"Madame, I am sorry to interrupt you like this, but we are in pursuit of two criminals and have reason to believe they passed this way. Have you seen them?"
"Oh gracious, how terrible… No, I have not seen anybody. It is always quiet around here."
"How strange, I thought I saw a man outside as we approached… Might I step inside and have a look around?"
Athos didn't stop to listen further. He stepped around the fallen guard and motioned for Aramis to follow. Burdened by their bags as he was Athos couldn't help Aramis along, and so the young musketeer followed as quickly as he was able. Adrenaline was helping to mask his pains at any rate. There was still a guard searching the outbuildings and so the two men were on alert as they made their way to the barn. Aramis felt he could dart off like a deer if they were spotted.
Luckily the barn was not far from the cottage. As they reached it a sudden squawk of chickens told them where Leon was. They just needed enough time to ready the horses…
"Stop by the door, tell me if he approaches". Athos' voice was short and clipped. The soldier in him had taken over.
So while Athos set about tacking up the horses Aramis settled by the door, watching through the narrow crack where it was hinged. His heart thundered in his chest and it took far too much concentration to keep his breathing even. After a few moments Aramis realised his legs were starting to shake, so he sank down to the ground and leaned against the door.
Athos shot him a concerned glance.
"I'm alright… I'm fine…" Aramis managed between heavy breaths.
And then a loud barking came from the cottage. It ceased just as a yell rent the air.
"Athos… Tilda…" It sounded as if the guard had muscled his way in. "... she needs help".
Athos was quiet but for the swearing as his fingers worked frantically at Henri's girth.
"You have to help her." Aramis tried again.
"I have to get us out of here!" Athos whirled around with a muted shout.
"She helped us Athos… it is the honourable thing to do."
That word seemed to set a light in his eyes.
"Alright." Athos took up his pistol and brought it over to Aramis. "If you see that guard approach, shoot him. If I don't come back…"
"You're coming back." Aramis levelled a pointed look at Athos as he took the gun.
The musketeer just gave a firm nod and he went to check the way was clear. Aramis was left with the sound of Athos' retreating footsteps and the firm, familiar weight of the gun in his lap. Though Athos' absence set his heart racing anew, the pistol was almost comforting. He slipped his finger around the trigger and looked through the crack, carefully watching for any sign of movement. Aramis whispered prayers beneath his breath, desperately hoping for Athos to return before the guard made his way over.
But Aramis was rarely so lucky.
The young musketeer inhaled suddenly as Leon stepped from the building across the yard. The guard stooped momentarily to brush some feathers from his boots, and then he straightened, setting his eye on the barn. Aramis' grip tightened on the pistol, his whole body felt as taught as a violin string nearing breaking point. The young musketeer shuffled to the edge of the door and waited. With his back to the thick wood he couldn't see Leon any more and he would only get one chance at this… He closed his eyes, trying to listen to the guard's footsteps, trying to gauge how close he would need to be for an accurate shot.
He couldn't miss.
Footsteps entwined with the sound of his own frantic heartbeat in his ears. Aramis shuddered in a breath and raised the pistol. A tremor ran through his hand, betraying him and shattering his confidence. Aramis had done this hundreds of times… thousands of times - The sure and steady raising of a pistol, a brief moment to aim, a squeeze, and then a bang - It happened without thought, the gun felt a part of him. He shot as easily as he scratched his nose. But today, here and now, his shaking hand held something strange… Doubt ran through him. Aramis was suddenly unsure of his distances, and as any soldier knows, that first moment of doubt is always deadly.
Aramis made his decision - Three more footsteps and he would shoot. But he wasn't sure, was that two? Was it three? He would shoot. He had to shoot. He was made for this.
The young musketeer took in a sudden breath and leaned around the door, revealing himself. He caught the look of alarm on Leon's face before squeezing the trigger. The sudden crack of a gunshot rang out… But alarm turned to relief, and a cruel smile twisted the guard's lips. Aramis' shot had sailed past his ear. Leon ran forwards as Aramis fumbled with the pistol, trying in vain to load another ball. He wouldn't be able to do it in time, but as his mind reeled his hands fell back on old habits. Aramis reached for a ball even as he tried to hold the gun with fingers that barely worked.
And then there was a boot flying towards his face. The gun fell from his hands and Aramis' vision sparked wildly through the pain. He scrambled backwards, trying desperately to gain his feet, but a vicious hand in his hair held him back. As the world seemed to settle the young musketeer perceived the tip of a dagger at his throat. The guard moved in uncomfortably close and pinned Aramis down.
"Can you run now musketeer? I think not…" Leon lowered his lips to whisper in his ear. "I think not."
The man's fetid breath was vile. It almost set Aramis off choking again. And then the hand in his hair was gone, it went to grip his bruised arm and the young musketeer couldn't help but cry out as his injured limb was wrenched behind his back. The guard rolled him over on to his front, the sudden pressure on his ribs made Aramis wince and gasp for breath. He came to realise the metallic taste in his mouth was blood…
"Look at the state of you. Do you really think you could escape justice, musketeer?" Leon spat and it landed inches away in the dirt beside Aramis' face. "The cardinal will be pleased that we found you. That old dog Treville was sure he'd get his runaways first."
Aramis felt something tighten around his wrists, a belt perhaps.
"Took you… long enough…" He gritted out between his teeth.
That earned the young musketeer a cuff about the head.
"You went down easier than that other one. We had a lot of fun with him I tell you". Leon leaned in to whisper at Aramis' ear again. "A lot of fun".
Aramis growled and bucked in vain. The guard tightened his hold.
There was at least one small spark of hope in those cruel words… Porthos had been taken alive.
"There wasn't much left to send off to the hangman, but he still has a neck to put a noose around." Leon's voice went on, violatingly intimate in its closeness. "We'll have our fun with you too". He ran one hand down Aramis' side, lingering over his tender ribs. It pulled a slight moan from the young musketeer. "Shame you're so damaged already... I like to break men down and the job is half done for me. Still, I'll see how long it takes before you're begging for death. There's always sport in that."
And then another voice cut in. "Speaking of begging, I suggest you start now."
Athos!
Leon got to his feet rather abruptly, and Aramis tried to twist around to see what was happening. With his face in the dirt and his arms tied behind his back he didn't get very far.
"I would rather die than beg before a musketeer - a disgraced one no less!"
"As you wish". Athos' voice was so calm it was unsettling.
There was a short, sharp cry and then Leon's body dropped to the ground beside Aramis. Their faces were inches apart. The young musketeer watched the guard's wide eyes glaze over as his breath ceased and death claimed his soul. A pool of blood started spreading from Leon's chest to stain the dirt a dark red. It seeped out, closer and closer...
Athos worked to undo his bindings, but Aramis was transfixed by those hollow, staring eyes.
"Are you alright?"
Athos voice seemed to come from far away. There was nothing Aramis could see but grey, dead eyes.
"Aramis?"
The ravens would come. It was only a matter of time.
"Answer me, dammit!"
Staring eyes would not stare for long when the black feathered harbingers of death came to feast. Eyes were the first to go. Aramis knew this.
Suddenly he found himself sitting up and staring at a blood spattered Athos.
Aramis frowned in confusion. "What?"
"Are you alright?" Athos' voice was laced with taught worry. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and wiped at Aramis' mouth. It came away red. "Blood… is it your ribs?"
His hands went to Aramis' chest before the young musketeer could bat them away.
"I'm fine… He kicked me." Aramis wheezed in a breath. At least breathing was a little easier now he wasn't face down on the floor. "It's my head… not my lungs. I wouldn't be talking if it was".
Athos' hands went to his head instead. They found a rather tender lump and Aramis winced.
"Well you seem coherent enough. How is your arm? I should find your sling…" Athos looked over at their bags, now attached securely to their horses.
"No, I'd rather have it free if we're riding. Not that it'll be much good." Aramis flexed his fingers and pain flared along his arm. And then the blood staining Athos' front caught his attention again. "Are you injured? Is Tilda alright?"
Athos went to help Aramis to his feet and get him over to Storm. "We're both alright. Laika took a good bite out of that guard, and then I came along to take a bigger bite".
Ah, that would explain the blood then…
"I've suggested she goes to visit one of her sons for a little while… Take hold of the saddle, I'll give you a leg up".
Aramis stifled a moan as he was near enough thrown on to the back of his horse.
When Athos mounted they set off into the yard only to come face to face with Mathieu. They had only knocked the guard out… it seemed he had regained consciousness.
All three of them stood frozen, looking at each other.
And then Mathieu gave a shout. "Stop where you are!"
"Oh, I think not". Athos said calmly before Henri took off.
Aramis didn't need to do a thing, he held on and Storm followed hot on Henri's heels. The sudden motion of his horse had the young musketeer groaning as it jarred his injuries. He had hoped for a more leisurely pace, but they had to outrun the guard.
While they had quite a head start Aramis managed a quick look over his shoulder and saw Mathieu had found his own horse. The guard seemed intent on following them. The two musketeers set out at a punishing pace that had Aramis struggling. Still the guard kept up. As they went on, the ground became more hilly, forcing them to slow a little. Mathieu managed to get closer and a musket ball came flying past between the two musketeers. At least the guard wasted his shot, he wouldn't get another.
By now Aramis had his hand entangled in Storm's mane to keep from falling. He wasn't sure he could trust himself to stay in the saddle, or stay conscious for much longer… The ground tracked up to a distant wooded area.
Athos gave a yell. "Into the trees!"
Onwards they charged, mindful of the ground now. As it became steeper more and more rocky protrusions littered the grass. But the guard did not slow, seemingly enticed by the thought of capturing the musketeers and being the hero of his regiment. Just as the two of them approached the tree line a sharp cry came from behind. Aramis risked a look over his shoulder and found Mathieu flat out on the ground with his horse fallen beside him.
"Athos, he's down!"
They stopped before the tree line and turned to watch as Mathieu's horse struggled to its feet and limped over to pick at some grass. The guard sat up slowly and shook his head, clearly dazed.
Athos allowed himself a smug smile. "Well, that's brought us a bit of time. The horse is practically useless to him now."
The two musketeers turned back and walked their horses beneath the shadowed boughs.