Greetings Dear Readers! Still with me? It would seem so, and I am so grateful.
My thanks to Amy for your kind words after the last chapter and to all who leave me a review and to those I cannot thank personally.
We now reach Talk number 140! For anyone who is interested in statistics, I have some for you, courtesy of the site. Since I first posted Chapter 1 in September 2018, 'Infirmary Talks' has now had 185,530 views. This month, my February top readers hail from the US, Russian Federation, Switzerland, UK, Germany, Belarus, France, The Philippines, Sudan and New Zealand. Our Musketeers are popular all over the world!
I'm not sure how many more Talks I have to offer you but here we go with the next one.
/
140. Signature Moves:
"What was that!" Athos ground out, as he strode into the Infirmary and threw his gloves on a nearby table.
d'Artagnan was sitting on a chair, fresh from a training session with an older Musketeer, leaning forward as Aramis wound a bandage around his ribs.
"No real damage," Aramis said, quietly, but not making eye contact with Athos.
"Call it a 'statement' move," d'Artagnan murmured, his head down, his hair obscuring his face. Athos slowly moved closer to d'Artagnan, willing him to look up, but the boy didn't.
"The fact that he has escaped a more severe injury," replied Athos, glaring at Aramis and barely keeping a hold on his anger, "Is not the issue."
"I am here, you know," d'Artagnan replied, sullenly, looking up at last.
"You have barely been here eight months," Athos growled in response. "The move you made out there was not so much a statement as an invitation. An invitation to slip a blade between your ribs, whether you are facing your opponent or not, which you probably won't be if that showing is anything to go by."
d'Artagnan had returned to looking down at the floor.
Aramis risked a glance over his shoulder at Porthos, who was sitting on the end cot beneath the window, away from the altercation. Porthos pursed his lips and shrugged.
Athos raised his finger at Aramis, before moving it across to Porthos without looking at either of them, his eyes firmly on d'Artagnan. Athos either had a sixth sense or excellent peripheral vision with regard to the silent communication between his friends. Both consequently fell silent. Aramis continued to fix the bandage in place.
d'Artagnan though, was obviously feeling either brave or foolhardy as he suddenly looked up at Athos, defiantly.
"You all have your statement moves," he said, his lips pressed in a firm line, head tilted up to stare into Athos's face.
Aramis stopped what he was doing. Porthos sucked in a breath. The room went very quiet. Athos's nostrils flared as he tilted his head, glaring down at the young man.
"You will have to explain that to me," he ground out, tersely, his voice icy.
d'Artagnan straightened his back and took a deep breath. He looked over his shoulder at Aramis, who was standing a couple of paces behind him, his hands on his hips.
"Aramis likes to attack from a height, leaping down on his opponents," d'Artagnan said, aiming for a steady voice, but falling a little short.
"Twisted his ankle a couple of times," Porthos muttered from the end of the room. Aramis frowned, but then shrugged and acknowledged the less-than-faultless execution of that particular move with a nod at Porthos. "There's always a little risk involved," he replied, going back to tying off the bandage around d'Artagnan's ribs, before wiping his hands on a cloth and dropping it on a nearby cupboard top.
Silence fell once more. Athos remained silent and continued to stare at d'Artagnan.
"And Athos," d'Artagnan said, locking eyes with his mentor, but not brave enough to address him directly, "Twists his body and manoeuvres his sword under his opponent's arm."
"Thereby lifting his blade away and opening up the opponent's flank," Athos returned, tersely.
"Porthos fights with his right, while punching with his left," d'Artagnan continued, his voice stronger now.
"Damn right," Porthos said, looking rather proud of himself.
In fact, to d'Artagnan, they all looked pleased with themselves, if Athos's thunderous expression could be determined as such.
"It is not a requirement of the regiment," Athos growled.
"So why have you all got them?" d'Artagnan persisted.
"Good question," Aramis replied. "We probably all had them before we were commissioned."
"But you use them still!" d'Artagnan pointed out.
Athos raised an eyebrow and stared pointedly at the bandage now secured around d'Artagnan's ribs.
"You only know this because you are alive. You will be dead before your move is elevated to statement status." he said, curtly.
"That's reassuring," Porthos countered.
"Athos has a point," Aramis said, patting d'Artagnan on the shoulder to indicate he had finished his ministrations.
Turning to Athos, Aramis put his hands on his hips. "Perhaps, if he trains?"
"It is an indulgence. It has no place in the Musketeers. We are soldiers, not performing artists," Athos quickly replied.
"Oh, I don't know," Aramis smiled. "It's nice to make an impact."
"Confine your impact to your recreational activities, Aramis," Athos countered, through gritted teeth.
"Harsh."
Athos looked from Aramis to Porthos, before turning back to d'Artagnan. "Explain to me how whirling in a circle is an effective fighting move in close combat," he demanded.
"I wouldn't do it in close combat," d'Artagnan replied. "I .."
"You did today," Athos cut him off. "Albeit in training. Which is my point in a nutshell as you bear the consequences."
"It won't scar," Aramis said.
"Aramis!" Athos turned on him in fury. "That is not the point!"
"Then explain it to me, because I don't understand," d'Artagnan said, standing and reaching for his shirt before turning to look at Athos. The two now glared at each other.
"d'Artagnan," Porthos warned.
Athos held up his hand and then picked up his gloves. "Alright," he said, quietly but firmly. "Do as you will, but leave me out of it." With that, he strode away and left the infirmary.
For two days thereafter, Athos sat the sparring sessions with d'Artagnan out.
"What's the matter with him," Porthos ventured to Aramis on the third day.
"I have no idea, my friend, but this is quite a reaction, isn't it?" Aramis replied
"They're both as stubborn as each other," Porthos replied, watching as Athos made his way to the stables.
"Feeling brave?" Aramis said then, swiping Porthos on the shoulder.
"Why?" Porthos frowned.
"Time to confront our stubborn friend." Aramis smiled.
They found Athos brushing furiously at Roger's haunches. Watching for a few moments, Aramis finally stepped forward, Porthos in his wake.
"What is this all about, Athos?" Aramis said quietly. "d'Artagnan is concerned he has offended you. I think we are all of that opinion. You are missed, brother."
Athos continued to brush, before slowing down and pausing. He suddenly leant on Roger, his forehead hard against the horse's side. The horse did not appear to be concerned by this, in fact, he moved closer. Everyone wanted to show Athos their love, it seemed, but only he could not see it.
"The one thing that ate at him when he came to us, was that he could not save his father," Athos murmured into the horse's neck.
"He's learned a lot since that day," Porthos countered, gently. "Trained every day."
"And, if the same circumstances arose today, he would triumph," Aramis added. Porthos hummed in agreement.
"That is an additional burden for him, no doubt." Athos replied, stepping away from Roger and sitting stiffly on a bank of hay bales, where Aramis and Porthos joined him silently.
"Perhaps not," Porthos eventually said, sitting forward and watching the horses. "The lad doesn't dwell on things, Athos, you know that."
"One day, he may find himself on the battlefield," Athos persisted, looking up at the ceiling, his eyes drifting over the cobwebs. "The sort of flourish he attempted in the sparring session would not serve him well."
"He won't use it on the battlefield," Porthos replied, reaching across Aramis and patting Athos's knee.
"How can you be sure," Athos said, turning his head toward Porthos.
"I trust him," Porthos replied quickly. "He's been your responsibility. Soon, he'll be your legacy."
"He has been nurtured by the best swordsman in France," Aramis agreed, with a smile. "You, my friend," he added, sincerely, when Athos's worried eyes fell on him. "You cannot see it, can you?"
"See what?" Athos frowned, as they both looked at him.
"This is d'Artagnan," Porthos replied, "Tellin' you he's ready to be released from your .."
"Bonds?" Athos interrupted, flatly.
"Care," Aramis replied, softly. "To go a step further."
"He's ready to add his own touches," Porthos added.
"It is just the exuberance of youth, surely you see that?" Aramis said. "Surely you remember?"
Not convinced, Athos huffed, falling silent.
This wasn't going to be easy.
"Any exuberance I had was …"
"Stamped out before it could flourish?" Aramis cut in.
"Before it could disturb the order of things," Athos finished.
"But don't you see? Aramis continued. "You have given d'Artagnan all the exuberance in your soul! You have shown him how to fly. He will be the best of us!"
"Because of you," Porthos added, his eyes bright.
"And now, although he would not ask, he wants one last thing from you," Aramis added.
"What?"
"Show him your way with that flourish of his. I reckon he almost has it, but he wants your stamp on it. He wants you to endorse it, as you have with all the moves you have taught him," Aramis explained.
"I cannot," Athos replied, making to stand. Aramis grabbed his arm to still him and after a few terse moments, Athos gave in and sat down once more.
"I know he has always reminded you of your brother," he began.
"It's not Thomas," Athos sighed, leaning forward once more, his hair masking his eyes.
"Who then?" Porthos said, confused.
"Thomas brightened my day," Athos said, confusing Porthos all the more as he frowned at Aramis, who silently signalled him to remain quiet. There was obviously a tale to tell and he did not want Athos to be diverted at such a rare event.
"When he was a boy at least," Athos continued. "Not so much later. There was a selfishness to him. Hardly surprising as he was indulged from a very young age."
The stable was very quiet and Aramis and Porthos hardly dared breathe as Athos began to talk about his youth, something unheard of. He must be deeply troubled to unburden himself, like this, they realised.
"Not Thomas," Athos repeated with a sigh. "My sword-master, Germaine. He taught me for over a year. He was, patient," he added, as if that explained anything, but Aramis dare not prompt. He and Porthos sat like statues as Athos continued, speaking quietly, the words beginning to tumble out.
"I looked forward so much to his visits. I was in my eleventh year when he first came, and I came to look upon him as an older brother. He made things interesting. I remember laughing," he added, softly. "So much."
Aramis swallowed, the thought of a young Athos, laughing with his teacher as he learned, was close to heartbreaking.
"But he was a little flamboyant, shall we say. One day, father saw him showing me a new set of exercises and he was not pleased."
"What sort of exercises?" Porthos ventured.
Athos looked at him sadly. "Flourishes," he said. "Statement moves. He was dismissed on the spot. I never saw him again."
"You were fond of him," Aramis said.
"I was," Athos admitted. "And then, word came that he had been killed in a duel."
"What?" Porthos said, in surprise.
"One of his flourishes, they said. The blade pierced between his ribs. Very much like …"
"d'Artagnan," Aramis finished.
"Yes," Athos replied. "My father was very smug about it all. He believed he had saved his heir from an untimely death by showing him the right way to true swordsmanship."
"I suppose, in a way, he was right," Aramis added, softly. "He protected you. And that is what you want for d'Artagnan."
"I don't know," Athos sighed, rising and straightening his jacket. "Would it have hurt to have Germaine's statement moves as my own? I will never know. They are a distant memory to me now."
"It's up to you, my friend," Aramis gave Athos the only response his could.
"You didn't turn out too bad, did you?" Porthos added.
They both turned to go and Athos fell in behind them, his thoughts still in turmoil. One thing he knew. d'Artagnan was stubborn. He probably would not take no for an answer, as he himself had done all those years ago.
/
Athos had avoided The Wren since he and d'Artagnan had fallen foul of each other, but now, as he watched the boy train by himself at the end of the yard, he made a decision.
As he walked slowly across to join him, Porthos and Aramis watched with bated breath from the stabled doorway.
d'Artagnan lunged at the straw dummy, unaware of his mentor's approach.
"If you over-extend by a fraction," Athos called out, "Your opponent's blade will find you."
d'Artagnan turned, a cautious smile spreading across his face. Athos was standing watching him, his own sword propped on his shoulder.
"One of the first lessons you taught me," d'Artagnan offered.
"You remember," Athos said, his face softening.
"I remember everything you taught me," d'Artagnan replied, his smile turning into a grin.
Athos smiled back, much to d'Artagnan's delight.
"Then learn this," Athos said, quietly.
Stepping forward, he dropped into a fighting stance, weighing his blade in his hand. d'Artagnan matched his stance eagerly and they touched blades before striking out into a blow by blow fight. The Garrison fell silent as those around crept forward to watch the mentor and his protege putting on the show of their lives, every lunge, riposte and parry a display in itself.
Athos pushed d'Artagnan into every corner, being equally pushed back himself, both men goading each other to move faster, swing lower, frowning and grunting in equal measure, the clash of steel ringing across the yard. The bout continued. Sweating now and tiring, they were almost at the end when Athos suddenly executed a perfect circle, his body low, before rising into the strike, his feet perfectly positioned, his weight evenly distributed. He completed the move by tapping d'Artagnan lightly on his flank with the flat of his blade.
"You're dead," he said.
d'Artagnan's eyes were shining as he gaped at Athos.
"I hope you paid attention," Athos said. "For I shall not be doing that again."
"Once is enough," d'Artagnan grinned, delighted.
"No, it is not," Athos said, as they both panted for breath. "If you must have that move, we will train. But not at the expense of your duties and not in the regiment's time."
"Agreed!" d'Artagnan said. "Anywhere, anytime, Athos. Thank you."
"You execute it, if you must, not to show off but at the end of the encounter. Not the beginning, not halfway through. But at the end, when you are certain of the outcome."
"The killing blow," d'Artagnan said with a nod of agreement.
"Precisely," Athos replied, dropping the point of his sword into the packed earth.
Turning away, he saw Aramis and Porthos now sitting at their table, raising their cups to him with knowing smiles. Athos sighed, before shaking his head and giving them a small nod in return. They would all have a Statement Move now.
And, he thought with a small smile as he approached his friends for a well deserved drink, Germaine would definitely approve.
/
Thanks for reading!