Authors note: There is medical stuff. I am not a medical person. I apologies in advance.
Chapter Three
Athos parried another swipe of the enthusiastic man's sword. At the same time, he blocked the other man with his sword. He pushed back with both his sword and main gauche, causing both men to take a couple of steps back.
One of the men pulled his gun from his belt, but his enthusiasm finally got the better of him and he fumbled the gun. It fell and skittered across the floor knocking into d'Artagnan's leg. The dazed musketeer grabbed it and, knowing he would stand no chance firing it held it up, butt first, toward Athos.
Athos saw the move and after a wild thrust at the second man stepped back quickly and grabbed the gun and swung it around, shooting the overly enthusiastic swordsman. The ball penetrated the mans chest near his heart. His facial expression changed to shock as he stumbled back a few paces, blood blossoming across his shirt. He sank to his knees before falling backwards, the life dimming in his eyes.
The second man tried to take advantage of the moment and stepped towards d'Artagnan who was again trying to pull himself to his feet. Athos put himself between the two and pushed the opponent back a few paces, before grabbing d'Artagnan by his good arm and dragging him up to stand. Athos snaked his arm around the injured musketeer's waist whilst holding off the other man.
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Porthos pulled at the door again, Aramis knew his friend would not manage it on his own. He pushed himself up and walked over, grabbing the metal ring alongside the big musketeer. Porthos looked at him, uncertain.
'We'll worry about me in a minute,' said Aramis. Their friends were in greater need.
As one, they pulled. Aramis cried in pain but continued to pull at the door. He knew, from watching the doors previously that once they had the door moving Porthos would probably be alright on his own. But they had to work together to get the momentum. With all the strength he could muster, and knowing he would suffer for the effort Aramis heaved at the door.
The heavy door slowly swung open. Once it was moving Porthos pushed Aramis back firmly. The marksman staggered out of the way, panting hard, worried he would pass out again but desperate not to.
Porthos disappeared around the edge of the door. Aramis was worried it would swing shut again, he knew there was no chance of him opening it on his own. But Porthos must have held the door open. He heard a gunshot and the sound of a body crumpling to the floor followed by some shuffling, before his friends appeared around the door.
Athos was holding onto d'Artagnan who was pale and looked on the verge of passing out. Aramis could see that his friend had been shot, his arm dangled loosely at his side. Porthos followed allowing the door to close behind him.
'We need to get out of here, now,' said Porthos as he walked towards Aramis.
'Help d'Artagnan, I'll managed on my own,' said Aramis, he could see that the young man was in far more need than him.
Porthos grunted his agreement before turning back to d'Artagnan and slipping his arm around the mans waist to help support his weight.
As the men passed him, he grabbed his sword from the weapons belt that Athos was carrying. Athos looked at him with amusement.
'I know, I probably wouldn't last five seconds, but it's better than nothing,' said Aramis with a grin before taking the lead along the corridor.
He moved as quickly as he could, which was not much faster than the three men behind him. He could not swing his arms without causing himself pain and the fabric of his shirt had pulled at the wound in places and was continuing to tug. If he were not filled with a serge of energy he doubted he would have lasted as long as he had.
A door, unlike the previous annoyingly heavy ones loomed into view. Aramis could see daylight through the gap around the door.
As they neared it a man stepped out of a room off the corridor. He looked at the four approaching musketeers, a look of surprise on his face. Aramis knew he could waste no time, he also knew he could not fight the man for any length of time. But he could keep the man busy for a few seconds.
The man drew his sword and raised it, yelling as he did so. Aramis managed to bring his sword up and blocked the first swing, but the pain the movement caused had his vision greying. He sagged against the wall as the man took a step back pulling his arm back to thrust forward at Aramis.
The sword was swept away in mid-air by Porthos' own. The man was exposed by the movement, Porthos took a step forward plunging his main gauche into his gut. The man chocked a couple of times before falling to the floor.
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After peeling Aramis off the wall, the marksman nodding his thanks between gasped breaths, Porthos tried his luck with the door handle. It was unlocked. He pulled the door open and peered out. He turned back to the others and beckoned them on.
Athos went first, still holding d'Artagnan who was struggling to stay conscious, blood dripping down the sleeve of his doublet and on to the floor. Aramis stumbled after them. Once they were all out Porthos pulled the door closed behind them.
He turned and saw the others looking at him.
'Which way would you suggest?' said Athos glancing around.
'No idea, down, seems a good start,' replied Porthos, leading the way.
He was aware of Athos gently guiding d'Artagnan down the narrow path he had found that led away from the castle. The path was too narrow for him to be able to assist them. Aramis brought up the rear but was already lagging behind a little, the marksman unable to hide the pain and fatigue from his expression.
'There,' said Athos nodding to the left of Porthos.
Porthos looked over and saw a partially hidden cave entrance.
'If we are going to stop there, we can't go in from this direction, we'd leave too much evidence, look at the brambles, it would be obvious we'd been through.'
Athos nodded, Porthos led them on a few more yards before breaking away from the rough path and picking his way thought the rocks towards the cave mouth. He stepped back to allow Athos and d'Artagnan to pass. Aramis followed, stumbling as he did so. Porthos grabbed him eliciting a cry of pain by doing so.
As Porthos helped Aramis further into the cave, out of sight of the castle and the rough path, they found Athos knelt by d'Artagnan who was lying on the ground.
'He's passed out,' said Athos looking up, 'I'm surprised he managed to get this far.'
'Let's hope he doesn't have any memory loss,' said Aramis as Porthos lowered him down to sit by the unconscious man.
Porthos glanced as Athos, Aramis was correct to be concerned. D'Artagnan was the only one of them who had the information that had landed them into the trouble they were in. If the musketeer had lost his memory of the intelligence, their mission would have been for nothing.
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'I'm sorry Aramis, but we've got to do this,' said Porthos with a conciliatory smile.
Aramis nodded, although, thought Athos, it was clear the man was apprehensive. Cleaning and dressing his wound was probably going to hurt as much as receiving it. The marksman sorted through his medical back and found what they would need.
'You'll have to soak the shirt off, pulling it will take more skin, that I would rather keep, if you don't mind,' said Aramis wryly.
Athos knelt in front of Aramis and held onto his shoulders whilst Porthos began to soak the stuck fabric off the wound.
They had been in the cave for a few minutes. Athos had spent some time peering out, back up at the castle to ensure they were in no immediate danger. When there were no signs of pursuit he decided they were safe enough to regroup and tend to Aramis and d'Artagnan. Porthos had cleaned the gunshot wound to d'Artagnan's arm and applied a field dressing. He and Athos were more concerned with Aramis' injury which was now covered with dirt from their hectic escape.
Aramis was loosely holding onto Athos' forearms and leaning forward slightly. Athos could not see the marksman's face but from the sharp intake of breath as Porthos began to dampen the shirt down he knew his friend was in considerable pain. As Porthos began to ease the fabric away from the damaged skin Aramis tried to stifle a cry of pain. Athos grabbed one of their leather belts and forced Aramis to bite down on it. He did not want the pained man to inadvertently give away their hiding place.
It was slow work, but Porthos managed to peel the linen away from the wound. Aramis was unable to hide the shake the pain was causing him. He was drenched in sweat and was resting his head on Athos' shoulder by the time Porthos had finished, his breathing hard.
Porthos held up the small bottle of alcohol, Athos nodded. The pain the alcohol was going to cause would be the worst part for their friend.
Athos pushed Aramis back slightly, 'we have to clean it now…ready?'
Aramis managed a nod, his eyes were screwed shut.
Porthos poured the alcohol, Aramis screamed through his makeshift gag briefly before slumping forward against Athos.
'Probably for the best,' said Porthos as he continued to clean the wound.
After dressing the injury and lying Aramis on his side as comfortably as they could make him, Athos and Porthos turned their attention back to d'Artagnan.
'Well we ain't going anywhere until they wake up. I'm gonna stitch his wound now, get it done.'
Athos nodded, 'I agree. I'm going to scout around, if I can get back to the horses without being seen I will bring them as close as I can safely get them.'
As he spoke Athos sorted through their weapons, making sure he had as much as he could carry.
'OK, when you get back, if they ain't woken up, we'll just sling them over their horses, I don't think we should hang around unless we have to…Be careful.'
Athos nodded again, 'look after them,' he said as he turned to go, knowing their friends were in good hands.
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Porthos watched Athos disappear from sight before turning his attention back to his injured friends. Aramis was still unconscious and showing no signs of waking. D'Artagnan was equally still, Porthos gathered what he would need before settling down beside the young musketeer. They had been pleased on their preliminary examination of the injury that the ball had gone through d'Artagnan's arm. At least Porthos only had to clean and stitch the injury. He knew they were not keen on his stitching, he was not as neat as either Aramis or d'Artagnan were, but as both men were his current patients there was little he could do. He pushed d'Artagnan's sleeve up and unravelled their field dressing. Porthos cleaned the wound, enjoying the lack of protest from the young man, it certainly was easier to stitch a man when he was so compliant.
As he worked he glanced over at Aramis who was watching him.
'How long you been awake for?'
'Not long... Where's Athos?'
'Off to get the horses, hopefully. How you feeling?'
'I've felt better.'
'We cleaned it thoroughly, you'll be fine.'
'Thank you. What about him?'
'Ball went through, just needs stitching.'
'Any sign of him waking up yet?'
'No…do you think he will have memory loss?'
Aramis slowly eased himself up to sit, leaning gingerly against the cave wall. Porthos could see the man was pale, but he looked alert, he wished they had something to help with the obvious pain he was in.
'It's possible. If he does, we'll have to hope it's temporary,' said Aramis with a wince as he settled himself down.
Porthos finished the stitching and held the injured arm up for Aramis to see. Porthos chuckled when Aramis nodded his approval. He dressed the wound before gently lying the injured arm across the unconscious mans chest.
Porthos sat back on his heels, and looked over at Aramis who was studying d'Artagnan.
'He's waking up.'
The young musketeer was showing signs of regaining his consciousness. They both watched, wondering if he had his memories intact.
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