The holy brothers had begun to filter out to the courtyard now that the noise of the battle had ceased. Brother Francis, who had assisted them earlier, came to D'Artagnan's side and insisted on helping him to follow Aramis back into the infirmary, which had been prepared for them.
Father Ambrose approached Athos.
"Forgive us Father, there was no other choice," Athos said.
The old man nodded wisely. "We heard and saw all. The men here were intent to murder and steal. They showed greed, and heresy with murderous intent. It was God's will that they meet their ends this way."
"There are two who yet live that will return with us to Paris to stand trial. Their fates will be decided by the King's will," Athos said.
oOo
Back in the infirmary, Porthos lay in the bed next to Girard, the injured man now wide-awake having heard the pistol fire and the battle waging outside. Porthos was pale and sweaty and was leaning back against several pillows – whether this was from the loss of blood or from suffering the ordeal of stitching, Aramis did not know, but he did know better than to comment on it.
D'Artagnan was sitting in a chair; Brother Francis had made a poultice, cleaned and bandaged D'Artagnan's chest under Aramis' instruction and watchful gaze.
Athos entered the room, followed by Father Ambrose and Brother Jean. Giving D'Artagnan a reassuring pat on the shoulder, he took a seat in the chair next to Porthos. Aramis looked up at him from Girard's side where he stood, redressing his wounds. The inflammation had gone down and the infection had not returned so Aramis made quick work of re-stitching the injury.
"How are our prisoners?" the marksman asked as he liberally coated his needlework in the poultice as Girard grimaced.
"Bound, but fed," replied Father Ambrose. "We are brothers of mercy, after all."
Aramis smirked at the Father's reply.
"And our patients?" asked Athos. "Let me guess, you're all fine?" he said
"Well, I wouldn't say no to somethin' to eat," said Porthos, a little groggily. The monks chuckled, and the younger one left to fetch dinner for the musketeers.
"We have cleaned the courtyard and buried the bodies. Your brother's body still awaits your blessing. We didn't think it right that they should share his ceremony," Brother Jean said to Aramis and Girard.
Girard swallowed hard. "Thank you," he said.
"I was a soldier once too," he replied. "I know what it feels like to lose a brother." He locked eyes with Aramis for a moment then moved away.
"If you're able to Girard, we should leave in the morning, once Michel is laid to rest," said Athos. "I'm sure the King's patience for his parcel will not last much longer."
Girard nodded. "I will be ready," he said, but whether he meant to depart or to say goodbye to their brother, no man present had the heart to ask.
The evening passed quietly, with warm food and quiet conversation. Brother Jean, Porthos and Girard exchanged war stories while Father Ambrose, and Athos listened in. Aramis went over the herbs in his medical bag and their uses with D'Artagnan and Brother Francis, and how to treat and identify certain ailments.
As the night wore on, Aramis checked on his patients. Porthos and Girard slept soundly on their cots.
"How D'Artagnan manages to sleep in positions like this, I'll never understand," said Ahos as he draped a blanket over their youngest where he had fallen asleep in an awkward tangle of limbs on a chair by the fire.
"It's a gift," said Aramis somewhat distractedly, his hand moving frequently to the cross hanging around his neck as he checked on his sleeping and recovering brothers.
"You too are allowed some rest," Athos said to the marksman, coming to stand by him where he stood near Porthos' heavily slumbering form.
Aramis gave a soft laugh. "It is hard for me to find peace knowing they are in pain," he replied.
Athos locked his eyes onto his brother's, the ice blue eyes meeting the warm brown ones with a shared, deep affection. "Aramis," he said, "You have done all you can for them. You saved Girard from his infection, D'Artagnan from an assailant. I trusted you to kill the man with the gun to my head, and I'm sure you would have rescued Porthos from the monster he was fighting had he not won his battle before you could reach him. Now you've treated all their wounds and have hardly ate or rested yourself. If I need to brother, I will knock you unconscious myself, if only so you'll rest for a few hours."
Aramis grinned at the swordsman next to him.
"Part of me thinks you might enjoy that," he responded.
"Part of me would agree with you," came the reply. "Though the larger part of me would do it only through a great concern for your well-being," Athos said, his eyes conveying the profound emotions that his dry delivery hid.
Aramis chuckled softly again. Reaching out, he grasped Athos' arm briefly, before turning. "You're right, I should get some rest. I should like to steal away to the chapel first before we leave," he said.
Athos nodded. "Do not stay too long though. Your sins are not so many that you should spend the whole night on your knees." He paused for a moment reflecting. "Though, I guess that would depend on who you've been sinning with…" he said.
With a grin and a wink, Aramis withdrew to the small chapel as Athos also settled himself upon one of the beds prepared by the monks.
oOo
Aramis sat in silence before the crucifix hanging in the small chapel of the monastery. The soft shitfing of his rosary beads were the only sound.
Often others found it strange that a man of appetites like Aramis' found his solace in the starkness and comfort of church pews and prayers, but that in a sense was what made Aramis, Aramis. He was a man of contradictions: devout in his beliefs, though they were far removed from the rigid doctrine of what was preached from the pulpit; a libertine but a defender of women; a soldier and a healer; an eye of deadly accuracy, but also the first to notice the despair of others.
"I'm sorry to disturb you," said Brother Jean as he entered the chapel. "I had a feeling I might find you here."
"It's no trouble," said Aramis. He paused and looked at the monk who took a seat in the pew next to him. "I've been meaning to apologize to you," said Aramis. "It was wrong of me to act the way I did when we met."
Brother Jean shook his head. "There is no need to apologize. In all honesty, your actions may have saved your friend's life. Healing of wounds has never been my forte," the monk admitted.
"How did this responsibility fall to you then?" asked Aramis curiously.
Brother Jean sighed. "I guess because I have the most experience with bloodshed," he said. "For what I've seen, for what I've done, I have felt that perhaps I owe it to God to try to undo some of the pain I may have caused in my former life."
"You were a soldier," Aramis said. "I heard you telling the others."
"Yes," responded the monk. "A long time ago. I served against the Huguenots, fighting for my King and my God. And you?" he asked Aramis. "How did you find yourself burdened with the pains of others?"
Aramis smirked at the way the question was phrased. "I learned early that in our line of work, a medic can be worth his weight in gold," he paused. "That, and perhaps I too am trying to reverse some of the hurts I've caused by healing those who are injured."
"As your penance?"
Aramis sighed. "Perhaps as my purpose…" The men were silent for a moment.
"I saw you. You are an exceptional soldier," said Brother Jean. "There is no shame in that." Quiet again, and then:
"Do you think…" Aramis began. "Do you believe that we will be forgiven for our deeds in the end? The bible makes it quite clear that to kill is a sin…"
Brother Jean smiled slightly. "I have had this same conversation many times with Father Ambrose, who is much wiser than I am," said the monk.
"And?" asked Aramis.
"Are you a man of faith Aramis? From what I have witnessed it seems clear that you are. Do you believe that your deeds are carried out in the service of God, in the name of justice and in the defence of the innocent? To kill is a sin, yes, but did not Our Lord have warriors in his service? Many times have I expressed my doubts and fears to Father Ambrose. He has always told me that our God is an understanding God. If, when we are called before him, there is goodness and righteousness in our hearts, if our actions were just and our repentance is true, there may yet be a place for men like you and I with the Lord, alongside the warrior angel Michael," said the old soldier monk, rising from the pew, leaving the marksman to consider his words.