Chapter 6: Mind Your Valor
Disclaimer: Do not own the Three Musketeers.
This is the St. Germain Square fight scene, which is broken up in a series of individual fights put together. I hope it's not as confusing when I switch from character to character. I always dreaded to write this chapter because of the intense swordplay that's too well performed to write about. :) Here goes nothing!
Enjoy! Read and review :)
The clanging of swords gave way to the intentional smirk of Jussac. His clena cut black and red uniform with pinnets of the French and Cardinal's emblem starked out in blood red with black outlinings. His swept blond hair was tied back with a band, not wanting to miss any of the action.
From all sides similiar dressed men with spears and helmets ran in square formation to their positions. All of which circled the Musketeers and D'Artagnan. Antoinette observed the individual men. At a glance she could see twenty men all scattered about, with thin lines for lips. The Cardinal guards weren't an honor, more like hired mercenaries from all corners of France and her provinces.
Athos groaned sheathing his sword. "Jussac,"
Said man clapped his leather clad hands in congratulatory manner for himself. "Well, well, well. How the mighty have fallen. Dueling in defiance of the edicts?" he mocked. The cruel laughter bubbled to his mouth.
"You got tired of rolling peddlers for spare change?" The head Musketeer glared at the sad excuse for a soldier.
He held his hands up in sarcastic surrender. "Now, now. No need for such parting words," His eyes gazed over each of his prizes. The famed Athos for his resiliance, the ever silent but deadly Aramis, and the homely giant with attitude Porthos. There was some street rat with sword out to the ground. He would do away with him later.
And then. besides Aramis tucked under his arm, was the charmed Comtesse. Her posture leaned towards him but her eyes never left Jussac, unsure of his motives.
"What a bonus to your posse," he rallied snickering from his men. "A woman! Caught in the act of dueling. A lady-in-waiting, no doubt. You are suppose to be at the palace," he said pointedly walking two paces forward.
Antoinette cocked her head in amusement. An arm wrapped around her hip to back, fingers clenched white. She had no time of patience to deal with the second in command to Rochefort. Her hand in the back smoothed down the skirts in anticipation. Her eyes narrowed.
"Unlike you, I'm welcomed on the streets of Paris. With permission," Her hand graciously revealed a tiny slip of paper tucked from beneatha flimsy skirt meant as a stowaway. Her fingers twirled the paper around before letting it disappear back into the foldings.
Jussac's veins in his forehead bulged out faint blue. He waved a hand in a circle signal.
A guard yelled, "Seal the square!"
In motion, the armed men withdrew their elongated axed spears, aimed for them. She tensed towards Aramis when one became too close for comfort.
"Hardly," His face stoned. "Surrender your weapons and come along with us. Unless, of course, you would rather resist,"
Porthos grinned sardonically. "New plan. Kill the boy, kick their asses, and then go get some lunch. I could do with some excersise," He cracked a fist. Another signal and whistle blew in the air. Twenty more guards at the least filed in and took the double story ledgings where a crowd drew in excitement. More filled up the bases of the square. The men and lady covered their surroundings and their hope dismayed at the last minute arrivals.
Jussac, believing he had the upper hand, laxed. "You were saying?"
Porthos sighed uneasily. "On the other hand, discretion is the better part of valor,"
D'Artagnan scoffed in disbelief. As he was the only iminent threat seeing as he had the sword out, he pointed with it to each one of them.
"You're the Musketeers," he emphasized.
"Wrong," Athos grumbled. He surveryed the damage yet to unfold before giving it up. A trait that never suited for any of them, most especially Antoinette. "We were the Musketeers. Now we're just... us," He lacked for a better word.
From the corner of her eye, she saw just ahead six more guards enter in two lines accompanying a white steed with a male rider. His brimmed hair shadowed the eye patch but did not cover the hawk-like other one. Captain Rochefort watched Jussac and then his new ordered men surrounding the pathetic troupe he often quarreled with.
"Aramis, look," she whispered to him taking away the glance when Rochefort beamed down at her.
Athos rolled his eyes. He never had Fortune's favor. Today must have been a blasphemy to have forty six guards and two rooks of the Cardinal's. The Captain allowed his presence to stir the mutual hatred in the arena. Like a pack of sneering hyenas, the guards stilled their stance. A lock of tension was all they needed to hesitate the prey.
"Rochefort," he spat out.
Aramis, cool and collective at his best, grabbed the sword by it's sheathed hilt. He trusted them just as much as he could throw them. He suspected an outbreak sooner or later judging by Jussac's twitchy moustache. It was only a matter of time before one side broke the boundaries. And so he took necessary precautions to insure safety.
His hand brushed past Antoinette's nearest elbow. Two small, increment taps. Antoinette noted the touch and instantly began marking their route. With a line of soldiers on both houses' double flooring, it was impossible to scale up. A small construction wooden frame blocked out one entrance and it was surely not possible to run down a narrow alley.
Fighting was their last option. Antoinette concealed at least three weapons on her person at all times. However she happened to pack five items today. Two were strapped comfortably under her thighs, one dagger decorated as an ornate hair piece, another small one in her bosom. The last one tucked underneath the hem of her right arm's fabric. The righ arm moved closer to her side, shifting the hilt nearer her palm.
D'Artagnan took no chance but stomp the hesitation into battle. Her eyes darted to the hooligan glancing briefly at Rochefort before swinging into action. He knocked over Jussac and the guard behind him. He dislodged two men oncoming, one cut on the leg and the other in the stomach. Seven more men combat him from all angles, running to keep up with his newfound endurance.
D'Artagnan's movement reminded Antoinette of Athos' headstart with a brutal finish that could only be characterized as Aramis. The shy side of Porthos flourished when he knocked down a guard with a kick and improvised new footsteps to swing onto the construction loader. His hand grasped onto the rope netting around the blocks of wood. The whole loader spun around once swiftly.
The impact of the swing knocked down three men who were crawling to get up before being hit again. The men and lady watched in amusement as D'Artagnan leapt off and landed in the middle of the constructed frame. Workers scrambled to hold onto or lunge out of the guards and youth's way. D'Artagnan round house reared one man, whom lands on a guard helping him. The kick lodged the two hard against the frame. The building shook the pieces of floorboard out.
Workers clung to dear life when a vulnerable point of the structure caused the frame to lean abruptly to one side. Antoinette instinctively clutched her chest for fear of the safety of others. The thin prick against her skin made her think twice of her motions. She hoisted the small blade from under her dress to the hair behind her ear.
The crowd jolted into cheers when D'Artagnan bowed down two men before five more come at him again with cuts and bruises. Blood spots splattered here and there across the sand gravel floor like burnt rubies in the sun.
Porthos laughed at the on slaughter from a whelp to grown men. Athos's bewildered expression told all she needed to know. This boy's style was refreshing and awakened the spirit the men used to wield. Antoinette's sharp eyes looked behind the frame where D'Artagnan was faced with three men, Jussac included.
Over yonder way, she spotted a maiden with fair hair cascading to her back, showcasing beautiful hand picked flowers. Antoinette's curiosity led only to D'Artagnan slaying one man on his back and lunging his sword into another. he hit two more to his knees, much to the lady's disgression.
It was only then when she was able to see the person was Constance. She stood by the tree, holding onto the basket watching interestedly at D'Artagnan and his swordplay.
However more men sprung from their wounds to attend their fury on the boy.
"Shall we?" Aramis offered throwing his hat to the ground. Antoinette deattached the two thigh length swords from underneath swiftly. She tucked the drawstrings against the skirts for freedom of movement.
Athos and Porthos were the first to come to a distressed and completely surrounded D'Artagnan. Worn out and sweating profusedly, he sword remained out and pointed in all directions. Athos hit a sword aiming it's way to kill the boy.
Aramis, without words or permission, snuck a hand to the dagger in her hair to hold with one hand and his own sword in the next. Antoinette rolled her eyes as she huddled along with them at their backs. Jussac in front of her glared. She smirked as a little foam risen to his mouth.
What rapid behavior, Jussac.
Rochefort narrowed his eyes. No fear. Just annoyance. "Finish them off," he said leaving with his set of guards. Jussac grinned maniacally. There was no specific order- just to make sure they were done with.
Athos said with finite, "Let's even the odds,"
All sprung back into action with the Musketeers slicing up the hoard of guards and Jussac.
Porthos was cornered into an open air storage stable with barrels of flour, cement pasting, and tools. With the new cane he independently bought he brandished the edges to block off attempts from the swords.
Lunging with two twin swords and the small dagger he had stolen from Antoinette, Aramis did not like to play along until the opponent dried and dropped. His cuts were vital and life-threatening. Quick and to the point.
Athos merely entertained himself with footwork, cutting one by one until they came back for more. His strategy and wounds were not the same on any man twice as he delivered the blows.
A smirking Antoinette twisted her sword on the first man in three sections in a criss cross pattern on the man's chest and abdomen. Their return blows were blocked with her sword.
A few tarry cuts to her on her shoulders were small and not worrisome. An oncoming guard wrapped an arm around her throat, lifting her backwards. Her sword engaged with the guard in front of her. Her leg kicked backwards clumsily. The unexpected hit to the guard behind her allowed room to bring the engaged sword closer to her neck, stabbing a gleaming cut on the man's wrist.
His yell rang in her ear. From heart beating adrenaline Antoinette gathered a second sword from her skirts to shove the man in retailiation on his back. The sword dropped when her frontward opponent slammed more energy to his blade across hers. She grunted in pain.
While she managed in endurance, she lacked in strength. The small blade behind her ear removed from it's lodging to dig into the unsuspecting man's throat. Thickets of blood oozed in the crevices. The sword, now disengaged sliced into the air and down the shoulder of an approaching man.
She pulled back her devices quickly allowing each man to fall into a pile. Her attention captured on five more men on approach. Dribbles of blood from her blades spotted onto the dirt covered skirts. She frowned in disappointment before shoving one of her swords into a man's chest, kicked a guard in the ankle, threw the small blade into his left shoulder, leaving a third and fourth man to brace as the two men prior fell on top of them.
Antoinette flipped a stray hair out of her way when gaining back her weapons. She stared curiosily at the fifth man, whose knees bucked. She raised an eyebrow awaiting his attack. Without a step forward he fell to his knees when thrown off balance from a blade to the jugular.
Aramis struggled thirty paces away from a brutal guard who refused to bow down. Another guard from afar chucked a dagger in Aramis' direction. On the sport Aramis turned on his heels sharply while clutching the brutal guard by his forearms. The dagger landed in the guard's chest. Aramis reached from besides his belt to the one he had stolen from Antoinette.
His aim matched the target's chest. With a flick of wrist and stillness of wind, the dagger died down in between the man's ribs. His head threw back on pain and flew backwards.
A hand flourished the blood-stained blade with a sickening crunch from the ribs. The blade's blood smudged onto the dead man's clothing. The cleaned off dagger parted its way from the old blood but immediately sunk into new blood. Antoinette caught a sneak attack behind Aramis and closed on in the kill.
The guard felt radiant pain from his hip. His side gave way from off kilter and landed on the other hip. With both hips cracked, Aramis finished him off with little to no trouble.
His head tipped in appreciation to Antoinette. A brief smile curled from her lips before averted back to a hand on her shoulder. She groaned as she knocked his jaw out of the way by her elbow.
When will they just GIVE up? She thought sealing another man's bloodied fate.
The ringleader of the troupe never liked to cut to the chase. He liked to trick his opponents in the upper hand before executing them. Think of it as a plan in action. Every move had rhythm and parted the way from guard to guard until one by one they fell on their own accord. It was by Athos' hand who delivered the last blow to the ground. Athos parted the crowd with forward thrusts and slashes. Eyes never leave the opponent unless he spun around to jab them before headbutting them.
Porthos with a destroyed cut cane, improvised with buckets and longboards. The chopped cane defended him long enough to box his opponents' ears before thrusting wicked pieces of splintered wood into their guts. His gloved hands protected him as boxing became his new groove. One smash to the head and another upright to the jaw was long enough to cut them some more with the boards.
Aramis dueled by a tilted upright wagon band. Antoinette swung her sword across a guard's leg. Two more guards against her and Aramis and they were homebound. She snuck a hand to his throat. She was returned with a smashing hit to the right side. Extreme pain took her breath away. The tugging against her bodice tightened the laced corset even closer to her body.
She enveloped an arm around her side. The guard cut her across her cheek. An exasperated shout of surprise caught Aramis by surprise. His opponent moved in front and he crushed the wagon on top with his footing. Aramis forced his sword down to the toppled guard's leg, letting him live a while longer.
Her shortening breath gave her the impulse one last try. Her headswung back from the oncoming sword. When it flew forward after the sword retracted to try again, her bruised wrist flickered the sword across the way to his chest. two slices deafened the arena. Behind the man whose mouth gasped for air, Aramis stood with his sword in between the man's back flesh.
Antoinette nodded only. She let go of the hot metal. Aramis plunged the swords out, allowing the body to fall. Blood rusted deviously on the blades. She could not hear the groans of fallen men, the crowd moving in cheers, or the swords. She accepted the sword in his hand.
Aramis knelt to one knee eyes to her and then to the dead and wounded he and his comrades scathed. From his inside chest pockets he produced a Holy Cross. His hand gestured to the four directions of the cross for those he slain. She knelt besides him, rolling the man away from them as she desperately listened to the murmurs in Latin.
Across the courtyard she saw Constance interact with D'Artagnan. Her ears tuned out Aramis' prayers in the same manner he would to each foe. Her ganging distance was not far from them.
"What is your name?" D'Artagnan wondered elbowing a guard on the back.
Her eyes drifted back to the young man's outward appearance, studied his antics, before showering him with a small smile.
"Constance,"
"Constance," he repeated the name. D'Artagnan's mouth gaped open wanting to taste her name again. Antoinette smiled half heartedly at D'Artagnan's glowering eyes. It was the same look she was once given six years ago. She stood up with Aramis following.
"Sounds very steadfast,"
She smirked indifferently. "A quality you seem to know little about,"
Aramis stowed the cross away, grabbing Antoinette's dirtied arm. He gently pulled her along to his chest, hugging her. She breathed in the sweat and blood stained on his jacket. His hands curled around the freed tressels behind her neck. He stroked them as he beckoned her to Porthos and Athos.
"Back for more?" D'Artagnan jeered at Jussac. The men turned their heads for any sign of a ruckus. The crowds' calls heightened as Jussac, totally defeated, brought his knee forward to snap the metal sword as if it were a tree branch.
"Musketeers!" They cried. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis watched overheard at the people clapping and waving at them from their hawk view. "Musketeers! Musketeers!"
Porthos waved at them with good nature. His wave stirred them into more shouts and calls. The man besides Antoinette lifted his eyes to the sky in complete revelation. Antoinette fastened her blades away from the crowd's sight, clutching onto his jacket. Her eyes found way to Athos, who stood in the middle. His head spun round and round in fascination.
It'd been a while since any of them were needed.
"I'd forgotten what it feels like," he said.
Aramis chuckled to himself. "We all have," He nodded.
"The name is D'Artagnan," Her head swung back to the couple behind them. D'Artagnan had the sword in the ground, and his elbow rested upon it. Constance's hip caressed the basket. Her face showed a mixture of pity and unrested concern.
"You must come from a very small town,"
"How did you know?" D'Artagnan asked shockingly.
She gripped her basket closer in front of her. Her hair drew to the back. "Lines like yours might actually work there. This is Paris," she emphasized. "I suggest you stick to swordplay. In the battle of wits, you, sir, are unarmed," Her eyes locked at his appearance before turning her figure away. D'Artagnan heaved a sigh when she retreated back to her errands.
Aramis had caught Antoinette staring at a down-on-his-luck Artagnan and a fleeing Antoinette. "Just like us, love," He kissed her forhead.
She scoffed at his touch, despite her longing. "If I remember correctly you weren't put forth as he is. You kept your distance," She pointed a dangling finger in his arm.
Affectionately wounded, he gestured to himself. "A man does not need words to express his infatuation," His eyes fluttered mocking her batted eyes. Her chuckles emitted from her throat, patting his face.
Porthos gleamed at the lad, interrupting Aramis from pursuing Antoinette. He tugged her arm rowdly. Aramis grunted disappointedly.
"I think the lad has potential," he decided. "Terrible delivery, but potential. I think he can be tucked under my wing," His presence went as he came, swiftly.
Antoinette's eyes widened while Aramis looked on. "What did I tell you? Mini Porthos!" She waved a hand in his face.
"I know," he taunted. A hand swooped by the divet in her lower back, just barely brushing over the higher bruises. He pulled her closer to him, drawing his breath to warm her blushing face. her fingers floated through his slicked back hair, teasingly pleasing him.
He kissed the tip of her nose before encasing his mouth over hers. Her hip bone met his with delightful could feel from her mouth the vibrating moans waiting to be released in the tones of his throat. Antoinette pulled back with red lips to read his blackened eyes. Filled with love and lust for her, his hands made a grab to capture her again.
She about let him, but slipped from his grip. She giggled at Aramis' frustration. Her laughter stopped, watching Aramis step forward to catch her. She spun around in excitement and was not a foot away when he hoisted her around the waist back to him.
She let a cry of joy out as she turned her head to lean in a kiss. He greeted her in the middle, tongue pulsating against hers.
"Antoinette!" She withdrew from his intoxicating lips. She leaned back into him as a flurry of teal skirts moved in their direction. He moved her hips side to side allowing the guest to distract her divided attention to his dismay.
Her elation lowered in the presence of her friend. "Constance, lovely to see you out and about," She hid her excitement and tried to position herself out of Aramis' grip.
His fingers latched onto her hip bones. Like a child, he refused to give up what he wanted. She allowed his tomfoollery for the time being. She mentally reminded herself to give him an earful of common courtesy.
Constance blushed at their intimate moment. Her face could have passed as a virgin rose before springtime. "I'm sure you're more than happy than I am here," she giggled.
"Yes, well," Antoinette nodded towards Aramis. She pushed his chest back a bit to be more comfortable. Young Constance dug through her basket, pointedly avoiding Antoinette and her lover who persistedly nibbled at her ear.
"Before I take off," she said handing an enclosed letter. "The Queen asked me to give you this letter, should I find you in my travels,"
She inspected the royal red wax seal. From the desk of the Queen. Must have been as urgent as the red letterings popped out. "Oh, thank you Constatine," She refrenced her given name.
Constance ruffled at her full name. Her firm grip on the basket turn stark white. Though not used to have many trusted companions, Constance rarely allowed anyone of her rank to share her name.
"Constance," She sighed at her incessant jousting.
"Only teasing, Constance," Antoinette patted her hand on Constance before swatting Aramis' stomach. A good groan erupted from him as she put forth a smile. "Good day," she departed with Aramis.
"Anon," Constance waved.
As she turned a corner, the smile was not present on Antoinette's scornful face. Aramis grinned cheesily.
"The nerve," muttered Antoinette distancing herself from him.
He let her run out fumes. An angry Antoinette is the match of the Devil. Aramis eerily wondered. Antoinette gave Aramis one last glare before rejoining with Porthos teaching the ways of women to D'Artagnan.
"The ladies of Paris are infinitely more complicated," he started. Porthos gestured an hour glass figure to represent the shapes of women. "They have 1,000 ways of saying, 'No,' and only some of them mean, 'Yes,'," He fixed the straps to his gloves.
Antoinette approached D'Artagnan, inspecting the sword he unground. She held it with two balanced fingers before swishing it into the air in position. Satisfied with the quality she threw it back to D'Artagnan.
"Though most of the time the man who heard her say, 'No,' believes it means, 'Yes,' when it actuality she meant, 'No,' from the beginning," she explained tucking her hand underneath the young man's arm.
Confused, D'Artagnan looked for guidance from Porthos and specifically to Aramis. "How do you keep up?"
Porthos snickered. "Usually go along to what she says," Aramis shrugged. "To defy a woman is like denying the sun won't rise again. Impossible," he said to butter up Antoinette in a better emotion. She rolled her eyes as she let go of D'Artagnan.
"Don't you forget it," she said pointedly.
He chuckled before stopping abruptly. "I hate to ruin the mood, but they will be back," he reminded.
Athos popped in from the sidelines to start his trek home. "And unless you wish to fight an entire army," he added sarcastically.
Aramis held a hand to lead. Antoinette followed with Porthos and D'Artagnan at heel. The sun was well past noon. The afternoon air was thick and hot. These conditionings did not bode well for Antoinette's stiff back. The sooner home, the sooner she could change into decent, clean clothes.
Her hand involuntarily touched the side of her back with unease. Aramis raised an eyebrow. She offered a quick smile with her hands folded together.
"Elsewhere!" Porthos announced his travelings.
Elsewhere to a bath and warm bed would do well.She thought. Her lazy eyes gleamed at another thought: the first night in a long while she wouldn't be alone.
Glad that's over. Don't you think it's completely pointless in the movie for Jussac to bend his sword and snap it? I mean you just broke your own sword, how are you going to defend yourself? Not that he couldn't in the first place but... Metal was also precious and at times hard to obtain so- that's another reason not to snap it like a twig.
Also pointless for Rochefort to enter, glare at all of them, watch them succeed and then half way through leaves off. I get that it's setting the plot but he should have exchanged words with them. Personal opinion. :P
Off to write some more! Don't forget to review! :) Suggestions for other stories are open.