AN: Just to warn you - I won't be able to update every day, but while the going's good, here's another chapter :)
Also, I don't usually trigger warn my stories (they're full of floggings etc that you don't usually suffer in RL) but I feel I should mention this story contains a sort of emotional manipulation/abuse that might be more familiar.
That being said, here's another one. Enjoy! (And thank you to the reviewers I can't PM to! :D)
Chapter Two
Suddenly Aramis was brought to awareness by a flare of pain from his hand. He hadn't really slept, but he wasn't entirely awake either. Somewhere along the line the agony became a part of him and he drifted to another state of consciousness. The next thing Aramis knew his arm was falling, he drew it to his lap and curled around it. Mendez wrenched it away again and roughly wrapped a length of cloth around his palm.
Aramis managed to pull his head up, it seemed to have gotten heavier during the night. Fine tremors ran through his frame, despite the relative warmth of the morning. He tried to pay attention to the men around him, there was a mist hanging about the scene, although Aramis wasn't sure if it was just in his head. He watched Mendez wipe off the dagger and offer it to Romero who was directing his men about. Romero didn't spare him so much as a glance. Eventually Aramis was pulled to his feet and tied to the horse as he was before. They set off again.
At the back of his mind Aramis wondered at calling out, or trying to break away. Maybe he could alert those hunters. Romero's men were being careful and quiet, overly so, they clearly feared discovery. But Aramis knew it was a faint hope. Even if he went in the right direction he wouldn't get far. He would be dragged back as he was before, and Romero would have no qualms in killing him this time. Escape was not an option, not at the moment anyway.
As they trekked through the woods Romero glanced back at Aramis. "You bear pain unusually well for a priest."
Aramis huffed a slight laugh and looked down at the hand he cradled against his other arm. "Faith is not for the weak. You cannot have met any flagellants."
Romero just hummed thoughtfully. "Where were you going?"
For a moment Aramis considered his answer, but ultimately there seemed no point in lying. "To Foix, I was hoping to assist in rebuilding the abbey."
"I thought your hands were too rough for having done nothing but clasp in prayer."
"Some of us consider that God is best served by serving those of his children in need. He set me on a path that led to the world, and so I do what I can for the people I meet upon it."
"And did God set you on this path? The one that led to us?"
"He did."
"What can he mean by that do you think?"
"I cannot presume to know God's mind. His purpose will reveal itself in time."
Romero smirked at his non-answer and turned away again.
They lapsed into a tense sort of silence. Once again Aramis was finding it hard going, what with the heat and now his injury. He was relieved when Romero called a halt.
The men sat down and shared out some food. Aramis tried not to flinch when Romero came to sit by him, but this time the Spaniard offered water. It was a world away from a dagger through the palm.
"How is your hand?"
Aramis stared at Romero with a note of disbelief. "It hurts."
"But it has stopped bleeding yes? It is not causing you trouble?"
"It will heal."
"Good, it was a lesson you had to learn, but do not mistake me - I have no wish to see you dead. I do not want to kill a priest, God has enough against me already." Romero let out a laugh before turning serious again. "I will only kill you if you make me, and you understand now not to give me reason."
He leaned in uncomfortably close and the air between them suddenly took on an oppressive quality.
"I… I do."
Romero sat up and the air of intimidation fell away. "In another two or three days we will be free of these woods. What lies on the road we join ahead? Does the inn at the crossroads still stand?"
Aramis hesitated, the soldier in him wondered if he could possibly say anything to send them astray. But it seemed Romero had read his thoughts.
"Do not lie, priest. Lying is a sin, and you will just be giving me a reason..." The Spaniard took out his pistol and waved the barrel about Aramis' face.
He swallowed hard. "The inn still stands, I was intending to stop there myself."
At that Romero smiled wistfully. "I was little more than a boy when I saw it last."
And then a gunshot split the fragile silence between the trees. Aramis flinched and Romero shot to his feet.
"Cassila, Lucero, find out what that was."
The two men took off into the trees while the others fanned out and took concealed positions with their guns. Aramis ducked down into the undergrowth. He found himself being pushed down by a knee in his back moments later.
"Don't even think about it." The voice of Mendez hissed from somewhere above.
A tense few minutes passed while they listened intently to the silence. It felt like hours. And then a voice called out.
"Bring him over here! What happened?"
Mendez hauled Aramis to his feet and brought him back to the middle of the camp. Cassila and Lucero had another man between them. He looked in a bad way, blood blossomed down his shirt front.
"Fight with hunters… Herrera dead." As the man spoke his lips turned red.
They set him down on the ground and Aramis instinctively moved forwards to help. Mendez pulled him back. "Please, I have experience with such wounds."
Mendez looked to Romero who gave a quick nod. Aramis moved to the side of the stricken man and pulled his shirt open. At seeing the damage he let out a sigh, the shot must have clipped a lung. The blood seeping from his lips said as much. Aramis was about to call for a bag from his horse, but there was not much to be done…
"Sit him up, let me see if the shot went through." Not that it mattered.
A quick examination revealed the bullet was still inside. Aramis brushed a frustrated hand across his face.
"Did you kill them all? Did any get away?" Romero questioned his man desperately.
He was gasping horrendously now. Speaking would be too much. But still he managed. "Dead..."
"Good, good. You did well." Romero clutched the man's shoulder.
"I can try to get the shot out, but his lung is damaged." Aramis tried to convey with a look that there was no hope.
Romero nodded even as his expression darkened. He took out a cloth and held it tightly over the poor man's nose and mouth. The others hovered and hesitated, as if wondering whether to stop him. It wasn't long before the small sounds of suffering ceased.
Romero got to his feet and turned away, speaking solemnly over his shoulder as he went. "Bury him quickly, we must be on our way."
It was left to Aramis to say a few words over the body.
~oOo~
They pressed on. The solemn air hanging over the company dissipated as they drew nearer and nearer to the edge of the woods. A tension ran through them, knowing their cover would soon have to be relinquished. Rest stops became more infrequent, luckily the last stop was by a stream. Aramis was glad of the chance to splash some cool water on his face, and bathe his hand. The dried blood washed away and Aramis could see that the wound was closing well. He would rather have stitched it if he had the means and a friendly pair of hands, but considering the situation he was thankful that it wasn't festering. Aramis managed to curl his fingers a little with a wince. Luckily the dagger had been a stiletto, the narrow blade had cut through flesh and left all else in tact. It hurt, but he would retain the use of his fingers. Mendez helped him wrap it, the man had been like a shadow to Aramis. Then they were on the move once more.
Some hours later Cassila returned from scouting and informed them that the road was fast approaching. Romero called them all to a halt and turned to address his company.
"We are going to be out in the open. You cannot display any fear, you cannot stoke any suspicion. If any man has fear in his heart I will shoot him here and now." Romero took out his pistol and let it roam the gathered faces. "We pass as travelling traders. Forget who you are. Ready yourselves"
The next moment they all burst into activity, taking clothes out of packs and concealing all but the most essential civilian weapons.
"What of the monk?" Lucero called out.
"If there are clothes to spare, dress him as one of us." Romero answered.
Aramis found a simple set of clothes being thrust at him. He held up the shirt to examine. It was of a rough material and poorly made.
"Put those on." Lucero demanded.
Aramis looked around at the gathered men and hesitated.
Romero called down from his horse. "Do as he says. This is no time for modesty, priest."
But still he stood unmoving. It was not perhaps modesty that held Aramis back. He had just worn a cassock ever since he had left… The thought of his brothers loomed large in Aramis' mind, he shook his head to try and remove them. Besides, taking off his cassock would feel like he was casting away his divinity. It was not something he wished to relinquish.
"Get him changed." Romero's voice pierced the fog of Aramis' mind.
The next thing he knew hands were on him. Instinctively Aramis fought against them, but he received a fist to his face for the trouble. While the world wheeled around him he felt the cassock being pulled away. As his vision righted he found himself on his knees in nothing but his braies, staring up at Romero. Laughter came from the men all around him, but Romero looked Aramis up and down in a strangely calculating manner.
Nakedness had not overly bothered Aramis before. But now he felt naked in body and soul, they had stripped his divinity away from him. There was nothing left but a threadbare shirt. Tentatively Aramis reached for it and began to pull it on over his head. The material scratched against his skin most uncomfortably. Once he was dressed he looked around at the gathered men, some had finer clothes than others. Romero had the finest of course, and Aramis was given the dregs. They now looked like a gathering of decent tradesmen, rather than hardened soldiers.
Moments later Romero gave the word to move out. This time Aramis was allowed to walk freely, although Cassila and Mendez flanked him closely. He supposed it would look suspicious if they had a fellow tradesmen at the end of a rope.
The road was quiet, and for that Aramis didn't know whether to be thankful. On one hand it meant less trouble, but on the other it meant the Spanish soldiers were less likely to be discovered. Polite greetings were exchanged with the few travellers that passed by. Aramis longed for them to stop and spot something to raise suspicion. He even considered trying to alert them, but they did not look to his alarmed expression, and Mendez was too close to risk reaching out and tugging a sleeve.
Hours passed by slowly, Aramis sweated through the uncomfortable shirt. Eventually Romero sent one of his men ahead to scout for the inn. It wasn't long before he returned.
The scout swiped a hand across his damp forehead and looked up to Romero. "There are only two horses in the stable."
"Shame, I was hoping an inn would have more."
"It is very quiet, there are only three in there, and that's including the innkeeper."
Romero bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose before suddenly shouting. "Damn it all! We would make much better time if we were all mounted… but no matter, we will take these two and see what fortune lies ahead."
By the time they reached the inn only one horse remained, to Romero's ire. One of the patrons had no doubt ridden off. It was getting late, and they needed to start thinking about settling for the night.
"How do you like the sound of a nice soft bed my friends?" Romero looked around the gathered faces. They seemed to like that idea very much. "Since it is so quiet I think we might risk stopping at the inn for tonight. It would be a good opportunity to stock up on supplies as well. Mendez, go inside and see that it is still safe for us. Take the priest with you. I want to see what he does."
Aramis looked to Romero with confusion, but the Spaniard was giving nothing away with his slight smile.
Mendez took a tight grip on Aramis' arm and pushed him forwards. "Come with me."
"What? Why are we-"
"Do not question. Just come." The Spaniard growled.
The inn was mostly in darkness as they approached. When they stepped inside a roaring hearth lit the main room, an old sword graced the wall above it. There were no patrons to speak of, it was a room full of empty chairs at empty tables. A young woman stood wiping tables down with a damp cloth. Some part of Aramis instinctively wanted to smile at her, it was an instinct he had worked hard to clamp down on, so he just gave a polite nod as she looked up.
Before either of them could address her an older man stepped forwards from behind the bar to take their attention.
"Good evening gentlemen, may I get you anything?"
Mendez surveyed the room before addressing the man. "It is very quiet here tonight, I take it you have some rooms free?"
"Indeed, all of them in fact. Trade just hasn't been what it was since the war. So many have fled north in fear."
"But not you?"
"No, this inn is my livelihood, and my father ran it, as well as my father's father before him. I cannot so easily abandon it." A look of disgust passed his face. "Not like certain members of the nobility I could mention…"
"Oh?" Mendez raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, there's a house not far from here fit for a king, belonged to some relative of that de Luynes fellow. He upped and left at the first signs of trouble. Left it to wrack and ruin. I'll see this inn in that state over my dead body."
"Well, not all men are of such strong a spirit I fear." Mendez gave a tight smile. "My friends and I would be happy to take some of those rooms for the night. A few drinks and a meal would be most welcome as well. Why don't you go and fetch them?"
Mendez turned to Aramis and motioned towards the door. For a moment his mind reeled. He couldn't believe that he was being allowed out alone. But Romero's words came back to him… I want to see what he does… The rope around his neck may no longer be there but he was still bound to them, despite appearances to the contrary.
Aramis went to the door and stepped outside. He took a deep breath of the cool night air and peered into the surrounding darkness. All was silent… Breath after breath, nothing moved. He couldn't see anybody, but that didn't mean they couldn't see him. Still, something inside him thought about running. His mind started calculating how far he could get, which way he should run, how many would pursue… I want to see what he does… This was a test. He could run and be put to death or return to them and garner trust. Perhaps that was the better way. Perhaps he could bring them down by playing along.
And so Aramis walked slowly towards the place where he had left the small company. A whistle alerted him to their presence off to one side.
Romero stepped forwards with an appraising look upon his face. "Well?"
"The rooms are all free, there is nobody there but the innkeeper and what I assume is his daughter. Mendez asked me to fetch you."
"Good." Romero turned to his men to make arrangements for a watch on the road, and then they made their way to the inn.
The innkeeper was pleased to see so many. He eagerly furnished them with food and drink, and engaged them in conversation. Some of the men seemed irritated by his chatter but Romero was quite happy to grease the wheels and keep up their deception.
The Spaniard took a sip of his wine. "Ah, if I am not mistaken this comes from the abbey of Saint-Hilaire!"
"Quite right Monsieur! They have supplied me for many years, we are quite lucky to have them so close by. Those monks are certainly skilled with their drink."
"Very fine." Romero took another sip. "It is very fine indeed."
He clearly knew enough of the area to spin a believable tale and the more the wine flowed the more he spun. But Romero slipped up now and then by mentioning people Aramis knew to be dead, or tradesmen he knew were no longer in business. He just hoped the innkeeper didn't realise… or perhaps he did. Still, a confrontation between the innkeeper and Romero would not end well for the former.
Finally the innkeeper and his daughter brought out the food. When Aramis' plate was set before him she noticed his wrapped hand.
The girl took it delicately and Aramis' eyes wandered up to her own. "Oh, are you hurt? If you like I have an ointment that would help. My mother once showed me-"
Romero suddenly clapped Aramis' arm down to the table, his hand slipped violently from her grip. "He's fine."
Aramis had winced at the impact, but he tried to offer her a reassuring smile all the same. She gave a tight smile in return and retreated to the back.
It had been a while since the company had eaten anything decent. It was hard for them not to set upon the food like starved dogs, but they were determined to enjoy the food and wine while they could. As the night wore on Romero placed a possessive arm across Aramis' shoulders as he bellowed his stories. Aramis flinched away and tried to sink down into himself. He was relieved when they decided to retire to bed.
"You're with me." Romero clutched at Aramis tightly and pushed him towards a room.
After lumbering about and rooting around in his pack Romero pulled out a length of rope.
"You're on the floor." He dragged Aramis over to the only bit of furniture in the room - a heavy set table - and began clumsily tying him to it. "Try to get away and I'll kill you."
As Romero straightened Aramis gave a pull at the rope, it did nothing more than set a flare of pain off in his hand. The Spaniard might have had a few drinks, but he could still tie a good knot.
"Look at you there, like a dog at my feet." Romero gave him a half hearted kick as if he were an unwelcome mutt under the dinner table. "What do you think God means by making dogs of his servants eh?"
Not in the mood for his captor's drunken musings, Aramis turned away.
"I asked you a question, priest." Another kick accompanied the words.
"To be a dog is no insult. He created all creatures, they are all beloved by Him. Even dogs."
"Then perhaps I should have you eat from the floor if you're so content down there."
"I would rather eat from the floor than share a table with men who are worse than beasts."
For a moment Aramis expected to be struck for his insolence. Romero loomed over him, a dangerous look took his eyes, and then it passed… "Lucky for you the drink has lightened my mood, otherwise you would pay dearly for that. But make no mistake, if you do try to escape I will kill you, understand?"
A moment of silence hung between them.
"I understand."
Aramis sighed as Romero snuffed out the candle and collapsed into bed. It was not going to be a comfortable night.
~oOo~
It was still dark when Aramis was woken by a frantic knocking at the door.
"Romero! Romero, wake up! We've got trouble!"
Eventually the Spaniard roused and opened the door. "What is it?"
"You have to come, the lads on watch caught the girl riding away."
Romero swore and slammed the door shut behind him.
Aramis was left in darkness, his heart pounding in his chest. His imagination was running wild with the possibilities, and they became more dire as he heard raised voices and muffled screams from below.
It was not long before Mendez came to free Aramis and haul him down the stairs. When he got to the bottom he found the innkeeper and his daughter tied to chairs. Her face was dark with bruises and wet with tears, while her father trembled in shock.
Romero approached and put his hands on Aramis' shoulders. "Unfortunately it would seem our curious friend put his nose where it was not wanted. He sent his daughter to raise the alarm, and so here we are." He turned to take a pistol from Lucero. "I want you to shoot him."
Aramis took the offered pistol and frowned. "What?"
"Shoot him." Romero motioned towards the innkeeper who shook his head frantically. "I want you to do it."
"I can't." Aramis voice shook and he tried to hand the pistol back, but Romero would not take it.
"I know you are a man of God, and the thought of killing must be distasteful. But this must be done." He put a hand to Aramis' shoulder. "Killing is not so bad. Did not God himself kill so many firstborn sons? Death is his work, as much as life."
"Please, spare them." Aramis tried.
"Kill him, or I will kill all three of you." Romero took Aramis' damaged hand and gave it a cruel squeeze. "And you know I am a man of my word."
Aramis hissed in a breath against the stab of pain and raised the pistol at the innkeeper. He couldn't see a way out of this. There was no way out of this. Not without somebody dying.
As soon as he took aim the girl went frantic. She begged them, before threatening that guards would come. "I reached the outskirts of Carcassonne and screamed loud enough to wake the dead when your men took me. Guards will be on the road even as we speak!"
"And you will be dead and we will be long gone by the time they get here." Romero switched to Spanish and ordered a couple of men out to watch the road. "Shoot, priest. Shoot him or I will shoot you all."
Aramis' finger trembled against the trigger. And then the thought blossomed in his head… he could shoot Romero. He knew what would happen afterwards. The other men would set upon him. He would be dead within moments, but at least he would be free of this cruel man and his soul would not be stained by cold blooded murder.
Aramis' breath came harshly as he wrestled with his mind. His arm shook minutely. And then he whirled it around to aim the pistol between Romero's eyes. In an instant Aramis had a host of guns and blades pointed his way.
Romero remained strangely calm, a lopsided grin took his face. "You won't do it."
"How do you know?" Aramis gasped out.
"Because I do." Came the infuriating answer. "Lower the pistol, priest. If you are not going to shoot me, and you are not going to shoot him, lower it and I will shoot all of you."
Tension clogged the room, the air felt too thick to breathe. Aramis' finger twitched, and then he began moving the pistol away…
A shot cracked the air, but it came from outside and some distance away.
"The guards are coming! I told you!" The girl shouted, before Lucero struck her across the face.
Romero growled and wrenched the pistol from Aramis' grip. "Get them into the back."
The innkeeper and his daughter were removed from the chairs and shoved into a back room.
"Get this room straight, if guards come in do not let them see anything amiss." Romero took a position behind the bar and after righting a few chairs and tables Cassila pushed Aramis down into a seat.
Day was just starting to dawn and the lightening sky let them see four men on horseback approach. They dismounted and two made for the door while the other two went around the back.
"Monsieur, is there any trouble? We heard shots." Romero asked in a most concerned voice.
"Armed men on the road, possibly bandits. They've been taken care of. But we came in search of a lady in distress taken away on this road, there was no lady with them." The guard looked about the room, settling his gaze on each man within. "Has anybody here witnessed anything untoward of that nature?"
"It has been quiet here, my friend. May I get you a drink?"
The guard ignored Romero's question. "And the rest of you? Seen nothing?"
They uttered their negative responses and the guard narrowed his eyes. "Where is Auclair?"
"Ill, I'm his brother, I've just come to lend a hand until he's better."
"And his daughter?"
"Busy caring for him."
The guard wandered around the rest of the room, and came to stand before Cassila and Aramis. "What is your business here?"
"I am a trader, travelling to Carcassonne." Cassila answered while Aramis sweat nervously at his side.
The room felt like a powder keg ready to explode at the wrong word. The other guard by the door kept watch over them all closely while his companion roamed about.
"Where did you come from?"
"Foix, but I thought I might have better luck with my wares in Carcassonne. The people there have finer tastes I'm sure."
"And what is it you trade in?"
"Whatever takes my fancy at a good price. Scarves, toys, hair brushes... if you know where to look there are bargains to be had and those willing to pay more than enough to take them off your hands."
"Let me see your bags."
Cassila shifted uneasily. "Very well, I will need to retrieve them from my room. One moment please."
Just as he got to his feet a shot rang out from the bar. The guard spun sideways, but Romero had only managed to clip his arm. All hell broke loose between Romero's men and the guards. Aramis upended the table and took cover behind it. He had no weapons, and no means to defend himself. Before long the other guards joined in the fray. Aramis flinched at a thud against the table. As he looked out one of Romero's men slid down and came to rest his vacant, dead eyes on Aramis. He quickly made the sign of the cross and divested the body of his pistol and shot. It was spent of course, so he went about reloading and hoped that he would be able to take a decent shot once he relinquished his cover. But just as Aramis made to stand he found the innkeeper bearing down upon him with the sword from above the hearth. Instinctively Aramis took the shot, and the innkeeper fell with a cry.
It alerted one of the guards. Aramis hadn't even a chance to whisper that he was sorry before he was forced to take up the sword and fend off a series of blows. All of a sudden his soldiering instincts reared up and Aramis felt himself carried away by the flow of the fight. He took in everything around him. Two guards remained, Romero and Lucero fought one while he fought the other. The girl cried by the doorway. Bodies were littered all around and blood slicked the floor. The scent of it sent him back to another time, when he was something else. It ignited a long dead fire in his heart, but perhaps it had not died entirely, the flames were still there just waiting to be kindled. The sword felt a part of him. He struck again and again, seeking the opening that would let him sink it into flesh. This was no dance, no game. There were only targets and the hard won reward of blood. It was to be savoured, that sweet taste of ecstasy.
Aramis thrust forwards, aiming for his opponent's chest, but the man shifted to one side and circled his blade beneath Aramis' coming in with a blow of his own. Without thinking Aramis shot back and used his damaged hand to swipe the blade aside. Pain flared, the mist cleared, and then Aramis realised they should not be fighting each other, they should be fighting Romero. They could defeat the Spaniard!
"Please! Stop!" Aramis shouted.
"Do you surrender?" The guard asked as he thrust again.
Aramis backed away as he turned aside the blow. "I'm not the one you want to be fighting!"
The guard just gave an incredulous laugh. Another thrust came and Aramis found himself backed into a corner. He wasn't listening. It was kill or be killed…
When the next blow came Aramis crossed it and turned his wrist as he surged forwards. The tip of his sword found the guard's throat and an awful spray of blood cascaded through the air as he withdrew.
Across the room the final guard fell. Romero, Lucero and Aramis all stood panting, staring at each other.
And then Romero smiled. "I knew you wouldn't shoot me." He approached Aramis and took in the body of the guard and the innkeeper. "Luckily I do not have to shoot you either. You did as I asked."
Aramis let out a huff of air that could have been the ghost of a laugh - He had hardly been 'asked'!
Romero clapped him on the shoulder. "Well done my friend, you have killed two today. You are truly a man of God now."
A groan came from behind the bar and Cassila lurched to his feet, his face was bloody and he held his head.
"Check to see if any are alive. We need to go." Romero's eyes settled on the girl. She stood in the doorway, pale and shaking, holding on to the door as if it were the only thing keeping her on her feet.
Romero approached and gently took her arm. "For what it's worth, I am sorry."
He violently pulled her close and Aramis looked away just as the knife moved towards her throat. He couldn't escape the choking, gagging sounds though.