AN: This site really doesn't like my story - once again it didn't pop to the top with my last chapter. Make sure you read chapter 4 if you missed it! Hopefully this one is going to work...
Chapter Five
The moment came when their supplies ran low and a trip to the local village was needed. It was decided between them that one man alone would not raise suspicion and so Mendez took Aramis' horse and set out to make some purchases.
Romero and Casilla were deep in conversation at the table while Aramis stood at the window. It was late afternoon, and the sun would soon be going down. Everything was still and silent, save for the hushed mumble of his companions' voices.
"Aramis, I must discuss matters with Casilla. Will you see to the firewood yourself?"
He whipped around at hearing his name called. The thought of going outside alone was a strange one… and somewhat unnerving.
Romero must have caught the unsure look on his face, the Spaniard got to his feet and went to put his hands on Aramis' shoulders. "Arm yourself." The hands tightened. "And do this one important thing for me."
Aramis gave him a questioning look.
"If you see somebody out there, kill them. We cannot allow a single person to know we are here. All it takes is one to bring down the local guard and we will all be killed. But more than that - the mission will fail. It is more important than you or me, and certainly more important than any errant French farm boy. Can you do this?"
Aramis met his eyes and nodded. "I can."
"Good." Romero retrieved a pistol and dagger and pushed them into Aramis' hands. "I'm trusting you Aramis, I know you will not disappoint me."
The weight of the pistol felt strange and familiar all at once. Strange, because it seemed such a long time since he had used one with any regularity, but it was a weapon that once felt a part of him. Aramis' fingers remembered, even as his heart had tried to forget.
He secured the weapons at his belt, gave Romero a firm nod, and took his leave.
When Aramis stepped outside he drew in a deep breath. Some part of him hesitated, Romero trusted him alone, but he wasn't sure he trusted himself. He looked at the distant tree line and then back at the mansion. Aramis imagined eyes watching him, though he could see no faces at the windows. He could run, if he wanted to. But Aramis found that the greater part of him did not want to. Romero trusted him, he couldn't break that trust.
Besides, where would he run to? Could he pick up his monastic life again and pretend he didn't know all of this was happening? Should he inform a local guard the Spanish were here? Aramis' heart recoiled at the idea. He was entwined with their purpose now, he did not want to betray them. In fact, he wanted to see them succeed. He wanted to see the nobility brought to their knees.
Aramis shuddered a harsh breath out and walked on. It had all become so confusing. But through the tangled mess of his mind there was one bright thought that pierced it all - trust Romero. So Aramis set to collecting firewood. Romero would be pleased to see him return, and he found that he wanted to please Romero. He only paused to watch the birds returning to the trees.
Beneath the boughs on the treeline Aramis was carried away by the cacophony. He hadn't noticed… he should have noticed… Aramis swore as he dropped his gaze from the sky and set eyes on a boy amidst the trees. He threw the wood to one side and scrambled for the pistol. He couldn't be seen here, nobody could know the mansion was occupied.
"What are you doing here?!" Aramis called out as he brandished the gun.
The boy was crouching near a tree. He looked to be no older than fifteen. With wide eyes he got to his feet and showed his palms.
"I meant no harm Monsieur. I'm just setting snares for the rabbits." His voice trembled a little as he spoke.
"You shouldn't be here!"
"I am sorry Monsieur, I thought this place was abandoned. Please don't have me for poaching, I won't come here again!"
The pistol trembled slightly as Aramis held it out. He should shoot. Romero would want him to kill the boy. The Spaniard had killed the girl at the inn. Anybody who saw them forfeit their lives. If he let the boy go he would return home and tell everybody there were men at the mansion. It wouldn't take long for people to come looking.
But the lad was more child than man. Aramis couldn't shoot a child…
"Please Monsieur."
Aramis grit his teeth, frozen with indecision.
The boy took a step back.
"Stay where you are!" Aramis yelled.
He stilled like a stunned rabbit, eyes wide and fixed on the end of Aramis' pistol.
It began to waver more and more.
Aramis shuddered out a breath and tried to still his hand. "You do not tell anybody you saw me here. The mansion is abandoned, and there is nobody in the woods. Say it."
The boy just stood still, breathing quickly.
"Say it!"
He jumped as Aramis barked, and then the words flowed fast and frantic. "The mansion is abandoned. There is nobody in the woods. I haven't seen you, there's nobody here."
"Now go!" Aramis let the pistol drop and the boy turned and fled.
He stood watching the place the boy had run from, as if he could still see him there, as if he could still do something… Aramis' gut twisted.
He had failed Romero.
Slowly he turned to make his way back to the mansion. Aramis' heart was clutched with a desperate feeling of dread. He didn't know what to do. Should he confess? He should confess. But he knew what that would lead to.
Aramis was shaking as he stepped back into the building, he tried to rein in the tremors as he made his way up the dusty stairs. He nonchalantly stepped inside their room and quietly closed the door, not wanting to disturb the men who were still deep in discussion. Slowly and carefully Aramis relieved himself of the weapons and went to stand in front of the dimming fire. His thoughts were racing a mile a minute, he struggled to keep his breathing even. Should he say something? The longer he was silent the easier it seemed to be to stay that way. Aramis' opened his mouth, trying to find a confession, but his tongue wouldn't obey.
The murmuring voices from the table went quiet at his back.
"Aramis… where is the firewood?"
And with that question, his heart clenched. His throat felt like it closed up. He couldn't breathe.
Aramis leaned forwards and put his hands against the mantlepiece, willing his lungs to work. Eventually he managed to draw in a steady breath, and then another. And then Romero was beside him, uncomfortably close.
"What happened?"
He straightened, and faced Romero, but he couldn't meet the Spaniard's eyes. Aramis looked to the lacing on the front of his shirt instead.
"There was a boy…" His words came slowly. "He was setting snares in the wood. I… I let him go."
Aramis didn't need to see Romero's eyes, he felt the disappointment keenly enough already.
"I'm sorry. I should have shot, I know I should have shot."
"Then why didn't you?"
Aramis hung his head. "He was just a child..."
"Do children not have tongues? Can they not speak of what their eyes see? Or was it his eyes that were missing? I told you to shoot whoever you saw, and what did you say?"
Aramis looked away.
Romero's fist in his shirt brought his attention back. "Tell me what you said!"
"I said I would shoot."
"And did you?"
"No…"
The fist fell away and Romero stepped back. "I thought I could trust you."
"You can! I am sorry, Romero. It won't happen again."
"No, it won't." The Spaniard sighed heavily. "I do not want to have to do this Aramis, but you leave me no choice."
"Please, Romero. Please don't. I told you, I told you the truth. You don't need to do this." Aramis voice was verging on frantic.
"You waited for me to ask. You haven't learned a thing, have you?" A note of anger crept into Romero's tone.
"I told you the truth, told you…"
"You should have told me the moment you stepped through that door." Romero viciously pointed at it. "The truth will buy you a shortened stay, but you have to go if you are to learn anything. You broke my trust, Aramis. I gave you a chance, and what did you do?"
"I ruined it. I'm sorry Romero! I know I did wrong, I know. Please don't take me back down there…"
"Casilla?"
The other man got to his feet.
Aramis dropped to his knees and clutched at Romero's arm. Desperation drove him to abandon all dignity. "Mercy, Romero! Please!"
"We are men of war, not God. Mercy means nothing here."
Rough hands dragged him to his feet, and then the instinctive basal animal within took over. Aramis shouted and struggled, but a blow to the face sent everything reeling. The world righted just in time for him to approach the wretched door.
"Please don't do this!"
There was nothing left to do but beg.
Aramis was thrown inside. He rolled painfully across the stone floor and scrabbled towards the door as soon as he came to his knees. It was slammed shut just inches away from his face.
"Please!"
The darkness fell. Aramis felt like his own tomb was closing in about him. The room seemed to shrink, the walls pressed in and stole the air from his lungs. His hands felt the wood of the door and he pounded against it. Shouting, begging to be let free.
A muffled voice filtered through the door and Aramis stepped back to listen carefully.
"You made me do this, Aramis. I didn't want to, but you forced me."
"I'm sorry!"
"I will be back in three days."
Footsteps faded away and silence took over, save for the harsh breaths that ripped in and out of Aramis. He was entirely alone. But perhaps he feared the moment he wouldn't be. He shut his eyes tight and soft whines began to escape with each exhale. They grew and grew until he was screaming fit to wake the dead.
When they woke, if he screamed loud enough, he might not be able to hear them.
~oOo~
Three days later the door opened. Aramis couldn't tell three days had passed of course, there was nothing to mark time in the endless darkness. He lay curled up on the floor, trembling. When the door creaked open he flinched away from the stark beam of light.
"Get up."
It was Mendez. So the man had returned alive from his supply run.
Aramis stopped where he was, he shuddered in a breath and hid his tear streaked face in the crook of his elbow.
An impatient boot nudged at his ribs.
"On your feet now. If you don't want to come I'll shut you back in."
That got Aramis lurching unsteadily to his feet. Mendez made no move to help. He simply followed Aramis and watched him slowly take the stairs.
Back in their room Romero was seated in a chair facing the hearth. Aramis dropped to his knees right before it.
"Thank you for letting me out." His voice was hoarse and faded having screamed it all away. "I'm sorry Romero, I'm so sorry."
"I forgive you."
Aramis bowed his head, feeling absolution wash over him. "Thank you… Thank you."
"I do this for your own good you know. I want to trust you, Aramis. But you make it so hard."
"I will do better. I won't let you down again, I promise."
"Good, and now I will give you a chance to make amends. You can fix this. I want you on watch each night, and when the boy returns, kill him. He will come back of course - suspicious activity at a long abandoned location - why would he not? The question is simply when, and how many he will bring with him"
"It does not matter, I will kill them all, I promise you that."
~oOo~
When evening came Aramis joined Mendez on watch. They walked slowly through the trees surrounding the property, stopping to rest and listen on occasion. Aramis' heart began to beat at a faster pace as the darkness deepened into night. It was a darkness reminiscent of that in the cellar. When Aramis looked up, branches obscured the sky. Only snatches of the stars reached him, and suddenly the broken twigs beneath his feet sounded like the snap snap snap of little bones. He wheeled around, there seemed to be eyes in the pale flowers, hands in the branches, and voices in the breeze… watching, reaching, calling. Wanting to take him. Aramis' breath caught in his throat, and his senses took flight. He turned about and ran, desperate to get out of this den of bones and see the star streaked sky.
Moments later he was buffeted sideways into a tree and Mendez leaned into him.
"Calm yourself." The Spaniard hissed under his breath. "What is the matter with you?"
The question was accompanied by a vicious shake. Aramis tried to push the hands away as he got his breathing under control, but Mendez held him fast.
"I'm all right."
"Are you sure? Because I cannot let you go if you're going to run off like a bolting horse."
Aramis just gave a firm nod, and slowly Mendez relinquished his grip.
They carried on their watch. Aramis noticed that Mendez remained a little closer than he had before. Some time later a distinctive bird whistle came through the trees. Mendez gave an answering call and shortly after Casilla approached. Aramis settled himself against the base of a trunk and watched the woods as Mendez stepped away to speak with their companion.
"Anything?" Casilla whispered.
"Quiet as the grave." Mendez lowered his voice, but Aramis could still make out his words. "Watch him, he tried to run."
"Escape you mean?"
"No… just panic I think. He was heading back for the house, wouldn't escape by going that way. Still, you don't want him drawing attention."
"He shouldn't be out here." Casilla spoke somewhat derisively.
"Neither should we if you ask me. We need to move on, Lucero isn't coming back. I doubt he made it."
Aramis could detect just the slightest catch in Mendez' voice.
"Where to though? I know Romero has his heart set on this mission, but we've lost too many, it is suicide. Going back after we've come this far is risky too. Lucero must have encountered trouble."
"We can't know what happened to Lucero. Going back is the better option. But wherever we go, sitting here is doing us no good at all. Especially not when we're expecting to be set upon by the locals."
"We should try speaking to Romero again. We can leave before trouble finds us."
"He's not going to change his mind, and even if he does have us leave he'll just march us towards our deaths in Foix." Mendez gave an exasperated sigh beneath his breath.
"Maybe we…" Casilla's voice died as he seemed to reconsider his words. "No matter, I will speak with you later. Goodnight."
With that Mendez uttered his goodbye and took his leave. Casilla came to stand by Aramis and peer into the darkness.
Aramis licked his dry lips and looked up at Casilla. His features were dim in the darkness.
"You think I am a burden? A risk?"
Casilla looked down briefly before turning his attention back to the trees. "What I think doesn't matter."
"But you still think. That much is clear."
"You weren't supposed to hear any of that."
"But I still heard. So tell me what you think."
"I think that talking is going to draw eyes our way, so we should be quiet." Casilla started walking off, and then seemed to think better of it. He paused and turned to look Aramis up and down in a rather unsettling manner. "I think he has done something to you. He's changed you... you're not right."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Aramis near enough growled.
"Keep your voice down!" Casilla hissed. "It means that he's broken you. I've heard what you've shouted when you didn't even know you were shouting. I know the ghosts that haunt you."
"You know nothing about me!" Aramis spat back at the Spaniard.
"Is that so? I'm sure Marguerite would disagree."
Aramis' jaw hung open, shocked by that name coming from his mouth, like a hidden blade thrusting forth to grievously wound.
"See, I know more than you think. I know you're not fit to be out here, you're weak, and sooner or later you're going to get us all killed."
Suddenly a loud bang echoed around the trees. A spray of blood burst from Casilla's chest to spatter over Aramis. The Spaniard's eyes were blown wide in shock, but not a word passed his lips before he dropped to his knees and fell face first to the ground. Aramis had flinched at the shot, but he wasted no time in surging to his feet and brandishing his pistol. He returned fire at the spot he had seen sparks fly from, and knew he had hit his mark when a sharp cry split the air.
Aramis dashed forwards and plunged through the undergrowth to find the boy he had faced before. The lad was lying on the ground, face creased in pain, clutching at his middle. Though darkness obscured much of his features Aramis could make out the black stain of blood at his lips.
"You… You're Spanish… I heard you…" The boy grit out.
Aramis stood frozen. He hadn't meant to shoot the boy… but he was meant to shoot the boy. He had promised.
And now standing, watching the lad bleed out at his feet, Aramis wanted to scream. Maybe Casilla was right. Maybe he was broken. He didn't know who he was, what he wanted, what he was supposed to do…
A hand grabbed his arm and wrenched him away from the scene.
"Aramis! Snap out of it! There are more of them in the woods. Get back to the house, get Romero. I'll ready the horses." Mendez. He had come back.
"He's bleeding, I should… I need to…"
"You need to get moving!"
Mendez pushed him away and Aramis stumbled forwards into a run. He found that once he started running he couldn't imagine stopping. Tears blurred at his eyes with the exertion. He ran until his lungs burned and his heart beat wildly in his chest. Shouts came from the woods. He had to keep running. If he kept running they wouldn't catch him... if they caught him, they would kill him.
Suddenly the trees gave way and the mansion loomed before Aramis. He crashed into the door, fell through it, and slammed it shut behind him. He leaned against the heavy oak and gasped endlessly. It was so hard to breathe. Aramis closed his eyes, let his head fall back, and remained snatching at the air as if it were running out.
"So they have come then."
Aramis' eyes flew open to see Romero standing at the top of the stairs. His breath started to calm as the Spaniard descended with an air of utter indifference.
Romero settled in front of Aramis and cast an eye over him. "Look at you. Covered in blood. Did you kill him?"
Aramis straightened, the previous panic and confusion seemed to seep away now that Romero was there. The Spaniard was like a safe haven in a storm. He was the rock that remained standing against the relentless crash of the waves.
"The boy shot Casilla. I shot the boy."
"Good. You did as I asked. And Casilla is no loss, he would have left one way or another. I could tell. He was weak. He didn't have the stomach to see our mission through. But you do, don't you, my friend?"
Aramis nodded vigorously. He saw now - Casilla was wrong, Casilla had been the weak one. Not him. He was strong with Romero, together they would see this through. "Mendez is getting the horses ready, we should go to the stables."
"Lead on." Romero waved at the door.
Aramis opened it a crack and stepped out on seeing the way was clear. But then from around the corner of the mansion a horse came charging past. Its hooves tore the ground away as it flew by. Aramis shouted a curse and ran forwards at spotting another rounding the corner. He stood before it and held out his arms, but the frightened beast easily dodged around him and kept going.
"Come on!" Romero bellowed and ran for the stables.
They found a man attempting to shoo away their horses. Two had already flown, and he was running off a third, while Aramis' steed, Hawthorn, had simply tucked into a nearby bale of hay. Romero didn't waste any time, he raised the pistol and shot the Frenchman in the chest. That startled the third horse into charging off. Aramis made a half hearted attempt to run and grab at the reins, but he knew he was no match for a bolting horse. Hawthorn had shot his head up at the crack of gunfire, and looked as if he were considering following his companions. Aramis approached, with his hands extended, uttering words in a soothing tone. The horse settled its attention on Aramis and seemed to calm a little in the presence of a familiar face.
As Aramis walked along the row of open stable doors, he caught sight of Mendez lying face down in a pool of blood. He swallowed heavily, turned away and reached for the reins.
"Come on boy, let's go."
Hawthorn reached out his neck for one last mouthful of hay before complying and following along with his master.
Aramis let out a long breath as he approached Romero. "Mendez is in one of the stables, looks to be dead."
Romero's mouth set in a hard line, and he wordlessly left to check.
Moments later he returned, still saying nothing of their fallen companion. "Let's go."
Aramis mounted behind Romero and then Hawthorn was off. There wasn't even time for a last regretful look over the shoulder. Aramis took a tight grip around Romero and tried to contain the panic that threatened to take root in his heart.
Men emerged from the trees, drawn by the sound of gunfire. They started running towards the stables, but Aramis and Romero were easily leaving them behind. Still, the men did not need to catch up. Not when they had firearms. Aramis flinched as crack after crack hit the air. Romero yelled at the horse to speed up, but he was doing the best he could being burdened by two riders.
The pause to reload let them streak ahead. Aramis nearly breathed a sigh of relief as Hawthorn's hooves hit a dirt path. It would take them into the trees, and out towards a main road. Of course, they could not remain on a main road, but getting away from this place was the highest priority. Just as they neared the tree line a tall man with an arquebus stepped out to block their way. Aramis felt his heart jump into his mouth. They were close enough to hit. Everything seemed to slow down. Hawthorn shied and tried to spin around, but Romero held tightly onto the reins and stopped him fully turning to bolt back the way they had come. He danced on the spot, tossing his head, seeking an escape Romero wouldn't let him have. They were caught. Trapped. The marksman in Aramis started calculating… where to shoot, when to shoot… if he were behind the trigger it would be a kill shot. Sometimes such knowledge was a curse. Their only hope lay in the fact that this was not Aramis behind the trigger. His mind raced, the gun rose…
A sudden crack echoed around the trees and crashed into them.
Fire scored Aramis' side. He yelled at the shock of it, but the fear fell away. It was a graze, they were alive, and now their assailant had to reload.
A shift took place between them. Predator became prey. Aramis could near enough feel the change in Romero, a cold, resolute stoicism gave way to fire and rage. He had faced that rage, he knew to avoid it. Those who didn't would reap the consequences.
"Move aside or I'll run you down." It was a warning, a promise.
The man stood his ground and reached for a long knife at his belt. In a moment of defiance he had chosen to stand. Aramis wondered just how long that moment would last. The answer came as Romero dug his heels in to Hawthorn's side and let out an earth shattering yell. Finally being given a way to loose his pent up energy, the horse surged forwards. Aramis held tight to Romero and did his best to stay with the beast. The relentless charge beneath Aramis nearly left him behind. Between one breath and the next they were upon their assailant, but he let that finely tuned self-preservation instinct take over. Just before half a tonne of horse collided with him he threw himself to one side and they blew past.
They tore along the path through the woods. Darkness smothered all around them. Hawthorn had the better sight and sense of the three. Aramis got the feeling Romero wasn't so much riding the horse as letting him run. Horses were born to run, and Hawthorn ate up the ground beneath them, even burdened by two riders as he was.
No pursuit followed. Being on foot their attackers were left far behind. Soon they burst out onto the main road and Aramis suddenly felt he could breathe again. The air beneath the trees felt close and oppressive, almost like the air before a storm. His harried breath came easier out in the open. After covering some distance Romero let Hawthorn slow down. The horse's flanks were heaving as he panted for breath. They were all in need of rest.
"We've lost them, and they will have to wait for daylight to have any hope of picking up our trail." Romero seemed to pause to survey the land around them. "There's a path over there, we'll follow it a while and stop at the first cover we find."
Aramis found he couldn't speak through his heaving chest. He gave Romero's shoulder a squeeze in acknowledgement and they continued on.
It wasn't long before a copse sprung up some distance from the side road. As Romero guided Hawthorn along, Aramis clapped a hand to his side. The wound was starting to sting now his rush of blood had ebbed away.
Romero was saying something. But Aramis found the words slipping around him, incomprehensible. Romero shifted and shook him. That brought the world back into focus.
"What? Are you hurt? I heard you yell at that shot."
"Just a scratch…" Aramis huffed out with a wince.
He followed Romero's eyes down to his side. "Looks like more than a scratch to me."
Aramis swallowed heavily, and then Romero swore. Indeed, it did look like more than a scratch… Aramis' shirt was dark with blood, and a glistening trail ran down his leg to stain the horse's flank beneath.
Romero carefully dismounted and then helped Aramis to get down. After propping him against a trunk, Romero secured Hawthorn and went to root about in the saddlebags.
"Luckily Mendez threw a bag with a spare shirt on our friend here." He patted the horse who gave a slight shake. "Unfortunately there is no sign of food or water."
Romero returned with the shirt and immediately set to work on Aramis' side. He pulled the blood soaked material away to reveal a wound that was certainly more than the graze Aramis had thought it was.
"It needs stitching."
"Mendez didn't happen to pack needle and thread by any chance?" Aramis gave a strained smile and tried not to writhe as Romero wiped away the seeping blood.
"I will bind it with this, and hope it holds until we reach Foix."
"Foix?"
"Yes, that is our destination. We can make it with two days hard riding. Your wound will not easily forgive two days hard riding, but you will be in the best place to seek help, and we will be in the best place to proceed with our mission."
Aramis grit his teeth. He was determined to see the mission through, but they had suffered so much loss, and now with this wound... Was it wise to proceed? "What of a nearby farm or village?"
"We cannot guarantee they will offer us aid, and it will be too dangerous. Word travels fast in these sorts of places. Two strangers, one injured, turning up on their doorstep would look most suspicious when a group of Spaniards have just been run out of that house. The bustle of a town will be easier to lose ourselves in..." Romero paused and narrowed his eyes. "Do you doubt the mission? Do you doubt me?"
"No! Of course not…" Aramis was quick to answer. "I just wonder at our chances, now we are two. Perhaps God is not on our side."
Romero's expression darkened as he started to tear the shirt and wrap it around Aramis' middle. "God does not take sides. When two armies face each other both claim God will stand with them and both sides end up with young men dead in the dirt. Perhaps he just stands by, wondering at the folly of man. We do our part to end such folly, we will see our enemy crippled without such waste of life." He tied the material tight and Aramis blanched slightly at the pressure. It did not stop Romero's determined speech. "I had thought that we needed more men for this. It is unfortunate that our numbers have been whittled down, but now I see that this is the way. We will do better keeping ourselves hidden with just two dedicated souls. You see, the castle at Foix is used as a garrison. Our spies informed us meetings often take place there between high ranking military men and governors, and not just meetings, they have grand receptions!" Aramis could detect the venom in Romero's spitting voice. "Two alone will better be able to infiltrate the castle, two alone can still see the end of them."
Romero drew back slightly to regard Aramis, who sat there pale and trembling.
"You won't let me down, will you?"
And with those few words all hint of doubt was swept away.
"No… no, I won't."
Darkness… screaming… snapping...
"Good, I know I can trust you Aramis. You will stand with me?"
Watching… reaching… calling...
"To the very end."