CHAPTER 4
The horses left in the stable were not the best, but Athos and Aramis had no choice, Roger and Fidget were too tired and to ride them would put all at risk. Aramis choose a younger mare who was strong and swift, but a little flighty. Athos choose an experienced gelding, who had seen a lot and wasn't fazed by much, except being crowded by other horses. D'Artagnan made a comment about their choices of horses being much like their own personalities, which earned him a nasty glare.
When they left, the snow was coming down steadily, covering the already frozen streets of Paris with a clean white blanket. However, not soon after it stopped it would be trampled and dirty; snow just didn't stay pristine very long in a crowded city.
Once out the city gate, the snow ceased and the clouds broke up. The snow was blindingly white in the afternoon sun, making the musketeers squint. Aramis and Athos found the bright light almost painful to their sleep deprived bodies. Once the road wound into the woods, it was shady and the two found it easier going.
They rode steadily throughout the day, keeping a fairly even pace, even though there were spots on the snow-covered roads that did not offer the best footing for the horses. The garrison's farrier had put so-called snowshoes on many of the musketeers' horses. The U-shaped pieces of metal had ridge-like bumps that helped keep the horse's feet from slipping. However, the shoes were time consuming to make and rarely lasted for more than a single winter, so not every horse had them. As it happened, the two mounts Aramis and Athos chose had not been so equipped. The sleep deprived musketeers failed to consider that and it wasn't until their second break of the day that they discovered their error.
Aramis had been complaining as they went along that the mare, which he had ridden before, seemed less sure of foot than usual. Athos had been thinking the same of his gelding, but he was chalking it up to him being tired and the roads being slick. When they stopped for a quick break, d'Artagnan, who'd been listening to Aramis' complaints, had a thought and a quick inspection of the mare's and gelding's hooves confirmed his theory; they did not have snowshoes like Flip and Zad. They were too far from the garrison to turn back and exchange horses, so they proceeded onward.
Dusk found them on a road that wound its way along the Seine. This section of the river had not frozen over and the turbulent white water tumbled over the rocks that littered the waterway. Though the road was about fifteen feet above the river's edge, the icy waters still made the riders feel even colder. The snowy track had the river on one side and the slant of a steep slope on the other. Not a great choice in the winter because of the possibility of avalanches, which could knock a horse off its feet, was ever present. However, the musketeers knew from reports that the bridge on the main road had collapsed, so this alternative route had to be utilized.
There must have been a water source somewhere higher up the slope, or the sun was melting the snow during the day and refreezing it at night, because the path they followed was very extremely slippery in spots. It was if someone had dumped buckets of water on the ground which had frozen into a sheet of ice. Porthos' and d'Artagnan's horses were dealing well with the icy conditions as they came across them, but the other two horses, with their ordinary shoes, weren't faring as well. They would slide on occasion and bump into their companions, which had Athos' gelding baring his teeth and trying to nip his stablemates. By unspoken agreement, they put more distance between each of them, with d'Artagnan taking lead, followed by Athos, Aramis and Porthos serving as rear guard.
It was getting dark, but the moon was rising and it was a cloudless night now that the snow had stopped, so they had some light by which to ride. Aramis had been doing his best to stay awake for the last few miles, but the coming of darkness was making his eyelids feel as if they weighed a ton. More than once he woke with a jerk, realizing that he had inadvertently drifted off to sleep in the saddle. What he hadn't noticed was his mare was steadily closing the gap between herself and Athos' gelding, who was slowing down with fatigue. Athos felt his gelding fidgeting, but his cold-numbed mind put it down to bad manners.
The four musketeers, in the semi-darkness, didn't realize how far ahead d'Artagnan had gotten and how far behind Porthos had fallen, thanks to an urgent call of nature. The only two horses near each other were the ill-natured gelding and the flighty mare. Aramis drifted off again and his mare moved forward and crowded the gelding, who answered with a kick from his rear foot. However, as the gelding kicked, his front feet slipped on the ice, causing him to lose his balance. Stumbling to his knees, he couldn't get any purchase with his hind feet. The mare, who was too close, hit his fallen form, tumbling over his hindquarters, knocking them both over the edge onto the incline towards the river below.
When Athos felt his mount pitching forward, he only had a spilt second for his fatigued mind to make a decision; ride it out or jump off. If it was Roger, he might have had faith the fleet-footed stallion would regain his feet. But he had serious doubts this older gelding was that nimble, and to have his leg pinned under the horse, or have the animal roll over him, would be disastrous. So as the mare hit the gelding's hindquarters, Athos kicked his feet free of the stirrups, ripped his sword free and tossed it aside as he launched himself from his horse's back.
Aramis departure from his mare was less planned, but being half-asleep worked in his favor because he hit the slippery, snow-covered slope as loose as a rag doll. He slid over the icy ground at a rapid rate, straight for the churning river. His long sword blade caught on a tree and whipped him around so his head was heading downward first. Flailing his arms, he tried to halt his descent, but his scrambling hands could get no purchase. Knowing he was going to end up in the river, he changed his tactics, quickly undoing his weapons belt. He slid right out of it, like a snake shedding its skin, and soon it was left behind. Rolling, he tried to change his trajectory so he wouldn't end up in the river face first. Somewhat successful, he managed to turn sideways and he was even more ecstatic when the mass of his sideways body slowed his descent enough that he didn't end up in the river, but with the help of his boot heels, came to a halt on its very edge. The sound of rushing water filled his ears as he gave up a short prayer of thanks for his deliverance.
Athos hit the ground and attempted to do a shoulder roll, which sent him into an uncontrolled ass over teakettle ride down the snowy slope. It wasn't until he was near the river that he finally was able to gain some control, enough so he didn't slam into Aramis, but rather ended up in a heap next to him.
Aramis opened his eyes when he heard a thump and a groan. It took his numb brain a moment to register that the unmoving black lump next to him was Athos.
"Athos! Are you all right?" he called out, his voice full of concern.
The dry voice that answered him was so Athos, it made him chuckle. "All things considered, I'm fine."
"Given your definition of fine, when would you not be fine?" the marksman inquired somewhat sarcastically.
But Aramis didn't get an answer because his mare, whose descent had been momentarily halted by a small sapling, slammed into him and Athos when the slender tree gave way. Arms scrambling to gain purchase in the snow in a hopeless attempt to avoid being flung into the river, Aramis only managed to grab hold of a piece Athos' leathers. As a unit, they tumbled into the icy cold river and immediately were plunged below its churning surface. Instinctively working as a team, they fought their way back to the surface as the swift current carried them down stream, occasionally bouncing them off the large boulders dotting the river. The water was so cold it already had their limbs going numb from the shock. Aramis felt his hold on Athos' wet doublet slipping.
Athos could feel his brother's hand slipping and he thought they had a better chance of survival staying together. He yelled over his shoulder, "Grab my weapons belt. Wind your hand in it. Sword sheath."
Over the roar of the river, Aramis caught enough words to figure out what Athos was saying. Moving his other hand to help, he felt down Athos' back until he found his belt. Visualizing the way Athos arranged his weapons and pouches, Aramis slid his hand around to the left, locating the empty sword sheath. He inserted his hand, which he could barely feel, into the straps. With some wiggling, he entangled it amongst the straps and buckles where, when he gave a tug, it stayed lodged. They were now, figuratively speaking, joined at the hip.
With his left hand still free, he helped Athos to keep his head above the water and to avoid being slammed into every rock in the river. Twice they tried to make a valiant effort to swim towards one shore or the other, but the current was too strong and was eating up the little energy they had left. They were in a no win situation. The longer they stayed in the river, the colder and weaker they got and yet they didn't have enough reserves left to escape its nefarious icy clutches.
Aramis' free hand, which was resting on Athos' shoulder, suddenly had a weight on top of it. It took his muddled wits a few seconds to work out what was going on, but when he did, a jolt of adrenaline shot through his numb body. Athos had passed out. From what medic had no idea, but he had to rouse him because he could already feel the unconscious man's body beginning to sink in the frigid river's depths.
He thumped on Athos' shoulder as he screamed his brother's name in his ear to no avail. Realizing that wasn't working, he knew he'd have to change his tactics. With a prayer of apology, he pulled himself closer to Athos, reached over his shoulder, past the scarf and down the front of his jacket and shirt, until he reached the sternum. Once his hand was in position, he rubbed with as much pressure as he could muster.
The desired results were achieved as Athos' eyes flew open in response to the pain. However, it took another moment or two, where imminent drowning seemed likely, before Aramis got his hand untangled from Athos' clingy scarf and they managed to get back into a position where their heads remained safely above the waterline. It wasn't easy, for little waves kept splashing them unexpectedly in the face.
Suddenly, and with no warning, they were slammed from behind by a large object, which rammed them into the rock in front of them. Athos hit the rocky outcropping first, but surprisingly felt no pain, which he was momentarily happy about, even though he knew ultimately it was a bad sign. Aramis slammed into Athos' back and the large object crashed into his back. This resulted in Athos getting shoved harder against the rough granite boulder.
The little air left in Athos' lungs was forced out of his body in a whoosh, leaving him gasping for breath like a fish out of water, an apt analogy his numb mind somehow managed to process. In the dim moonlight, he tried to swivel around to see what, besides Aramis, had them pinned to this rock. Aramis was trying to do the same, with a little more success than Athos.
"Holy mother of God," Aramis swore when he finally was able to see what held them captive. It was his mare, who unfortunately had drowned and was now, literally, a deadweight.
"What is it?" Athos asked, after hearing Aramis' exclamation.
"My horse," Aramis replied, his voice filled with angst.
"Can you get her off of us?" He didn't question the animal's condition, having heard the sorrow in Aramis' voice even over the sounds of the river.
Aramis struggled for a minute before realizing he wasn't going to be able to shift the horse. "I can't move her. We're going to have to scooch around the rock until the current carries her off."
"Scooch around the rock says the man between my back and a dead horse," Athos grumbled, even though he knew it was the only choice they had if they didn't want to perish. Twisting and turning his head, he tried to determine which way to go around. To the left he decided. "Left. To the left," he tossed over his shoulder and felt Aramis nod in acknowledgement.
Using his left arm and leg to pull, and his right to push, he dragged his torso across the rock's surface. For the first time since he fell into this freezing cold river, he was glad to be numb. Otherwise, he expected what he was doing would be excruciatingly painful. He'd pay for it later he suspected, that is if they survived this ordeal.
Slowly, he felt them inching their way to the left. Aramis was doing his best to help and try to dislodge the burden on his back. It felt like it took an eternity, and the marksman could feel Athos occasionally laying his head against the rock to catch his breath. Trapped between the living and the dead made Aramis wonder which way this would end and he began praying under his breath. He could feel Athos quivering against him and he knew the man was getting near the end of his strength.
Please God, now, he prayed and suddenly the mare slid off his back and down the river. However, the momentum also dragged him and Athos off the rock and they plunged back into the middle of the waterway. A wave hit them in the face and both men went under. Aramis desperately began to struggle back to the surface, dragging Athos along with him. They broke the surface, sputtering and coughing, which in a manner was a relief as it meant they were still alive.
Once he stopped coughing, Athos turned his head to try and see Aramis over his shoulder. "I can't last much longer." It was time to stop fighting his muddled mind told him. Time for what you have long sought and deserve.
Aramis heard something in Athos' voice he'd rarely heard before, fear and resignation. It scared him to the bone. His brother was giving up.
"No, you don't," Aramis commanded his brother. "Don't you dare give up. We are not dying here. Like this. Fight, Athos. Fight."
