CHAPTER 16
Though anxious, Porthos and d'Artagnan did manage to sleep, realizing that they'd do their brothers no good if they were not able to function. They woke with the dawn and saw, as the sun rose, that the snow had stopped. The Abbott convinced them, with difficulty, to take time to eat before they mounted and rode out of the Abbey. He did ensure their saddlebags were stuffed with food and he also gave them two of the warmest robes his brothers wore, thinking they might come in handy when they found their missing companions. And, he assured them, the monks would continue to pray for the safe return to Paris of their missing brothers, as well as themselves.
The two musketeers decided they would ride along the river and up to the spot where their missing brothers seemed to have left the trail. The problem was that if they had fallen into the river and survived, they could have crawled out on either side.
"We need to split up, one ride on one side and one along the other," d'Artagnan recommended as they mounted the horses in the Abbey's courtyard.
The Abbott, standing nearby said, "There is a crossing, a bridge, a few miles up the road."
It was decided that d'Artagnan would go to the other side, while Porthos stayed on this side. In order to keep in sync, Porthos would wait, behind the Abbey by the river, until he spotted d'Artagnan on the other side of the Seine. Then they would move forward, keeping track of each other in case one found signs. They quickly decided on a few broad arm motions to convey basic information, because the river was too wide to allow for voice communications. If they lost sight of each other because of the terrain, they'd stop at the next open area until the other was spotted. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was a start.
D'Artagnan took off at a good clip out the Abbey's gate, his horse kicking the freshly fallen snow into the air. Porthos stayed and talked with the Abbott for a while before walking his mount at a more sedate pace towards the river. It would take the youngest musketeer a while to get to the bridge and then make his way back up the river to the Abbey. Porthos hoped the Gascon, eager as he was to find their missing friends, used good sense and caution. The lad was still impetuous and headstrong at times.
It was a slow and tedious process trying to scout the area along the river and slightly inland. They were going on the assumption that when their friends got out of the water, they would not have been able to go too far and would seek some sort of shelter as quickly as possible. The hope of finding any tracks was nil because of the freshly fallen snow.
A couple of times Porthos' heart beat faster when he saw signs that might be them, but each time it turned out to be nothing. His spirits were beginning to flag as the day wore on. D'Artagnan was experiencing the same thing on his side of the river. False alarms and false hopes. Each time he caught sight of Porthos on the other side of the river, he prayed he would see the musketeer raise his arm in the agreed upon 'I found them' signal. And each time, when he didn't, more doubt crept into his mind.
-MMMM-
Aramis gathered up their leathers, which were dry, but cold and stiff, and brought them over to the shelter side of the fire. Slowly, like old men, they put them on, though it was a challenge to get some of the buttons done. It took a toll on their exhausted bodies and in silent agreement, they wrapped themselves in the blankets again and sat by the fire to gather their strength.
Aramis stated the obvious. "We need to find a way off this island." Athos gave a quick nod to show he heard. "Scout the perimeter." He glanced over at the swordsman and saw his eyes were nearly closed. Neither one of them had slept in close to 48 hours; they needed to get some sleep, even if only a quick nap.
When Athos' eyes completely closed, and his body slumped, Aramis left him alone. He'd let the weary man catch a few hours of sleep, then he would wake him and take a nap himself. The medic in him said without some sleep they'd never be successful in any attempt to leave this place.
As it happened Aramis didn't have to wake Athos. Thrashing under the blanket, followed by a moan told the marksman Athos would soon be awake. The green eyes flew open, desperately scanning the area looking for whatever was torturing him in his nightmares. They brushed past, then settled back on Aramis and calmed. For a moment Athos' walls were down as he watched Aramis, and the marksman realized how much younger Athos appeared when the weight of his conscience was not on his shoulders. Much too soon the walls resurrected themselves, closing him off from the world once more. Even given the number of years they had known each other, and the closeness between them, embarrassment colored the chameleon green eyes as the swordsman sheepishly glanced away.
"I don't ever judge you, Athos," Aramis said softly.
I judge myself, and I have found myself... lacking," Athos muttered as he stared at the fire. "Though your sentiments are...appreciated."
Lying on his side and drawing the blanket tight around him, Aramis declared, "I know you aren't likely to go back to sleep, so I shall take my nap. Two hours. No more. And don't go off on your own, please."
Athos waited for about ten minutes, until he thought Aramis was truly slumbering, then he tossed off the blanket and, in a wobbly fashion, stood up. After stretching his sore muscles, Athos took a deep breath, then doubled over in pain. His ribs started aching again as well as the burn on his arm. Taking shallow, almost panting breaths, he slowly willed the pain into remission. When it was manageable, he draped his blanket over his brother's slumbering form.
Quickly glancing to make sure he hadn't disturbed Aramis' sleep, he was relieved to find the man still slumbering. Moving cautiously, he stepped out into the weak sunshine, glancing over at the wood pile. If they were to spend another night on this island, they'd need more wood.
After one last check over his shoulder at Aramis, he moved away from the camp to the outer edge of the left side of the island. Gazing across the river to the far shore, he saw nothing obvious that would help them escape. The bank of the river was much too far away for them to swim, given the conditions. Gingerly, watching for icy patches, he circled the island counter-clockwise, looking for anything that would help them get off this place. There was no magic bridge, no boat . . . nothing.
When he came to the right side, the side they had been riding down, he stood a long time staring at the river bank. It wasn't quite as wide as the left side; the island was obviously not centered in the river. But still, it appeared too far. If they tried to swim, they'd likely get too cold to complete the trip.
With a frustrated sigh, he gathered dead fall branches and carried them back to their little lean-to, stacking them neatly to one side of the fire. He was careful not to bang anything against his side as he made three more trips to get wood. When he felt they were sufficiently stocked, Athos sat down next to Aramis, stole back his blanket and rewrapped himself in it. Even though he'd been moving, he still was extremely cold.
He sat for quite a while before a voice broke the silence. "Did you forget to wake me?" Aramis questioned as he sat up and noted the lengthening shadows on the ground. "We need to figure out how to get off this rock."
"I fear," Athos spoke slowly, "that to accomplish that we will need outside assistance. I circled the island and saw no opportunities." Athos felt like sighing when he saw the look of disbelief and dismay on Aramis' face since he knew a lecture was going to follow.
"You circled the island. Alone?" Aramis asked with deceptive casualness that didn't deceive the swordsman.
Athos kept quiet and waited for Aramis to go on for the lecture was far from over.
"And you thought this...appropriate? To circle the island. Alone?"
"Yes." He would have cocked an eyebrow at him, but he was too cold to bother. So instead, Athos used his haughty Comte tone, perfected over the years. "Is there a problem?"
"You don't see how that is a problem, after I told you not to go anywhere. What if you had fallen? Out there in the snow?"
"I didn't."
"You didn't," Aramis related. "And if you had? And hurt yourself and been forced to lay in the snow?"
Athos just stared at him as if his question was asinine.
With a sigh Aramis gave in. Holding up his hand, as if forestall the swordsman from speaking.
"I give up. You are impossible. So, let's move on. How do we get help?"
"I have been mulling over that question. A fire. On the shore. If Porthos and d'Artagnan are looking for us, perhaps they will spot the smoke or flames."
"That seems…"
"Like a long shot, yes," Athos acknowledged truthfully. "Or we could take our chances in the river once more."
Aramis could barely suppress the shiver that suggestion brought on. The icy cold river? Even if they did make it to the river's bank, they would be thoroughly wet once more. It was a miracle they had found this old camp. It was the only reason they were still alive. What were the chances of them finding another shelter on the other side before they froze to death.
"I can't see us surviving another trip in that river. I fear we are already on the edge of hypothermia."
Athos nodded. "So then, a fire it is."
They rose and set about building a pyre on the edge of the island. The wind picked up as they toiled through the remainder of the afternoon at their task. At Aramis' insistence, they took regular breaks, went back to their fire and shelter to get warm and drink the hot mint water Aramis brewed with his newly plucked leaves. Both musketeers came to appreciate the person or persons who had built this little campsite. It cleverly took advantage of the trees and rocks to provide a windbreak. Each time they left the campsite to go back to building their pyre, the wind would hit them, insidiously draining them of their little remaining strength. Their goal was to build a self-sustaining fire that would require little care during the deadly night ahead.
They finished just after sunset. Using Athos' flint, they set their wooden masterpiece on fire, then stood back from it and simply watched as the greedy flames licked up the wood. The triangular shaped tower was fairly tall and they judged its glow should be visible for miles. The night sky was once again cloud covered and black as squid's ink, which helped make the fire even more noticeable.
They fumbled their way back to their camp, and Aramis made yet more of the herb-laced hot water. It did little to ease the hunger pains, but it did keep them somewhat hydrated. Even had they been in any condition to hunt, the island seemed to have little game other than birds flying overhead. He wondered what the previous occupant did for food and how he got to and from the island. Perhaps a boat that was kept on the mainland somewhere.
"I guess you didn't see a boat when you walked around the outer edge of the island?" Aramis asked out of idle curiosity. Athos gave him a strange look, which caused Aramis to hastily add, "Of course not, or you would have said. Don't mind me. The cold has frozen my good sense."
Athos snorted at that remark as if to say that Aramis had no good sense whether he was cold or not.
Looking wounded, Aramis sniffed. "That wasn't very nice," and in turn received a small apologetic head tilt from Athos.
The sun set and from their shelter, they could see the light from their signal fire flickering in the night. As the temperature dropped again, they huddled together to share the little heat each gave off as well as double the blankets. When Aramis dozed off, Athos purposely made sure he stayed awake, in case, he didn't know what, but something, happened.
The early hours of the night passed without incident, with Aramis slumbering and Athos keeping watch by night. He thought the glow in the sky from their bonfire was diminishing, so he slipped out from under the blankets to investigate.
Into the bitter cold he went, his breath nearly driven from his lungs as he left the shelter of their camp. Some of the wood they had used to build the pyre had been damp and it had affected how the fire was burning. One side was smoking rather than producing flames. Searching the pile of wood, they had stacked earlier, he found drier pieces and shored up the one side of their signal fire. Soon it was burning brightly and firmly again. The wind picked up once more and the flames danced back and forth in the currents.
Though the fire was putting off heat, the wind was zapping it away so, shivering, Athos turned to head back to the lean-to. A few yards before the edge of the camp, Athos' body was suddenly wracked by shivers that made his knees turn to water and he collapsed onto the snowy ground. His ribs screamed in agony when he hit the frozen ground. He lay there for a minute; his muscles having turned into mush. When he attempted to push himself to his knees, he found his traitorous body would not obey.
Flopping back onto the snow, he realized that it felt deliciously cold on his skin. A fever, from the burn on his arm which had gotten infected, had overcome him, but his brain was too muddled to figure that out. He just knew it felt good to lie in the snow, so he stopped struggling and let the overwhelming tiredness drag him off into oblivion.
