CHAPTER 19

In the end, they had to take the trees down the river, one by one, on the rope, for the weight of the trees, along with the strength of the current, was too much for one of them alone. D'Artagnan had been dragged unpleasantly through the snow-covered undergrowth when the tree he was holding broke free of the shallows, hit the deeper water where it could float freely, and then was grabbed by the current. The young musketeer let out a yelp as he was dragged off his feet by the runway tree.

Luckily, Porthos had not untied the second tree yet, so he ran after the young musketeer, who'd been jerked off his feet and was sliding through the snow. Grabbing the end of the rope, he added his considerable strength and stopped the tree from floating any further downstream, though it was not an easy task. D'Artagnan climbed back to his feet and between them, they guided the headstrong tree down river until it was across from the fire on the island. They secured it to a strong tree on the shore and snugged it as best they could against the river's bank. It was the best they could do for the moment. Then they trudged upstream and manhandled the second tree, tying it alongside the first. Finally, they walked back up one more time and retrieved their mounts, riding them back down the road to where the trees floated.

On the short ride back, they each devoured a piece of hard bread and an apple to keep up their strength. They were keeping warm from their exertions, but whenever they stood still, the air temperature and the wind reminded them how cold it really was outside.

Once back at the river's edge by the floating trees, they eyeballed the length of each trunk and decided, roped together, with a little overlap, they would reach the shore on the island. Both trees were tall and had decent sized trunks. They decided they would have to drag the two trees back up river a little bit, tie them together and then let them drift down the river again and hope the two ends wedged themselves, one end on the river bank and one end on the island. Otherwise, one of the musketeers, and it could only be d'Artagnan for Porthos wasn't a strong swimmer, would have to get in the river and try to guide the floating bridge.

The sun was well on its afternoon arc to the earth's horizon when they had the two trees squared off and they were ready to try. With a lot of careful maneuvering they dragged the tress slightly upstream and then using a long tree branch they found on the ground, they pushed the two trees, now tied together like a long pole, into the river's current. The path of least resistance came into play as the rushing water turned the tree bridge until it was parallel to the shore. In that position, it glided very smoothly down the river, but it wasn't going to wedge itself anywhere.

The two musketeers realized their error and sprinted down the river's bank though the undergrowth and snow trying to get ahead of the tree bridge so they could try to pull it to a stop and cause it to change trajectory. When they were alongside the island, and slightly ahead of the floating trees, the two musketeers stopped and hitched the end of the rope they had around a tree on the shore. The rope was tied to one end of the floating trees and when the line grew tight, that end of their tree bridge began swinging towards the shore. The current kept pushing the rest of the floating bridge in an arch that swung towards the island's shore. Eventually, the far end of the tree bridge, where the roots of the tree resided, brushed up against the shore and ground to a halt. It slid a few feet then resettled against some rocks on the shore of the island.

The two musketeers held their breath to see if their man-made bridge would slide any further, but it seemed fairly well wedged. When it appeared to be holding, Porthos snugged their end of the rope to the tree they had been using as a winch so this side of the bridge stayed in place. Taking the excess rope, he hacked it off with his main gauche to produce a new coil.

Without even asking, he handed it to d'Artagnan. Someone had to try to navigate their bridge and secure the far end so it didn't break away and start floating downstream again. D'Artagnan was the lightest and surest-footed, but most important, if he did fall in the river he might be able to swim to either shore and save himself. The best Porthos could do was float on his back and hope he was washed ashore. He'd been learning to swim under Athos' tutelage, but was still more or less in the extreme novice stage.

Without words, they moved to their end of the tree bridge and studied the massive trunk. All things considered, it was fairly wide to walk on and being an oak its bark it had some texture, which would help for stability. However, it was wet, for the river had soaked it and it was bobbing up and down. Crossing it was not going to be a walk in the park.

D'Artagnan took off his weapons, walked back over to his horse and hung them from his saddle. If he fell in he didn't need the extra weight. He debated about taking his main gauche, not wanting to be completely unarmed, but then decided against it, hoping there would be nothing more dangerous on the island than Aramis and Athos. As he moved back to the base of the bridge, the gnarled tangled root ball, Porthos grabbed him and gave him a big hug. Then, the big man released him and offered a steadying hand for d'Artagnan to use as he mounted the bridge.

Gratefully, the Gascon accepted the help while he found his balance on the trunk. Then, letting go of Porthos' gloved hand, he slowly made his way along the bridge. Near the shore, the trunk was fairly steady, but as he reached mid-river, the walkway bobbed more in the deeper water and current, making it much trickier to navigate. Small waves washed over the surface, which added to the challenge. When he got to the section where the two trees had been lashed together, he carefully navigated from one trunk to the other to continue his journey towards the island's shoreline. The trees were tied together near the top, with the root balls of the tree on either end.

A couple of times the young musketeer swayed dangerously and Porthos' breath caught in his throat until the lad moved forward again. The streetfighter felt so helpless standing and being able to do nothing to assist. Inaction was not his forte. When d'Artagnan finally made it across and onto the island, Porthos let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He watched as the capable musketeer snugged off the tree on the far end to keep it from floating away. Then he saw the lad scouting the ground before holding up the signal that said he found something. Shortly after that, the lad disappeared into the woods, leaving Porthos standing alone on the opposite shore, praying they'd found their missing brethren.

D'Artagnan looked at the boot prints in the snow near the bonfire. Definitely two distinct sets of foot prints, one of which he thought looked like Aramis' for they'd been teasing him about the distinct mark Aramis had carved in the heels of his boots when they had mistakenly been taken by another musketeer. There had been quite an argument and debate over whose boots were whose, and right after that, Aramis had taken his main gauche and carved what he claimed was a heart on the bottom of each boot heel. To his brothers, it looked like a lopsided triangle, but the romantically inclined musketeer assured them it was a heart, to represent his romantic nature.

One of the sets of snow prints had a strange squiggle on the heel and d'Artagnan's heart skipped a beat when he saw it. After signaling Porthos, he quickly followed the footprints into the woods. As he traversed the island, he thought he smelled smoke in front of him, not behind from the fire on the beach. Up ahead, he spotted an outcropping of rocks in the trees and from behind them he could see smoke rising. A small part of him called for caution, in case it was not his brothers, but he ignored it and barreled around the rocks.

Aramis, who'd been half-dosing, heard what he thought was footsteps crunching on the snow, but he wasn't sure if it was real or a left-over from his hopeful dream. When d'Artagnan came barging into the camp, he rubbed his eyes to make sure it wasn't a hallucination.

"D'Artagnan!"

"Aramis!"

The lad rushed around the fire towards the lean-to, as Aramis rose, unsteadily, to his feet. As they met and embraced, the Gascon could feel how cold and unsteady his fellow musketeer was on his feet.

Pushing back, Aramis studied the lad's face for a moment, before drawing him into an embrace once more. "You are a sight for sore eyes. How did you get here and where is Porthos?"

"On the other side of the river, anxiously waiting. We built a bridge."

"A bridge?" a voice from the floor of the shelter repeated.

D'Artagnan stepped around Aramis to look on the pine floor of the shelter. He'd almost been afraid to ask about his mentor, when he only saw Aramis at the fire, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he dropped to his knees beside Athos, who had struggled into a seated position. "Are you hurt?"

As usual, Athos ignored the question and asked again, "A bridge?"

D'Artagnan twisted his neck to look over at Aramis asking the silent question and getting a 'hurt, but still alive' body language answer. Turning back to Athos, and clasping his arm, he could feel the fever ravaging his brother's body. But he knew Athos would be annoyed by any more questions on his well-being, so he described the bridge as he sat back on his heels, telling the tale of how they built the structure.

"Let us head out and admire your new creation," Aramis suggested as he glanced at the low sun. He didn't want to spend another night out in the open, for he feared the worse for his sick brother. They needed to get to shore and find a real shelter, food and medicine.

Athos graciously allowed his protégé to help him stand, and then slowly, in deference to Athos' wobbly condition, they made their way to the shore to examine the bridge.

A huge joyful whoop cut the air when Porthos spied his three brothers on the far shore. They were alive! Now to get them to this side! Aramis waved to Porthos, though Athos simply raised his head to look across the river. Porthos didn't know if that was just the reserved nature of the man, or if it indicated something more serious.

"You walked over that?" Aramis said in what he hoped was a neutral tone. He had serious doubts he'd be able to do it, let alone Athos.

"It's not as bad as it looks." Though given Athos' condition, d'Artagnan wasn't so sure that was going to make any difference. The man was swaying on dryland. How could he balance on a bobbing log?

"If we had a knife, I could cut a length of rope off this end, and we could secure it between our waists. So, if anyone fell…"

"We'd all fall in? I'm not so sure that is a great plan, d'Artagnan," Aramis said doubtfully, his eyes straying back to the log.

"One at a time. I'll take you over. Help steady you if needed."

Aramis thought that might work for him, but he had doubts about Athos. However, it seemed like their only option so he nodded. "We need to extinguish the fire, well both fires."

"You wait here with Athos and I'll be right back," d'Artagnan declared before sprinting into the woods towards the camp.

While they had been talking, Athos had moved closer to the tree-bridge. Aramis moved to his side after the Gascon left to put out the campfire. The two stood, shoulder to shoulder, watching the trunk bob in the current.

"I won't be tied to anyone to cross that bridge," Athos stated in a flat tone that brooked no argument, even though Aramis tried.

"But Athos, you…"

Turning his fever-bright, green eyes on his brother, he reiterated, "I won't be tied to anyone. If I fall, I fall. I will not take anyone with me."

Aramis stared at his brother, understanding his rationale while hating it. "We'll find another way."

"You and d'Artagnan will cross first. I will follow."

"But…"

"I am your superior, and I have issued you an order, which you will follow," Athos snapped at the musketeer.

"You are an idiot who will get himself killed!" Aramis barked back.

"At least I won't kill anyone else with me," Athos declared, staring deep into Aramis' eyes before turning away. "Do not defy me."

Aramis reached over and placed a hand on Athos' shoulder. "There has to be a better way."

Raising his eyes towards the sun, Athos numbly stated, "Sunset is not far away and this will be suicide in the dark. This fever has left me unsteady and weak. This is the only way. I am willing to chance it."

"Well I'm not willing for you to chance it!" Aramis declared, his voice getting higher and louder at his stubborn brother.

"Chance what?" d'Artagnan asked as he came back to the shore. The time had passed quickly and the others had not even realized it.

"Athos wants you and me to go first, and then he will follow, on his own," Aramis declared with a bitter edge to his tone.

D'Artagnan stared at Aramis, fear in his eyes. "That doesn't sound like a very good plan."

"I won't have your lives risked for me!"

Aramis was afraid the fever was clouding the man's judgement. Surely Athos didn't think he could cross the trees on his own?

D'Artagnan was silent as he studied the tree bridge, the currents and the far shore. He had an idea that just might work. "I have an idea."

NOTE: Sorry. Every now and then I write a cliffhanger.