CHAPTER 21
D'Artagnan had made it appear a lot easier, but then again the Gascon hadn't spent the last 72 hours freezing and starving, not to mention the wild river ride. The marksman was as fleet of foot as the other musketeer, though one wouldn't think so to see him now. Had it not been for the lad's steadying hand, he would have tumbled into the river more than once.
By the time he reached the other side, he was sweaty and out of breath, but all those complaints were swept aside when Porthos gave him a huge bear hug before he barely had stepped off the tree bridge. The emotional streetfighter thumped him so hard Aramis nearly started to cough.
D'Artagnan cleared his throat to get Porthos' attention, then relayed the plan to him of how they would rescue Athos, who was still, amazingly, sitting where they left him. Porthos asked a few questions then nodded to show he understood. With that, d'Artagnan stripped off his boots and handed them to Porthos before starting back across his make-shift bridge. About half way across, he was feeling cocky and congratulating himself on how easy it was becoming to make this crossing, even in his stocking feet, which, admittedly, were getting a bit nippy. That little lapse in concentration was all it took for him to shift his weight wrong and, suddenly, he was wind-milling his arms to keep from plunging into the river.
Once on the opposite shore, he stopped by Athos first, making sure the man was still with them. Hooded green eyes tracked him and a slight nod told him all he needed to know. Moving to the tree, whose roots were on the shore and tied to another tree, he studied it. It was going to take a little effort on their part to shift the end of the tree into the river; simply untying the rope was not going to work.
Undoing the end of the rope tied to the upright tree on the shore, the ex-farmer coiled it carefully so when it came time to toss it to Porthos, it would feed out smoothly. Next, he grabbed a stout root and tugged to see how easily the tree would drag. In a second, Athos was at his side, helping. They decided it wasn't going to be too hard get the tree floating.
Stepping back, d'Artagnan let go of his root. "Looks like our water-horse is ready to go. Are you?"
The fever-glazed eyes seemed to indicate otherwise, but Athos barked out, "Yes."
"Ok. Grab the blankets. We can fold them shorter and drape them over our shoulders above the water level."
"Fire," Athos said succinctly.
"Right." D'Artagnan went over and doused the signal fire that had saved their lives. "Clever idea."
Athos didn't say a thing as he moved away towards the tree bridge in the river. No matter what, this was a risky operation. They would get wet, a killer in this weather. They could slide off the log and he knew he didn't have the strength to survive another trip down the river. The rope might not be long enough to reach the other shore and trying to maneuver the log into the current was going to be tricky. Glancing back over his shoulder at his protégé, who had finally snuffed out the fire, he almost smiled. The lad was using his head, not his heart, to get out of a desperate situation. It was encouraging.
It wasn't long before d'Artagnan joined him and Athos handed over a blanket, which he had folded to make smaller so as to only drape over the shoulders.
"Let's push this a little further into the river then mount up. You have point."
Each musketeer grabbed a substantial root and tugged the end close to the shallows. As they knew they were going to get wet, most likely from the entire waist downward, they gritted their teeth and stepped into the river to continue to drag their side of the tree bridge.
Intense pain ripped through their feet, ankles and calves; it was excruciating, then suddenly it was over and their limbs went numb. That was even worse because the lack of sensation made it hard to know exactly what was going on. It was like having blocks of ice attached to their lower extremities that had no flexibility.
They felt the tree trunk begin to float and knew that was their cue to mount. It wasn't easy to get on the log with their unresponsive feet, but between a bit of pushing and pulling, they got themselves securely seated on the trunk. As d'Artagnan knew would happen, Athos instinctively clamped his thighs to the sides of the cylinder-shaped trunk as if it were a horse.
Just before he scrambled onboard, d'Artagnan gave the tree one last mighty push to get it into the river proper. He felt the current starting to take a hold of the object as it swung out into the river. Once on the log, he shimmied up the trunk until he was right behind Athos, able to reach out and steady the man if required.
Athos felt d'Artagnan behind him, so he called over his shoulder, "When the line tied to this trunk goes taunt, there will be a jerk."
Conceptually, they understood what would happen, but when it did they came close to falling off. The tree not only stopped its journey down river, but it began to twist and buck under them, almost as if it were a real horse, trying to break free of its restraints. As d'Artagnan grabbed Athos' weapons belt around his waist to stabilize him, both of their blankets slid off into the frothy white water. They started to slide sideways until their left thigh was in the river. In desperation, Athos reached forward to a limb on the trunk and used it to halt their descent. His ribs and burnt arm screamed in protest, but he was determined neither of them would fall into the water.
On the other river bank, Porthos and Aramis had built a fire as their two brothers prepared on the island for their wet and wild ride. They laid the extra clothes out near the fire, to warm up as much as possible. They knew when the men reached this shore, it would be important to get them out of the wet clothes and into dry ones quickly in order to preserve body heat.
After they had prepared everything, they moved back to the river's edge to watch. Porthos draped his arm over Aramis' shoulder for companionship, warmth and comfort. As the tree drifted out into the river, they held their breath until both men were seated. When the log bucked and swung, nearly unseating their brothers, they rushed closer to the edge, as if to jump in and save them should the worse happen.
"Athos won't survive another dunking in the river and the cold," Aramis worriedly stated. "Do you have any medical supplies with you?"
"Just what you normally make us carry."
Aramis went over those items in his head. A few months ago he had made them each a medical pack and made sure they all knew how to use what was in it. There would be willow bark, which would be good for the fever. He hurried away for a moment, rummaged in Porthos' bags, found the supplies and set a small pot of snow and herbs on the fire to infuse, then rejoined Porthos at the river's edge.
"I think it is about time for d'Artagnan to toss the rope. The trees have been carried past the midpoint, I don't know how much more they will travel towards us," Porthos declared as he studied the situation.
The two musketeers on the trees were coming to the same conclusion, and they wanted off this watery transport. The killing cold from their lower legs was seeping into the rest of their bodies. More than once, d'Artagnan swore he felt Athos swaying ever so slightly. He couldn't afford to have his mentor pass out.
Putting his lips next to Athos' ear, he said, "I think it is time to try tossing the rope to Porthos." A quick nod told d'Artagnan Athos concurred.
Taking the coil of rope off his shoulder where he had carried it, the young musketeer sighted along the river bank getting ready to make his toss. Porthos moved as close to the edge of the water as possible, readying to catch. The lad's first attempt fell a good distance short of its mark, and he had to haul the wet rope to him to try again. After the third attempt, all falling miserably short, d'Artagnan recoiled the rope once more, then paused.
Frustrated, he declared, "This isn't working."
Athos who, though he appeared in a stupor, had been thinking through the issue. "Position. And weight."
"I need to stand up, is what you are saying?"
"Unfortunately."
"And weight?" d'Artagnan inquired, not quite following the second concept.
"On the end. Of the rope. Will make it easier to toss."
"Wish you had that idea before we left on this raft ride," the ex-farmer said ruefully as he glanced around them.
Athos glanced at the tree limb he'd been hanging on to for support. No way they were going to hack that off. Had they been wearing boots, one of them would have made a good weight. In the end, his eyes came to rest on his weapon's belt. He'd tossed aside his rapier and Aramis still had his main gauche and flint, so the belt was mostly empty. It would work.
"My belt," Athos said as he struggled to remove it.
"But that is what I was using to hold onto you."
D'Artagnan couldn't see his brother's face, but he could hear the exasperation in his voice "If we don't get to shore soon, we will succumb to this freezing water. I can hold on to a damn log without you coddling me like a child on his first pony."
A grin spilt d'Artagnan's face when he heard a touch of feistiness in his brother's voice. They would need that to fight and survive. "Maybe we should use my belt instead."
Athos twisted his head around to peer at his friend. "I plan to hang on to that to help support you, while you stand on this tree. Unless," he paused a beat, "you'd rather I stand and toss the rope."
That, the Gascon already knew, would be a recipe for disaster. Athos couldn't stand on dry land. How the hell would he balance on this bouncing, bobbing log? "Your belt. You sit. I stand and throw." The Gascon was surprised to see Athos start to swing a leg over the log. "What are you doing? I said I would do to."
"Holding you," Athos grunted as the moved from straddling the tree to sitting side-saddle. D'Artagnan helped steady him as he proceeded to swing his other leg over the trunk until he was once more straddling it, now facing d'Artagnan.
Aramis and Porthos had been watching their brothers from the shoreline, wondering what they had been conversing about. They gasped when they saw Athos changing position. When they saw Athos taking off his belt and d'Artagnan tying it to the rope, they got one part of the idea. When they saw d'Artagnan start to rise to his feet, they gave another collective gasp.
"What is he doing?" Porthos exclaimed as the lad wobbled to his feet.
"Leverage. Or rather height. Be ready, I think he's only got one toss in him," Aramis said sagely as they moved closer to the edge.
Moving slowly, d'Artagnan brought his numb feet up onto the tree's trunk. Then, using Athos' shoulder for support, he got one, then the other, foot under him until he was crouching on the log. He gripped Athos' shoulder tightly to keep situated, and in turn Athos gripped the trunk with his legs.
"Here we go," d'Artagnan declared as he lurched upright.
The tree bobbed in the water and the lad was forced to windmill his arms to keep balanced. When he did, he smacked Athos in the cheek with the belt, causing a welt that Athos' numb face didn't even register. It was a wild few moments before everything settled down, as much as it was going to. D'Artagnan was standing on the log and Athos was doing his best to help steady the lad holding on to his legs.
Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, D'Artagnan lined up his shot, then began to twirl the weapons belt over his head like a lasso.
"Smart," Porthos said with admiration.
A few moments later, on the high side of the arc, he flung his arm towards the shore and let go. The weapons belt flew through the air with surprising precision. Porthos only had to move a little to capture the belt and attached rope. When it was in his hands he let out a mighty whoop.
However, fate still had a cruel twist to throw at the four musketeers. Try as he might, d'Artagnan overbalanced and no amount of footwork on his part could save him from falling. Athos desperately tried to get a better hold on the falling man, and did manage to latch onto his belt. But the falling weight of the man was too much, he lost his grip on the log and they both toppled over.
NOTE: Oh yes, as my beta reminded me, this was the real cliffy. Are you shivering with cold, anticipation or dread?
