Warning, there's a patch of bad language here. These army boys, what are they like!

Chapter 13: Lines Get Blurred

d'Artagnan was walking back from the river after a long day patrolling the hills between the French and Spanish camps. He'd been paired with one of his least favourite Musketeers, a man who never washed and seemed to possess only one shirt, so the stench of sweat surrounded him everywhere he went, and d'Artagnan began to fear the Spanish might track him by scent alone. He'd been very glad to get back undetected, and had made his report to Athos before escaping with relief down to the river for a rapid wash in the icy water.

It was early evening and already nearly dark, so d'Artagnan almost missed the group of men standing silently behind a group of tents in the Picardy area of camp. Or rather, not standing: tussling, but in eerie silence. It was the tiniest of sounds that caught his attention and he turned, at first seeing nothing untoward but then picking out a flash of steel at the neck of a man in the centre of the group. A hooded man.

He hesitated. In the gloom he couldn't make out any of the features of those involved but he could pick up the waves of tension radiating from all of them. There were six men there, he could see now, trying to drag the struggling, hooded man towards the edge of camp.

Sighing deeply, d'Artagnan took a step closer. Much as he was enjoying the anonymity of the last few days, he couldn't ignore it when something so apparently sinister was in progress.

"Walk on, Gascon," called a voice quietly.

d'Artagnan stopped, biting his lip. Behind him the muted sounds of camp drifted to his ears – teasing from the Musketeer campfire, someone singing quietly as they scraped mud from a girth, someone else telling a joke on their way back from eating. He wished he hadn't chosen this path through the camp, hadn't heard anything, hadn't stopped to investigate. He heartily wished he had someone with him. He took another step forward.

"I said, walk on!"

d'Artagnan tried to keep his outline relaxed as he took another step, holding his hands out by his sides. "Just taking a short cut, that's all."

He was close enough now to make out some of those involved. Pelletier, Bernard, Chenôve, and Sauvilleau he thought, all from the Picardy regiment, and two he didn't know. Those he recognised were some of the most experienced men in the regiment, veterans of several earlier campaigns. As he approached Pelletier, a tall, angular man with grizzled hair, stepped forward to block his view of the frozen tableau.

"Piss off out of here. It doesn't concern you."

"Dragging a hooded man against his will should concern anyone, my friend, so why don't you tell me –"

He didn't have time to finish before Chenôve launched himself towards him, unleashing a round-house blow that would have felled him if he hadn't ducked. Next second Chenôve's body barrelled into him, but d'Artagnan dropped his shoulder and with a quick twist sent his attacker flying to land untidily on his back. There was a muted shout of protest before two more piled in. There followed a silent scuffle before it belatedly occurred to d'Artagnan that, while they clearly wanted to keep quiet, he didn't have to. But as he opened his mouth to yell for help a quick fist caught him full in the face sending him staggering sideways, and before he could recover he was caught from behind by Chenôve who'd recovered quickly. Arms pinned in a steely grip, his next breath whooshed out of him as he was punched hard in the stomach and another fist landed high on his left cheek, opening the still tender scar tissue near his eye from when he was interrogated by the Spanish.

Blood welled instantly and there was a muffled exclamation from Pelletier who'd thrown that punch. d'Artagnan took advantage by leaning his full weight backwards into Chenôve and lifting both feet off the ground to kick Pelletier full in the groin. He collapsed instantly to the ground, coughing and gagging, at which point one of those who'd held back called out sharply: "Enough! He's not involved in this, we don't need to hurt him."

"He involved himself when he stuck his bloody nose into our business, Santerre!" Sauvilleau replied, turning angrily on the man who'd spoken up, but Chenôve released d'Artagnan and stood back, folding his arms across his sturdy chest. d'Artagnan stooped warily to offer a hand to Pelletier, who hesitated, then allowed d'Artagnan to help him to his feet.

"Actually it's as much his business as anyone's," answered Santerre. He beckoned d'Artagnan forward.

Touching his eye gingerly and scowling at the blood on his fingertips, d'Artagnan moved cautiously closer, wondering if he was being stupid. "Who is this? What are you doing with him?"

"He's bullied us for too long and we've had enough."

"Don't tell him!" Several of the men rounded on Santerre and one shoved him roughly. Santerre staggered, got his balance and squared up, but before it could all kick off again light dawned for d'Artagnan and he gasped in shock. "Wait! Is this Colombe?" Given the resounding silence that followed, d'Artagnan knew he was right. "What in God's name are you doing?"

Feet shuffled, then Bernard spoke. "We've just had enough of being pushed around and treated like a piece of ... of dog-shit! You know what he's like. The bastard uses us as his personal slaves; he bloody well humiliates us!"

Sauvilleau joined in. "He puts us in danger with his bloody hopeless leadership. He favours a few and gives punishments out to anyone he feels threatened by. He doesn't fight alongside us like your officers do; in fact he's pretty useless with the blade, aren't you, connard?"

The others were nodding as Bernard added: "We just wanted to teach him a lesson. Want him to know what it's like to feel powerless, and – afraid."

The hairs on the back of d'Artagnan's neck were standing up as he realised just how desperate Colombe's men were. He wasn't at all sure he could talk them down; just being a witness to whatever they were planning put him in danger too. He swallowed, and tried to reason with them. "Look, I know how he is. But however unfair it is, he's an officer and you can't – you can't manhandle him like this! You saw what happened to me when I landed a punch on him. Do you really want to face that, or worse?"

"We weren't planning on getting caught." Chenôve had circled around behind d'Artagnan and he could feel the man's breath on his neck as he spoke softly into d'Artagnan's ear. "Don't tell me you wouldn't love to get your revenge on him."

d'Artagnan gave a wry laugh. He'd found himself day dreaming about pushing Colombe down a cliff, the last time he'd had to run a pointless errand for the man, but he didn't think admitting this would help the current situation at all. "Revenge is not the way to deal with something like this. Why don't you –"

He stopped in shock as a blade was thrust into his hand.

"Be my guest."

"Con!" d'Artagnan flung the blade to the ground as if it was fire-hot. "Are you mad?" In his shock he abandoned all thought of persuasion and strode towards the two holding Colombe, knocking the blade away from the man's neck. Instantly everyone surrounded him again but he held his hands out as if pushing them away and glared at them all.

"We don't want to kill him – " Santerre started.

"Speak for yourself!"

Santerre scowled at Chenôve. "We don't! Just to scare him enough so he'll back off before he gets us all killed."

d'Artagnan stared at them, realising slowly that they hadn't had a plan; it sounded like they hadn't discussed what they were going to do. He felt a flicker of hope. If this wasn't a mutiny, just a spur-of-the-moment eruption, then maybe he could turn it around somehow before they all landed themselves in deep trouble.

He spoke with all the authority he could muster.

"Right, listen to me. This has gone far enough. Any further and your regiment is going to lose a lot of good men. So now you are going to go back to your beds and keep quiet." As he spoke he started to pull the hood off his head.

Immediately Bernard grabbed at his arm to stop him. "What are you doing? He'll identify us and we'll all bloody hang!"

d'Artagnan shook his hand off. "He knows your voices, he knows exactly who you are already, you idiot! But he's not going to say anything, are you, Colombe?"

He yanked the hood off Colombe, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him close as the man cringed. In the faint moonlight, d'Artagnan could see fear and panic in Colombe's expression. Encouraged, he spoke resolutely into the man's ear, his voice quietly hypnotic in the dark. "You would be finished as an officer if you name them. They would be punished, and might even hang. But you would never be safe, would you? You would have to watch your back all the time, knowing the next battle you're in, there would be an 'accident', a stray musket ball, and you'd be dead. And you don't want to die, do you?" He'd lowered his voice now, speaking calmly, fixing Colombe with a level gaze. Colombe was shaking and almost sobbing, but he was listening.

Behind Colombe, d'Artagnan could see his attackers listening too, some muttering but others looking worried, as if they were only just realising the implications of what they were going. Santerre stepped closer. "What are you suggesting - we all just forget this ever happened? Nothing will change. He'd be worse than after this. Officers have all the power – you know that better than anyone – and our lives wouldn't be worth living!"

d'Artagnan didn't have an immediate answer, since he was making this up as he went along, but he knew Santerre was right. "No, something has to change. You have to change, Colombe!" He shook him slightly to emphasise his words, then remembered how risky it was to be threatening an officer, and relaxed his grip a little. He would be so much trouble if this went wrong! For a moment he hesitated, but he knew things had gone too far for him to turn his back now.

He pulled his main gauche, ignoring the way Colombe flinched as if frightened d'Artagnan was planning to stab him, and reached around to slice the ropes binding the lieutenant's arms behind his back. Sheathing his blade, he quickly took Colombe by the arm in case the man tried to bolt.

"We're going to get you some help. But you have to promise to tell the truth. No trying to name me as one of your attackers, or make this into something sinister." He softened his voice again. "Look, I think you've been floundering ever since you got here, haven't you? So I'm offering you some help, but you have to be honest about what's been going on. Agreed?"

Colombe nodded, shakily. d'Artagnan couldn't quite believe it would be that easy, any more than he could believe that he was offering to help the scheming bastard, but he couldn't see any other way out of this mess.

Bernard looked worried. "If he tells the truth, he'll name us and then..."

"No, he won't. Colombe couldn't possibly see or hear anything with that hood on, could you? And it's far too dark over here for me to see any of your faces. You all ran off as soon as I turned up, didn't you?"

He glared at Colombe, who was nodding vigorously, then looked at the others. "Well, go on – disappear!"

They started to melt away but Santerre hesitated and came back. "Thanks, d'Artagnan. Look, if you get into trouble over this – "

"I'll be fine."

"Even so. If it goes wrong, I'll speak up. I won't let you suffer for our sakes."

d'Artagnan nodded, feeling humbled, as Santerre headed off again, then turned to Colombe, helping him ease the gag from his mouth. "That's the kind of loyalty you should be inspiring, Lieutenant. Last chance to change your mind. Accept my terms, and my help, or I disappear and nothing changes. You'll find we all have excellent alibis from our friends, if you try to point the finger at us."

Colombe shook his head and spoke shakily for the first time. "No. I don't want... I've had enough." His eyes filled with tears and he stopped speaking.

d'Artagnan felt almost sorry for him. Almost. "Come on then."

"Where are we going? What are you going to do?"

"Talk to Athos."

"No!" Colombe dug his heels in, looking panic-stricken. "I don't want the officers to know...!"

d'Artagnan looked at him with something akin to compassion. "We can't pretend this didn't happen. Athos will help where I can't. It's the best way. Come on."

After a moment, Colombe nodded, and followed d'Artagnan reluctantly towards the Musketeers' camp.

At Athos' tent, d'Artagnan stopped when he heard voices. Damn. He had hoped Athos would be alone, but there were still plenty of musketeers up around the campfire and several were looking his way curiously so he couldn't back away now. He sighed, and knocked on the tent pole. "Sir? Do you have a moment?"

"Come in, d'Artagnan. We were just talking about you" – Athos stopped as d'Artagnan ushered Colombe in ahead of him. In the candlelight Colombe looked dishevelled and filthy from the hood, and was already in tears at the prospect of revealing his shortcomings to Athos.

d'Artagnan meanwhile was staring in shock at the second man in the tent, who was none other than the new General, Faucille.

"What's going on?" Athos looked from one to the other, waiting for an explanation. d'Artagnan shut his eyes for a moment. It was one thing talking to Athos, no matter the distance between them recently, and quite another to criticise a senior officer in front of the General – any General. He swallowed, quite sure this was not going to end well for him but unable to think of a way out now.

"Any time tonight would be good, d'Artagnan."

Deep breath. "I... I was..." He floundered. Where to start? Athos already had one eyebrow up. He puffed out his cheeks then plunged right to the heart of it. "Lieutenant Colombe needs some help. Sir."

Unsurprisingly both eyebrows were now up and rapidly disappearing into Athos' overlong hair. He hurried on. "He's been in a – a situation, tonight. And, um ..." He glanced sideways at Colombe, seeing nothing but despair on the man's face. Feeling slightly reassured, he carried on. "He's been struggling with control over his men. Acceptance, maybe." Another glance: still no help from Colombe. "I think maybe he didn't have much experience of command before joining the Picardies. Is that right?" Desperate now to bring Colombe into the conversation so it wasn't just him making accusations. To his relief, Colombe nodded slightly.

"What happened tonight?" Athos moved to the chest where he kept cups and alcohol, and pulled out a bottle of wine, pouring efficiently and offering it first to the General, then the others. d'Artagnan shook his head but Colombe took the proffered cup and knocked it back greedily. Athos leaned against the map table, folded his arms and waited.

"I was jumped, by some of my men." Colombe's voice was shaky but his words were clear enough. "They – I'm not sure what they were going to do. They hooded me, and gagged me..."

d'Artagnan looked anxiously at the General, wondering how he would react to the news of such an break-down in discipline in the camp, but the man was as impassive as Athos.

"... d'Artagnan stopped them and they ran off. He said... he said I needed help. And I do!" This last was almost a wail. "I've made such a mess of it! I'm... I just wanted to... oh God!" He flung his hands up in wordless despair and looked around vaguely, then stumbled to the chair by the map table and collapsed into it.

Athos' keen gaze swept over him to d'Artagnan, who was uncomfortably aware of his own untidy appearance. He'd tried to wipe the blood from his eye and lip before entering the tent, but his cheek was throbbing where he'd been hit and he had a feeling he might look a bit battered.

"Did you see who was involved?" Athos' question was directed back at Colombe, but he flicked a look at d'Artagnan that showed he suspected there was more to it than Colombe had revealed.

"They hooded me. I can't be sure."

Athos was looking at d'Artagnan again.

"Sir, I don't think..." He had to tread carefully, especially with the General listening. "I think a lot's been going on in the Picardy regiment that perhaps went unnoticed. I think the men haven't felt supported by their officers" – Athos was giving him a warning look now and he moved on, quickly – "and I don't think it would help the regiment if we draw attention to the... um... disarray. Discontent."

"What do you suggest, then?" The General rose from his chair and came forward to stand by Athos, who glanced quickly at him then back to d'Artagnan, a fleeting look of concern crossing his features.

d'Artagnan didn't blame him. He wasn't at all sure he fancied answering the General's question. Looking at him though, he fancied he saw a tiny twitch in the corner of Faucille's mouth. Was he – amused? He swallowed, then exhaled in relief as Athos came to his rescue.

"Sir, may I suggest..."

"No, I'm interested to hear d'Artagnan's thoughts."

Oh. d'Artagnan cleared a suddenly dry throat, casting around frantically for an answer. He didn't think there was one. The poor man would have lost what little respect he could command amongst the Picardies after this. Although... that gave him an idea. "Could we take the lieutenant out of his regiment for a bit? Put him in another regiment – another army regiment, I mean." Adding this hastily, suddenly realising that if the General did take his suggestion, the Musketeers wouldn't thank him for lumbering them with the bloody man. His attention was caught by the General's mouth as, once again, he could have sworn the man was suppressing a smile, even as he nodded for d'Artagnan to continue.

"Maybe we could bring a couple of lieutenants from other regiments on secondment to help sort Picardy out. They just need ... some order. Officers they can look up to." It was so hard to explain the problems without actually criticising the Picardy officers. It wasn't just Colombe that was the problem; Captain Allard was just as lazy and useless. Athos surely knew this and he willed the General to allow Athos to speak instead of letting him blunder on, teetering between truth and insolence.

It seemed the General had the same thought, although no doubt for different reasons. "Athos, you know the regiment and its officers better than I. What say you?"

"The Picardy regiment has been weak, in our joint operations, and several of us have had concerns about their Captain. However until now there has been no ... encouragement ... to voice those concerns."

Clever. He'd backed d'Artagnan, made it obvious it was not just a question of the Musketeers having a grudge against him, explained why they hadn't been able to do anything previously, and tacitly invited the General to step up, all in two sentences.

The General clapped Athos on the back. "See to it. Our other discussion can wait. Come to my tent at ten tomorrow. You can brief me on what you've decided about the Picardy regiment. If Captain Allard gives you any grief – or whichever Captain you dump Colombe on, for that matter – tell them you have my full support for your decisions. Good night to you all." And with that he was gone.

d'Artagnan let out a long breath and Athos regarded him with some amusement.

"You've had a busy night, it appears. Go and see Etienne and get cleaned up. And have someone send Porthos over here."

d'Artagnan didn't hang about. He couldn't help thinking he'd been lucky not to have ended up in deep trouble himself, but it seemed Colombe had been so shaken by the experience that he'd completely capitulated.

It was after midnight before Porthos came quietly into their tent. d'Artagnan had endured a lecture from Etienne, after declining to explain how he'd got his face bashed up, and then been unable to fall asleep, tired though he was, because of the thoughts buzzing around his head as he wondered what Athos made of it all, whether the General really was as laid-back as he'd appeared on hearing the news that a gang of men had nearly lynched an officer tonight, and whether Colombe would think better of letting d'Artagnan take control.

Porthos sank to his bed with a weary grunt and started pulling his boots off. "You awake?" he asked, loudly. d'Artagnan stifled a grin as he sat up. Even if he had been sleeping, Porthos' enquiry would have woken him. Clearly he wanted to talk.

"So Athos tells me you've been playing God with Colombe."

This was not quite how d'Artagnan would have put it. "I didn't really have much choice, to be honest, not once I realised what was happening."

"Why didn't you just walk away?" Porthos' voice was gruff and his face gave nothing away.

"They were crossing a line. I couldn't ignore it."

"He had you flogged." Porthos hissed the words with startling intensity.

There was a small silence. d'Artagnan fingered a hole in his blanket and tried to marshall his thoughts. "I didn't know it was Colombe until it was too late, and then..." He stopped, trying to remember. He could have walked away at any point. Why hadn't he? He stared at his hands, absently running a thumb over the scarred finger tips from where he'd tried to scrabble his way out of the oubliette the Spanish had dumped him in when he was captured, and spoke slowly. "I suppose... I suppose I've had enough of violence –"

Porthos made a startled noise.

"Not fighting, not honest fighting. I mean, I don't relish it, any more than any of us do, but it's what we do. What I'm good at." He looked up and saw Porthos watching him intently. "I've had enough of ... of cruelty." He stopped, thinking about the word and realising it felt right. The musketeers were all about valour, and honest endeavour, and loyalty, and honour. It was so easy to lose sight of those values amidst the filthy grasp of war, but they mattered. And there'd been none of that in the menacing tableau he'd interrupted that night, but he knew the men, some of them anyway, and they were better than that. "They were good men, Porthos, but they'd just had enough and no one was looking out for them in their regiment. If they had gone through with it, they would have been hung out to dry. And even if they weren't caught, it was just wrong."

"Mmm." Porthos pulled his shirt over his head and used it to mop under his armpits, then rummaged amongst his kit for a clean one.

d'Artagnan sighed, wondering if he'd made a fool of himself. What had Athos said to Porthos? Were they angry with him for interfering? He watched Porthos pull the shirt over his head. That seemed to be the end of the conversation, so he flopped back on his bed and yanked his blanket up, feeling suddenly drained. His stomach felt tender where Pelletier had thumped him and the cut near his eye was throbbing. He scowled, remembering the candle on the table between their beds was still lit, and as he sat up again to blow it out he realised Porthos was still sitting on the side of his bed looking at him.

"Don't ever change, d'Artagnan."

"Mm?" What did he mean?

"That fire you have blazin' in your gut. That passion for doin' things right, lad - I hope you never lose that." Porthos looked so serious in the flickering light that d'Artagnan felt himself colour up. It felt like a long time since anyone had complimented him like that. Before he could think what to say Porthos had grunted and rolled himself in his blanket, seemingly not needing a response.

After a moment d'Artagnan blew out the candle and tried to settle, but the twinge in his stomach as he turned on his side reminded him. "What happened with Colombe?"

A low chuckle from the other bed suggested Porthos had been waiting for him to ask.

"Spit it out so I can get back to sleep, Porthos! Where did he end up?"

"We took 'im over to the Limoge camp. They weren't too 'appy to see 'im but Athos can be very persuasive. 'e's agreed to go in as a sub-lieutenant so they can keep 'im in line and put 'im to work. Reckon it'll be the makin' of 'im, provided 'e keeps 'is mouth shut."

"Good." d'Artagnan settled back and shut his eyes.

"What 'appened to your face then?"

"Oh... Everyone was a bit twitchy. Not sure they were happy I was interfering, at first."

"You okay?"

d'Artagnan opened his eyes to find Porthos peering at him in the dim light, and found a feeling of warmth creeping through him at the big man's concern. He smiled. "I'm fine. But tired. So stop talking and let's get some sleep! I'm on duty in a couple of hours."

"Oh, nearly forgot. Athos swopped you onto the mornin' patrol. Said you looked like you needed a good night's sleep."

"Well, after last night that's true," d'Artagnan replied without thinking, then heard Porthos sit suddenly upright.

"What d'you mean, after last night?" Porthos demanded.

"Well you, messing about looking for your dagger, obviously! Now for goodness' sake shut up and let me sleep." d'Artagnan held his breath, sensing Porthos staring at him suspiciously, but then he grunted and lay back down and d'Artagnan let out a silent breath of relief. There was no way he wanted Porthos to know he'd followed him on his trek out of camp. It was enough that Porthos had turned back, and was talking again. d'Artagnan understood only too well the depths of despair war could bring you to, and the only way he knew how to get through it was by being around people who understood, without having to talk about it. That was fine with him.

Porthos lay and listened as d'Artagnan's breathing settled into a gentle rhythmic snoring. He wondered about the night before, but d'Artagnan had given no signs of suspecting why Porthos had really been out of camp. He sighed, and allowed his body to relax as he reflected on the comfort he gained from knowing the Gascon was back to his normal impulsive self again.

Author's Note: I thought long and hard about Colombe's fate and I hope those of you who indulged in fantasies about his death are not too disappointed. You have taken to hating him with gusto, which I thoroughly enjoyed, but I couldn't see d'Artagnan taking vengeance on him in spite of everything he's done. After all most of it was just words, and arrogance, and Colombe could not have predicted d'Artagnan's explosive reaction or its aftermath. I considered a convenient "friendly fire" accident, but felt it would be too neat and contrived. So in the end I settled for something a bit messy and perhaps less satisfying for you as reader, but one I felt comfortable with. I hope I gave d'Artagnan a plausible dilemma, but I don't see him as someone who bears grudges. He is impulsively honest and I think honour and integrity are more important to him - to all of them - than anything else (except love, of course). As always, I welcome your thoughts!

I didn't translate the French swear words as they look worse to me in English! But I felt the earthy army language helped to establish the raw menace of the scene.

Final note: Helensg reminded me right at the start of this story that Elodie's husband was in the Picardy regiment, and asked if we would meet him. To be honest I thought I'd invented the regiment by picking a name randomly from the map, but clearly the fact was buried somewhere in my subconscious mind, like many things these days! I'd already drafted this part of the story but realised that amongst the men I'd described one stood out as a good man, so I decided Santerre was worthy of the lovely Elodie, and we will meet him again briefly in the next chapter.

Ooh, one more thing. I like it when people warn me when a story is coming to a close. This one is, in that there's only one more story arc before the end, but in my usual style it's not brief. Another seven chapters, in fact, and I won't tell you how many more words in case I put you off staying with me! We are back in action next time (and nearly to the bit you've been waiting for, H!) and it will be up at the weekend. Thanks so much for reading!