Dear all,
Thank you so much for the comments on the last chapter. Your speculations were entertaining to read. Yes, Athos is definitely NOT a well musketeer and the news will get no better with the arrival of the physician.
Please bear in mind that the chapter headings relate to the amount of time since Athos returned to the garrison. Of course, his symptoms have been evident for at least another hour before that when he was approaching Paris with d'Artagnan.
I missed doing a disclaimer when I uploaded the first chapter so here it is. These wonderful characters are, sadly, not mine but those of Monsieur Dumas (and then the BBC!)
THE THIRD HOUR
"Where is Porthos with the physician?" d'Artagnan said impatiently yet again as he paced the floor, opened the door to look through it for the umpteenth time and ran a hand through his hair in exasperation when he could not see anyone approaching.
"They will be here soon," Tréville insisted from where he stood against the wall, struggling to remain calm-sounding and reassuring when every fibre of his being wanted to know what was taking the physician so long.
It had been a while since Aramis had vacated his perch on the side of the cot and pulled up a chair. Now he tried to keep himself busy so he reached beneath the blankets to test the temperature of the stone and retrieved it when he discovered that it was cooling and no longer served much purpose. Athos rolled listlessly from his side to his back and onto his side again when he could find no position that afforded him any comfort. The shivering had not eased and Aramis tried to tuck the blankets even tighter beneath Athos' chin.
"There must be something we can do," d'Artagnan said desperately as he observed the action.
"I cannot think of anything else," Aramis said bleakly but his sense of helplessness was abruptly curtailed when the door burst open and Porthos strode in, closely followed by an elderly, white-haired man dressed in a flowing robe over his doublet and breeches.
"Monsieur Gabon, this is Captain Tréville," he stated by way of introduction.
"Captain," Gabon said airily as he shook the officer's hand in greeting. "We have seen each other at the King's court."
"Monsieur," Trévile responded. He indicated his men in turn. "This is Aramis and d'Artagnan; Porthos you have already met."
"Indeed I have; a most persuasive gentleman, I must say." He smiled broadly and then turned his attention to the bed's occupant. "And this young man must be Athos. Porthos told me about him on the way here."
"You took your time," d'Artagnan scolded Porthos as the big man moved past him.
"Yeah, well, he was a hard man to find. He was having an extended lunch with one of the council members after he had treated him for a foot ailment," Porthos replied.
Gabon peeled back the blankets and looked down upon Athos who lay curled up and shaking miserably. "Tell me his symptoms." He listened as Aramis succinctly outlined them and then asked, "How long is it since he fell ill?"
"It must be at least three hours since he started being very anxious; uncharacteristically so."
"Your friend is not given to anxiety?" Gabon asked, curious as to the personality of the young man shivering before him.
Porthos snorted, d'Artagnan rolled his eyes at the prospect and even Tréville allowed himself a low chuckle despite his own worry as Aramis explained on their behalf. "Athos is not given to any extremes of emotional display. He is very close about anything that he feels. I have no doubt that he experiences the same as we all do but he is very guarded about it. We have very rarely seen any sign of 'anxiety' as you put it, so we were confused somewhat by his behaviour and the things that he was saying."
Gabon listened carefully as the four men took turns to recount what they had seen and heard from Athos on the road to and since his return to Paris. When they had finished, the physician rubbed his chin and fell into a reverie which the other men were too polite to interrupt, although Aramis could sense that Porthos was shuffling with increasing impatience. The tension was only alleviated when Athos groaned again.
"So cold," he muttered as best he could.
Aramis crouched beside him, concerned for he could not believe that Athos was still shivering so uncontrollably with no sign of any respite and thought that his energy must be rapidly draining from him.
"How long has he been complaining of being cold and suffering from the chills?" Gabon wanted to know.
"For about an hour now," Tréville answered. "I was wondering if it was some kind of ague."
Gabon did not look convinced. "It is possible given the chills, headache, other pains and vomiting but the extreme anxiety does not normally apply to such an ailment."
Aramis glanced towards Tréville as they recalled their earlier conversation. "It is as we thought."
"In which case we will wait for the next symptoms to manifest themselves," the physician asserted."
"You think there will be others?" d'Artagnan asked.
"I fear there will be."
As he spoke, Gabon looked around the room. Entry through the main door from the yard meant that the rectangular structure opened up to the left and could accommodate six patients comfortably at any one time. Four beds were arranged along the long wall opposite the door with a further two behind the heavy oak door itself. Athos had been placed in the farthest of these two, almost in the bottom left-hand corner of the room to minimise exposure to draughts and in order not to exacerbate his suffering from acute chills. An open fireplace stood along the short wall nearest to him but its iron basket was devoid of logs and Tréville was debating sending for wood to light a fire.
A long table was in the middle of the room, its dark wood bearing the scratches of having been scrubbed clean, although some tell-tale stains remained to show that this was where any necessary surgeries took place; it was a firm surface to support a badly injured man whilst he was treated. A chest, two hard-backed chairs, two further stools and a large plain cabinet made up the remaining furniture in the room, positioned, as they were, in any available space against a wall.
"Where does that door lead?" Gabon asked Aramis, pointing to one that stood opposite the entrance.
"That leads to a room almost half the size of this one where our supplies are kept, herbs dried and ointments or other medications are prepared," Aramis explained.
Gabon nodded and pointed to one at the other end of the wall opposite to where Athos lay. "And that one?"
"Another room for the sick or injured."
"How many can it sleep?" Gabon wanted to know.
"Perhaps five or six."
Aramis waited as Gabon grew thoughtful once more.
"Your 'fear' that you mention suggests that you might have some idea as to what ails Athos," Tréville wanted to draw Gabon back to more pressing matters, "and that it does not bode well."
"Indeed but I do need to be certain and, to that end, I require someone to go back to my rooms and bring me two works from the middle shelf of my books," Gabon said. "I will write down their titles if you could supply me with writing materials."
Tréville furnished him with supplies he found in the cabinet and watched as the physician wrote down the two titles, one in an archaic French and the other in Latin.
"I'll go," d'Artagnan offered but Gabon shook his head.
"I would prefer it if the Captain were to find someone else who is not to enter this room. Until I say otherwise, none of us will be leaving it either, so we will need to make use of that other room."
As the import of his words registered, the musketeers – the Captain included - looked at each other in alarm.
"Do you think that whatever ails Athos is contagious?" Tréville demanded.
"I actually do not know. It is a precautionary measure only, I assure you," Gabon admitted.
"Then why aren't I feelin' very assured right now?" Porthos muttered, earning himself a castigating scowl from his Captain.
"There is always the possibility that whatever it is could be infectious and within the confines of the garrison, where you men live and work in such close proximity to each other, it could spread swiftly so it is better if you restrict contact with the other men forthwith," Gabon continued.
"That make sense," d'Artagnan concurred. "There have been two occasions since I arrived in Paris when someone has been ill, even with just a cold, and then it has felled a number of the men quite quickly."
Aramis had fallen strangely quiet, suspecting that the physician was holding something back, something he was not prepared to divulge as yet. He knew that much depended upon the answer to his next question.
"And if there is a summons from the palace for you or Captain Tréville to attend, will you go?"
If Gabon replied that they would attend upon His Majesty immediately, then whatever was wrong with Athos could spread and was inconvenient but not serious. If the answer was in the negative, Gabon was not prepared to run the risk of the royal household being exposed to anything of an extreme nature and, if that were the case, whatever it was had the potential to be fatal.
Gabon studied Aramis closely and it was clear that they knew only too well what the other was thinking; they understood each other perfectly so there was no need for evasion.
The old man sighed. "If it is what I suspect – hence my sending for the tomes as I want to check my suspicions as well as seeing how Athos' symptoms develop – no-one is sure exactly how it starts or spreads but it can do so frighteningly quickly. Therefore, I suggest that we take every precaution and isolate ourselves here until I can be really sure."
Such a pronouncement did not sit easily with any of them, least of all Tréville, who immediately began to wonder how he could run the garrison effectively and what he would do if he were to be summoned by the King for an important meeting. He snatched up Gabon's notation and went to the door. Throwing it wide, he yelled to the nearest musketeer, held the paper at arm's length and issued the man with several instructions. On his return, he was to knock on the door and leave the books on ground; Serge would do likewise when bringing them food and water and a musketeer was to be positioned outside at all times lest something else was needed and also to prohibit anyone from entering or exiting.
Closing the door again, Tréville was not sure whether or not Gabon might be over-reacting. "Supposing I have just infected that soldier by handing him the piece of paper that both you and I have touched?" he asked provocatively.
"We will just have to hope that is not the case," Gabon said infuriatingly blithely as he moved another chair next to Athos' bed and sat himself on it, arranging his flowing robe carefully. "I can assure you, though, that it is not the plague or cholera."
"And for that we can be thankful," d'Artagnan muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he moved to stand with Porthos.
"Indeed we can," Gabon said, having heard him. D'Artagnan mumbled a sheepish apology. "In the meantime, perhaps you can answer some more questions of mine."
"d'Artagnan is probably the best to help you there as he has been with Athos for the past five days," Tréville explained.
"Excellent!" Gabon said, smiling at the announcement and behaving as if they were about to engage in some entertaining pastime to while away the hours. "Do sit down, gentlemen," and he waited as they re-positioned themselves.
Tréville sat on the other chair, Porthos and d'Artagnan pulled up the two stools as closely as they could to the bedside whilst Aramis sat on the floor by the head of the low cot, back against the wall and a hand absent-mindedly resting on the shivering mound beneath the blankets beside him. Gabon was fascinated that, even with the news that Athos might have some highly contagious disease, not one of them opted to stay as far away from him as possible. In truth, he had expected each of them to hurry for the adjoining room and he had been wondering how he might have secured their help with the patient but this was obviously not going to be a problem for these men.
Either they were totally ignorant of what could unfold and the danger they were in, or the bond of friendship between these men transcended all else. It was touching to think the latter might well be the correct interpretation for they would need all the support they could muster for the patient and each other.
"Now, young man," and he turned his attention to d'Artagnan, "tell me where you have been."
"In Beauvais, in the region of Picardy," d'Artagnan began.
"And was there any sickness there?"
"None of which we were aware."
There was a general murmur of relief.
"Although there was in the village that we came through last night," he continued.
"You never said anything of this!" Aramis said worriedly.
"I did not think anything of it," d'Artagnan was apologetic.
"Anything that might help us with identifying what ails Athos may be important, no matter how insignificant it might seem," Tréville added quietly. He also knew how rapidly an epidemic could spread; he had seen devastating outbreaks first-hand. If Athos had been exposed to something the previous evening and was already demonstrating such unnerving symptoms, what on earth was it?
Worried that he might have been remiss in some way, d'Artagnan was eager to make amends. "We stopped at a small village in the hope that we would be able to find shelter; we had spent the previous night sleeping under the stars, although neither of us had rested well so we were hoping to make up for it but as we arrived, an elderly man came out to us and bade us leave immediately for there were three ill people within the village."
"What was wrong with them?" Gabon queried.
"I don't know and he didn't say. We never thought to ask. We certainly did not see anyone who appeared to be ailing and we were discouraged from even dismounting. We asked if we could buy some supplies from them and we sat on our horses, folk watching us with hostility from a distance until the old man came back. The closest either of us came to any of them was when the old man handed up the sack of supplies to Athos, who paid him with some coins. We said farewell and rode out of the village before finally stopping for the night by a stream."
"Might the old man's hand have made contact with any of Athos' skin?" Gabon was leaning forward on his chair, absorbing the information avidly.
"I don't know; anything is possible. Athos might have touched the old man's palm when he gave him the coins." D'Artagnan looked anxiously around the musketeers and Porthos laid a hand in his shoulder reassuringly.
"What food were you given?" Gabon continued.
"Half a cold chicken, a hunk of cheese, half a loaf of bread that was not from today's baking, some fruit and a small bottle of wine."
"And you both ate the same?"
D'Artagnan thought long and hard. "We shared it all."
Aramis was distracted as Athos, who was dozing fitfully, moved restlessly and moaned. He fed the sick man some water and then settled him as best he could once more, mindful that the conversation had halted as all eyes were upon him and the patient. There was no sign of change in Athos' condition – for better or for worse.
"How long have you been gone from the garrison?" Gabon wanted to know.
"We left late one afternoon and were gone almost five days and five nights."
"You say you spent the last two nights sleeping in the open?"
"And the second night. Athos found an inn the first night and our third was spent at the chateau in Beauvais."
"There was no sickness at the chateau or the inn?"
"As I said, none of which we were aware," d'Artagnan reiterated.
Silence fell upon the group of men, except for the intermittent low groans that emanated from Athos, and they waited as Gabon reflected upon what he had been told so far.
"How old is he?" the old man suddenly asked, taking them all by surprise.
"Don't see what that has got to do with anythin'," Porthos growled.
"It might have a lot to do with it," Gabon retorted, his eyes narrowing. "Well, how old?"
"Twenty-nine, nearly thirty," Aramis answered.
Gabon's eyes widened, although not in apparent surprise at the news; it was more like an unexpected confirmation. "And his family? Is he of good breeding?"
The four men looked at each other, failing to see the relevance of the question and none wanting to divulge the truth of Athos' background.
Eventually, it was Tréville who coughed slightly. "And this is of vital importance to your diagnosis?"
"Oh it could be, Captain. It most definitely could be," Gabon replied, intrigued as to the reason behind the officer's obvious hesitation.
"He is of noble birth," Tréville confirmed. "Athos is the Comte de la Fėre although he has lived as a musketeer for the past five years or more."
Gabon's jaw dropped at the news. "Good heavens! I did not think it possible!"
"Now I know I 'aven't got much time for the aristocracy but are you tryin' to tell us that Athos 'as got this whatever-it-is on account of him bein' twenty-nine and high born?" Porthos was incredulous.
"I know that it sounds hard to believe …." Gabon replied.
"Yeah, it's very 'ard to believe." Porthos was beginning to lose his temper.
"But accounts in the books for which I have sent speak of a disease that particularly – not solely, mind - affected males of a certain age and station in life. Your friend here, if it is what I suspect, falls into all three of those groups."
"And if it is what you suspect," Tréville began, "are we to be relieved or worried?"
Gabon was suddenly extremely serious. "Oh very worried, I assure you, Captain." He glanced at Athos. "If I am right, this young man could be dead within the next hour; there is no cure."
A/N
No diagnosis is ready for Gabon wants to check his historical/medical tomes and I do not want to give too much away in historical footnotes as yet.
Gender, age and status did, according to records, play a strange part in a lot of instances so Gabon's odd questions towards the end did fit with what he would have read.