Dear all,

Thank you for your continued support and responses. I have not chosen an easy subject for so many reasons, not least because so little is known for certain. Sad person that I am, I found a thin ebook on the 'Sweating Sickness' on Saturday, bought it, downloaded it and have read it! Much of it I already knew from research so far but there were some interesting and somewhat contradictory points from various writings about how infection could be avoided and what limited things could be done to help the sick fight it. I hope that I have brought out those conundrums here.

So, in this chapter, time races on, tempers fray, Aramis puts his foot down, d'Artagnan is the optimist, Porthos makes threatening noises and Tréville becomes protective! (And poor Athos carries on fighting!)

THE FIFTH HOUR ONWARDS

"Well at least 'e isn't purgin' Athos or doin' any blood-lettin'," Porthos said, nodding in Gabon's direction as the old man reappeared from the store room carrying two more bowls of herbal concoctions that he had mixed, having first sent out for the purchase of rose water, the delicately fragranced liquid not being something that a garrison of men usually kept. He set the bowls on different surfaces before going back from where he came.

"If he had suggested it, I would have fought him every step of the way; literally, if I had to! Athos has not the strength to expend on either if he is to survive this sickness," Aramis answered as he patiently attempted once more to stop Athos from kicking off the sheet and blanket – they had already removed two of the blankets. "Athos, I swear, if you try that again, I will tie you up in this bedding."

Porthos moved to help, holding Athos' arms still as Aramis covered him up yet again.

"Don't see how this keepin' him covered up is goin' to help. He's burnin' up as it is; 'e doesn't need any more layers. He's jus' fightin' us the whole time tryin' to get rid of 'em which is enough to make 'im even hotter," Porthos grumbled and caught at the bare foot that suddenly appeared from the side of the cot as Athos sought any relief for any part of his overheated body from cool air. "Don't know who's goin' to wear out first, him or us at this rate. Athos!" he remonstrated as the swordsman managed to free an arm and flung it sideways, just missing the musketeer's nose.

"He doesn't know what he is doing," Aramis was reminding himself as much as Porthos. "You heard what Gabon said from what he's read. People were reported as throwing off their bedclothes and running through the streets of London to find any relief from the fever. Isn't that exactly what Athos is trying to do?"

"Gettin' rid of the beddin' maybe, an' he keeps tryin' to pull his braies off but I don't see 'im as 'avin' the strength to run anywhere now an' certainly not through the streets of Paris, London or anywhere else you fancy."

"He seems to have enough to give us the run around though," Aramis quipped with a vague smile as he caught at Athos' hands scrabbling with the bedding again.

"If he's burning up with a fever, I don't see why I should have to light this fire; it's not exactly cold in here anyway," d'Artagnan complained as he crouched in front of the small fireplace in the infirmary and finished setting the materials to burn.

"Not too much now," Aramis warned. "Gabon is not wanting a huge blaze; the intention is not to warm the room."

D'Artagnan turned and cast a withering look over his shoulder at his two friends. "That's my point. Why have a fire if you don't want the room warmed? That's what fire does. Besides, we wouldn't need a fire if that window was closed," and he nodded to the one farthest from the sick musketeer.

"A fire dries the moisture in the air," Gabon said as if that explained everything as he reappeared with rapidly tied posies of herbs and distributed them to the men. "We also need to keep the air as clean and pure as possible for us, so we must let fresh air in as another method of avoiding the contagion."

Tréville emerged from the adjacent room, arms piled high with pillows, his eyes bulging as Gabon set a posy between his teeth. He had let the torn sheeting slip from his mouth and nose and it now hung loosely around his neck. Dropping the pillows onto the nearest cot where he had already gathered those from the room they were in, he retrieved the posy.

"What's this for?" he demanded, ready with some dismissive rejoinder if he did not like what he heard.

"Just one of the suggestions made in my extensive reading for the protection of those caring for the ill and not wanting to succumb to the sickness, which you will quickly do," Gabon scolded, "if you do not cover up your mouth and nose again. Keep those herbs in a kerchief and hold it to your nose as often as possible."

Sighing very audibly, Tréville did as he was told.

"It's not very practical when you need both 'ands for somethin' else," Porthos pointed out, laying it on the floor beside the bed as Athos succeeded in breaking free from the bedding and attempted to sit up. "Come on, Athos, you stay there and get some rest. It says in Monsieur Gabon's book that those who survived this thing did so because they took to their beds straight off and lay still. You're not exactly helpin' yourself or us."

"Now," Gabon continued, "you will each take it in turns to get some fresh air. You may stand outside for a while but are not permitted to communicate with anyone else. Is that clear?" He waited for an affirmative nod from each of the four men. "You may want to send for clean, dry clothing that you can change into at frequent intervals …."

"How much spare clothing do you think I have?" interrupted d'Artagnan.

Gabon ignored him, "and you will wash your faces and hands in rose water whenever you have been near the patient. A message must be sent to your cook, Captain. He is not to send in anymore meat and no wine, only weak ale."

Thankfully, Porthos was so alarmed at the prospect that it rendered him speechless.

Tréville took a deep breath before speaking through gritted teeth. "And this will help how?"

Gabon had the goodness to look sheepish. "I really do not know, Captain. I am going from what the books tell me."

"Those same books that are eighty years old or more?" Tréville pressed.

"People survived this and I am only going by what they were saying they did at the time or suggested. They saw it first hand, we have not had that opportunity until now when this poor soul fell ill," Gabon persisted as he indicated Athos who tossed feverishly in his damp bedding.

"So you don't really know anythin' about what worked and what didn't," Porthos stated.

"I wouldn't say that," Gabon said defensively.

"I would," muttered d'Artagnan from his place by the fire as the flames began to take hold of the pieces of wood he had placed there. The resultant heat could be felt by each of the men where they stood. They had already removed their leather doublets during the preceding hour and voluminous linen shirts were beginning to cling to their muscular frames in the temperature in the room rose.

"I am not going to fight Athos anymore," Aramis declared tetchily. "We have done everything you have asked of us but he grows steadily worse. He is very uncomfortable so we will strip him to make it easier to wipe the sweat off him."

"But you must keep him covered," Gabon insisted.

"I will, with a sheet and then a blanket if he can stand it but I will not have him lying there in sweat-sodden clothing."

"And you must use tepid water, not cold. The shock could prove too much," Gabon insisted.

"I understand," Aramis began.

"And to drink. Do not try to put cold liquids into his stomach. One book says he should not drink for five hours at least and then that it should be sugared ale," Gabon could sense a mutiny on his hands.

"Light a fire, open a window; keep him covered, add blankets, but not too many to suffocate 'im; let 'im drink as he's thirsty and sweating out the moisture in his body but it 'as to be warm or sickly sweet ale, but then don't let him drink at all; provoke more sweating if he's not doin' it enough already; keep 'im awake when all 'e wants to do is sleep. We all know sleep is the best thing when you're sick or injured. Seems with this sickness, no-one knows anythin' for sure; you do one thing but you also 'ave to do the opposite because whichever one you do will probably speed up 'is passin'," Porthos' frustration was evident and his mounting vexation was seen mirrored in the ferocious nods of agreement that Tréville and d'Artagnan gave.

Aramis' face darkened and, once he started his protestations, he was resolute. "Much of this sounds like nothing more than contradictory superstition. You have told me to make him lie still with his arms crossed over his chest and not to let the air get to his armpits. What would that do? We have tried keeping him still but he is in no state to listen to us, understand or obey; all he knows and cares about is that his body feels as though it is on fire. Then you said we had to keep him covered and gradually increase those coverings." He punctuated his words with gestures back towards his stricken brother. "He is restless, tossing and turning because he is burning up and the sweat is pouring off him already; he is struggling because he can't stand to be covered. He is desperate for some kind of relief and we are not giving it.

"I believe you when you say the worst is yet to come – his breathing is not obviously affected as yet - but I have to do something now to help his suffering and give him a fighting chance. I have listened to what you advocate and there may be sense to some of it; I will weigh that up and God forgive me if I get it wrong but whilst he is agitated, I will not add to his distress by fighting him and holding him down just so that I can keep a blanket on him. There is one window open and he is not in any draught for we have made sure of that; it is stifling for us in here so it must be a hell on earth for him. I will do anything to bring him some comfort, even if it is only temporary."

They may not have even realised that they were doing it but the four musketeers – Tréville included - moved closer together, effectively creating a physical barrier between Gabon and Athos. The old physician noticed it though and could not fail to marvel at the bond between these men.

"I have told you all that I know," Gabon said, his voice softer.

"We understand, we really do," Tréville reassured him, "and we are grateful for your help but it seems that so little is known for certain. This sweating sickness has not been seen for so long and then mainly in England. You said yourself, it only touched France once. Why should Athos have it now? Where can he possibly have caught it? Supposing it is merely something like it?"

"Suppose you've been frightenin' us silly by saying Athos is going to die an' it's not what you say at all?" Porthos took up the questions, a belligerent tone creeping into his voice.

"And supposing I am right? Are you prepared to take the risk with your friend's life?" Gabon shot back. "Supposing that this is the first step in a development, a change in the sweating sickness? What if it can no longer be designated an ailment of the English?

There was an awkward silence as Gabon struggled to maintain some air of authority over the treatment and the musketeers became obstinate in wanting to do what they thought was the best in the circumstances.

"Perhaps we could compromise," Aramis offered, in an attempt to placate everyone.

So they compromised, or rather Gabon did, but that was more because he felt the intimidating presence of the four musketeers.

D'Artagnan maintained a low fire in the hearth and heated pans of water before it so that the liquid was tepid and no more. On Gabon's instructions, the blankets that had previously been taken from the bed were put into a large tub of scalding water placed outside the main door by Serge; the musketeers could hear him pounding them with a large wooden pole for many minutes as he sought to clean them.

Next they turned their attention to Athos himself, divesting him of his braies for the thick material was damp with sweat and clinging to his body. Porthos had the task of manipulating leaden, unresponsive limbs as Aramis peeled away the garment and then set about wiping Athos down with the water d'Artagnan had warmed, too fearful to begin with anything cold. As he worked methodically down the torso, arms and legs, he patted dry the hot skin before turning his attention to Athos' face, bathing it gently and stroking back the moist curls that were already adhering to his forehead and cheeks.

Not fully cognisant, Athos moaned repeatedly as they moved him as carefully as they could and with the minimum of fuss, the pair of them 'shushing' him fondly as they settled him back onto the pillows. The cots in the infirmary were usually restricted to one each but Tréville had already placed a second beneath his head. Aramis covered the naked form with a sheet, anticipating that the thinness of the material would suffice and kept a single blanket nearby.

And so the pattern of care began. It was loving, committed, gentle and unrelenting as the four musketeers took on the conflict, fighting for and with Athos against the terrible disease that sought to destroy him.

Whilst d'Artagnan had the additional responsibility of maintaining a cool compress on Athos' brow, Tréville and Aramis wiped his body with refreshing water and dried him before Porthos raised him up into a half-sitting position and held him for Aramis to endeavour to spoon first lukewarm water and then the sweetened ale past his lips and persuade him to drink. He was not too impressed by the ale but Porthos and Aramis were persistent. As eager as he was for water in the early stages – and Gabon had warned of a prodigious thirst – Athos would have gulped greedily at the liquid but they would not let him, fearful that he would become sick. Later, he seemed to have forgotten how to swallow or else grew too weak to do so without the simplest encouragement, namely Aramis holding his jaw shut with one hand whilst applying light pressure when stroking his throat with the other.

Early evening, the table was strewn with dishes – none containing meat – that Serge had delivered. Tréville and Gabon had eaten first and then relieved Aramis, d'Artagnan and Porthos so that the three friends sat together for their evening meal.

"It's gone seven," Porthos suddenly announced. "How many hours is it now?"

They knew, without elaboration, that he referred to the length of time that Athos had been ill.

"You got to the garrison after the noon bells had been rung at the cathedral," Aramis said to d'Artagnan.

"And Athos had not been himself for about an hour before then," the young musketeer added.

"About eight hours then," Porthos calculated with a sigh.

"Many died in the first three hours; he has long passed that," Aramis said encouragingly.

"And he's getting closer to the twelve-hour mark," d'Artagnan tried to continue the optimism. "Gabon said that the longer he went past that point, the better his chances."

"That's another four hours away an' he's not really safe until twenty-four have gone by," Porthos reminded them grimly, "He hasn't even got to the worst part yet."

"Perhaps he won't," d'Artagnan said hopefully. "Maybe Gabon is wrong and this is not the sweating sickness but just something like it."

Suddenly Athos emitted a distressed cry and the three at the table jumped to their feet as Tréville rounded on Gabon.

"What did you just do?" he demanded, his face like thunder.

"I only pinched him to wake him up," Gabon explained.

"What?" Porthos was already on the move but d'Artagnan caught his arm and held him back.

"He seemed to have fallen asleep and he needed to be awakened," Gabon went on, watchful as Aramis drew near the bed, pushed between him and the Captain and sank into a crouch beside Athos. The pinch mark left by Gabon's fingers was visible, an angry red, and a tear of pained surprise tracked its way down the sick man's cheek as he twisted fitfully. Aramis wiped the tear away with his thumb and muttered gentle words as he tried to calm his agitated friend.

"Don't you ever do something like that again!" Tréville ordered.

"Or what, Captain?" Gabon challenged. "I am here trying to look after this patient but I am thwarted at every turn by you and your men who are not willing to accept my diagnosis or suggestions. I have brought with me learned books that say he must not be allowed to sleep so, when he does just that, he must be woken up again. I am sorry if you did not like the method I chose and am open to other ideas."

"Then we will provide them," Tréville ground out, his left hand subconsciously reaching down until it made contact with the sweat-soaked curls and lay there protectively. "This boy is fighting for his life and you will not add to his misery with your heavy-handed answer to treatment, even if it does come from your so-called 'learned' books. You will give him the utmost care and respect. Aramis," Tréville still did not glance down, his intense glare remaining fixed upon the older man, "how is he?"

"Settling," Aramis answered, stroking Athos' cheek to soothe him. "His arm looks as if it will bruise though."

Porthos gave a sound reminiscent of a warning growl. "Don't you ever try nothing like that again. We'll keep 'im awake from here on in."

Tréville chose that moment to glance down at the sick musketeer. Athos' eyes were heavy, little more than slits, and he was increasingly unresponsive. D'Artagnan joined them with a bowl of tepid water which he set down beside Aramis who took up a cloth, soaked it, wrung it out and began anew his task of wiping down the skin that boasted a fine sheet of sweat. Athos did not react to the touch and Tréville could not help but wonder about their chances of keeping him awake for very much longer.

A/N

In 1517, the papal nuncio advised that it was fatal to take any cold beverage. Air was not to penetrate garments or bedclothes, a 'moderate' fire in the bedchamber was needed, arms were to be crossed on the patient's breast and care taken so that air did not reach the arm-pits! To neglect any of these meant immediate death apparently!

Polydore Vergil, an Italian humanist scholar, wrote 'Anglica Historica' and said folk were unable to bear the heat, removing bed clothes and/or clothes.

Chronicler John Harding said people threw off bedclothes and ran through London streets trying to find relief from fevers.

Forrestier (found two spellings of his name now – r/rr) said people dropped dead in the street, the onset of the sickness was that rapid. He cited several examples.

I so wanted Tréville (who is definitely not happy with Gabon) to use a term like 'hocus-pocus' for Gabon's methods which is early 17th century but the first known use was 1634 – just too late! 'Mumbo jumbo' was even later in the 1700s. He is not convinced by Gabon's information but what can they do?