Chapter Ten - Bruises

D'Artagnan and Porthos.

'D'Artagnan!' yelled Porthos.

The simple mission had just become very uncomfortable for the young Musketeer. Porthos jumped down from his horse and rushed to his brother's side. D'Artagnan had not moved since hitting the ground. His horse, which had reared unexpectedly, had trotted off a few yards. Porthos' own mount had moved to stand next to the agitated beast. But Porthos did not have time to wonder if the stablemate was providing comfort. Porthos' only concern was his brother.

'Don't move,' said Porthos as he crashed to his knees beside the younger man.

''salright,' said d'Artagnan, trying to coordinate his words as he tried to coordinate his limbs; failing at both.

'It ain't alright,' said Porthos as he grabbed d'Artagnan's hand.

D'Artagnan made eye contact with Porthos, he looked a little confused. Which, Porthos thought, was not surprising. One minute they had been cantering along with no issue before d'Artagnan's horse had reared up with no warning. Porthos had no idea what had caused the horse to react as he had.

Slowly, Porthos guided d'Artagnan to sit. His brother was breathing shallowly and clutching his side.

'Ribs?' asked Porthos.

D'Artagnan managed a nod, his eyes screwed shut.

'Alright, can you stand?'

D'Artagnan nodded again before allowing Porthos to help him up. The young man was panting and leaning on Porthos heavily, the pain obvious.

'Are you two alright?'

Porthos looked across to the old woman who, with the aid of a walking stick had approached them. The woman had a small basket over her arm containing what looked like herbs.

'I think he's alright, just badly bruised,' replied Porthos as the woman reached them.

She looked d'Artagnan over for a few seconds before looking up at Porthos.

'My cottage is only a couple of hundred yards into the wood there,' she said nodding to their left, 'if you can afford your friend some time to rest and perhaps clean up those cuts to his hands I'll gladly offer you shelter.'

Porthos watched as the still slightly stunned d'Artagnan looked at his hands which were grazed and cut where he must have reached out to try to stop his fall. D'Artagnan looked at the woman.

'I'm fine, really…'

Porthos raised his eyebrows glancing at the woman who chuckled.

'You may be a Musketeer,' she said, 'but you are not unbreakable. Come and have a sit down for a couple of hours, then we can decide if you're fine.'

The old woman turned and started to make her way into the woods. Porthos gently steered his injured brother after her. As the cottage came into view several hens rushed forward, grouping around the old woman who shooed them away as she spoke.

'I've lived alone since my husband died three years ago. My son has a smallholding a couple of miles away. His wife comes to see me every couple of days. But I'm quite content to enjoy the solitude. This area is pretty, and there are few predatory animals around.'

She pushed open the wooden door of the small cottage. Porthos had to duck down to enter the two roomed building.

The woman pointed to a cushioned chair by a small fire. Porthos looked at her for a few seconds. The chair was obviously where she would sit, he did not want to deprive her of her place.

'He needs it more than me,' she said with a smile.

After guiding d'Artagnan to sit in the chair Porthos helped the younger man to take off his doublet and shirt. D'Artagnan tried to hide the hisses and gasps of pain but failed miserably. The old woman had wandered off returning after a few minutes with a small bowl of water and some cloths. She pulled up a stool and began to gently clean d'Artagnan's hands while Porthos felt the injured man's ribs. When d'Artagnan cried out in pain he knew he had found the main cause of his friend's pain.

'Doesn't feel broken,' concluded Porthos, 'but it's gonna hurt a lot.'

D'Artagnan nodded, his eyes still shut from the shock of pain Porthos had inadvertently caused. Porthos noticed that the kind old woman was clutching d'Artagnan's hand firmly, waiting patiently for the young man to recover.

'My second son, he was a soldier. He died fighting for his country,' she said. 'I'm very proud of what he did. What you all do.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' d'Artagnan managed to say, as the woman resumed cleaning his hands.

'Will you be alright with 'im whilst I round the horses up?' asked Porthos.

The woman nodded with a smile, 'what's he going to do?'

Porthos chuckled as he left the room.

MMMM

When he had returned d'Artagnan had been redressed by the old woman and was holding a cup of broth. A second steaming cup was sat on the table. The old woman nodded towards the cup as Porthos closed the door.

'Marie was telling me that her son was in the infantry, your regiment,' said d'Artagnan as Porthos pulled out a chair at the table to sit opposite the old woman.

'Simon Baudin,' said Marie looking at Porthos hopefully, 'did you know him?'

Porthos looked away for a few seconds, shocked.

'He...he saved my life,' said Porthos, 'the day he died, it was when I got this.'

Porthos pointed at the scar over his eye. Marie sat back in the chair, her eyes wide.

'I was unconscious, he pulled me away from the fighting...he was hit by a musket ball just as he got us clear. He fell over me. I think he shielded me from further harm. I probably would have died otherwise.'

The room was silent for a few seconds. Porthos could see Marie was trying to comprehend what Porthos had just said.

'He'd been a good friend, we got into trouble together, more than once...he talked our Captain out of us both getting flogged once…'

Marie, tears in her eyes, leaned forward and lay her small hand over Porthos'.

'He wrote to me a few times, talked about his friend...Porthos?'

Porthos nodded.

'I'm so pleased to meet you...We were devastated when we learned he had died. The only consolation for us was that he died in battle...but what you've just told me...he died saving his friend.'

She lost her own battle with the tears, but still managed to smile sadly at Porthos. After a few moments, she sniffed and pulled a handkerchief from her apron.

'You boys are staying. I will make a stew, don't argue with me,' said Marie firmly when Porthos was about to protest.

'He needs to rest for a while,' she said glancing at d'Artagnan, 'and you...you need to tell me all you can remember about my Simon.'

Porthos nodded, knowing that they could spare the time. Marie was right, d'Artagnan could do with a few hours rest from riding, although he was still in for an uncomfortable ride later on as the bruising got worse. And, if Porthos could ease Marie's own, well hidden, emotional bruises with tales of heroic deeds that her son had taken part in, then Porthos could see no issue with staying.

The End.

Authors note: dollops of twee - sorry.