Chapter Twenty Eight - Severe Illness

D'Artagnan and Aramis (with Athos and Porthos)

Bernard looked the soldiers up and down. The Musketeers looked capable enough but there were only four of them. Bernard had fifteen men. The Musketeers would not stand a chance, they might be able to take out a few of his men but not enough. And the youngest of the soldiers did not look well, he was clearly sweating and looked as though he was struggling to remain standing.

'You need to leave here,' said one of the Musketeers who Bernard suspected was the leader of the four.

'You can't fight us all,' replied Bernard, 'why don't you just shove off and let us finish what we started.'

'Because that ain't right,' said one of the other soldiers, the one with the scar across his eye.

The leader was about to speak again but was interrupted by the younger one collapsing to the ground. The fourth soldier grabbed him as he fell and eased him to the ground gently. The scarred man took a couple of steps back.

'D'Artagnan?' said the fourth soldier with concern. 'I think it's the same as the villagers have.'

The scarred man took another couple of steps away, he pulled his gun as he did so.

'Porthos,' said the leader, 'what are you doing?'

The scarred man, Porthos, was backing away from his comrades.

'I ain't catching it,' he said.

Bernard noticed that several of his men were shuffling away, he realised he had taken an unconscious step back himself. Whatever this d'Artagnan had was serious.

The ill man was trying to get up but being kept still by the man who was knelt beside him.

Porthos raised his gun and aimed at the young man who looked terrified, holding out his hand weakly.

Bernard watched as Porthos' face took on a sorrowful expression.

'I'm sorry, d'Artagnan, but you're dying anyway.'

'Porthos! NO!' yelled the other Musketeer.

But it was too late, Porthos had fired his gun. The young musketeer slumped to the ground. The man knelt next to him leaned over him for a few seconds before sitting back on his heels and looking back. The man had blood on his hands.

'He's dead.'

Bernard looked back to Porthos who was reloading his gun.

The fourth soldier was watching him shocked. Porthos had tears in his eyes.

'I'm sorry Aramis...but you've touched him...it's just...too contagious.'

The fourth soldier started to stand, his bloody hands held out in submission. The leader of the four had turned to Porthos.

'You do not have to do this. He might not be infected. Aramis is your best friend.'

Porthos glanced at the leader for a second before refocusing on Aramis who was still standing by the body of the younger Musketeer.

'Porthos, ple-'

Bernard flinched as Porthos fired again. Aramis stumbled back, knocked against the body and fell to the ground slightly twisted away from them. The Musketeer did not move again.

MMMM

A few hours earlier…

The villager who had petitioned the King for help led them towards the largest building. Several curious locals watched them pass. D'Artagnan smiled at a couple of young lads who looked in awe of the four soldiers as they passed on their impressive mounts.

The two lads followed the four and took the reins of the horses as each man dismounted.

'See that they are stabled and fed,' said a stout middle-aged man as he approached the group.

The two lads nodded and after allowing the Musketeers to retrieve their saddlebags took the horses towards a stable, beside the blacksmiths a few yards away.

'This is Gardinier, he's the one who suggested we ask the King for help,' said Macon.

'I am pleased it worked, Monsieurs,' said Gardinier as he shook hands with each of them.

D'Artagnan looked around the village for a few seconds, 'how long have the attacks been happening for?'

'As I am sure Macon told you,' said Gardinier, 'they first came two months ago. To start with it was just thefts. But they moved on to robberies, an elderly woman was pushed to the ground and had a ring pulled from her finger. Then they attacked a couple of young women…'

The man lapsed into silence for a few seconds.

'We do not have any trained men to fight back. Macon and a couple of the other men tried to confront them but were beaten for their troubles.'

Macon looked at the ground, d'Artagnan felt sorry for the amiable man. He had talked with enthusiasm about his small farm as they had ridden to the village. But now that he was back it was clear that he and the rest of the villagers were fighting a losing battle against the group of bandits who had started to prey on the village.

'We will do what we can Monsieur,' said Athos.

Porthos, who had wandered around the village with Aramis walked back to the group.

'How many of them are there?' he asked.

'Sometimes it is small groups picking on one or two of us, but I've seen about fifteen, there may be more. We've not worked out where they're coming from.'

Porthos nodded before looking around again. Athos looked at him.

'You have an idea?'

Porthos nodded with a grin, 'I'm not sure how popular it will be though.'

D'Artagnan noticed that Porthos glanced at him as he spoke. He was intrigued.

MMMM

Athos knew that Porthos could come up with very good plans, but the one he had proposed was risky. If it did not work, they would be at a serious disadvantage. But it was the only plan they had and he had not been able to come up with a better one. The stage was set. All they needed was the players.

As if on cue a group of men approached the village spreading themselves out to show their strength. Athos counted sixteen men. Even he knew that the odds would be against them in a fight. Athos glanced at Porthos who looked a little apprehensive for a second. D'Artagnan, who was stood on Porthos' right was visibly shaking. Athos hoped the plan would work.

One of the group of men stepped forward, he wore tatty clothes but his were slightly better than the rest of the men. Athos decided the man was their leader, or at least their spokesman.

Athos stepped forward, 'you need to leave here.'

'You can't fight us all,' replied the leader of the group of men, 'why don't you just shove off and let us finish what we started.'

'Because that ain't right,' said Porthos, barely disguising his disgust of the men.

Without warning, d'Artagnan collapsed. Aramis was quick, grabbing the man before he hit the ground. Both Porthos and Athos looked around. D'Artagnan did not look well.

MMMM

As d'Artagnan fell he was glad Aramis had grabbed him. The plan was for him to fall limply, to not stop his fall. He had to trust Aramis' quick reactions. Aramis, who despite knowing that there was nothing wrong with d'Artagnan acted as if there was.

'D'Artagnan?' Aramis said with concern in his voice, as he quickly pulled off his gloves and began to feel his head and neck, before turning back to Athos and Porthos. 'I think it's the same as the villagers have.'

D'Artagnan had closed his eyes a little to show that he was ill. But he could see enough to watch Porthos back off, pulling his gun at the same time. D'Artagnan knew the gun was loaded, but he trusted his brothers implicitly.

'Porthos,' said Athos, 'what are you doing?'

Porthos continued to back away, his gun held at his side, he looked between Athos, Aramis and himself. D'Artagnan was sure the man was crying or at least his eyes were full of unshed tears.

'I ain't catching it,' Porthos said, his voice cracking with emotion.

D'Artagnan knew it was his turn again, he tried to sit up, reaching out towards Porthos and Athos. Aramis rested his hand on d'Artagnan's chest, stopping him from moving any further. The bandits looked confused. A few were moving away, talking quietly amongst themselves. D'Artagnan hoped the plan was working, it certainly seemed to be having the desired effect.

Porthos raised his gun and aimed at d'Artagnan, who affected a look of fear. He would never admit it to the others but d'Artagnan did feel a little apprehensive, having a loaded weapon aimed at him, knowing what was going to happen next. Porthos had suggested not actually loading his gun but Athos had reminded him that if the bandits did not believe their story it would leave him without a gun to fire.

Porthos' face took on a sorrowful expression, d'Artagnan was sure the man was crying. The act was very convincing.

'I'm sorry, d'Artagnan, but you're dying anyway.'

Aramis yelled, 'Porthos! NO!'

Porthos fired the gun, d'Artagnan fell back to the ground. Aramis leaned over him, tipping the contents of the small bottle over his doublet before dragging his hands through it. D'Artagnan heard Aramis say a quiet 'well done' before he turned back towards Porthos and the rest of the people watching.

'He's dead,' said Aramis, holding out his hands as if to confirm what he had said.

D'Artagnan could only listen to what went on. He knew that Porthos would be reloading the gun. He was aware of Aramis climbing to his feet.

Porthos spoke again, 'I'm sorry Aramis...but you've touched him...it's just...too contagious.'

'You do not have to do this. He might not be infected. Aramis is your best friend,' said Athos who had injected a sense of emergency to his voice.

There was a pause which seemed to stretch forever before Aramis started to speak again.

'Porthos, ple-'

D'Artagnan had to remain still. He felt Aramis knock into him before he fell, hard, to the ground lying over his legs. D'Artagnan could feel Aramis' shallow breaths but otherwise, his friend remained still.

Now it was Porthos' turn to really sell the act.

MMMM

Athos watched Aramis fall, a little harder than he had expected. The soldier would probably have bruised himself, but if it helped to sell the pretence Athos doubted Aramis would mind a few bruises. Both the 'dead' Musketeers remained still, where they had fallen. Porthos sniffed and wiped at his eyes. Athos was impressed with Porthos' ability to cry on cue, although he would not ask his friend how he was able to do so.

'Just like the others,' said Porthos, 'sorry, I...just couldn't see them go through that, the days of sickness only to die anyway.'

Athos glanced at the leader of the bandits whose eyes were flicking between the bodies and Porthos who was still standing staring at the men he had supposedly killed.

'When did it start?'

Athos turned to the man, he rested a hand on Porthos' slumped shoulders giving the grieving Musketeer reassurance.

'A day ago, it is fast acting. The villagers that caught it were dead within twelve hours.'

Athos felt Porthos' shoulders tense up a little and realised he had just contradicted what his friend had said. The bandit did not appear to have noticed.

'We did not notice d'Artagnan becoming ill,' continued Athos, '...and Aramis...well Pothos is correct the illness spreads quickly and is very contagious. He probably would have become ill after touching d'Artagnan.'

Porthos sniffed again, looking down.

Athos turned to Porthos and said quietly, 'I am sorry my friend, you probably did the right thing.'

Porthos nodded before wiping the tears from his eyes and turning back towards the bandits. Athos did the same. The leader looked very unsure of himself. Some of the men had now taken several steps back.

'I ain't goin' in there if there's sickness…' muttered a man near the leader.

'Don't follow us,' said the leader as he made up his own mind to back away with his men.

Athos hid a smile as the man walked off with frequent glances back. Porthos slipped his gun back into his belt and spoke again, loud enough for the retreating men to hear.

'We'd best get on and burn the bodies…'

Athos remained where he was until the men were out of sight before speaking quietly.

'Stay where you are for a few minutes, we need to be sure they are gone.'

D'Artagnan replied, 'this is not particularly comfortable.'

Porthos sniggered, 'just think yourself lucky we ain't really going to burn you.'

Athos walked a few paces in the direction the bandits had taken. One of the young boys who had taken their horses ran up to him.

'They've gone, Monsieur,' he said panting as he caught his breath, 'Macon told me to tell you, they've mounted up and ridden off...not even bothered to pack their things up.'

'Does that mean we can get up now,' said Aramis, his voice muffled by his position lying across d'Artagnan's legs.

Porthos stepped towards the two prone Musketeers.

'I think you can rise from the dead now.'

MMMM

Porthos helped his friends up. Aramis rubbed at his arm.

'I was lying on it,' he said by way of explanation.

'You fell heavily,' said Athos as he returned to them.

Aramis nodded, 'I was standing closer to d'Artagnan than I realised, my death was not quite as controlled as I had planned...sorry I, think I kicked you as I fell.'

D'Artagnan nodded, 'I survived,' he said.

Gardinier and a few of the villagers had gathered a few yards away.

'How can we thank you, Monsieurs?'

One of the women stepped towards d'Artagnan, 'we can start by getting that blood stain out of your doublet,' she said as she ushered him away, 'and you need to wash that stuff off your face.'

'That was inspired by the way,' said Porthos, turning to Aramis who was busy brushing the dust from his clothes.

'What?'

'Using oil to make him look sweaty.'

Aramis grinned, 'did it once as a child to get out of chores.'

Athos, who had spent a few minutes talking to Gardinier, turned back to them.

'We will stay a few more hours to be certain they have gone,' he said.

Athos paused looking at Aramis with a frown.

'What?'

He reached out and pulled at the sleeve of Aramis' doublet, pointing out a rip in the fabric.

'Was that there before?'

'No,' replied Aramis looked towards Porthos.

'I...er...perhaps got a little close with that shot.'

'A little?'

Aramis raised his eyebrows at Porthos.

Porthos sighed, 'I didn't actually hit you, perhaps you moved at the last second, you were supposed to be keeping still.'

'Next time, you get to be the victim and we'll see how still you can be.'

The End.