Chapter Thirty One - Showdown
D'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos and Aramis
Authors note: Remember Chapter Three; 'Insomnia'? This is the prequel...
They had the intelligence, it should have been a simple case of sneaking out again and returning to the garrison; early enough to then visit a tavern. The simple plan had not worked. Athos glanced around the room as he pushed the man in front of him away and drew his sword.
They were fighting a number of men, Athos could not count them, but it was enough to be keeping them all busy. The room they were fighting in was not big enough for all the opponents to take them on safely, Athos had seen at least two, maybe three more at the doorway, waiting for an opening in the melee to join the action.
The two men in front of him were good. The trained fighters were however not expecting the Musketeer to use anything and everything to aid his fight. Athos had already grabbed a bottle of wine from the table and thrown it at the men, he was now working his way over to the hearth to grab a bucket of wood to chuck at the sneering man in front of him.
They were outnumbered but Athos was sure they would win. Although he doubted they would win without a cost to themselves, Athos hoped that cost would not be too high.
MMMM
Porthos could not help the cry of pain as the man's parrying dagger sliced his arm. The wound was deep and would quickly slow him down. But there was no chance for him to rest. His brothers were all engaged in their own battles. He could not simply let the man in front of him move on to attacking them. Whoever they picked on would be quickly overwhelmed, they were all good, but each man had a limit.
Aramis was busy with an accomplished swordsman who was making the lithe man dance out of the way, a second man was giving his brother little chance to take out the first.
Athos also had two men who were on the receiving end of whatever was coming to the hand of the swordsman. Broken glass lay at their feet and an upended chair appeared to have caused one of the men to now be holding his arm across his chest.
As Porthos continued to fight back, one-handed at his own opponent he was aware of d'Artagnan shoving one of his own attackers into the other earning him a moment's reprieve. In the same instance, the distracted man in front of him left himself open for an attack. Porthos sliced the man with his main gauche. As the man collapsed d'Artagnan grabbed Porthos by the shoulder and pulled him back.
'Cover us,' he yelled, 'shoot them.'
Porthos knew d'Artagnan was right, he had limited movement in this right arm, but he could still load and fire a gun. His left-handed shooting was not as accurate, but he was still likely to be better than any of the men now fighting them.
D'Artagnan was forced back into the affray as the men he was fighting had regrouped and were ready for another attack.
Porthos, his gun already loaded, looked to the doorway aimed and fired, taking out one of the men who was about to enter the room. As he quickly reloaded he glanced back up at the doorway and saw the men there glaring at him. Porthos thought that perhaps the move was a little underhand, but he did not care, the man he had killed had been about to enter and attack him and his brothers.
His attention was drawn to Aramis whose opponents had managed to work together to get the Musketeer on the floor. With no time to raise his sword or do anything to defend himself from his prone position, Aramis was vulnerable. The two men stepped in for the kill.
Porthos raised his gun again, he fired, hitting the bigger man in the side of the head. The man stumbled to the side taking the other man to the ground with him. The moments' pause gave Aramis all the time he needed to climb to his feet. It was obvious to Porthos that Aramis was injured, but not to the extent that it would stop the man from continuing to fight. Aramis nodded his thanks to Porthos before raising his sword and returning to the fight.
MMMM
When the two men had managed to trip him to the floor Aramis had felt foolish. To allow the men to pull off such a move annoyed him. He hoped none of his brothers had noticed how they had got him on the floor, he knew he would never hear the end of it. The bigger opponent had simply grabbed him and tripped him. Aramis had not been expecting the move, he had landed heavily, his ankle had been twisted in the fall. The two men stepped forward. Aramis knew he stood no chance until a gunshot rang out. The bigger man had stumbled into the second giving Aramis the moment he needed.
Getting to his feet was easy enough but bearing weight on the injured limb was another matter. But he had little choice, Aramis gritted his teeth and carried on, he could worry about the pain later.
The second man had managed to extract himself from the now dead opponent. But Aramis was quick to bring his sword forward and thrust at the man. Before the dying man had hit the floor, Aramis was looking around the room. Two more men were making their way towards Athos who had managed to take out two men but still had an opponent in front of him.
MMMM
D'Artagnan realised he had been lucky. Had been. He had managed to take two men out of the fight relatively easily, he must have somehow ended up with the weaker opponents. He had been vaguely aware of Aramis ending up on the ground and knew that Porthos had been injured. He had avoided the attackers for most of the fight. But his luck had run out and one of the men had managed to hit him across the back causing him to crash to the ground. The pain radiated out from his shoulder. He knew he was not going to suffer from any more than bruising and a headache, but the injury was debilitating enough.
From his position on the floor trying to get up, d'Artagnan realised one of the men had stepped up to the side of him. He guessed the man intended to simply plunge his sword into his back. But the pain did not come. Instead, the man collapsed to the floor next to him. D'Artagnan managed to push himself on to his side and looked up in time to see Porthos, smack another man in the head with the butt of his gun.
Porthos leaned down holding out his hand. D'Artagnan used the help to get back to his feet. Across the room, Aramis, who was moving as little as possible was helping Athos who had been shoved into a table. Between the two of them, they were able to finish off the last two men.
All four Musketeers looked at the doorway for a few seconds. Each man was breathing hard. D'Artagnan hoped there would not be any more fighting, his shoulder radiated pain, he was unsure he could wield a sword accurately. Porthos and Aramis were both obviously injured, and Athos looked as though he may have injured ribs after his altercation with the table.
After a few seconds, they looked at each other.
'Let's get back to the garrison,' said Porthos, 'not sure I'm gonna stay standing for much longer.'
MMMM
A muttered curse and soft hiss of pain followed by a quiet admonishment drew his attention to the garrison gate.
Treville took a few steps towards the gate. The two guards took a step towards the men as they walked passed. D'Artagnan waved them away. Treville hid a smile. His four best men did not need help, they were there for each other.
Aramis swore again with Athos telling him, probably not for the first time, not to put weight on his ankle. The marksman was being helped across the yard by Athos who was grimacing in pain as he walked and d'Artagnan who did not look to be in much better shape. Porthos was bringing up the rear, holding his left hand firmly over a bleeding injury to his right arm.
Athos looked across to Treville and extracted himself from Aramis who reluctantly accepted Porthos' shoulder to assist him towards the infirmary.
Athos stopped in front of Treville and pulled some papers from his doublet handing them over.
'They are all there,' said the swordsman.
'Thank you,' replied Treville, 'do you need assistance in there?'
Treville nodded towards the infirmary where d'Artagnan had guided Aramis and Porthos.
'I think we will be fine. Once I have strapped up Aramis' ankle he can deal with Porthos' wound. D'Artagnan and I are only bruised as far as I can tell. Some pain draughts and rest will see us all well.'
Treville smiled, 'you know where I am. I don't want to see any of you at muster in the morning. I'll have some food sent over in a while.'
Athos nodded before turning to follow his brothers into the infirmary. Treville watched him go before glancing at the papers he now held. The hard-won papers. He guessed he was lucky to have got all four of his men back more or less in one piece.
He watched them through the infirmary windows. Athos had pushed Aramis into a chair while d'Artagnan was helping Porthos out of his doublet.
Aramis tried to stifle a cry of pain as Athos pulled his boot off. D'Artagnan quickly moved to Aramis' side and held his shoulders for a few seconds until the man had managed to calm himself. Treville smiled as he watched Athos apologies and Aramis indicate it was nothing.
As Athos strapped Aramis' ankle, the medic was directing d'Artagnan to prepare painkilling draughts for them all. Porthos complained but took the drink before he lay back on the bed and allowed d'Artagnan to clean the wound to his arm.
Aramis spent a bit of time dealing with the bruising to Athos and d'Artagnan before all three began to work on Porthos' wound. They worked together. Porthos tried not to react, d'Artagnan and Athos held the injured man still and Aramis stitched.
Treville could not hear the conversations that were going on in the infirmary, but he knew that his men would be offering reassurance to each other. The four would be eager to get back to work, probably before they really were fit enough and Treville knew he would have to sternly tell them off for trying. But he also knew they would not change.
And he did not want them to.
The End.
Authors note: Thank you all for your comments, they are always very much welcomed, even if I'm a bit rubbish at replying to you all. I've noted which stories you want to be expanded and already have very rough outlines for a couple and will get round to them all eventually.
I hope you enjoyed these stories as much as I enjoyed writing them. Em.