Aramis took out the satchel he packed with extra supplies for the trip home. "I had a feeling I was going to need this," he thought aloud. He took out a linen cloth and tore it in two. Taking the halves, he pressed them into the wounds on both sides, applying pressure to stop the bleeding.
"What is going on?" Aramis yelled over his shoulder to d'Artagnan. "Why haven't we stopped yet? I need to take care of Athos and I can't do it while we're moving! Where is Porthos?"
"Porthos is up front with Captain Tréville. They're trying to find a good place to stop."
"We don't need a good place to stop—we just need to stop!" Aramis growled impatiently. "D'Artagnan, go up there and tell them we need to pull this wagon over now!"
"Dammit!" Aramis cursed as took away the linens, now saturated with blood. "Athos, could you help me out here and stop bleeding so much?" Aramis quickly found another strip to tear apart for use as a bandage.
Finally, the medic felt the wagon pulling to a stop. "Thank God," he muttered under his breath. "I'm going to need an assistant, is the captain available to help?" Aramis asked Porthos who appeared at the back of the wagon.
"What do you need me to do, Aramis?" Captain Tréville asked, having overheard the question.
"I'm going to stitch Athos up with a temporary, easy-to-remove suture, to tide him over until we get back to the garrison. I need someone to help hold the edges of the wound together while I sew."
"Very well, I can do that." Tréville said as he began stripping off the excess accoutrements of his uniform, until he was down to his linen shirt.
"Porthos," Aramis turned to his friend. "We need every available waterskin you can gather from the men. If anyone happens to have a flask of wine as well—take it. I need water and wine for this surgery; hopefully, they'll understand."
"Tell the men it is not a request. Captain's orders," Tréville stated. "We have no time for negotiating, Porthos."
"Yes, Captain." Porthos turned to fetch the waterskins when he saw a small group of riders dressed in black approaching from the road. "Bloody hell! Captain, we're about to have company!" Porthos yelled as he unsheathed his sword.
"Mon Dieu, you can't be serious!" Aramis growled. "We don't have time for this, dammit!"
"Stay with Athos, Aramis. I'll see what is. . ." Captain Tréville was interrupted by gunshots and the distinct sound of a musket ball hitting the wooden wagon.
"Dammit!" Aramis yelled as a ball came through the canvas covering of the wagon, just missing his head. "We need to protect Athos, Captain!"
Aramis threw himself over Athos to shield his friend from the flying lead balls. Captain Tréville also draped himself over the lower half of Athos' body, each protecting the unconscious man as best as they could from the storm of lead.
Whizz!
"Damn!" Aramis cursed as a ball zipped by his ear, lodging in the wooden board near his cloak.
"What the hell is going on out there, dammit? Protect the wagon!" Captain Tréville yelled out the back during a lull in the shooting.
The captain could see two of his Musketeers engaged with the bandits, their swords glinting in the sunlight as steel crashed against steel. He watched as two other bandits turned to ride away but d'Artagnan and Porthos jumped on their horses to pursue.
"Oh no, you don't!" d'Artagnan yelled. "I'll be damned if you're going to run like cowards after you shot up our wagon!"
Porthos aimed his harquebus at a rider, hitting him square in the back. The man fell from his horse, while the frightened animal continued racing away down the road.
The other rider turned and fired his pistol over his shoulder, without aiming.
Porthos watched in horror as d'Artagnan fell from his horse, his body tumbling over and over, until he rolled over a small embankment by the road.
"D'Artagnan!" Porthos screamed. He brought his horse to an abrupt stop, deciding to let the other rider speed away around a corner and out of view.
"D'Artagnan, no!" Porthos jumped from his horse to run towards the Gascon's unmoving form lying in the grass. He gently rolled his friend over, eliciting a moan from the injured man's lips.
"Shh. . . it's okay. You're going to be okay, d'Art. Where were you hit?" Porthos frantically searched the young Gascon's body looking for a bleeding wound.
There was no blood on his head that he could find. "No head wound, thank God," Porthos muttered. "Oi, nothing on your chest that I can see. . . left arm is good. . . oh, damn!"
"Porthos?" d'Artagnan moaned.
"Damn, your right arm's been hit." Porthos winced as he saw the blood. "Hold on, pup, I need to check the wound."
D'Artagnan hissed in pain as Porthos began removing the doublet, taking care not to jar the injured arm.
"Well, I'll be damned. . ."
"What does that mean, Porthos? Is it bad?" d'Artagnan reached to cradle his injured right arm, his face wrinkled in pain.
Porthos laughed, clapping d'Artagnan gently on his good shoulder. "It's just a scratch, little brother. Looks like the ball just grazed the flesh, not too deep. But, your arm will be a bit sore."
"A bit sore, Porthos? Brother, that is an understatement! Dammit, it hurts like hell," d'Artagnan muttered angrily.
"You are one lucky whelp, d'Art." Porthos held up the Gascon's doublet to view the bullet hole and tear on the pauldron and sleeve.
"Oh no, look at my pauldron. . . it's ruined now!" d'Artagnan complained.
Both men were startled by the sound of gunfire coming from near the wagon, causing them to jump to their feet with pistols in hand. D'Artagnan aimed his pistol just as a bandit raised his arm, taking aim at a fellow Musketeer, shooting the man dead before he could fire.
The last bandit was heavily engaged in a sword fight with a Musketeer named Lamar. Porthos aimed his pistol to shoot the bandit in the chest, dropping him just as Lamar pierced the bandit through with his sword.
The Musketeers looked around the area ready for more bandits, but all the offenders were either dead or gone. The cowardly bandits that ran had fled for their lives after realizing the folly of their actions in attacking armed Musketeers.
"Captain, are you alright?" d'Artagnan yelled. "Aramis, is Athos okay?" The younger Musketeer gasped as he watched Aramis peel himself from the body of Athos.
"Oh God, 'Mis." Porthos paled at seeing Aramis pull away, his shirt now covered in blood.
"Were you hit, Aramis?" the captain asked in horror.
"Uh, no. . . no, I'm f-fine. It's not my blood. . . it's Athos'. I had to protect him from getting hit again, and with his sides bleeding so badly, it just looks like the blood is mine." Aramis instantly stiffened, his eyes became cold and hard. "I need to take care of Athos and we're losing time because of those godforsaken, damn bandits!"
"Aramis, it's okay. We got them all; they're all gone," d'Artagnan said.
"Well, you're not okay." The captain observed the Gascon's arm with concern. "You've been hit."
"It's just a scratch, Captain," d'Artagnan smiled. "I'm alright."
"You will need to get that looked at, d'Artagnan." The captain motioned from the Gascon to Aramis.
"Yes, Captain, I'll get my arm looked at after Athos has been taken care of."
"What do you need us to do?" Porthos asked.
"Gather up those waterskins and the wine so we can get started on Athos," Aramis ordered.
~§~
The two Musketeers returned to a very grateful medic with their arms full of waterskins.
"Thank you both," Aramis nodded. He looked up at his assistant, Captain Tréville. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," the captain nodded in affirmation.
"Is there anything that we can do?" d'Artagnan asked before they got started.
"Actually, there is." Aramis looked at his friends, and then to the captain. "I need someone to ride back to the château to ask M. Hurault where we could find either doctor Berteau or Molyneux. I'm going to need their help."
"I will ride back to Chamarande," Porthos volunteered. "But what do I tell them if I find them?"
"Tell them that Athos has torn the stitches out in both of his wounds, on the right and the left. Tell them that I am doing a basting stitch as a temporary measure until we get back to the garrison," Aramis said.
"Is that all?" d'Artagnan asked.
"No," Aramis replied. "Ask if either of them would be willing to come to Paris—to the garrison—to help with surgery to repair his sides. It would also be a great help if they would agree to stay and oversee his recovery and healing, as well."
"We have a physician for the Musketeer regiment, Aramis." Captain Tréville's brow knitted in confusion. "Why ask someone to travel all the way to Paris when we already have a doctor?"
"Captain, with all due respect, I do not trust Athos' life or his recovery in the hands of that so-called physician at the infirmary. His medical skills are primitive and his knowledge is basic. As a King's Musketeer, Athos deserves the best physician in France—Berteau and Molyneux are the best."
"They certainly proved themselves with their care of each of you at the château. I am quite impressed with both of them," the captain agreed. "Alright, if one agrees to come, the Musketeers would be very grateful for their assistance and their services. I will speak to the king so that whoever comes is well compensated."
"Captain, I'd like to ride with Porthos back to Chamarande, if I may?" d'Artagnan volunteered. "I don't think he should ride all that way—especially through the forest—and then back to Paris alone."
"Are you sure you're okay to ride, d'Artagnan?" Captain Tréville asked.
"Yes, Captain, I am fine. Please, let me go with Porthos."
"Okay, fine," Captain Tréville agreed. "However, I do not want either of you to ride through the forest alone, so you will take four Musketeers as escort. Six of you together will be the safest means of travel—and I will feel better with you having a few extra pairs of swords, if needed."
"Alright, we'll be off then." Porthos turned to leave.
"Porthos, are you sure you want to go back there?" Aramis asked with concern. "You seemed very eager to leave the château once and for all this morning."
"I will ride back to the château—I will ride back through Torfou— if it means saving Athos' life," Porthos said with steely resolve. "I would do anything for him, you know 'at."
"I would ride through the gates of Hell to save Athos, or any one of you. I mean it." d'Artagnan looked to his two friends and his Captain.
"That's what brothers do for each other." Porthos gave a hearty clap to d'Artagnan's back and a gentle squeeze to his shoulder.
"You be careful, my friends," Aramis said to d'Artagnan and Porthos. "Please come back with one of the doctor's—for Athos' sake. I'll see you all back at the garrison."
"Take good care of Athos," d'Artagnan said as he mounted his horse. "We'll be back as soon as we can."
"We'll take care of him, gentlemen," Captain Tréville said with steadfast optimism. "Do hurry and return with a doctor safely."
"All for one. . ." d'Artagnan began.
". . . and one for all," Porthos and Aramis finished in chorus with d'Artagnan.
The Musketeers parted ways on a critical quest to save an ailing brother's life. They each swore that they would move hell or high water to save Athos and nothing was going to get in their way. Not even the Forest of Torfou.