Aramis' hands were cramping from holding the cloths in place for so long. "Captain, could you hold these for just a moment?" He flexed his fingers over and over to get feeling and circulation back.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine. I'm going to start by washing the wounds with some water, and then I'll follow with some wine to disinfect."
Aramis tucked a linen strip under each side then poured water over the seeping wounds, washing away blood and sweat until cleansed. He followed by pouring a douse of wine over each wound to carefully sanitize each area.
Gnawing memories of how close an infection came to robbing him of his brother still fester and ache in his heart. "We can't be too careful with these wounds." Aramis said to Tréville without lifting his head.
The medic would take any extra precautions to see that Athos' wounds did not become infected again. He knew Athos would not survive another sepsis infection.
Aramis carefully sanitized the needle with some wine then took a deep breath. The medic nodded at the captain. "Alright, let's get to work."
Aramis began sewing while the captain held the edges of the torn skin together. "Hold on for us, Athos. We're not going to lose you to a damn wagon ride!"
The captain shook his head, remaining quiet as the medic began his delicate work.
~§~
Gathering the edges of the torn skin, Aramis began pushing and pulling the needle through the skin with an even distance between sutures. "The good thing about basting sutures is that I don't have to be as specifically intricate."
"For temporary stitching, Aramis, this isn't too bad." Captain Tréville observed, raising his eyebrows with pleasant surprise.
"It's a good thing Athos will not be stuck with these stitches permanently."
"How well will these sutures hold?" the captain asked.
"They should hold effectively until tomorrow—barring any straining or pulling on the stitches—and if Athos remains still and calm for the remainder of the ride home." Aramis answered with a sigh.
"I don't like this, Aramis." Tréville shook his head. "There are too many chances for something to go wrong; he could end up bleeding again."
"Yes, Captain, I am fully aware of that fact," Aramis answered tersely. "Considering I have to do surgery in the back of a wagon without proper instruments and supplies, this is the best Athos will get for now."
"What happens if Athos gets sick and vomits again?"
"I'd rather not think about that right now, Captain. I have only enough thread for the basting sutures; and only enough to do this once. If he tears these stitches out—we're in trouble."
"This brings a thought to mind, Captain." Aramis paused his stitching for a moment to look into the face of his captain.
"We shouldn't have left the château, or at least Athos shouldn't have left, until he was completely healed. Even if it meant that he was down there for another month or more." Aramis spoke candidly as he continued with his stitching.
"Aramis, I understand that Athos should have stayed at the château longer, but the king wanted his Musketeers home. I already made excuses for all of you the last time he requested to bring you home. I could not—and would not—make any further excuses to the king."
"Why is the king in such a rush to have us back?" Aramis asked, though he did not wait for an answer. "At least, could he have not made an exception for Athos—considering how gravely ill he was? Damn, he was just beginning to recover."
"Again, I did not wish to negotiate with the king. You know how he is, Aramis. When the king has his mind made up, there is no changing it—without consequence."
"Hold your fingers there, Captain," Aramis instructed as he was moving along with the sewing.
"This damn wagon ride has set Athos back nearly to the beginning, after everything he went through to recover." Aramis seethed with anger and let his feelings be known, while he had the audience.
"Aramis. . ."
"Captain, please, let me finish." Aramis interrupted, holding his hand up to the captain with the sewing needle in his fingers.
"One careless order by the king has now set Athos back to roughly when his fever finally broke at the château. All the progress he had made since then is now gone with these two wounds being torn open!" Aramis was finding it hard to contain his temper, considering their current situation.
"Aramis, that is enough!" Tréville stated sternly.
"No, it's not enough, Captain. We got into this bad situation because the king wanted the challenge of having a decoy take his place—with all the pomp and circumstance—so he could slip away to his vacation home unnoticed."
Aramis continued while he had the opportunity, not allowing Tréville to interrupt. "How easy it is for the king to give orders when he is not the one dealing with the consequences. The king has no idea of the sacrifices we Musketeers make to carry out his orders; he only concerns himself in seeing that his orders are followed."
"And that is as it should be, Aramis. Louis is the King of France. You are in no position to question the king or his orders—whether they make good sense or not. When the king gives an order, your job as a Musketeer is to follow his orders, not question them."
"I understand that, Captain. However, I have concerns when his orders cause the death of his Musketeers." Aramis exhaled an angry breath. "When his orders make no damn sense. . ." Aramis's thoughts trailed off as he finished sewing the left side.
"I understand why you are upset and, for the most part, I agree with you on everything you said. However, you work for the king and you do not question him—if you value your job and your life. Tread carefully, Aramis," Captain Tréville warned.
"I'm finished on this side," Aramis sighed. "Let's switch sides so we can close him up on the right."
Aramis felt no better for having gotten his angry emotions out into the open. He knew the captain was right. His place as a Musketeer was not to question orders but to follow them; even if King Louis's orders caused the death of a brother Musketeer.
Back at the Château:
Porthos and d'Artagnan arrived back at the Château de Chamarande much to the surprise of Jean-Luc who met them in the front courtyard.
"It is always good to see you, Porthos and d'Artagnan. However, if you are here without half your escort, I imagine it is not good news?" Jean-Luc asked.
"No, we came to ask where M. Berteau or M. Molyneux may be located. We need their help; Athos has torn out his stitches and Aramis is asking for either one to meet him in Paris to assist in surgery," Porthos explained.
"Do you know where we can find either of the doctors, Jean-Luc?" d'Artagnan asked.
"I believe M. Berteau is visiting family in Orléans. If you need him for emergency surgery, unfortunately, I'm afraid he is too far away to arrive in time."
"What about M. Molyneux?" Porthos asked with hesitation, afraid of a disappointing answer. Please tell me we didn't ride all this way to find both doctors too far away to help.
"If only there was some way we could have communicated beforehand –without you riding all the way back down here to Chamarande, gentlemen," Jean-Luc paused.
Porthos and d'Artagnan exchanged worried glances, dread creeping into their thoughts.
"M. Molyneux and Cécile are in the village, Arpajon. Cécile left here to join M. Molyneux just after you departed this morning. The road to Paris travels directly through the village, gentlemen. The escort may very well pass by where they are working—which is why I wish we could have communicated this information in a faster manner."
"Dammit to hell! Porthos growled. "The escort already did pass through the village," Porthos scrubbed his hand angrily over his face. "Just before Athos tore his stitches, we passed through a village that started with an 'A.' I didn't have time to read the sign but I'm sure that was the name."
"Jean-Luc, how far is it from here to Arpajon?" d'Artagnan asked.
"It is about thirteen kilometers. Not very far at all," Jean-Luc answered. "I am so sorry that we couldn't have communicated this to you while you were already there. We could have saved you the unnecessary ride here, while allowing you to meet with M. Molyneux and Cécile that much sooner."
"Bloody hell!" Porthos balled his hand into a fist and pounded it on his knee. "Can one thing go right on this mission?"
"Porthos, we need to get moving if we're going to stop in Arpajon." D'Artagnan attempted to soothe Porthos' frayed nerves by instilling a sense of urgency.
Porthos nodded his head quietly. "Thank you, Jean-Luc, for your help. Au revoir." The large Musketeer turned his horse, kicking it into a run, with d'Artagnan following close behind.
~§~
Sometime later, the group of Musketeers raced into the village of Arpajon. The horses were lathered in sweat, nostrils flaring from being pushed hard in the desperate rush for help.
They rode to the village church, Église Saint-Clément, certain they could obtain the information they needed. D'Artagnan ran inside to ask for the whereabouts of the village medical clinic.
"Excuse me, Father, would you know where we could find the village clinic? We are looking for a certain physician and his nurse who are here in the village training your new doctor—their names are M. Molyneux and Cécile René."
"Oui, monsieur," answered Father Jean-Baptiste. "I know the good doctor is staying at de l'Hôtel-de-Ville on Grande Rue, not far from here." The priest then proceeded to give the Musketeer directions.
"Merci, Father." D'Artagnan thanked the priest. He gratefully shook the cleric's hand before running back to join with Porthos. They soon found the hotel and were able to find M. Molyneux in the parlor, sipping on a hot cup of tea.
"M. Molyneux!" Porthos and d'Artagnan exclaimed, relieved to have successfully ended their desperate search at last.
"Porthos and d'Artagnan, what a pleasant surprise!" M. Molyneux greeted the two Musketeers. The physician sensed trouble with the hard expressions on the men's faces. "Is something wrong?"
"Forgive us, M. Molyneux, but we are in an extreme hurry. We have an emergency—it's Athos," d'Artagnan said, out of breath. The young Gascon suddenly got very dizzy and had to lean over with his hands supporting his weight on his knees.
"D'Artagnan, are you alright?" The doctor was on his feet in an instant, helping the young Musketeer to a chair. "Your arm is hurt, d'Artagnan."
"You shouldn't have come on this ride, d'Artagnan." Porthos shook his head, squeezing his friend's left shoulder. "All this runnin' around isn't doin' ya any good."
"I'm fine, Porthos. Besides, I wasn't going to let you go on this ride without me," d'Artagnan protested. "It's just a scratch, remember?"
"This is slightly more than just a scratch, d'Artagnan." M. Molyneux observed with a grimace. "We really should get this taken care of before it gets infected. You remember what happened the last time one of your brothers let a wound fester too long?"
"Yes, I remember." d'Artagnan waved the doctor off and stood to his feet. "Athos is the reason why we are here, doctor. We need your help with Athos. . . we can take care of my arm later."
"Alright, tell me what is going on then." Molyneux nodded, looking to each Musketeer.
"Athos tore the stitches out on both sides when he vomited in the wagon. Aramis said to tell you he would be doing a basting stitch as a temporary measure until surgery could be performed back at the garrison," Porthos explained. "Will you be able to come to Paris to help us, please?"
"Of course, absolutely," M. Molyneux answered. "Cécile is right upstairs in her room. Let us go fetch her so we can leave immediately. If we hurry, we might be able to catch up to the wagon."
"Thank you, M. Molyneux," Porthos said gratefully. "Athos has been set back a lo' and we need your help to bring him back."
"We know Athos is in good hands with Aramis," d'Artagnan added with a frown. "But for Aramis—of all people—to make a request such as this, I suspect Athos' condition is more serious than he's letting on."
A/N:
In 1360, during the Hundred Years War, the city of Arpajon was besieged by King Edward III of England. Inside the Église Saint-Clément (cathedral) were approximately 800 refugees. The king had the church burned—with the refugees inside—leaving no survivors.
In 1720 the French village of Châtres had its name changed to Arpajon, after Louis de Severac, Marquis of Arpajon. For the sake of the story, I'm leaving the name of the village as Arpajon as being the same also during the time of the Musketeers.