Insurgency

Chapter Seven

"You are the Devil Incarnate." Father Guillaume dropped to his knees beside Bertrand's body.

Aramis, having spent his remaining strength, hung limply in the hands of his guards and squeezed his eyes shut to try and block out the hideous sight.

"There will be no more killing," the Abbot continued. He gently closed Bertrand's eyes and made the sign of the cross.

"That depends upon Brother Rene." The Colonel turned to Aramis. "Are you ready to answer my questions now?"

A persistent buzzing started in Aramis' ears. When he attempted to open his eyes his vision was edged with black. His stomach roiled and bile rushed up his throat. He tried to nod, failing miserably as the darkness closed in.

When he next became aware of his surroundings he was lying down, resting on his side. The pain of his wounds returned with full force and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. In addition to the unremitting pain in his back he noted that his right eye was swollen shut and his jaw felt like he had hit a wall. He was in a bed, something which vaguely surprised him, until he remembered that he still had information vital to the Spanish.

"Stay still."

The soothing tones of Brother Jerome were almost enough to bring tears to his eyes.

"He didn't…?" he stammered, unable to finish the thought. All he could see was the butchered body of an innocent boy. His guilt threatened to overwhelm him. If he had spoken out sooner Bertrand would still be alive.

"No-one else was harmed," Brother Jerome said gently. "After you collapsed we carried Brother Bertrand's body to the chapel and said a Mass for his soul. I asked permission to tend to you, although I think the only reason the Colonel agreed was to ensure you are well enough to be questioned again."

"How did he find out?" Aramis' back twitched. It felt like an army of ants was marching up and down his skin, their feet dipped in molten lava.

"He decided to send out a night patrol. Here, drink this. It will help with the pain." Jerome held a cup to his lips and he drank gratefully. "He sent for you to ready the horses. Once it was found you were missing he tore the monastery apart to find out how you had slipped away."

"I'm sorry."

"You were doing your duty. I think you are still more of a soldier than a monk."

"Is he awake?" The Colonel's voice caused Aramis to flinch.

"He is, but he is very weak."

"That does not concern me." Marquez pulled over a chair and sat by Aramis' bedside.

"Help me to sit up," Aramis asked Brother Jerome.

"You should stay lying down. Your back is a mess."

With gritted teeth Aramis tried to push his aching body upright. Seeing his determination Jerome moved to help although he muttered something about stubborn young men. Once he had succeeded in sitting up he realised that he couldn't lean against the pillows without causing unspeakable agony. He hunched forward and met the Colonel's gaze as steadily as he could.

"What regiment did you serve in?" Colonel Marquez asked.

"I was a Musketeer."

"Ah, that explains much. I have killed many of your compatriots." The Colonel was unaffected by Aramis' glare. "You will answer my questions truthfully or I will make good on my threat to kill more of your brethren. You speak Spanish?"

"Yes."

"You warned the town about our attack?"

"Yes." He swallowed, almost shuddering at the pain. His screams had left his throat lacerated and raw.

"Have they sent for reinforcements from Paris?"

Aramis debated his answer, deciding that he was not telling the Colonel anything he couldn't guess. "They have."

"It is too soon for help to have arrived," the Colonel mused. "But troops will come soon."

"If you stay here you will all die," Aramis said, his voice rough and lacking its usual power.

The Colonel ignored him. "Where did you go last night?"

He lowered his head, ashamed of his next words. "Douai, to speak to the Mayor."

"What information did you give to him?"

This was the crux of his dilemma, but he couldn't allow the Colonel to kill anyone else. His hesitation though was greeted with a deep frown. He thought of his brothers. They were expecting an attack on the outlying farms and would be planning accordingly. However, he knew Athos would have prepared for every eventuality and that the Musketeers had been seasoned by four years of war. They would not be caught unaware by a change in plan. Also, he could tell the truth without betraying them because the Colonel believed it was too soon for French troops to have reached the region.

"I am waiting. Do I have to order the death of another of the monks?"

"No. I'll tell you." He raised his head, praying that the Colonel would accept what he was about to say and not ask further questions. "I overheard you and the Captain discussing an attack on the farms. That is what I told the Mayor."

The Colonel stood up and gestured to the soldier waiting behind him. "Find somewhere to lock him up."

"Have some pity," Brother Jerome said. "He needs medical care."

"Listen well, old man. Tonight the town of Douai will burn. If he is telling the truth there will be little resistance because all the men will be protecting the farms. If he has lied he will watch everyone here die before his own execution. Either way he dies tonight. Your skills would be wasted."

Aramis slumped back against the pillows, causing him to whimper as his lacerated back made contact with the rough material. His heart was heating wildly as hope swelled in his chest. He had been granted a reprieve. Maybe he would survive long enough to be rescued.

TMTMTM

Night crept over the horizon and the Musketeers finished their final weapons check. Athos mentally reviewed their plan. It sounded simple: enter the monastery through the secret passage, meet up with Aramis, locate the Colonel and take him prisoner. He wasn't fool enough to believe they wouldn't encounter obstacles and difficulties along the way but he was confident they would prevail. His mouth was dry with anticipation. The success of their actions tonight could finally herald the end of a war that had almost brought ruin to both countries.

"D'Artagnan. Go and scout out the entrance to the monastery. We can't afford for anything to go wrong."

The gate was on the east side of the monastery complex, screened from the road by a copse of mature trees. D'Artagnan kept to the shadows as he made his way from their camp. He was filled with nervous excitement as was always the case before a battle. Once they began their mission that feeling would be replaced by confidence in his own abilities and those of his brothers.

He chose a position from which he could see the gate without being observed. At first all was quiet as the night deepened. Then he thought he saw movement. He edged forward, straining his eyes to penetrate the deep gloom. He saw it again. There was definitely someone standing just inside the entryway.

His first thought was that it was Aramis waiting for them but he quickly discounted that. It was then that the full significance crashed down around him. He hurriedly backed away and, once he was sure he wouldn't be seen, he started to run. By the time he reached their camp he was out of breath and incapable of speech. He caught Porthos' eye and the large man immediately picked up on his unease.

"Athos," Porthos called.

Their leader joined them immediately. "What's wrong?"

D'Artagnan heaved in a breath. "There's a guard at the gate."

"Aramis said the Spanish didn't know of its existence," Athos said quietly.

"They know about it now." Porthos laid a comforting hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder.

"Do you think they know about Aramis?" d'Artagnan asked.

"We must assume they do. If he had been captured they might be expecting our attack."

"Aramis would never betray us," Porthos said hotly.

"We all know Marquez' reputation. If Aramis is in his hands he will not have been gently treated. He might even be dead."

"Aramis isn't dead," Porthos asserted with complete confidence.

"How can you be sure?" d'Artagnan asked, fear for his friend coiling in his chest.

"Don't you go doubtin' him."

"Whether he is alive or dead we must adjust our plans. Sebastien," Athos called. "Place a lookout on both roads leaving the monastery and have the men ready to leave the minute there is any sign of the Spanish. You are in charge." He turned back to Porthos and d'Artagnan. "Come on. We have a Spanish Colonel to capture and," he paused, "a brother to rescue."

Tbc