CHAPTER SIX
The present:
During the night, Aramis had organised barrels of cold water lined up in the yard. Into them were plunged sheets, rung out and carried into the Infirmary to those who had fever. Treville ordered all free men to keep the supply going and soon Athos was covered in a cold, wet sheet.
Later:
Athos awoke in pain and seared with fever.
Listening, he could hear Aramis's voice somewhere, moving around the room and murmuring in Spanish to those around him.
Prayers.
He looked for Porthos and saw him on the floor to his right, against the wall; broad arms on the bed and his head resting on top of them. He was asleep, almost in a kneeling position. This had been a bad time, then.
He must have closed his eyes, because Porthos was gone and Aramis now sat on the bed beside him, and with gentle hands, turned his face toward him.
It seemed it was his turn for murmured prayers.
He felt his head raised and something put to his lips and because it was Aramis, he swallowed without complaint. A foul tasting medicine, but he lay back and waited for the pain to fade, before everything around him faded once more.
Later, Porthos brought two cold wet sheets from outside, where the kitchen staff was busy at the end of a queue, soaking sheets for all the men who had developed fevers, Athos included.
Aramis deftly removed the fever-soaked sheet from Athos and replaced it quickly with a clean wet one, which quickly remoulded itself to his form.
As his wounds were both on his left side, they had turned him to lay on his right; Porthos had wedged himself between the bed and the wall on that side to keep watch. After the afternoon was passed in this way, they both realised that more was needed if they were to break his fever.
Porthos stood up stiffly and rubbed his legs.
"Damn legs, can't feel 'em; the floor's so bloody cold!" he muttered.
They looked at each other.
"That's it!" said Aramis, "We should lay those with fever on the floor!"
"It needs cleanin' though," Porthos grumbled, looking warily at the flagstones that they had all been walking on.
"That will have to wait; we'll put a clean sheet down for them to lie on; we need the cold to come through the sheet," Aramis replied, animated now.
So together, they pushed the bed up against the wall and threw a clean sheet on the floor.
Fortunately, Louis had sent further supplies from his own stores and there was no shortage of linen.
Then, they moved Athos, heavily bandaged at hip and neck, down onto the floor with a pillow for his head, and then threw another wet sheet over him.
"This will either cure or kill 'im," muttered Porthos darkly.
They did the same with two other men who were suffering from high fevers and then Aramis sat down once more beside Athos on the floor, and Porthos lay himself on the bed so he could lean over the side and keep an eye on their friend. It would not do to allow him to twist and turn freely and incur further injury.
In the doorway, the surgeon watched.
His colleague had now returned to the Palace, and he himself was gathering his equipment, in preparation of taking his leave; their task completed.
Aramis looked up then, and seeing him watching them, he waited for a challenge. But it did not come. The surgeon merely looked around the room sadly, and then back to Aramis. Fever had always been a possibility, given the filthy condition in which the men had returned to the Garrison.
With one slow nod of his head, he turned back into the room, disappearing from sight. Perhaps he knew that he could not stop these two tenacious men doing everything in their power to help their friends.
There had been no further deaths but fever was threatening to take those who had come this far; their care would now pass to local doctors.
oOo
"Athos ...Athos ..." Hushed words that pull at the darkness.
There is a finger lightly stroking his palm.
Then, a whispered voice he recognises, deep and warm and urgent.
"Come on, Athos; don't let the buggers win."
The finger becomes a hand, holding firmly.
And in that moment, Athos knows where he is, and he is anchored.
oOo
Morning found Aramis and Porthos beyond exhaustion, but refusing to relinquish care.
They watched as others walked amongst the wounded now, more able to look after those in need by virtue of being rested; enabling the two of them now to remain with their brother. In the hour before dawn, they thought they had lost him, but he had squeezed Porthos's hand and shortly after, the fever broke and he slipped into sleep.
Now when Athos opened his eyes; the bed was above him. He slowly raised his hand and ran his fingers over the wooden frame. A face appeared above him, over the edge of the frame. Porthos, who had been laid on the bed, was looking down at him now, reaching out and putting his large hand on his chest.
Had he fallen out of bed? He was definitely on the floor, and Aramis was on his other side, sitting cross legged beside him. His hand dropped from the wooden frame and lay upon Porthos's, on his chest still.
At last, he found his voice,
"The last I remember ..." he whispered hoarsely, "I was on the ground beneath the Royal coach. Now I am on a cold floor, with the heat leaching from me ... are the two connected?"
Above him, Aramis and Porthos both looked at each other, and a smile spread across their faces.
oOo
He had never been a good patient.
Irritable and stubborn at best, Athos could be rude, impatient and obnoxious at his worst. Now though, he seemed content to lay where he had been placed and watch the comings and goings in the sick room. Even though he had his own room in the Garrison, they had put him in with the others because, during the chaos that ensued after the ambush, and having so many needing attention, dead or dying, it was quite possible that he would have been forgotten if placed apart from them all.
Now that he was awake, he remained where he had been put.
The fever at last gone, now back in the bed and propped up on pillows, he was unusually quiet. Blood loss had left him like this, but he was lost in thought, in no small measure because six of his command were dead and the rest were before his eyes. It was not good form to be truculent at a time like this and he was genuinely concerned about what turn of events would ensue because of the ambush. He now pondered the reasons for the attack and its aftermath. If the ambushers were attempting to deplete the Musketeers, they had succeeded. Six of their best were indeed dead, two may yet follow.
He needed to discuss this with Treville.
Just then, a movement at the door caught his eye and the man himself entered and made his way across to Athos. Treville was pleased to see him looking better after the long night. He was well aware of the struggle Aramis and Porthos had had with those wracked with fever, as he had spent much of the night with them. Thankfully, their efforts had been rewarded, and no one else had been lost.
Now was not perhaps the time, but he had matters to discuss and needed Athos's counsel.
"It is good to see you looking better, Athos. These have been terrible days. I thank God that no more were lost, and that you have been spared."
"God's ways are mysterious, in whom he deems worthy of salvation," Athos replied quietly.
"I will hear none of that, Athos. All his creatures are worthy of his love."
Athos had not heard Treville speak of God in such a way before, and so he held his peace. Their Captain had been through much over the last few days. None of them doubted the love and respect he had for his men. There was an uneasy silence between them then, before Treville spoke once more.
"Aramis tells me you believe the assassins to be English," he began, pulling up a chair.
"I am certain of it." Athos replied, sure once more of his ground.
Treville was sitting quietly, tapping his hand on his knee. Seeming to come to a decision, he looked at Athos.
"You know that Rochefort languishes in a Spanish jail?" he began.
"As he deserves," Athos answered quietly.
"Quite so," Treville replied, but he looked worried.
"Last month, terms were received from Spain," Treville continued, in hushed tones.
"What terms?"
"An exchange of prisoners. Rochefort for the Spanish spy Velez."
"He is of more use to us than Rochefort," Athos replied in distain.
Velez had been taken spying on the border. He had knowledge that would save time and lives if it came to war with Spain. At the moment, war was unlikely, but Louis was in no hurry to free Spanish spies.
"Richelieu has other reasons to leave Rochefort where he is," said Treville.
"He does not trust him," Athos ventured, watching his Captain's face.
"He thinks he is unstable," Treville murmured.
"So, better to leave him for the Spanish to endure," Athos smiled grimly.
"Indeed." Treville replied, smiling for the first time.
"And yet, there is a problem?" Athos added.
"Richelieu is acquiring many enemies. He may have just acquired more in whoever holds Rochefort," Treville said, sitting back.
"Rochefort may have promised his Spanish captors much to obtain his release, and so they are thwarted?" Athos said.
"Undoubtedly."
"So the Spanish will need to make up lost ground," Athos murmured.
Treville gave a short laugh.
"Not only that – they may seek to discredit Richelieu in the eyes of his King," he said.
"I would like to see Richelieu's face if that were to happen," Athos muttered.
"There are also those in Spain who would have wished to see a Spanish queen on the English throne," Treville continued. "When that did not happen with the Infanta, and Charles took a French bride, there was some disappointment. With Henrietta Maria out of the way, Charles would have to marry again and an English allegiance with Spain would put France in a precarious position, not only by geography," Treville added.
"But we forget the repercussions that her death would have between England and France; and all because a woman wishes to pay her respects to her dead father," Athos replied.
"I have spoken to no-one else about this. It may be the ramblings of an old man," Treville concluded.
Athos frowned;
"When does the Queen leave for England?"
"That's the problem. It is an uncomfortable journey. She is uneasy in light of what has happened, and in no hurry," Treville replied. Seeing that Athos was exhausted now, he eased himself up.
Reaching for the pitcher of water beside the bed, he poured a cup and then helped Athos to drink.
"Get some sleep, Athos. There may be much to do before this plays out."
Athos watched Treville as he made his way back through the Infirmary, stopping to say a few words to those who could comprehend.
To be continued ...