CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Porthos had a brief awareness of falling, and managed to drag in a breath before he hit the water. That breath was suddenly taken from him; the cold water shocking his system as he sank beneath the surface of the water.
Aubin had seen the moment when Porthos had wrapped himself around the Englishman, but as he took a step back he lost his footing. He watched in horror as the momentum took them both over the edge of the ridge to an uncertain outcome.
Peering over the edge, he could not see either of them, and he turned and ran back to the horses, cursing his stupidity and rashness.
Surfacing, pulling in a lungful of air, Porthos realised he was on his own; the Englishman nowhere in sight now, although he could not remember letting go of the man.
The basin of water beneath the waterfall was deep. Pounded from the torrent falling from twenty feet above him, he could already feel the pull of a strong current beneath him, as the water flowed swiftly away downstream.
Aubin leapt on his horse and grabbed the reins of the other two, Porthos's and the Englishman's, and prepared to head back down the steep incline that then ran parallel to the fast flowing river below, in order to keep pace with the Musketeer once he surfaced and started hurtling along in the rushing water. He reached the base in record time.
Riding at speed along the river bank, he caught sight as a head surfaced and breathed a sigh of relief. However, when he saw the man was fair skinned, he slowed and looked back.
Perhaps Porthos had not resurfaced and was, even now, drowning.
His heart was pounding now and he looked quickly downstream, where he could see that the white water flowed over another ledge and disappeared from view.
Not knowing how far the water fell over this ledge, Aubin only had a short distance to both locate Porthos and stop his fall.
His view was lost for a moment by the thick vegetation in the riverbank but then a body came into view, rapidly being tossed in the water, briefly catching on the rocks, only to be turned free to continue in the fast flowing water. But again, it was the Englishman, he must have been caught up and now he was loose again and heading rapidly to the edge. Aubin could not tell if the man was dead or alive.
Now that he was closer, Aubin could hear the roar of the water as it flowed over this second ridge and judging by the noise, it did indeed fall a long way down. He watched helplessly as the man was tossed along, finally disappearing over the edge. Sure enough, the scream that followed him down met Aubin's fears as to the height of this second waterfall and the knowledge that the man had been alive but would in all probability not survive the fall.
He could only wait and see if the same fate would await Porthos and hoped that he would soon catch sight of the man brave enough to save his life but put his own in peril.
Aubin left the assassin's horse on the bank and quickly dropped the stirrups on both their own two horses to their full length so they dangled down, before taking them into the water; picking his way as far as he dare into the shallows at the top of the waterfall. If the horses were to slip, they would all go over.
Aubin reasoned that if Porthos could grab either the reins or the stirrups as he was swept toward them, the first horse could bear his weight. Pressed against the second horse beside him, hopefully the strength of the two animals would prevent him being swept to his death.
But where was he?!
oOo
Porthos had not considered learning to swim until he had joined the Musketeer regiment. Not until the occasional fight near water had ended up with him being threatened with an introduction to the necessity of acquiring the skill by his two friends.
Once in the regiment, it was also soon apparent that washing and swimming the horses and the near proximity of the Seine to the Garrison had left him in no doubt that he would eventually have to learn. Many a drunken soldier had ended up in the Seine after a rowdy night in the taverns. Some managed to swim or crawl out, but some were not seen again. It was not the glorious death he had imagined for himself.
Both Aramis and Athos could swim well, and they had eventually, after equal measure of patience and frustration, given him enough skills to reduce his fears, and save himself should the situation arise.
Now, as he battled the fast flowing river he found himself in, swimming was not a prerequisite. Simply keeping his head above water in order to breathe was his main priority.
As he surfaced once more, spluttering, he turned to face downstream and let the water take him. He found that his jacket had filled with air though, and was buoying him up slightly.
That did not mean he was not fearful. He was definitely out of his depth.
He had no idea where Aubin was;
Where was he?!
oOo
Forcefully whirling round and around in the water, his vision caught flashes of trees, the cliff he had fallen from and the banks of the river as he was carried downstream. Buoyed still by the air caught in his jacket he could do nothing to allow himself to go with the flow of the water.
He could hear a roaring now and, realising what it was, he almost panicked.
Then, he caught sight of Aubin up ahead, as he was spun round again.
He was ahead, in the middle of the river, with their horses!
With only moments to think, he saw that the stirrups dangled below the horse's belly. Aubin had let them down and was shouting, now madly pointing down at them. This was his only chance. He would have to grab hold of a stirrup as he was swept beneath the horse, standing side-on to him.
If he missed, he realised it would mean certain death.
The roaring of the water was loud in his ears now, its coldness numbing his limbs.
The freezing water filled his mouth and nostrils and he desperately sought to keep his head above water.
Nearer ...nearer ...
Aubin was still shouting but he couldn't hear him. He suddenly caught sight of the horse's belly above him and at the same moment he frantically reached up and grabbed the stirrup.
oOo
His progress was halted in an instant.
Gasping for breath, he let the water hold him now; just laying on his front holding tightly onto the metal stirrup above him, digging into his hand. He was aware of the massive horse standing above him.
On the other side of the horse he was holding tightly onto, Aubin started to move his own horse forward.
He led both horses toward the bank now, being careful not to allow his horse to step on Porthos, still floating beneath him; gasping for air and cursing for all he was worth.
Free from the hooves of the horses, Porthos was able to pull himself up and rest on all fours, still desperately trying to breath. Eventually he managed to pull himself up and staggered forward.
Eventually, they all made the bank, and Porthos turned clumsily to lay on his back, out of breath still and spluttering, soaking and shivering.
When he opened his eyes and tilted his head back, Aubin came into view above him, upside down.
"You were a Miracle Boy, my friend," he laughed. "And now you are a Miracle Man!"
Porthos groaned, and pulled himself into a sitting position. But, as he looked at this impetuous Red Guard, who looked more a boy than a man, he felt something warm bloom in his chest.
That's the thing about miracles, Porthos thought, as he started to laugh out of sheer relief and gratitude; they sometimes cropped up when you least expected them.
Aubin carefully crossed the river on foot to collect the Englishman's horse. Porthos was low on funds now, after pressing coins into willing hands along the route, and the horse would bring a good price.
Five dead now.
To be continued ...