Porthos:

The Musketeers awoke to find their backs and chests burning as though their skin was on fire. As the sweat rolled in droplets down their skin, the pain stinging their bare skin was agonizing and neither man could stop the moans from escaping their lips.

The wounds created by the unrelenting whip were still oozing blood in some places. On the smaller cuts, the skin was beginning to scab and crust over with dried blood. Extreme movement only caused the skin to stretch and reopen freshly closed wounds, putting the Musketeers through sheer agony.

Porthos was the first to notice that they were no longer hanging but were now sitting on the cold stone floor with their arms shackled just above their heads. For this, at least, he felt very grateful. He decided to test the strength of the new restraints, but found the manacles too small and too tight to even hope for escape.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take, Porthos," d'Artagnan said weakly. "I won't tell these arses anything, but I don't think I'm going to make it out of here alive."

"Rubbish," Porthos growled. "Don't you dare go there, d'Artagnan! Don't even talk like 'at—you can't let 'em win."

"I'm not going to let them win, Porthos," his shaky voice replied. "But I am losing the strength to hang on." D'Artagnan's breath hitched as a wave of pain coursed through his mangled back. The Gascon arched his back as if trying to escape his own skin; his chest heaved as he panted heavily. "God, it hurts," pained breath hissed through clenched teeth.

"Breathe, d'Artagnan," Porthos ordered. "Breathe through the pain. . ."

They were interrupted as the cell door opened; both men groaned aloud, each dreading the unknown horrors that lay in store.

"Ah, you are both awake; that is very good," Henri said. "I have something quite special in store for both of you and I can't wait to get started. Let us not waste any further time talking but get started, shall we?

Neither man made a sound, but their silent exchange of worried glances spoke volumes.

"I think this time we will start with the big man," the evil tormentor laughed. He ordered Gaston to blindfold Porthos. "If you try anything stupid, I guarantee that you will regret it, Musketeer."

Porthos nodded in resignation to the tormentors.

"Unshackle him and bind his hands," Henri ordered Gaston and Jacques.

Gaston blindfolded the Musketeer then proceeded to unshackle Porthos' wrists; Jacques bound the large hands together behind his back to prevent escape. The large man cried out as his arms rubbed against the torn flesh of his back and the ropes burned against his ragged skin.

Porthos had no strength left to stand on his own; it took both men lifting Porthos under the arms to get him to his feet. Once on his feet, the Musketeer could barely muster the strength to remain standing as blood roared in his ears and his vision greyed.

"No, please!" d'Artagnan screamed. "Please don't hurt him. . . take me instead!"

"Shut up, dammit!" Porthos hissed. "I can handle 'is." The large Musketeer steadied himself and squared his shoulders, bravely nodding that he was ready.

"Isn't that sweet," Henri mocked. "Don't worry, young Musketeer, you will have your turn with this special treat as well. Count on it," he deadpanned.

The men led Porthos out of the cell, leaving d'Artagnan screaming for his friend. The Gascon wildly pulled on his chains in attempt to escape the nightmarish hell they found themselves in but to no avail.

Porthos was led to a room across the narrow hall where Henri untied the Musketeer's hands then directed him to lie on his back on an inclined table with his feet up higher than his head. Porthos blindly felt with his hands the table in front of him and his breath caught in his throat, suddenly afraid of what lay in store.

Porthos stood frozen- though still blindfolded- afraid to lie on the wooden table with his back so badly damaged. A fist pounded into his ribs and dropped him to his knees, igniting a fire of burning pain that spread through his midsection.

"Lie on your back on the table—feet up here." Henri tapped the top of the table as Gaston pulled Porthos to his feet then guided the Musketeer's hand along the table to demonstrate.

Porthos obeyed then lay down on the table with Henri's assistance. Immediately the Musketeer raised his back off the wood as the touch caused excruciating pain to explode over his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on breathing to control the pain, but the feeling of being inclined was making him dizzy and making the pain worse.

Gaston and Jacques proceeded to bind the Musketeer's hands on rings bolted to the bottom of the table, near Porthos' head.

Next, the men restrained Porthos' feet to an iron bar spanning the length of the top of the table. They followed by restraining the large man with a thick leather strap belted across his midsection to completely prevent movement.

Porthos' chest heaved with panic as he was unable to see why he was being restrained in such a manner. "What are you doing?" The Musketeer twisted against the restraints. "Let me go, dammit!"

"We will let you—and your friend—go if you tell us where the letter is," Henri grinned at the obvious panic rising in his prisoner. Perhaps this is the torture method that will finally break this big and tough Musketeer, the tormentor thought.

"I don't know what you are talkin' 'bout." Porthos clenched his jaw together in determination to stay strong, no matter what came his way.

"Have it your way then." Henri placed a cloth over Porthos' face, but the Musketeer instantly shook his head rapidly side-to-side to free his face from the cloth until it fell off. The tormentor ordered Jacques to hold the Musketeer's head still while he replaced the cloth over his mouth and nose.

Gaston took a bucket of water then poured a large amount over the cloth, causing Porthos to sputter and gag. The Musketeer choked on the water while desperately trying to spit it out so he could breathe, but the cloth prevented it.

Porthos writhed and twisted against the restraints, but they were unforgiving in their hold on the panicked prisoner. The cold water splashed across his chest and ran over his lacerated back, adding to the symphony of pain and terror.

Jacques increased his pressure on the Musketeer's head to hold it still as Gaston poured more water onto the cloth; he watched with sadistic pleasure as Porthos choked.

Henri removed the cloth for a brief moment, allowing Porthos to spit up the water and take in a few sputtering breaths. The cloth was then replaced as Gaston once again poured more water over the Musketeer's face.

"S-s-s-st'p!" Porthos gurgled as his lungs screamed for air, but water was all the Musketeer could inhale as the sadistic torture continued.

More water was poured onto the cloth as Porthos writhed under the restraints in sheer panic; he was unable to breathe and began to choke violently. Once again, the cloth was pulled away to allow the Musketeer to finish gagging and choking and to catch his breath only to have the cloth replaced as more water was dumped into his mouth.

This violent process continued for several agonizing minutes. Porthos' panic increased as the torture continued; increasingly, he was less able to catch his breath as more water than oxygen began filling his weary lungs.

Porthos began to lurch, heaving with signs that he was about to vomit. Henri quickly removed the cloth and the midsection strap so they could turn Porthos onto his side, allowing the watery vomitus to run harmlessly down the table.

The large Musketeer was allowed a moment to catch his breath while Henri taunted him. "This torment will end if you would simply tell me where the letter is. We have plenty of buckets of water down here, so we are quite prepared if you wish to remain stubborn. I hardly think protecting the king's secrets is worth this torture, wouldn't you agree?"

"Go t-to h-hell," Porthos growled as he lay on his side gasping for breath.

"If that is your wish, then perhaps I will send you there before me," Henri sneered. "However, I have no plans to leave this world anytime soon; you may be waiting a while for me to join you. Alright, Gaston, begin again."

Porthos began to cry out in protest but the wet cloth muffled his voice. Soon, the Musketeer's voice gargled hopelessly as his mouth and throat filled up again with water. The large man writhed in sheer panic, terrorized by the inability to breathe, yet the water flowed relentlessly as Porthos was allowed only seconds to recover and catch his breath.

It didn't take long for the large man's consciousness to begin waning. His ears rang as blood thundered and beat against his eardrums—even his own screams sounded distant. Porthos felt as though he was floating; he imagined that he was bobbing on waves while lying on the wooden deck of a ship sailing across the water.

As more water was poured over his mouth, Porthos tried in vain to gulp oxygen into his starved lungs but only more liquid was inhaled. Finally, the large Musketeer felt at peace as he drifted into the open arms of darkness, welcoming its bliss.

Henri felt the Musketeer go lax and immediately pulled the soaking wet cloth away. He rolled Porthos sideways while pounding on his back to dislodge the water which came pouring up from his lungs and out of the open mouth.

Porthos sputtered for air as his unconscious body took in involuntary but desperate breaths, filling his oxygen deprived lungs.

"This is the first prisoner that didn't break, Henri." Gaston commented with amazement. "I have to admit, these Musketeers are admirable—they're tough—and there's no denying it."

"No, there is no denying it at all," Henri agreed. "Take this Musketeer back to his cell. It's time to work on breaking the younger man now. Everyone has a breaking point and I'm going to test the endurance of this Gascon like he's never been tested before. Someone is going to tell me what I want to know or they won't leave this château alive."

A/N:

Waterboarding in various forms has been practiced for centuries. It was used by the Spanish during the Inquisition in the16th century; and by Dutch traders against the British in the 17th century, during the Thirty Years' War 1618- 1648.

Waterboarding is when water is poured through a cloth into the nose and mouth of a victim lying on his back on an inclined table, with his feet above his head. As the victim's sinus cavities and mouth fill with water, his gag reflex causes him to expel air from his lungs, leaving him unable to exhale and inhale without aspirating water. Although water usually enters the lungs, it does not immediately fill them, owing to their elevated position with respect to the head and neck. In this way the victim appears to drown without suffering asphyxiation. The torture is eventually halted and the victim put in an upright position to allow him to cough and vomit water; or to revive him if he has become unconscious, after which the torture may be resumed. Waterboarding produces extreme physical suffering and an uncontrollable feeling of panic and terror, usually within seconds.