d'Artagnan:
Porthos was dragged back to his cell and chained to the wall, his wrists secured tightly in the manacles. The blindfold was removed roughly, causing the limp head of the unconscious Musketeer to fall against the stone wall with a thud.
Henri and Gaston laughed as they tapped the unconscious man's cheeks, forcing Porthos' head to roll forward until his chin rested against his chest.
Water dripped from Porthos' hair and beard then ran down his wet skin. A slow stream of water dripped from the corner of the Musketeer's mouth, dribbling down his chin and onto his chest. His breath came in gurgling rasps as small amounts of water still remained in his lungs.
"What the hell did you do to him?" D'Artagnan screamed at seeing his friend dripping wet and unconscious. "Porthos, oh God, please wake up!"
"Shut up, boy! Gaston swung the back of his hand, slapping d'Artagnan on the face. "We ask the questions and give the orders around here."
Involuntary tears welled in the Gascon's eyes as his face stung from the slap. He could taste more blood in his mouth from yet another split in his lip. If I make it through this ordeal alive, I wonder if Constance will still want to kiss my scarred lips?
"It's your turn for the special treat, boy," Gaston gloated with delight. "Let's see if you can handle it as well as your friend did, eh?" The man laughed with a sadistic chuckle.
D'Artagnan looked at his still-unconscious friend and smiled. So, they didn't get anything from you yet again; was there ever any doubt? God, help me to be as strong as Porthos in whatever lies ahead—please, give me the strength to endure this.
"You won't be smiling when we get done with you, Musketeer!" Gaston blindfolded the young man as Jacques unshackled his wrists then bound his hands behind his back with rope. Severe pressure was put on his wounded shoulder without a care, causing d'Artagnan to hiss with pain and gasp at the torment it caused.
D'Artagnan was yanked to his feet and, once again, he cried out with pain at the deliberate harsh handling of his wounded body. His chest heaved with quick, panicked breaths as he was blindly led away to an unknown nightmare that would test his will and endurance.
The Gascon was led into the room and he cringed as his feet splashed in cold water on the stone floor. His mind went back to Porthos being dragged into the cell still dripping wet with water and his heart skipped a beat. Oh God, what are they going to do, are they going to drown me too?
D'Artagnan began to fight against the arms pulling him into the room. "No, stop! I don't know anything, dammit!"
The Musketeer half-dragged, half-pushed with his feet against the slippery floor, but had not the strength to prevent being coerced into the room. The tormentors threw the Gascon's body across the surface of a flat table where they forcibly pushed him down then held him as they tied his hands. "Now, lie down on your back and don't even think of doing something stupid," Henri ordered.
D'Artagnan turned over then sat on the table but hesitated, knowing the pain it would cause his back. "I said to lie down," Henri slapped the Gascon on his wounded shoulder.
The young Gascon screamed, then doubled over in agony from the burning in his shoulder which pulsated down his arm like fire. Hot tears welled in his eyes and soaked his blindfold; he was glad his captors could not see his tears. D'Artagnan relented and allowed himself to be pushed backward on the table; he gave no resistance as his arms were tied above his head to the iron rings bolted to the top of the table.
Panic grew inside the Gascon's mind as they took each of his feet then restrained them to the rings at the foot of the table. "What are you doing?" D'Artagnan's voice shook with fear. "You're wasting your time; I don't know anything!"
Gaston inserted an iron prong into d'Artagnan's mouth to widen it and keep it open. The Musketeer screamed and thrashed his head from left to right, successfully dislodging the metal from his mouth.
Gaston took d'Artagnan's head and slammed it to the table with enough force to stun the Musketeer, causing him to cease resisting. The ruthless man put heavy pressure on the Gascon's head so he could no longer move as Jacque shoved the awkward iron prong into the Musketeer's mouth to keep it open.
"Jean-Pierre, come here and hold his nose while I pour the water," Henri directed.
"W't a m'nt. . . 'o. . . d' . . ." D'Artagnan tried to fight off the hands holding him down but didn't have the strength. His chest tightened with alarm from sheer panic, making it nearly impossible to breathe, when Jean-Pierre came over to hold his nose. Sweat popped out in beads on his skin as terror swept through his mind. He wished that he could at least see what torment the goons had in store for him—as if, somehow, seeing would make facing the torment easier—but all he saw was black from the blindfold.
"Last chance, where is the letter?" Henri demanded, as he held a pitcher of water above d'Artagnan's head.
"I don't know what you are talking about!" d'Artagnan shouted. The Gascon already feared what torture the men had planned, but nothing prepared him for the terror that followed as the water began flowing into his open mouth.
With the iron prong holding his mouth open, and Jean-Pierre plugging his nose, the Gascon had no choice but to swallow the torrent of water being poured into his mouth.
Gurgling screams was the only sound coming from d'Artagnan's mouth as he could form no words otherwise. As the water continued to pour, the Gascon spurted and choked on the water sending some of it spraying into the face of Henri.
Henri refilled his pitcher of water, giving a few seconds of rest to d'Artagnan, who was greedily gasping for air through his open mouth, while choking on small amounts of water still in his throat.
Henri returned with a full pitcher of water and began slowly pouring it into the Gascon's mouth, renewing the Musketeer's panic as he tried desperately to breathe but could only swallow water instead. A low throaty scream and panicked gurgling was all he could muster, despite how he wished for them to stop.
D'Artagnan fought against the restraints holding him down but it was no use—he was trapped. This is it, I'm going to die in this room. I always thought I might die in the line of duty as a King's Musketeer, but I never thought I would die like this.
Henri stopped with the water as he saw the Gascon's body beginning to go lax. He didn't want to kill the Musketeer since it was impossible to extract information from a dead man. "Give him a few minutes to catch his breath," he said as he refilled the pitcher.
D'Artagnan felt as though he were drowning in a deluge of waves; his own body pulled him downward as the weight of the water filled his lungs and sloshed in his stomach. "Pl-please. . . n-no. . . m-more, please," he begged.
"I will stop if you tell me where the letter is," Henri stated matter-of-factly.
"I d-don't. . . don't know wh-where the l-letter is, I sw- swear to you. . . I don't know," d'Artagnan stammered.
"You were sent on a mission to deliver a letter from the king to Marie de Hautefort, yet you swear you have no idea where this letter is located. This was an important mission, was it not? But you know nothing," Henri scoffed. "Are you always this stupid, Musketeer?"
Before d'Artagnan could respond, the iron prong was replaced in his mouth and the cascade of water began anew. With his nose plugged, he had no choice but to swallow the liquid as it poured down his throat, once again drowning him on the inside. The strangled gasps of breath were not enough to fill his already tormented and burning lungs. It didn't take long for the Musketeer to feel himself losing his grip on consciousness once again.
Henri stopped and ordered Jean-Pierre to let go of the Gascon's nose. D'Artagnan tried to gulp a mouthful of air but could only manage choking, as too much water still remained in his trachea. He felt like his body might erupt from the overload of water in his belly; he crunched his face into a painful grimace at feeling so bloated. The Gascon curled his fingers into a tight fist, his fingernails digging deep into his palms as he concentrated on not passing out.
His stomach felt taut, as though his abdomen might burst apart with an explosion of water and entrails. He soon felt the bile rising as his body was ridding itself of the excess load of water. "Ssssick. . ." d'Artagnan croaked.
Henri had just enough time to turn the Musketeer as the water came gushing from d'Artagnan's body in a rush. The water splashed and sprayed on the table and onto the floor; everywhere in close proximity was drenched with the sudden eruption of liquid.
The Musketeer gagged and retched until all the water had been freed from his distended stomach. "God pl-please. . . n-no m-more," d'Artagnan begged.
"I wish it were that easy," Henri made a tisk-tisk noise, in a mocking manner. "But, now you have expelled all of the water we worked so hard to pour into you, so we must begin again."
"No, p-please. . ." d'Artagnan cried, groaning as they began drowning him anew with a flood of water pouring into his open mouth with no reservations. Jean-Pierre continued plugging the Gascon's nose, making it almost impossible to breathe.
The sadistic process of d'Artagnan swallowing pitchers of water being poured into his open mouth continued for a second round, as did the choking, sputtering and gasping for air. The Gascon tried to close his mouth and turn away his head but it was no use, the restraints and the iron prong held him firm.
Water leaked from his nose and spluttered from his mouth as the relentless pouring filled his body to overflowing. D'Artagnan knew that he couldn't continue like this much longer as he began to swoon, feeling dizzy from oxygen deprivation.
"Jean-Pierre, let go of his nose again," Henri said as he paused with the pouring.
"Henri, this isn't working," Gaston complained. "It didn't work with the big Musketeer and it's not working with this one either. Maybe we should just kill them both and report to our employer that we were not successful."
"Are you serious, Gaston?" Henri was incredulous. "Do you know what he'll do to us if we report ourselves as failures? Do you?" The lead tormentor screamed, his face turning beet red with rage. "He will kill us all, you fool!"
"S-sounds like your. . . sit-situation is as b-bad. . . as ours," d'Artagnan snorted.
"Jean-Pierre, plug his nose; we begin again," Henri growled as he poured the entire pitcher into d'Atagnan's mouth. "You tell us what we want to know or you keep your damned mouth shut."
D'Artagnan had to stifle a laugh. First, they want me to talk and now they want me to shut up; it sounds like they are the ones who are beginning to crack under pressure. If I can hold on just a little while longer. . ." d'Artagnan thought to himself.
More and more water flowed into the Gascon's body, even as the gurgling and sputtering in desperation to breathe started to wane. The blood rushing in d'Artagnan's ears was deafening until he stopped fighting; he stopped gurgling. . . he stopped caring.
Finally, he stopped breathing.
Henri threw the pitcher down then punched d'Artagnan hard in the stomach; he quickly rolled the Musketeer onto his side as the water came gushing out again. He pounded on the young man's back to startle the air back into his starved lungs.
"Don't you dare die on us," screamed Henri as he pounded on the Gascon's back again and again. "We are not done with you yet! Breathe, you damn stubborn bastard!"
Henri turned the Musketeer onto his back and pounded his chest with a heavy fist, then turned him onto his side once again to allow the remaining water to drain out. Finally, he heard the soft bubbling sound of suffocated breaths gurgling in the Gascon's throat.
The tormentor continued to pound on d'Artagnan's back as the young man tried to catch his breath.
D'Artagnan banged his head against the wooden table in panic as he struggled to draw breaths but couldn't without choking. God, why didn't they just let me go? I can't do this anymore.
Henri took hold of d'Artagnan's head to hold it still while Jean-Pierre pounded on the Musketeer's back to help bring up further water drowning the lungs and preventing oxygen from being inhaled.
At last Henri released his hold on d'Artagnan; the Gascon let his head hang over the edge of the table as occasional retches of water still plagued him. His chest burned from the lack of oxygen slowly suffocating the life from his body. He wished his tormentors had just let him die.
The horribly suffocating water torture was the single most terrifying ordeal the young Musketeer had ever endured. His chest heaved with heavy, labored breaths as the terror of the experience plagued his mind and forced him to continue struggling to even breathe.
The young Gascon weakly shook his head, resigning himself to chance or to whatever fate befell him. Presently, d'Artagnan would welcome death rather than continue with this torture; the Musketeer gladly—even willingly—gave up and let himself fall into a sea of darkness.
A/N:
This sort of water torture was used extensively and legally by the courts in France from the Middle Ages to the 17th and 18th centuries. It was known as being "put to the question" with usually about eight pints of water being forced into the victim's stomach. Before pouring the water, torturers often inserted an iron prong into a victim's mouth to keep it open. After enough water had been poured in, if the victim had not vomited it up on his own, the tormentor would punch the victim to force him to vomit. Usually, the procedure would begin again—sometimes lasting three or four rounds.
The French poet and criminal François Villon was subjected to this torture in 1461. The true case of the Marquise of Brinvilliers was reported in fiction by Arthur Conan Doyle in The Leather Funnel, and by Alexandre Dumas in The Marquise de Brinvilliers.