Ok. More of a filler chapter today. I enjoyed writing it though. I can still get reviews through my email so please review if you want to.
All mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy it. :)
Chapter 3
Athos ran through the trees before coming to halt at the sound of increasingly distant hooves. The attackers had fled by horse and there was no way to catch up with them. Athos sheathed his sword and started walking back towards his brothers. He wasn't surprised at the sight before him as he emerged through the trees. Aramis was knelt next to an increasingly irritable Porthos while D'Artagnan watched on from a short distance.
'Gerroff Aramis. I told you I'm fine,' Athos heard Porthos state rather loudly. Predictably, Aramis was having none of it and continued to examine Porthos' wounded left arm after silencing him with glare. Porthos considered for a moment that there were truly only three men who could quell him with a meaningful glare. The first, naturally, was Captain Treville who could make any man back down with his signature 'I'm not taking any bullshit' look. The second was Athos, whose icy stare could frighten the life out of anyone. The third was the man now tending his injured arm, Aramis. When someone was injured Aramis was always the first to give aid and woe betide anyone who got in his way or tried to stop him treating their own wound, as Porthos had just done. It dawned on Porthos that D'Artagnan was not yet on his list but he knew that he would soon be. After all he had watched Athos and Aramis many times and the Gascon was a quick learner.
A quiet groan made all four musketeers startle as they looked for the source. Herbert was waking up and the musketeers all stared rather guiltily at the boy that they had momentarily forgotten. Athos moved towards the boy and D'Artagnan followed him.
'Easy. Easy,' he said softly to Herbert as he gently placed a hand on his chest. 'Try and breathe steadily but not too deeply.'
D'Artagnan looked around for the horses. Musketeer horses were well trained and didn't panic easily, so they should still be close by.
'Whoo-wit,' he whistled softly and waited, looking behind him and ahead again. D'Artagnan smiled as ahead of him, in the trees on the right, he could see a familiar black nose, which was soon followed by the rest of his head. Zad, his stallion, had heard is call and was soon followed by Roger, Athos stallion. Behind him, D'Artagnan heard the sound of hooves on the road and turned to see Flip and Fidget, with the later already making his way over to his rider Aramis. Aramis moved to meet his horse and to get the medical supplies from his saddle bag. Fidget tapped Aramis in the back with his nose as he turned away in a sign of affection. Aramis had come to expect this by now, but at first Fidget had tapped much harder often making Aramis stumble and once sending him face first to the ground.
'It doesn't need stitches. So I'm going to clean it and bandage it,' Aramis informed Porthos who replied with an inaudible grumble. D'Artagnan had made his way over to Zad and removed his spare blanket from his saddle bag before brushing Zad's ears in affection. He gave the folded blanket to Athos who lifted Herbert's head and tucked the blanket underneath while speaking words of reassurance.
'Hurts. A lot,' Herbert told Athos with tears in his eyes.
'You fell from your horse and hit your head. You have also broken some ribs, so I'm sure it really hurts,' said Athos with a small smile. The boy tried to return the smile but could only grimace. 'You will be alright. Aramis has a good record.' When the boy looked at him in confusion Athos continued, 'He treats Porthos, D'Artagnan and myself constantly and as you can see we're all fine. Only problem is, when he's injured he insists on trying to treat himself.' Herbert finally managed a smile if only for a moment as the pain throbbed in his head and chest.
'Herbert,' came Aramis voice as he finished cleaning and bandaging Porthos wound. 'I'm going to have a quick look at you and then we will need to move from here. I'm sorry but it will hurt more when we move you, but we need to get away from here as soon as possible.'
'Oi, D'Artagnan. What d'ya think you're doing?' Porthos shouted, startling both Athos and Aramis. The two musketeers turned to look at the youngest member of their group hitching Flip and Zad to the cart.
D'Artagnan looked back innocently, 'Well Porthos, I'm hitching Flip and Zad to the cart.'
'I can see that. Why are you hitching my horse to the cart?' Porthos growled.
D'Artagnan smiled before explaining, 'Aramis will insist that you don't ride with your injured arm before you have to so you will be sat on the cart. We can't fit Herbert in the cart so Aramis will insist that Herbert rides with him. Which incidentally is probably best considering that Fidget is the most used to riding with two as Aramis often rescues a lot of damsels in distress.' D'Artagnan flashed Aramis a grin who responded with a smile of his own and a tip of his hat. 'Meanwhile Athos will want to ride on his own to check for any more possible attacks. He also won't want to push Roger too hard as he is the oldest horse here. That leaves my horse pulling the cart with yours as the cart requires two horses to pull it,' D'Artagnan finished with a rather smug look on his face.
Porthos growled and turned to look at Aramis who was grinning broadly and tipped his head to the left as if to say 'That's how it is' while Athos smirk told Porthos that this was a battle he wouldn't win.
Renard and his men rode as fast as they could through trees before coming to the end of the small wood. They had untied the other eight horses and hoped that the horses would follow them. As they stopped to rest for a moment it became clear that the others horses had indeed followed them and were now slowing to a stop near to them. Looking behind them they listened for any sign of the musketeers following. After a few tense minutes they came to the conclusion that the musketeers had decided not to follow and all heaved a sigh of relief.
'The Duke is not going to be happy Renard,' Boucher stated. The man was built much like Athos, but with blonde hair and brown eyes, and had similar skills with a sword.
'I am well aware of that,' Renard retorted. Renard was very much the same build as Porthos. Slightly shorter but often preferred to fight with his fists rather than a weapon. His hair was dark and short while his eyes were dark brown with large dark circles around them. He also sported a long thin scar set diagonally across his neck, clearly the mark of a sword.
'Well, at least we have the horses,' said Simon as he tried to lighten the mood. Simon was very tall and rather gangly with dark hair and blue eyes.
'Yes Simon, we have the horses. But no musketeer!' snarled Renard. 'Ten men against four and we still couldn't win!'
'Those musketeers are something else,' admitted Boucher with a shake of his head. 'I thought I was good with a sword but the musketeer I fought was better. He had such a piercing stare. It was actually rather terrifying.'
'Mine was the young one. Hurt his knee and I thought I could kill him easy. Turns out he's stubborn and knows how to move and counter attacks when he is weak,' Simon said with some admiration in his voice.
Renard glared at the pair of them, 'My brother once called them 'toy soldiers'. I should have known better than to believe him. One thing is clear. We need to attack when there are only two of them at most or we need even more men to overpower them.'
'We've observed them Renard. Rarely do you see the four of them apart and it would be far harder to take him in Paris rather than the countryside,' countered Boucher.
'I have an idea about that. Let's get back to the estate as quickly as possible. If we ride hard we should be able to get there tonight.' Renard urged his horse forward as the others followed closely behind him.
Dubois and his men had dismounted a while ago and were now awaiting the arrival of the musketeers and Herbert. Bouchard sat on the ground pulling at pieces of grass rather than eating the lunch that Dubois had suggested they should eat. Dubois approached the young man, who was only a few years older than Herbert with sandy hair and many freckles covering his face, and sat down beside him.
'Herbert will be ok,' he soothed. 'Are you injured in any way?' Bouchard had been driving the cart when the horses had spooked and had been forced to ride Herbert's horse away from the attack. The young man shook his head in answer.
'We just ran away,' the younger man told the older man. 'We did nothing to help. We were useless,' he finished quietly.
Dubois paused for a moment and considered how he should handle the situation.
'Bouchard, a good soldier follows orders, correct?' he paused waiting for the nod from the young man. Bouchard nodded and Dubois continued, 'The musketeers are in charge of the mission, so we obey them. Monsieur Athos told us to run and we obeyed. There is no shame in that.' Dubois turned to look at Bouchard and could see that he wasn't convinced.
'You were very brave today in a very dangerous situation. You didn't panic when the horses reared and you rode a horse that had previously thrown its rider. You obeyed the order to leave with the rest of us. Does that make us all cowards?'
The young man looked horrified at Dubois' question and responded, 'Of course not. I don't think of any of you as cowards. I never would!'
'Then why do you believe yourself one, when we have all run from the same situation?' countered Dubois.
Bouchard opened his mouth to reply but couldn't find his voice and merely smiled sheepishly at Dubois.
Both men were stirred from their conversation by the sound of approaching hooves on the road. The musketeers had arrived with Herbert and the cart.