Hello, just a warning that there are scenes of violence and descriptions of corpses. I don't think it is too graphic but please be aware. :)
Chapter Sixteen
Porthos was sat near the fire and skinning the rabbit that had been caught in one of D'Artagnan's traps. The Gascon had quite a talent for animal traps and regularly caught food for his brothers. D'Artagnan was pressing a cold bandage to his eye but thankfully the swelling had started to go down and he could see through it again. It was however a bright shade of purple and Porthos had to restrain himself from laughing as the younger man was somewhat feeling sorry for himself.
Porthos main worry was Aramis. He had sensed a while ago that there was something different about the marksman and that Athos knew about it but he and D'Artagnan didn't. It wasn't obvious all of the time but Aramis had somewhat withdrawn into himself and was no longer the flirtatious man Porthos knew. It had happened around the same time as Aramis had found out about Adèle's death but if it was about Adèle then Porthos was sure Aramis would have spoken to him. This was clearly something that only Athos knew and Porthos could only surmise that his brother's silence was to protect him and D'Artagnan. This only worried Porthos more.
He placed the now skinned rabbit over the fire to cook and looked to his sleeping brothers. Aramis had managed to move from his own bedroll in the night and was now resting his head on Athos' right shoulder and his right hand was gripping Athos' shirt. Aramis right leg was intertwined with Athos' right leg and Athos had his right arm around the marksman's shoulders. In the middle of the night Porthos had taken Aramis' discarded blanket and draped it over the two men and honestly they looked rather comfy but Porthos knew a clingy Aramis meant he was in some distress.
'You know, I'm always surprised Athos allows Aramis to do that,' D'Artagnan interrupted Porthos' thoughts. 'He never seems the type.'
'Athos has a heart,' Porthos replied, 'but he only lets certain people see it. Destroys his reputation otherwise,' he added with a wink while D'Artagnan grinned.
Athos started to stir and woke to find a rather heavy weight on his right shoulder. He glanced down to see Aramis fast asleep and couldn't help but run his fingers through the marksman's hair, trying to wake him softly. Aramis responded by turning his face closer to Athos' shoulder and murmuring slightly. Athos rolled his eyes and looked in the direction of the laughing he could hear. Porthos and D'Artagnan were both smiling and chuckling at the position he found himself in.
Athos lay his head back and looked towards the sky. It was mainly blue but some white fluffy clouds were visible. He shook his head slightly and a small smile appeared on his face as he realised that he would never had envisaged this situation when he was the Comte de la Fère. In fact he had been raised to see this kind of emotion as a weakness and yet he found comfort in comforting his brothers. Allowing emotion to show was difficult for soldiers and time again Aramis and Porthos, and now D'Artagnan, had allowed Athos to see them at their weakest as had he in return. It was a form of trust and a bond that linked them all together.
'Aramis,' Athos called as the marksman struggled to wake, 'Aramis, it is morning,' Athos gently ran his fingers through Aramis' hair as the marksman's brown eyes finally opened.
Aramis looked up at Athos with slight confusion as he registered his sleeping arrangement with a slightly embarrassed grin crossed his face.
'Morning,' the marksman said quietly.
'Morning,' Athos replied.
'Have I ever told you that you make a very comfortable pillow?' Aramis asked with a hint of knowing amusement in his voice.
'Only every time you wake up on top of me,' Athos deadpanned back causing Aramis to chuckle as he finally sat up, allowing Athos to finally move.
Porthos watched his brothers with fondness. He never liked his head resting on someone else, it wasn't him. The only time it happened was when he was unconscious from injury. He much preferred to be the comforter and on many occasions when he needed comfort he would kindly invite Aramis or Athos to fall asleep on his shoulder or chest, well most of the time he didn't have to ask, they already knew. Porthos always felt better when he knew his brothers were close. He returned his attention to cooking the rabbit as Athos and Aramis started to walk over.
D'Artagnan watched as his friends made their way over to the fire. He wasn't sure how he felt at that moment. The thing he found hardest to understand with these men was their ability to show their weakness and comfort each other without shame. His father had taught him that men were strong and never showed weakness in emotions. 'Suck it up lad,' he used to say, 'Wailing and comfort is for women!' D'Artagnan had always thought that he needed to prove himself and that admitting pain in any sense was showing weakness and that had often led to him being less than honest about injuries and emotions. Over time the three men around him had shown him that trust was far stronger than pride and admitting when you need help was not a weakness. They were the strongest men he knew and yet there was a much softer side to all of them.
He had often been the recipient of comfort, especially Aramis who fussed like a mother hen when his brothers were injured, and had begun to really feel and enjoy the comfort, especially since his captivity with the king had caused him more injuries than he had originally been aware of. He still wasn't sure how he felt about giving comfort himself, in fact he had no idea how to go about it. He was aware that others knew how he felt and they would never push him to do something he felt uncomfortable with. However, he was starting to realise that he really did want to be included and that was confusing him.
D'Artagnan was brought out of his musings as his brothers sat by the fire.
'Nice sleep,' Porthos winked at Aramis.
'I always sleep well when I find a comfortable pillow,' Aramis retorted while Athos rolled his eyes and Porthos laughed.
'Why do you never use me as a pillow?' the childish question was out of D'Artagnan's mouth before he could stop it and he realised he had also spoken with a twinge of resentment. He chose to look at his boots rather than his brothers. The other musketeers exchanged looks at the Gascon's outburst. They had all known D'Artagnan's difficulty in accepting comfort but knew he was coming round to the idea and it heartened all of them. They had had six years for their bond to develop, D'Artagnan had only been around just over a year as a fully-fledged musketeer although he had been with them longer that.
'D'Artagnan?' the Gascon raised his head at the sound of Aramis' voice, 'Can I be honest?' D'Artagnan nodded and knew Aramis was going to say something about not wanting to make him uncomfortable. 'You're a bit…bony.'
'Wha…..' D'Artagnan couldn't help but smile as Porthos roared with laughter beside him and Athos snorted into his water. Aramis had a cheeky grin on his face.
'Honestly D'Artagnan, if you would like to be my pillow I'm more than happy to try you out. Just be warned, I wriggle…a lot,' Aramis was glad to see the young man now grinning broadly, unable to control his delight at being included.
'He's not joking mind. Can get a bit clingy,' Porthos smirked.
'Not to mention he's heavier than you think,' said Athos dryly.
'Porthos, I think you're burning the rabbit,' Aramis deflected the conversation easily and making it clear he was to be teased no more. 'I was going to ask how your eye was,' Aramis looked towards D'Artagnan, 'but I can clearly see the swelling has gone down and it is now a vibrant purple.'
'Yeah,' D'Artagnan muttered. Soon the rabbit was cooked and the musketeers ate heartily, discussing what might have been going on at the garrison in their absence.
'We could get back to Paris tonight after our detour from that town,' D'Artagnan said.
'True. But why hurry when we're not expected back until tomorrow,' Athos said simply.
Soon the musketeers were back on the road towards Paris but Aramis could still not shake the feeling of worry he'd had since yesterday.
Queen Anne rose early after a restless night and was quickly helped to wash and dress by Lady Sarah. All she wanted was to eat breakfast and leave as quickly as possible. It seemed the duke had the same idea as he was eating his breakfast as she entered to the room. He made to stand but Anne waved him to sit. Ceremony was hardly important at this point.
She sat and some strawberries and an apple was placed in front of her. She was asked if she wanted any porridge but she was about to politefully decline when she saw Tréville enter the room and realised she would need the energy for the trip back to Paris. Anne started to eat in silence, willing her stomach not to reject the food on her plate.
Soon they had finished breakfast and made their way out to the carriages where the duke bade the queen farewell, 'Goodbye, Your Majesty. I hope we meet again soon,' he kissed her outstretched hand.
'Goodbye, Monsieur,' she nodded as he turned to his carriage and she turned to hers. The carriages set off in opposite directions as both parties wished to return home as soon as possible.
During the night Renard had found the twenty men that the duke had sent and they were now primed in position for the ambush. They couldn't be sure when the royal carriage would arrive at this point but they had stationed a man further down the road on horseback hidden in the trees. The road was generally rather straight so they shouldn't be taken by surprise.
Renard could feel is heart-rate starting rise in anticipation. What they were about to do was treason of the highest regard but he knew he would get the reward he wanted. Aramis.
The royal procession continued for most of the day. The musketeers had decided to eat on horseback while Lady Sarah was eating next to Anne in the carriage. Anne couldn't bring herself to eat as her senses became heightened as they entered to wood in La Queue-les-Yvelines. This was the most dangerous part of the trip and everybody knew it.
'We'll pass through without stopping Your Majesty,' came Tréville's voice as if he had read her mind.
'That would be a great relief captain,' Anne replied with a sigh.
Tréville didn't want to admit it but he had the sense that they were being watched. As a soldier you learned to listen to your instincts and he could tell that tension was rife through his musketeers. The most uneasy thing was the general lack of noise coming from the forest. Yes, there were some birds singing but not many.
Soon the carriage started moving up a slight incline and the carriage horses had to shorten their steps and this slowed the carriage. Tréville's senses were heightened even more as the sound of birdsong had stopped completely.
'Joubert,' he whispered, 'Make sure you're on your guard.' Joubert nodded in agreement and all the musketeers were constantly looking around them. Anne was in the carriage and could sense the tension building and wanted to be free of this forest.
'AMBUSH!' shouted Joubert firing his pistol at one man who suddenly appeared from the trees on the right hitting him squarely in the chest and the man crumpled before him.
The carriage horses started to panic as shots could be heard from all directions and the driver was struggling to keep charge. Michel fell to the ground heavily clutching his shoulder which was now seeping red. Before he could move an attacker thrust his sword through Michel's chest and the musketeer lay unmoving. An attacker took the reins of the carriage horses and calmed them as best he could while another man shot the now begging driver dead without a second thought.
Boudain hit his target with his shot and the man crumpled before him but another man's shot grazed Boudain's neck and the sharp pain sent the musketeer reeling. He managed to keep his composure though and soon killed one more attacker with his sword before finally succumbing to the blood loss from his neck. The man that had shot him stood over the musketeer and delivered a blow to his head with the butt of a pistol. Boudain bleed freely onto the road.
A shot missed Duval's ear by mere inches and he quickly managed to dismount his horse. He fired his pistol and hit one man but the wound was not fatal. Another man roared at him from behind but Duval was too quick for him and the musketeer's sword penetrated the man's lower chest easily causing a large groan of pain. The man Duval had shot was making his way towards him but Duval unsheathed his dagger and threw it directly hitting his target who now lay dead on the ground.
Anne felt her heart start to race as the battle ensued all around them. The carriage had come to an uneasy stop but still swayed due to the distress of the horses. She was starting to feel very sick. Lady Sarah was holding on to Anne as if her life depended on it while Anne hoped and prayed the musketeers could save her again.
'Stay inside Anne,' Tréville said as he moved to help his men. Anne recognised that Tréville had used her name rather than her title just in case the men hadn't realised who they had attacked. It was unlikely but there wasn't much point in making it any easier for them.
Fabien had not been directly in line with the shots from the attackers and had been protected by then carriage. He moved unnoticed towards two men who had their backs to him and were now gloating over Michel's body. Anger flared in the musketeer and he thrust his sword through one man's back and as the other turned slit his throat. Unfortunately, Fabien hadn't seen Renard move silently behind him and Renard approached the musketeer from behind and deeply cut the musketeer's throat. Fabien tried to staunch the flow but realised his time was up but in a moment of defiance he plunged his dagger into Renard's left foot as he fell to the ground. Renard cursed loudly at the dagger now protruding from him foot. He steeled himself and pulled it free before kicking Fabien's corpse.
The battle had become a swordfight as pistols couldn't be reloaded in time. Duval dispatched another man with but was injured on his left leg hampering his movement. He critically injured another attacker but soon he felt his leg buckle and he was punched in the face and felt his cheekbone break. The man lifted him to his feet and thrust and sword through his stomach but while he still breathed Duval was dangerous. Unseen he had unsheathed the dagger at the man's back and returned the gesture. The shock on the man's face was evident and Duval smiled before his eyes closed forever.
Renard watched as his men were once again dispatched by the musketeers and was beginning to wonder if twenty men had been enough. He smiled as he saw four of the six musketeers dead on the ground but he had to admit that the musketeers were truly amazing fighters and had taken out many men.
Joubert fought two against one as he attacked and defended. He was happy now of that session he had taken part in with Athos and Aramis last month. Both men had pushed his boundaries and had made him realise that analysing an opponent's moves while keeping yourself safe was important. He saw his opening and sliced at the man's left leg catching the femoral artery, judging by the amount of blood the man was losing, and set himself for his next opponent. The man caught him on the waist but Joubert was countering well until a shot was heard and Joubert's left shoulder spiked with pain.
Tréville had managed to escape the barrage of bullets and found himself fighting two men at once. The men may be younger and quicker in their movement but Tréville was ready for them. The skill of the captain was a sight to behold as he matched the men blow for blow. He soon took his advantage and plunged his rapier through one man's chest and then turned his full attention to the other. The man was nervous and Tréville could feel the half-smile rising on his face. Tréville lunged for the attack and the man was too slow to counter. Tréville's rapier slicing it's way though the man's stomach up to his heart, effectively gutting him. The man gave a look of shock and desperation as his hands fumbled with the large gash through the centre of his body and his hands were now covered with blood. He looked helplessly to Tréville as he realised his fate.
'Leave that one!' roared Renard as Joubert now knelt on the ground clutching his bleeding shoulder with a man hovering over him. Tréville turned to see all of his musketeers but Joubert lying dead on the ground. He heard a pistol cock and saw it was aimed at his head.
On the way to Paris the musketeers were in good spirits but suddenly Aramis pulled on Fidget's reins causing the animal to whinny and stomp his hooves in protest. The others turned to their brother and could see that something was wrong. Aramis was now incredibly pale and his gaze was distant.
'Aramis?' Athos called and the marksman's face turned towards him.
'We need to get back to Paris as soon as possible,' Aramis replied. The other musketeer's knew that when any of them had a feeling about trouble they were usually right. All the musketeers exchanged glances and then hurried there horses forward as quickly as they dared, hoping to reach Paris as soon as they were able.