Through Darker Days
Chapter Two
By Aramis' reckoning it was over an hour before a dishevelled Dr. Lemay arrived clutching his medical bag. Much to his dismay there had been no change in Athos' condition during that time.
"Captain Treville. What is so urgent that I have to be woken in the middle of the night?" Lemay asked querulously.
Treville stood and gestured towards the bed. "One of my men was attacked. We believe he was hit over the head."
That brought an immediate change in the doctor's demeanour. "How long has he been unconscious?" Lemay walked closer to the bed, exchanging a brief nod of greeting with Aramis.
"We're not exactly sure but it must be close to two hours." Aramis reluctantly moved aside to give the doctor access to his patient.
"I see he sustained other injuries. You appear to have done a good job of caring for them. Now, let me see." He deposited his bag on an empty bed and began his examination. First he peeled back Athos' eyelid and held a lantern before his face. "No reaction," he mumbled. Next he felt his way around Athos' skull. "There is a mild depression here." He pointed to the area of the stitched cut. "The blow must have had considerable force behind it. He's lucky to be alive."
"When will he waken up?" Aramis asked.
"Sadly there is no guarantee that he will awaken."
Aramis' stomach clenched painfully. "He's strong."
"Even the strongest man can be felled by a severe blow to the head."
Aramis returned to his post at the side of the bed, running a hand over the blanket to smooth out the creases. The smell of wine soured the air. "Is there anything you can do?"
"I'm afraid not. Keep a close watch on him and call me if he wakes. Be warned though that he could have sustained a trauma to his brain. Even if he wakes up he could be…impaired."
Even though he knew that was a possibility the shock of hearing it stated by the doctor took Aramis' breath away and left him light-headed. Athos valued his ability to logically work through a problem and strategise. It was what made him a good leader even though he would vehemently deny it. He would be devastated if that ability was torn away from him.
"Thank you, Doctor." Treville took his arm and led him to the door. "We are grateful for your time."
Aramis leaned forward, gripped his crucifix and began to pray quietly. When he felt a hand on his shoulder he looked up to meet the concerned gaze of his superior officer. "I will sit with him," Aramis said. "You should go back to bed."
"I don't abandon my men when they need me," Treville said gently.
They sat in companionable silence while the candles burnt down. Aramis didn't remove his gaze from Athos for a second, being afraid he would miss the slight signs that his friend was on the verge of rousing. Every hitch in his breath had Aramis leaning forward eagerly only to be disappointed as Athos' eyes stayed resolutely shut. Eventually they began to hear the sounds of movement out in the yard and he knew he couldn't delay any longer in telling Porthos and d'Artagnan about the situation. He was torn between his wish to remain with Athos and his sense of duty to his other friends but was saved from having to make the decision by Treville.
"I will impart the news to Porthos and d'Artagnan. Then you will get some rest. You have been awake for most of the night."
"As have you."
Treville squeezed his shoulder. "It isn't the first time that I have gone without sleep."
He left the infirmary and Aramis heard him exchanging a few words with someone outside before all went quiet again. The peace didn't last. It was barely five minutes later that Porthos and d'Artagnan burst into the infirmary.
"How is he?" d'Artagnan asked.
"Why didn't you wake us?" Porthos demanded to know.
"He is still unconscious and I didn't waken you because there was nothing you could have done."
"We could have been here," Porthos said with a hint of belligerence. "We should have been here. What if he had died in the night?"
"You needed your sleep…"
"No, Aramis, we needed to be here." Porthos crossed his arms over his chest and glared.
"Now isn't the time to argue," d'Artagnan said, clearly intent upon diffusing Porthos' anger.
"I'm sorry, my friends. I wasn't thinking clearly," Aramis said wearily. He saw Porthos' furious expression begin to soften. Not that he took his friend's anger personally. They were all worried about Athos.
"You should get some sleep." D'Artagnan approached the bed and looked down, his face a mask of worry.
"I will once he wakes up." Aramis knew that to be a lie. Athos would need a great deal of care once he woke. He clearly had a concussion which would result in pain and nausea. That, coupled with his other injuries, would make for a miserable time. It would take days for the worst of the symptoms to die down and Aramis was resolved not to leave him alone until they did.
"Treville said Lemay was here. Why didn't he do somethin'?"
"Sometimes medicine has no answers." Aramis shoulders slumped. "He is grievously hurt."
"I'll kill the bastards that did this to him." Porthos' hands closed into fists before relaxing again.
"The Captain wants you and d'Artagnan to speak to the Red Guards who found him. See where the attack took place and try to work out where he had been drinking. Maybe that will give us some clue as to the perpetrators."
"I don't think we should leave him," d'Artagnan said.
"You can be of more use out in the city helping to catch those responsible. He might not wake for hours yet." Or he might not wake at all, a treacherous part of his mind whispered.
D'Artagnan sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a lock of hair out of Athos' eyes. "He looks so peaceful."
"He won't be peaceful when he wakes up. With all those injuries he'll be in a lot of pain." Aramis stood up and stretched. The muscles in his neck and shoulder were all bunched up and he stifled a groan as he gently rotated them in order to loosen them up.
"I'll fetch breakfast," Porthos said. "Then we'll talk to the Captain."
After Porthos left Aramis went to the medicine cabinet and selected the herbs he would need to make a pain killing draught. He put them in a heavy stone mortar, added water, and began to grind them down. The activity was soothing after the strain of the night. It at least felt as if he was doing something productive. Once he was satisfied that the herbs were ground finely enough he added a dash of honey to the mixture to make it more palatable. He poured the mixture into a cup and carried it over to the bed.
D'Artagnan was sitting hunched over, his hand resting on Athos' arm. "Do you think he will be alright?"
"I don't know. The longer he remains unconscious the less chance there is that he will wake up. Dr. Lemay was not optimistic."
"Athos is a fighter. He won't give up."
The door banged open and Porthos returned carrying a tray. He distributed bowls of porridge and cups of ale. Aramis ate only because he knew that he had to keep up his strength. Athos, if he returned to them, would be facing a lengthy recovery and would need considerable help and support. Once they had finished Porthos and d'Artagnan reluctantly left to speak to Treville. Aramis resumed his solitary vigil, clinging to the slenderest of hopes like a lifeline. What would they do if Athos died? How would they survive the loss? He thought that it just might destroy them.
TMTMTM
The Red Guards proved to be surprisingly cooperative and even sympathetic. Following their directions Porthos and d'Artagnan soon arrived in the alley where Athos had been attacked.
"Damn, this place smells ripe," Porthos said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "What was Athos doin' here?"
D'Artagnan walked slowly along the muddy roadway, stopping and hunkering down when he spotted a blood stain. "This is where it happened. That's our brother's blood." He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat as he imagined what it must have been like for Athos to fight for his life in this god-forsaken alley.
"And this is what they used to beat him." Porthos picked up a wooden club that was lying abandoned behind a pile of refuse. "There's blood soaked into the wood."
D'Artagnan stood and looked around. The houses that backed onto the alley were in poor condition, some little more than derelict buildings with doors and shutters hanging askew on their hinges. "I don't suppose anyone saw anything?"
"If they did they're not goin' to tell us. They'll be too afraid of retribution. This is a rough part of town. The streets are run by gangs who don't take kindly to anyone interferin' in their business."
"We know Athos had been drinking. Where are the nearest taverns?"
Porthos turned in a slow circle while he considered the question. "The Falcon's a couple of streets away in that direction." He pointed to the north. "There's the King's Head and the Cross Keys a few blocks east of here."
"Why would he come here? There are safer places to drink close to the garrison."
"I reckon he wanted his privacy. No-one around here would be likely to recognise him."
It cut deep to the soul that Athos was so desolate that he had sequestered himself away from his friends. They should have been with him. "Let's start at the Falcon and work our way from there."
Porthos nodded and threw the club back onto the ground. It landed with a dull thud. D'Artagnan suppressed a shiver as he imagined the weapon connecting with Athos' body. Then he saw something shimmering in the dull glare of the sun. "His sword." He picked it up and studied it. "There are flecks of blood on the blade. Whoever attacked him didn't get away without some injury."
Porthos smiled proudly. "That's our Athos. Never was one to go down without a fight."
"He'll want this back." D'Artagnan clutched it hard, a tangible connection to their injured leader.
"Let's go and knock some heads together," Porthos said with enthusiasm. "We'll find out where he spent the evening and then we'll figure out who did this to him. And, when we do, we'll make them pay."
Tbc