Through Darker Days

Chapter Three

The air in the infirmary began to grow warm and Aramis found it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open. He would doze, jerk awake and then his eyelids would begin to slide shut again. When he heard a faint groan from the direction of the bed he at first thought he was dreaming. Then it happened again and all thought of sleep was forgotten.

"Athos? Can you open your eyes? Athos?" He kept his voice low, knowing from experience that Athos would wake with a blinding headache.

"Ar'mis?"

"Yes, my friend, I'm here. Take it slow. You had a nasty bang on the head."

Athos' eyes cracked open and immediately slammed shut. "Hurts."

"I imagine it does. Can you try again for me?"

There was a long delay before Athos opened his eyes and looked around blearily. His forehead immediately scrunched up in pain. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me but first we need to do something about the pain."

Athos paled even further and began to look distressed. "Sick." He rolled over onto his left side immediately aggravating his ribs and arm. A sharp intake of breath and a whimper escaped his lips as the full extent of his injuries penetrated the fog inhabiting his mind.

Aramis shoved a bowl under his chin and rested his other hand on Athos' back. Stale wine erupted in a fountain, splashing into the bowl. Athos retched and heaved as sweat formed on his forehead and tears leaked from his eyes. It went on a very long time until finally he was left dry heaving and almost curled in on himself as agony coursed through his body.

After carefully easing Athos onto his back Aramis removed the bowl and fetched a cup of water. He slipped an arm under Athos' shoulders and raised him up only enough to allow him to sip the liquid. The smell of vomit was almost overwhelming.

"In addition to a concussion you have a broken arm and cracked ribs," he said. "We will let your stomach settle a little and then I have a pain draught. It should help to take the edge off." He wet a cloth and gently began to wipe Athos face to remove the traces of vomit from his mouth and beard. After rinsing and wringing it out he folded it into a pad and laid it over Athos' eyes.

"Do you remember how you came to be hurt?"

A minute shake of the head was the only answer he received. He wasn't entirely surprised. Often a serious head injury could result in short term amnesia. He just hoped it wasn't a symptom of a more severe problem. He noticed that Athos seemed to be concentrating on his breathing, probably to keep the nausea at bay.

"Porthos and d'Artagnan are trying to retrace your steps from last night."

"Last night?"

"Yes. It is close to noon. You have been unconscious for the best part of twelve hours. What is the last thing you remember?"

"We were on duty at the palace." Athos thought for a minute, the lines on his forehead showing how hard he was concentrating. "The King met a delegation of tradesmen. They were upset that he had banned all trade with Spain."

Aramis frowned. "That was two days ago."

"How did I get these injuries?"

"You were attacked late last night. You had gone off on your own for the evening after an encounter with Milady while we were at the palace yesterday. It made you morose." That was an understatement. Athos had fallen into a black mood, withdrawn and uncommunicative.

"Milady? Why was she at the palace?"

Aramis was glad his friend couldn't see his expression of surprise. "She's the King's mistress. Remember?"

"Oh." There was a long silence. "It seems I have some gaps in my memory." Athos removed the cloth from his eyes and looked expectantly at his friend.

"I'm sure the memories will return once you start to heal. Rest now. I will send word to Dr. Lemay. He came to see you last night and asked to be informed once you wakened."

Aramis walked into the yard, his heart hammering in his chest. How could Athos forget about Milady and the King? What other memories had been lost? Was this all a symptom of a more severe brain injury? The questions swirled around in his mind and he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated by the lack of answers. He caught sight of the stable boy and beckoned him over.

"Jacques, can you ask the Captain to send for Dr. Lemay? Tell him that Athos is awake."

Jacques pulled a piece of straw from his untidy hair and grinned. "The Captain'll be happy to hear that."

Aramis smiled in response, hiding his fears from the boy. When he returned to the infirmary he found Athos cradling his right arm to his chest. His eyes were half-open and his breathing was ragged.

"How bad?" Athos asked.

"It's a clean break. With time it should heal."

"Will it affect my swordsmanship?"

Aramis could hear the fear in Athos' voice. "Your arm will be weak for a while. With patience and perseverance I believe you will regain your skill. Now, how does your stomach feel?"

"Like it's been turned inside out."

"That's to be expected." Aramis picked up the cup containing the pain medication. "Drink this slowly. Stop if you begin to feel sick." He helped Athos to sit up, placing pillows behind his back to support him.

Athos clutched the cup awkwardly in his left hand and brought it to his lips. His face took on a look of disgust. "It smells dreadful."

"I'm afraid the taste isn't much better."

It took several minutes for Athos to force it down. During the process he retched a few times but managed to keep it in his stomach. Aramis lowered him back to the mattress where he lay with his eyes shut, white-faced and trembling with weakness.

"How is he?"

Athos cracked open one eyelid in response to the Captain's voice.

"He's in a great deal of pain."

"I've sent for Lemay. Is there anything else I can do to help?"

"He has had a pain draught which should help. Really all he needs now is rest."

"Captain," Athos said.

"It's good to see you awake. You gave us quite a cause for concern." Treville took Aramis' arm and drew him away from the bed. "How is his memory?"

"He has lost several days and…he didn't remember that Milady is the King's mistress."

"Could he be blocking it out?"

"I'm no doctor but I suppose it's possible. Perhaps Lemay will know."

"He's lucid?"

"Yes."

"Then we must look on the positive side."

Aramis nodded even though his fears refused to release their hold.

TMTMTM

Their visit to the first two taverns had yielded no useful information. Now they stood outside the Cross Keys, disheartened and desperate to return to the garrison to check on Athos. Porthos pushed open the door and entered first. The air smelt of stale beer and wine with a slight overlay of a more appealing aroma coming from the direction of the kitchen. The small portly man behind the bar looked up from his task of washing the cups and glasses.

"We're closed. Come back at noon."

"We're not here to drink," d'Artagnan said. "I am d'Artagnan of the King's Musketeers. This is Porthos. We are looking for information."

This announcement drew the attention of a heavily built woman who was busily sweeping the floor. She gave a gap-toothed smile and tucked a wayward strand of faded red hair behind her ear. "What can we do for the King's elite guard?" she asked, simpering in d'Artagnan's direction.

"I think she likes you," Porthos whispered, earning himself an elbow in the ribs.

"One of our friends was attacked last night not far from here. We are trying to find out where he was drinking during the evening."

"Your friend have a name?" the innkeeper asked.

"Athos."

"I know him. Used to come in here a lot. Always felt he was drowning his sorrows. He was like that last night too."

"He was here?" Porthos asked.

"He was. Sat over there at the back of the room. Kept himself to himself. Got through three bottles of wine. He has an impressive ability to hold his drink."

"That's very interesting Monsieur…?" D'Artagnan looked enquiringly at the innkeeper.

"Marchaud. Pascal Marchaud. That's my wife Hilaire."

"We're not in some kind of trouble are we?" Madam Marchaud asked, leaving her sweeping and joining her husband behind the trestle bar. "We're just honest folk trying to earn a living. Although, god knows, that's hard enough these days."

"No trouble, Madam. We are just trying to trace our friend's footsteps." D'Artagnan was happy to take the lead with the questioning, leaving Porthos to look intimidating.

"Seems to us that someone might have followed him from here last night," Porthos said, walking closer to the bar.

The innkeeper and his wife began to look nervous.

"Couldn't say if he was or not," Marchaud said, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Oh, I think you can do better than that," d'Artagnan said. "We'd hate for things to get ugly."

"You can't come in here threatening us." Hilaire put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

"Not so keen on you now, is she?" Porthos muttered.

"Now, my dear, we don't want to antagonise these fine gentlemen," Pascal said in conciliatory tones.

"Don't you 'my dear' me. They haven't got no right."

Porthos began to study the barrels of ale and shelves of wine behind the bar. "It would be a pity if something were to happen to your stock in trade," he said conversationally.

Marchaud's face grew as red as his nose. "I thought Musketeers were honorable men."

D'Artagnan put his hand on Porthos' arm. "We are. Look, we are worried about Athos. He was badly beaten and when we left the garrison he was still unconscious." He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "He might die."

The innkeeper's expression turned sheepish. "I'm sorry to hear that. He's a good man."

"Then help us find the men that attacked him."

Marchaud bit his lower lip, looking troubled. "You've got to understand that we have to live amongst these people. If they found out we were helping Musketeers they'd do worse than your friend was threatening."

"You have my word that no-one will know you gave us the information." D'Artagnan did his best to look conciliatory.

"Don't you do it, Pascal."

"No man deserves to be beaten so badly that he might die." He looked beseechingly at his wife who continued to glower at him. With a heavy sigh he turned back to d'Artagnan and Porthos. "There were four men, sitting at the table next to him. I doubt if they knew he was a Musketeer since he was sitting mostly in the shadows."

"Pascal!"

"Hush. They deserve to know the truth."

Madam Marchaud turned away angrily. "You'll get us killed and who'll look after the children if that happens?"

"Don't mind her. She's scared and rightly so but I'll do my duty as a citizen. They were talking quietly, seemed to be ill at ease. Looked like they were plotting something. Then Athos got up to leave and they must have seen his pauldron. They followed shortly after."

"Would you recognise any of them?" Porthos asked.

"One of them's a regular. Name's Roland. He lives close by. He's likely to be here later. I could point him out to you."

"Thank you, Monsieur. One of us will come back this evening."

"I'll come back," Porthos said in a tone of voice that brooked no argument.

They left the tavern in better spirits now that they had a lead. Having been away for most of the morning they were now anxious to return to the garrison to find out how Athos was faring. They hurried through the streets, arriving back just as the bells chimed for midday. When they entered the infirmary Aramis looked up and put a finger to his lips. He hustled them back outside again.

"He woke up a little while ago. Now, he's resting while we wait for Lemay."

"How is he?" d'Artagnan asked.

"He's in a great deal of pain and there are gaps in his memory. He couldn't tell me how he came to be hurt."

"Well, we've got some good news about that," Porthos said. "We've identified one of the bastards that attacked him."

"It sounds like you had a productive morning."

"Now we just have to find the others and work out why they did it." D'Artagnan looked longingly at the door. "Can we see him?"

Aramis nodded. "Be very quiet. He needs his sleep."

D'Artagnan grinned and hurried into the infirmary. Aramis put out a hand to delay Porthos. "What are you going to do about this man?"

"Watch him. See who he talks to. It sounds like Athos overheard something he shouldn't have. We need to figure out what's goin' on before we arrest anyone."

"You're being very restrained about this."

"Oh, don't think for a minute that I don't want to take him by the scruff of the neck and beat a confession out of him. But sometimes you have to be sneaky instead."

"Athos would be proud of you." Aramis put his arm around Porthos' shoulders. "Come on. Let's go and join our brothers."

Tbc