Chapter 45

"We need to go back!" Anton shouted and pulled his mount to a stop. His horse snorted, chewed its bit, and swished its tail. He pushed the brim of his hat up and watched Lyam yank on the reins and spin his horse around to look at him. "They saw our faces! It's a handful of farmers — farmers that we've robbed — farmers that don't know how to fight."

"One of those farmers was a good enough shot to kill Willim," Ruben said. He pulled on the reins and his horse backed up a few steps, arched its neck, and foam dripped from its mouth.

"One!" Anton said. "There are nine of us," he looked at Athos, who struggled to remain seated. "Get rid of him and then let us go back. If we do it now, they won't be expecting us and we can strike before his," he pointed to Athos, "friend comes back."

Lucas shifted in his seat and chewed at his bottom lip. "If we go," he said and fought a smile, "we can't leave anyone alive." He looked at Lyam and narrowed his eyes. "Like Anton said, they've seen our faces. They know who we are." There was a hint of a smile curling the corners of his lips.

Lyam rubbed the reins between his thumb and finger and thought about his next steps. He was down several men, but his men were fighters: men with nothing left to lose. He looked over his shoulder and into the distance. Suddenly, he cleared his throat, spit, and then wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

"We don't 'ave enough goods yet to set us up anyplace — not anyplace worth its weight," Anton said with a shrug. "If we leave now, we'll need to start over someplace else. But if the king is sendin' Musketeers after us now," he winced with a shake of his head and he rested his forearms on the pommel of his saddle, "he'll hunt us down next time — an' he'll send more 'an two men."

Lucas pulled his pistol and began loading it.

"You kill a musketeer — and get caught," Lyam said, "the king will hang you as an example."

Lucas chuckled. "Only if he can catch me… and he hasn't done a good job of it yet."

"He hasn't looked for you yet," Athos said. He rubbed his temple and then gripped the pommel tighter. His headache worsened, and he closed his eyes to ease the pain.

"Then it's a good thing you're blind, Musketeer." Lucas waved his pistol toward Athos and chuckled. "You'll look like a fool testifying before the king on what you heard rather than what you saw." He laughed and then quickly pulled back on his horse's reins when the animal shied after a bird flew from the brush.

"You're the fool," Pascal said under his breath. He looked at the lead in his hand and then toward Athos. "Leave him here. We can go back and end this. I've grown tired of this place and I'm tired of looking at all of your ugly faces." He quirked a slight smile and said, "I hear there are some pretty whores near the border."

Lyam looked at his men, a few chuckled, others nodded, and Lucas held his pistol near his thigh. "Put that away," he said and looked at Lucas. "Look at where we're at?"

Lucas shrugged, and he looked around the valley near the edge of the cliff.

"If you fire that weapon, everyone within a league of here will hear it, including those farmers." Lyam nudged his horse's sides and rode closer to his brother.

Lucas shrugged and said, "It could be anyone out hunting for food."

"That's not the point," Lyam said. He flared his nostrils, looked Lucas in the eyes, and squared his shoulders. "If we go back, you follow my orders. Your actions make us vulnerable and I will not risk this mission because of your arrogance," he said. When Lucas met his eyes and didn't back down, Lyam tilted his head to the right and said, "Do you understand?"

"I've done more for this group than anyone, Lyam. You know that."

"You've taken us from being thieves to murders —"

"I had no choice," Lucas snapped. He pursed his lips, squared his shoulders, and sat back in his seat. "None of you were willing to do what needed to be done."

"You always have a choice," Lyam snapped. "You have a tendency to make bad ones."

"This coming from a man who can't make one."

Lyam tightened his fist around his riding whip and then suddenly struck his brother across the face. Lucas hissed, turned his face away, and then pressed his hand to his cheek. He avoided eye contact, but quickly regained his composure when Lyam turned his horse around, looked again at his men, and said, "Get ready." He paused. "We're going back." He flared his nostrils, rode his horse past Pascal toward Athos and stopped beside him. "We don't need a blind musketeer in the way." He suddenly raised his right leg and kicked Athos' left arm and side.

Athos clung frantically to the saddle, but fell when the horse he had been riding spooked and lunged to the left. He landed on his back in a puddle of mud and then gasped for breath. He rolled to his right side and slowly pushed himself to his elbow.

Lucas laughed, wiped at his face, and said, "I told you earlier, Musketeer. Let's see how you manage your prison cell with no iron bars." He whistled, looked at his brother, and then looked at Athos. "Wide open spaces. It's beautiful really," he snickered and then wiped his nose. "Don't get lost, Musketeer, and watch out for that cliff." He kicked his horse's sides and followed the gang.

Athos winced, pressed his forehead to his forearm, and took several deep breaths. Frustrated, he grabbed a fistful of mud and squeezed. He then flung it with a shout of anger and struggled to his knees. Athos wiped his nose and mouth with his sleeve and turned his face toward the warmth of the sun. He could hear the rustling of bushes as birds fed on worms, grubs, and beetles. The quaking of leaves with the subtle breeze and the soft shuffling of grasses that danced along the valley floor. He could visualize the scenery in his mind, which only discouraged him more. Athos reached forward, patted the ground, and crawled his way from the mud puddle.

The pounding in his head persisted, the aches of his muscles, joints, and the bruising along his side forced him to move slowly. He could only imagine what anyone might see if they were to watch him crawl through the mud, onto dried grass, feeling his way across the ground. Athos suddenly craved the chaos of the Wren, the singing chimes of colliding wine ports, the pouring of ale from spouts, and the clangs of cups on wooden surfaces. He craved the voices of Parisians when they bartered goods for a drink, when they gamed, and spoke with exaggerated expressions. He missed the sounds of rustling fabrics, the scuffing of shoes across dirty floors, and the tapping of fingernails across tables.

The silence of the valley brought with it unknowns, feelings of isolation, and a fear of permanent solitude. He was by nature a quiet man who liked to drink alone. But being alone by choice was different that being alone by force. And who was really alone in Paris? Even the most secluded, the most reserved found themselves surrounded by the activities of city life: the markets, stables, inns, and taverns. People from all walks of life could be seen walking the streets: farmers, prostitutes, nobility, and even royalty. It was a part of the culture that had been created over decades and continued to expand.

Athos forced himself to his feet, stumbled, but quickly corrected himself. He held out his hands, feeling for bushes, thistle, and trees. Every step was slow, methodical, and tentative.

Part of the appeal of Paris was one's ability to get lost, to hide amongst the chaos, to disappear within the crowd.

Athos stumbled against an exposed root and fell. He scraped his hand along the bark, felt along the serpentine shape and sighed when he leaned against it. Slowly, he turned his back to the broad expansive oak and seated himself within the embrace of its roots. Athos rested his elbows on raised knees, rubbed his face, and then leaned back. The world was closing in around him. It was difficult to breathe. It was difficult to think. Muscles quivered and shook from exhaustion. His head continued to throb and the shooting pains at his temples warranted the tears that filled his eyes. Athos leaned back against the tree, listened to his heart race, and felt his nerves ignite. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the what was around him, and not inside him.