Chapter 52

Eve pulled the blanket from the bed when Porthos lowered Athos from his shoulder and, with Aramis' help, placed him upon it. She dusted the woolen fabric, and the draped it over her arm, and then watched Porthos adjust the pillow behind Athos' neck and then step aside to give Aramis some room.

They were friends, brothers, who understood the risks they took every day and stood beside each other when times got tough. Whether it was the experiences they shared or the king they served, their duty, devotion, and admiration was as palatable as a fine wine. Eve watched Aramis carefully examine the cut and bruising on Athos' head, and then lift his blouse to check his ribs. Satisfied with what he had found the night before, and the stitching to his side, he lowered the blouse and stepped back.

"It looks like he came off a horse," Eve said, looking at the dried mud along Athos' attire.

Aramis nodded and pressed his fingers to Athos' neck and was satisfied with the steady beat. "He took a beating —"

"They mocked him," Eve said, "because of his blindness. Fools." She licked her bottom lip. "He put up a fight though… knocked the one called Lucas off his feet." She quirked a subtle smile. "I was glad to see it."

"Athos an' 'is right hook," Porthos said and rubbed his jaw.

"I'll fetch you some water," Eve said. She placed the blanket at the foot of the bed, looked once again at Athos, and then turned to leave.

"Do you have a lantern I could use?" Aramis asked her. "I need more light."

"There's one hanging from the barn door entry that you can use." Eve pushed aside the fabric covering the exit and left.

Porthos squatted and started a fire. He dusted his hands on his thighs, felt his muscles burn as he maintained the position while watching the flames ignite.

"Keep it low," Aramis said and pressed his palm to Athos' forehead and then took a seat on the stool. "He's still warm, but I don't want him to get too hot."

Porthos turned, scratched behind his neck, and then crossed his arms over his chest. "Could 'e still be sufferin' the effects of the poison?"

Aramis nodded, and with his elbows on his knees, he scratched his jaw and lowered his head. "If he's half as exhausted as I felt," he looked at Porthos, "then he needs to sleep... I think his body has simply had enough."

"What about 'is eyes?"

Aramis swallowed. "I don't know."

Porthos clenched his jaw and nodded once. "I'm goin' for a walk." He left the room and allowed the heavy drape to fall closed behind him.

Aramis looked at Athos and then retrieved the lantern. He lit the wick and positioned it near the bed and sitting on the edge of the cot, he examined the bruising around Athos' temple, above his ear, and along the right side of his scalp. The long gash, while not severe, had scabbed over and was healing. The edges of the bruising were starting to fade and morphing into ugly shades of greens and yellows. Dried mud clung in clusters in Athos' hair, and had dried along his neck and blouse. Dried blood still remained in his mustache, his beard, and along the front of his neck.

Aramis winced.

"We tried to do what we could for him," Eve said when she stepped into the room. "She placed a basin of warm water on the stool and fished out the rag and wrung it. "When they arrived, I told your friend Porthos that I wasn't a healer." She shrugged. "To be honest… I didn't think he would make it… but I did the best I could for him. "

"We're grateful to you and your husband." Aramis watched her and then asked, "What did you give him?" He watched her place the rag on Athos' forehead and step back. "I… I'm surprised he survived."

Eve frowned, not understanding his statement, and said, "Teas… just simple teas that I've used throughout the years for my own family… teas my mother taught me: burdock root, comfrey…" she paused and wiped the front of her dress. "His pain was so severe that I gave him belladonna the day Porthos left — just a little. It was enough to force him to sleep — at least for a little while."

Aramis frowned and said, "Belladonna is poisonous."

Eve twitched her lips and said, "Not in small amounts." She exhaled and shrugged. "It's been used for generations… soldiers on the battlefields… women used to use it to," she smiled and tilted her head to the right, "dilate their eyes… it was the fashion years ago." She stood back and took in Aramis' appearance. "You look nearly as tired as he is."

Aramis nodded, but looked away. "This journey has been challenging for all of us."

Eve stepped toward the exit and paused with her hand on the drape. "The belladonna caused him to dream… he didn't say what about… just that he dreamed. Emry might have a blouse he can have." He pulled open the drape and left.

Aramis removed the cloth from Athos' brow, dipped it into the warm water, and wrung it. He gently wiped away the dried mud from Athos' face, his neck, and then focused on the side of his head where he had been hit.

There was always an ordeal. Whether it was d'Artagnan losing his farm, his father, nearly losing his life before he ever wore the pauldron, and then there was Constance who he loved but could not have. Or Porthos being accused of cold-blooded murder, facing a trial, and losing it for nothing more than his heritage, nearly losing his life to an axe, or falling in love with a woman who could not love him back — not because of who he was — but because of what he was.

Aramis rubbed his brow when he thought about himself… the challenges of Savoy, the guilt and anger that had plagued him, the weeks of recovery, the guilt of surviving and then learning the devastating truth. When it came to women, he was weak, just as weak as Athos was now… Whether it was a beautiful woman who loved him and then suddenly disappeared, only to discover she'd been murdered, or the queen whom he loved and admired, and like Constance and d'Artagnan', could not have. Aramis rubbed his face, glanced at the window, and then looked at Athos. They all knew pain, suffering, betrayal, and grief. It was as much a part of life as breathing. No matter who, no matter what, everyone had a story to tell. Athos was no different, loving a woman, being betrayed by her, and then haunted by her memory, and nearly losing his life because of her.

Like they had each done before, they would pick each other up, dust themselves off, and continue to fight another day: injuries happened, illnesses happened, and losses happened. Everyone experienced it, and everyone dealt with it in their own way.