They had been struggling right from the start. There were just too many opponents. They were good. The four of them could take on a small army if necessary. If the situation was in their favour.
But they were only human. And humans generally struggled a bit when they had been shot in the leg. Taken by surprise and no doubt awash with pain it was not surprising that Athos had faltered.
And now the tables had turned.
Against the Musketeers.
D'Artagnan spotted the issue first and called a shouted halt to their melee.
Porthos stopped mid-swing, taking a step back, forming up with Aramis who was making the same move. D'Artagnan was a step ahead of them, sword still in hand, but pointing down, not threatening.
The thug that grabbed Athos when he faltered, looked a little shocked to suddenly be the focus of everyone's attention. But he did not have to worry for long. An older man stepped forward, standing a step ahead of the thug and Athos who was clutching at his leg and making periodic attempts to pull free.
Porthos could see blood trickling through Athos' fingers as he tried to apply pressure to the wound. A glance at Aramis to check his expression told Porthos his friend thought the wound was serious. Aramis would be itching to get to their friend and do all that his field medic skills allowed.
D'Artagnan had become the reluctant self-appointed diplomat, taking the role that Athos usually took.
The negotiations began. Porthos did not pay attention. He thought ahead to the point when the negotiations ended.
They could end well, with the other men letting Athos go and simply walking away. Despite d'Artagnan being good at talking people around, Porthos doubted he would achieve that in this instance. The men had nothing to lose, and everything to gain.
No, the negotiations would end badly. What d'Artagnan was doing was drawing out that moment. Giving Porthos and Aramis a chance to strategize. Aramis was working out what to do to help Athos, who was already looking pale. And Porthos was working out how they would get away because he was sure they would have to get away quickly.
A horse and cart stood tantalisingly close. That would be their escape. Porthos looked at the two men that would be in their way. He could deal with them. The leader of the gang, currently negotiating with d'Artagnan and the oily turncoat that had landed them in their current predicament was d'Artagnan's problem. And Porthos knew he would have no problem dealing with them when the time came. Aramis would make short work of the thug holding Athos and dealing with getting Athos to the cart. It would not be pretty, but it would work.
Porthos glanced at Aramis before looking pointedly in Athos' direction and then at the cart. He looked back at Aramis who nodded. The nod was so slight only Porthos saw it.
'There's only two left, d'Artagnan,' said Porthos, causing his friend to stop talking for a second. 'Then nothing will go forward.'
D'Artagnan glanced back and nodded with an exaggerated sigh. Porthos saw him adjust the grip on his sword. He had understood the instruction, fight the men on his left then go straight ahead to the cart. As the one amongst them who had worked the land, he knew better than the rest of them how to deal with working horses. D'Artagnan would drive the cart and leave Porthos to defend them as they went.
Finally, Porthos looked at Athos, making eye contact with his friend. Athos was pale, he blinked a couple of times. Porthos knew they would not have long to put the plan into action. If Athos passed out, it would make Aramis' job harder, which would have a knock-on effect on the rest of them.
It was Athos who put the plan into action, by pretending to faint.
At least Porthos hoped Athos was pretending.
They would all find out in the next few seconds.
To be continued…
Whumpee: Athos. Featuring: Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan.