Aramis glanced at Porthos who was looking at Athos, his expression showing how worried he was. Porthos was right to be worried. Athos' injury was serious. Aramis was not sure he would be able to deal with it. The cart lurched as it rumbled along the road, d'Artagnan was pushing the horse into what might have been a canter but the beast did not like being urged on.

'Do either of you know the area?' asked d'Artagnan with a glance over his shoulder. 'Any idea which direction I should be going?'

Both Porthos and Aramis shook their heads. Athos mumbled something, but he had become incoherent. Aramis was sure his friend was delirious from the blood loss, he was pale and taking shallow breaths.

'Two horsemen,' said d'Artagnan. 'On the right.'

Aramis twisted around to look, he wrenched his gun from his belt but kept it low, out of sight. They did not want to antagonise the two men. Porthos had managed to get his gun out as well, but his aim might not be true, the injury he was carrying was affecting him as well.

The two men, a man in his fifties and a younger man in his twenties eased their horses to a stop.

'I am sorry messieurs, but you've strayed onto private land. You need to turn around,' said the older man.

His tone was not aggressive, simply stating a fact.

'It's easy to do, the fork in the road is a couple of miles back.'

D'Artagnan glanced behind, pretending to look back the way he had come, but really checking that his friends were prepared in case the newcomers' attitude changed.

'Father,' said the younger man. 'They're soldiers.'

The older man urged his horse forward a few paces, glancing at the back of the cart.

'Musketeers,' he said. 'Messieurs, you are in need of help. Jean, ride to the village and see if Old Ma Claudette is in a good mood, we might need her. Tell her I will pay her handsomely.'

Jean nodded and turned his horse back the way the pair had come, pushing the beast into a gallop.

'We don't want to bother you monsieur,' said Aramis.

The man shook his head, 'every French citizen must help her soldiers. Let us do what we can to help you. I will ask no questions, your reason for being here is not important.'

Aramis nodded his thanks and glanced in the direction Jean had gone.

The man smiled, 'Old Ma Claudette is sometimes referred to as the village healer, sometimes she is referred to as a witch. I know she is the best help your men could ask for. She helped my wife through two difficult labours and set Jean's bones when he was thrown from his horse as a boy. She is short-tempered and occasionally mean, but she is the best hope your friends have.'

'Thank you, monsieur,' said Aramis. 'I'm a field medic but will take any help that is offered.'

The man smiled, he looked at d'Artagnan, 'follow me,' he said, before turning his horse and leading them further along the track they had already been following.

Aramis returned his attention to Athos who appeared to have passed out. The bandage around his leg was stained with blood. Aramis was about to reach for another when he found one being thrust into his hand by Porthos who was still watching their friend with concern, his injury forgotten. Aramis pressed the fresh bandage over the top of the bloody one and shook his head. Porthos, his expression grim, could only offer support with brief eye contact before he too shook his head with a sigh.

Athos' life hung in the balance. Aramis could only hope the local healer knew her profession well enough to deal with a gunshot wound.

MMMM

They reached Philip Lalaing's grand home after travelling along a grand tree-lined avenue. If Aramis had not been worrying about his friends he would have taken the time to admire the beautiful ornate gardens and well-kept lawns. He might have remarked on the simple symmetry of the three-story house with large windows framing a large door in the centre. But Aramis had spent the entire journey trying to stem the bleeding from Athos' leg.

Lalaing had spent a few minutes talking to d'Artagnan to gather information about the injuries that needed to be dealt with. He had assured them that he would do all that he could. Old Ma Claudette was a good woman at heart, despite her harsh and spiteful demeanour. Aramis could only hope the landowner was correct.

Two smartly dressed men descended the steps of the large house. Lalaing dismounted and walked to the back of the cart.

'We have injured soldiers to care for,' he said. 'Henri, ask Sophie to prepare the bedroom on the east wing.'

'Madame's room?' asked Henri, who looked a little taken aback.

Lalaing huffed, 'my late mother will not care if her room is used to help injured soldiers. Get on with it, Henri.'

Henri gave a stilted bow and hurried off.

The other servant, an older man, walked to the back of the cart.

'Has Jean gone to get Claudette?' he asked as he reached out his hand to Porthos.

'Yes, Sam,' said Lalaing, 'these men both need her help.'

Aramis moved aside a little as Lalaing clambered onto the back of the cart once Sam assisted Porthos in stepping off. D'Artagnan appeared at the end of the cart, ready to help.

'Did the ball go through?' asked Sam, who was helping to support Porthos.

Aramis shook his head.

'Is that bad?' asked Lalaing.

Sam nodded, 'happened to a few friends of mine.'

Aramis looked at Sam properly for the first time, the servant was perhaps in his fifties, with a swarthy look about him. Aramis concluded the man had been a soldier in his younger years. Sam knew how serious the injury Athos carried was.

'Help …' Lalaing nodded to Porthos and raised an eyebrow expectantly.

'Porthos, monsieur,' said Porthos.

'Help Porthos inside. And ask Sophie and Henri to gather whatever you think we'll need,' said Lalaing.

Sam nodded and turned towards the house with Porthos who was trying to walk normally but was clearly in pain. Aramis hoped his friend was not hiding how serious his injury was in deference to Athos.

Between them, Aramis, d'Artagnan and Lalaing managed to ease Athos off the back of the cart and carried him towards the house. A young woman appeared in the doorway, she curtseyed to Lalaing before hurrying ahead of them to a doorway a few feet away, she stepped in and held the door fully open.

The room was large, and Aramis could see signs of a feminine touch. He imagined Lalaing's late mother perhaps spending her final weeks confined to the room surrounded by her favourite belongings, perhaps reminiscing with family and friends. Aramis often wondered what such a serene death would be like. He knew it was unlikely he or his friends would be granted such an ending.

Porthos was lying on a dark green chaise lounge. Sam was busy helping him pull his weapons belt and doublet off. A bowl of steaming water and some cloths already lay on a small table beside the chaise lounge. Aramis suspected Sophie, despite her young age, had more sense than Henri and had thought ahead when she heard there were injured men.

Sophie hurried to the other side of the large four-poster bed and after hitching her skirt up clambed on and across to help them guide the injured man onto the bed. Aramis was impressed with her willingness to throw servant etiquette aside.

Lalaing noticed Aramis observing the young servant, 'she is Claudette's grand-niece. I think the women of that family are destined to rule the world.'

Sophie did not react to the compliment other than a very brief glance at her master before she went back to helping Aramis to ease Athos' doublet off.

As Aramis finished pulling the doublet off Athos' arms she inspected the stained dressing on Athos's leg. Sophie pressed her hand over the area without direction from Aramis.

'There's a knife on the table, cut his clothes off him,' she said. 'We should get him cleaned up as best we can so that Old Ma can see the wound properly.'

Aramis had already thought the same and did not hesitate to carry out the order from the young woman. As he sliced through the already tatty breeches, Sophie grabbed a clean cloth to use on the blood-streaked skin. Athos looked pale and showed no signs of coming around.

'Porthos is not badly injured,' said Sam from across the room. 'I can clean and bind the wound.'

'See to Athos,' mumbled Porthos.

'We are, Porthos,' said d'Artagnan who was helping to pull Athos' boots off. 'And we'll be able to concentrate better knowing that you are being looked after as well.'

Porthos did not respond. Aramis knew Porthos would be feeling helpless and probably trying to hide how much pain he was in. The position of his injury meant he would not be particularly agile for a while and would not be able to help with Athos' care.

'Monsieur,' said Henri from the doorway.

'What is it, Henri?' said Lalaing with barely hidden exasperation.

'Your son is back with the healing woman.'

Aramis heard trepidation from Henri, he wondered if the young man had been on the receiving end of the healer's wrath at some point.

'Good, now don't go too far, lad, you may need to fetch things for her.'

Henri nodded and stepped back into the hallway. Aramis suspected the servant did not like the sight of blood.

'There's no war going on here,' came a strong female voice, 'why are you making me look after men that have been shot.'

'Ma,' said Sophie, 'it is our duty to help them.'

'Pah!' spat the woman as she appeared in the doorway, 'you are turning into one of them. Simpering to men. I might have to take you back with me when I'm done.'

Old Ma Claudette had arrived, and before stepping foot in the room, had taken charge.

MMMM

Claudette was a powerfully built woman. Porthos could tell she was strong. She was an older lady, perhaps in her sixties, but as a worker of the land she had built up her strength over the years. She had the creased face of someone who worked long hours under the sun. Her clothing was practical, with patches where it had been mended several times. Porthos was reminded of the matriarchs in the Court of Miracles. She was the sort of woman who you wanted on your side. You would not want her as an enemy.

She glanced at Athos, lying prone on the bed. Sophie was kneeling on the bed next to him, pressing a cloth over the wound whilst Aramis and d'Artagnan worked to strip him and clean up the blood. Claudette nodded with a grunt under her breath, Porthos wondered if the grunt was an affirmation that what they were doing was correct.

Her attention turned to Porthos who was leaning forward slightly as Sam wrapped a dressing around him. She took a couple of paces forward and looked Porthos in the eyes.

'Don't lie to me, man,' she said, 'is that your only injury?'

Porthos was about to nod before realising it would be foolish to try to deceive the older woman.

'I am bruised, where I fell,' he admitted, causing Aramis to shake his head in annoyance. 'I will be stiff but nothing more.'

Claudette scrutinised him for a few more seconds before nodding and reaching into the cloth bag she had slung across her body. She pulled out a small jar and a wrap of paper tied with yarn. She handed them both to Sam as she gave him instructions.

'The ointment for the bruises, if he can't reach them, you will have to apply it. The herbs for the pain. Make him drink it if you have to,' she looked at Porthos. 'The drink will make you sleepy. You are safe here. There are no wars in Monsieur Lalaing's home. If you refuse to drink it I will have these men hold you down and make you drink it.'

Porthos nodded, he was not about to refuse Claudette anything.

She nodded once before crossing to Athos. She glanced at d'Artagnan and Aramis as she went, looking for any other injuries she might have to deal with. Aramis was about to speak when Claudette shook her head.

'He's been shot in the leg, I don't need you to explain how. The ball is still in there?'

Aramis nodded. Claudette leaned forward, reaching for the cloth that Sophie was holding over the wound, she eased it off for a few seconds before allowing her grand-niece to resume her previous position. Claudette switched her attention to where the ball might be. She felt across the skin of Athos' thigh before humming to herself and nodding.

'I can cut that out. It will not be pleasant,' she said. 'He may still die from the blood loss or the fever. But he will die if we do nothing.'

Porthos was distracted from what was happening by Sam holding out the pain-killing drink to him.

'Best do as she says, you are no use to them in your current state,' said Sam.

Porthos nodded and took the cup. He sniffed it and could not help a smile, it smelled similar to the pain-killing draught that Aramis made up. He drank the liquid in one go, trying not to react to the foul taste. He gave the cup back to Sam and leaned back on the chaise. All he could do was watch and hope Old Ma Claudette was as good as her reputation painted her.

To be continued…

Whumpee(s): Athos and Porthos. Featuring: Aramis and d'Artagnan.