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This is a slightly longer chapter than originally intended. If any errors have slipped through, I apologise.
What has happened to Athos?
CHAPTER 16
ATHOS
I have no idea how long I have been unconscious but now that I am aware of things around me, I cannot open my eyes. A coarse fabric binds them closed and is secured tightly at the back of my head. A blindfold! And just to make matters worse, I am gagged by more of the same material.
So, I am without sight to see what is happening to me and denied the ability to speak. Instead, I lay quietly, listening carefully and trying to take stock of what has befallen me. I have absolutely no recollection as to how or when I was seized, who my captors are and what has occasioned this attack.
As I lie on my right side, hands bound more tightly behind me than the blindfold, I suspect that those who hold me prisoner are bothered - and rightly so - that I will make every attempt to free myself from that which binds me and thereby make my escape. My cheek rests on something cold, hard and splintered and from the shaking beneath me, the way I am rolling and the general noise, I am in the bed of a cart. The movement over the uneven ground is vaguely nauseating.
I feel a momentary panic because if the sensation worsens and I attempt to vomit, I could choke before anyone helps me, even if they are so disposed! I reassure myself with the fact that I was not killed immediately, but I am mindful of an excruciating headache and a dried crust down the side of my face. I took a blow to the head then; that is how whoever it was managed to subdue me, and it has bled copiously as a result. Perhaps the sick feeling is not so much the cart's movement but more to do with a concussion. There is slight comfort in the knowledge from Aramis and my own prior experience that even the slightest head wound bleeds a lot and that it tends to look far worse than it is. I can only hope that is the case here.
In the same way that I cannot see my captors, so they do not know either that I am at last awake, and I intend to maintain that situation for as long as possible to glean whatever information I can. They are talking, oblivious to the fact that I can hear everything, but their comments are few and general, telling me next to nothing. Instead, I concentrate hard, trying to determine how many captors there are. I am lying with my head in the direction of our travel and, over the next few minutes, I hear enough to deduce from the position of their voices that there is one man driving the cart, two riders behind me to the right and another on the left. We are, for the time being, on a wide road and I try to fathom our position, but without the feel of the sun on my skin or an idea of the time, I have no idea where we are.
They are certainly not conversationalists. Perhaps they suspect that I have stirred and are being circumspect about what is said aloud within my hearing. If they do not want me to learn anything, then they do not mean to kill me straight away; they could have done that at the outset and saved themselves the effort. My mind races as the questions flood in.
Who are they? Are they working for someone? if so, who might that be? Why have I been taken? There is the fleeting fear that it is someone who knows of my identity and the title I have forsaken, and that they hope to benefit financially from that personal knowledge but, just as quickly, I dismiss the idea.
What else can be their motive? What do they want from me? Information? About what? The sickening realisation swiftly follows that whereas I had been concerned for the safety of Aramis and Porthos, I was the one who should have been more alert.
But could I have done anything differently? My head aches so and I struggle to recall what happened.
There is nothing but a gaping void in my memory. The last thing that I do recall with any semblance of clarity is the apprehension of Bircann earlier today.
Bircann! Is this somehow an act of retaliation and again, what does anyone hope to achieve by my capture? A ransom will not be paid for one of the King's Musketeers and whoever is responsible is misguided if they believe that I am important enough to be considered for an exchange with Bircann.
So why have they let me live? What lies in store for me? The rumble of the cart's wheels over hard ground is beginning to have a soporific effect and I battle to remain awake, mulling over the circumstances in which I find myself and concluding that I am being kept for information. My resolve is strong; they will not get anything from me, no matter what they do.
Easy words when the torture has not yet begun, when they have not inflicted any pain. Uppermost in my thoughts is the little that Tréville has said about when he was Bircann's prisoner, or rather what he has implied, and I cannot suppress the shudder that courses through me.
The journey seems interminable but eventually the sounds change and I surmise that we have passed through a large gateway and into a courtyard. The horses stop and with that, the movement of the cart ceases. There are shouts – more people are on hand.
Suddenly someone grabs my ankles, and I am dragged roughly across the bed of the cart.
"Come on, Musketeer. I know you are awake by now," a voice orders. He sits me up and pulls hard. Unable to see and stiff from being in one position for so long, I misjudge the drop and when my feet hit the ground, my legs buckle and I stumble forwards. At least they stop me from pitching face first into the dust.
"Take off the blindfold and gag." A different person speaks. "I'm not carrying him inside. Let him see where he's going."
There is a murmur of agreement and a sinister laugh as someone roughly pulls the gag from my mouth and unties the blindfold. I blink repeatedly against the sudden burst of light and lick my lips, desperate to moisten them but the inside of my mouth is too dry.
"Move!"
I am pushed in the centre of my back and I stagger, still trying to force my legs to function again. The armed men who surround me are not leaving anything to chance; the number of them has swelled and all are unfamiliar to me. I glance about me, attempting to take stock of my surroundings. It is the back of a country mansion, but I do not recognise it.
"Make the most of the fresh air, Musketeer," another of my captors says, and it garners more laughter. Obviously, there will be little of it where I am going to be held.
We enter through a low doorway, file along a passageway and descend a flight of stone steps to a poorly lit, narrow corridor. I am led through two more, heavy wooden doors that are unlocked to allow our access and the corridor then opens out into a larger space. The further we have walked, the less the available light. There are two flaming torches in wall sconces just inside this bigger area and they provide just enough light for me to see that it is lined on the sides by more doors. Each has a large square cut out of it at head height and bars inserted. We have arrived at the dungeons then and I slow down, wondering which one has been assigned to accommodate me.
"Keep moving," and I am shoved again. In the gloom, I can just see an opening in the far wall. Someone has lit another torch and carries it. Even my captors need something to light our path. I can just about see a small room beyond the opening, but there is no door.
It is only as we draw close that I see it.
"No, no, no, no!"
It takes a moment for me to realise that the hushed words have come from me, and I stop, refusing to take another step. My arms are grabbed and I am forced forward, any attempt to dig my heels in proving futile.
"You're not so brave, Musketeer!" someone taunts from my right.
"Kill me now!" I mumble.
"Surely the fearless Musketeer is not begging?" another goads.
A third grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head back. "It would be too easy to put you out of your misery now, Musketeer," he sneers at me, and I smell his rank breath. "We haven't done all this to end it straight away. That's not in our orders."
I try to regulate my ragged breathing, to mask the overwhelming dread that has me in its grip. I have known terror before, but nothing like this.
Through the opening, I see the round hole in the floor.
It is an oubliette.
I am a dead man.