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His incarceration is beginning to affect Athos. How long can he remain strong?
CHAPTER 21
ATHOS
Time drags and my various ways of occupying myself are trickling away to nothing.
First was a token exploration of my cell. Needless to say, it did not take long. Hands running over the stone walls from floor to the extent of my reach merely confirmed what I had seen on my descent. Whilst unsmooth, there were certainly no protrusions or clefts that might give me some purchase to climb upwards. Apart from occasionally scraping the skin, all I was able to determine was a cold, incipient dampness that was already entering my bones. There was some relief though when I realised that no water was actually running down the walls.
At least I am not in imminent danger of drowning and for that, I suppose, I ought to be grateful!
With as much gentleness as I could muster and because it was ingrained in me to show some reverence to the dead, I pushed the bones aside from where I had elected to sit, not that I had much choice in the matter. As they moved, I made the chilling discovery of a second skull and then the partial fragments of a third. Three victims at least then! I had already suspected as much as there was such a proliferation of bones that even with my scant understanding, there were too many to provide the skeletal support for one man.
Three companions then in what could well be my final days.
"Who are you?" I whisper to myself, safe in the knowledge that there will be no answer. "What did you do to warrant such an ignominious end? Were you innocent of your crimes. Or are you such a one as I? You were innocent of whatever it was that put you down here, but it was justice for something that had passed unpunished in your earlier years. Then, my friends, we have something in common. If I were fortunate enough to have a fine claret with me, then I would raise a glass to you, but as my gaolers are a little remiss in the finer points of hospitality, we shall have to exercise some pretence."
I raise an imaginary goblet in the direction where I know the bones are piled, even though I cannot see them in the total darkness. Then something spurs me on to put that same creation to my mouth. I can almost taste the smoothness of the fine wine and my breath hitches at the memory as I run my tongue over my lips in the vain hope of moistening them a little. Already it is becoming a hard task and I wonder if I will be allowed any water. I dismiss the thought immediately for it only serves to heighten my thirst.
Instead, I address the bones again, my voice louder this time and I ignore the slight crack in the tone.
"How long were you kept here, friends, before you breathed your last? Were you blessed with a quick end or was it agonisingly slow? What of your companions and family? Did they ever hear what befell you or did you just mysteriously disappear from their lives, never to be heard from again? Even now, do they wonder as to your whereabouts, or were you here so long ago that they, too, have departed this life and gone to their graves never knowing the truth?
"Perhaps that is the better way," I add, thinking of my brothers once again and knowing how they would react if they were to discover what had happened to me. They would be devastated that they had not found me, but on the other hand, the not knowing could be even more destructive. I would not have them broken by such grief and guilt on my account if their search had proved fruitless.
If! Not so long ago, I was thinking of when they would find and rescue me. How quickly one's perception of a situation can change! I start to plan what I would do if I were in their shoes and searching for one or other of them if they were missing.
There was an easy trail of visits as I delivered the Cardinal's letters and that same trail would suddenly go cold, giving them a starting point.
A starting point to where though? Not for the first time since I was taken captive, I try to recall the details of how it happened, but nothing comes back to me, nothing but a gaping void, thanks to the blow to the head that rendered me unconscious in the first place.
As if to prove a point, I raise a hand to the dried blood on my face and begin to rub off the crustiness, as if in doing so, I could erase what had occurred to reveal what I was doing just before the event and, more importantly, where.
I huff at the futility. What good would that re-discovered knowledge do me in my current situation? It would not benefit my brothers in their search or enable them to find me any sooner.
I scold myself, noting that this is already becoming a habit as I attempt to shake off the pall of despondency that threatens to smother me and instead hold fast to some optimism. If I could but recall what had transpired, then I might determine who is responsible for this. I know that Bircann is probably somehow behind it, but he is safely in the Chatelet, so it has to be someone assisting him.
But why? What is to be gained from my capture for I am not worthy of holding for ransom, although at one time in my distant past, the situation would be wholly different. A comte could demand a high price. I grunt in frustration. I have been over this ground before and nothing changes it. It serves no purpose to revisit it.
I need to remember though, and so I try hard to recreate the events of my last task, my head aching as I snatch at fragments, trying to piece them together. As annoying as this is, it also wiles away the time and reinvigorates my determination.
I will get out of here and I will exact justice for what has been done to me. If not through the courts and the executioner's blade or noose, then I will have my own satisfaction, assured that my brothers and my Captain will give me their support.
