A Rock and a Hard Place

Chapter three

Porthos was nearing the camp, when he heard the anguished scream. He stopped for a moment shocked at the sound. Pulling his gun from his belt he carried on towards the camp at a faster pace.

The screaming stopped quite suddenly, the silence almost as deafening. Porthos reached the edge of the camp and took in the scene. Aramis was tied to a tree with what looked like multiple injuries to his chest, he appeared to be struggling to breath, a strap or rope tight around his neck and the tree. Two men were looking over to the left where d'Artagnan was stood bringing two guns up to aim at the two strangers. As one of the men advanced on d'Artagnan he fired. Porthos wasted no time in firing his weapon at the other man. Both collapsed. Dead or dying. Porthos did not care, as long as they were not getting up again. He dropped his spent weapon and charged towards Aramis.

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Pulling his knife from his weapon belt as he ran he reached Aramis in seconds. Quickly cutting the strap and then grabbing at the rope, not bothering to try to untie it he cut through it. It still seemed to take forever.

'He's not breathing,' gasped d'Artagnan. Porthos had not even been aware the young man was there, he was so focused on his task of cutting his friend free.

D'Artagnan was holding the unconscious man's head up and gently slapping him. Porthos got the rope free and Aramis simple tipped forwards being caught by d'Artagnan and gently laid on his back. Porthos was beside them. He reached out and shook Aramis who remained inert.

'No,' d'Artagnan said quietly, 'not like this.'

Porthos continued to shake his friend refusing to accept that he was dead. Replaying the last few minutes in his mind, could he have done anything different? He did not think so.

The sudden intake of breath by the seemingly dead man made them both jump. The initial joy Porthos felt was replaced by shock as rather than taking more life giving breathes Aramis began crying out in pain and weakly clutching at his chest. The man was clearly in a lot of pain and not fully aware that he was now safe.

'Aramis!' Porthos said firmly trying to still his friend's arms, he was likely to cause more damage to his chest by rubbing at the wounds. Porthos looked at d'Artagnan who for a few seconds was puzzled by their friend's actions. Then a look of understanding appeared on his face.

'The salt,' he said as he quickly rose and ran over to their bags.

Aramis was still crying out in pain. Porthos wanted to help his friend but did not know what to do. He pushed Aramis into a sitting position and got behind him clutching the still struggling man to his chest in an attempt to keep him still. Aramis continued to moan in pain and struggle against Porthos' grip.

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D'Artagnan returned with a water skin and some rags. He began pouring the water onto Aramis' chest and as gently as he was able due to the movement of the injured man wipe away the blood.

'They rubbed salt in.'

The simple statement answered Porthos' quizzical look. Porthos held Aramis still as d'Artagnan continued his ministrations. The pained cries died down as Aramis calmed. His breathing was still fast, but despite the bruising to his neck he seemed to be getting enough oxygen.

'Has he passed out?' asked Porthos.

D'Artagnan looked up at the marksman, 'no… Aramis, are you with us?'

All Aramis could manage was a pained moan in between quick breathes. His eyes were unfocused.

'Have I rinsed it all off?' he asked putting a hand on the injured man's shoulder to get his attention.

Aramis nodded and closed his eyes still panting.

'I'll get some bandages, I don't think any of the cuts need stitching but we should get them dressed.'

Porthos watched d'Artagnan go. He continued to hold Aramis against him and the injured man did not protest. His breathing was still fast but he was calming down and seemed to be aware of his surroundings.

'Porthos?'

The word was barely more than a whisper between quick breathes.

'Yes, Aramis, I'm here. You're OK now. D'Artagnan is just getting some bandages. Just keep breathing steady.'

'The men?'

'Shh…they're dead, not gonna bother you anymore.'

Aramis was about to speak again but Porthos cut him off, 'quiet, you need to save your voice, you had me worried back then, thought I'd lost you…don't do that again.'

'OK, I'll try,' came the quiet reply.

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D'Artagnan walked over to Aramis' bag and pulled out the medical supplies. He looked back at his friends. Porthos still had Aramis in his arms, a brotherly display of love and worry. For Aramis to remain leaning on Porthos was testament to how hurt and exhausted the man must be.

'How's he doing?' asked d'Artagnan as he returned, kneeling next to the two musketeers.

Aramis appeared much calmer and more focused. He looked up at d'Artagnan and managed a pained smile.

'Better,' he said, his voice not much more than a whisper.

'No talking,' said Porthos firmly, but the relief was evident as he spoke. He looked at d'Artagnan, 'what the hell 'appened?'

D'Artagnan paused a moment before replying, 'they wanted to hurt me, I think one of them knocked me out and I was still unconscious when Aramis got back from catching our dinner. They forced him to submit to them or they were going to kill him and hurt me…' he trailed off struggling to recount the events.

'Go on,' prompted Porthos.

'I woke up and realised what was going on. I couldn't stop them. They were going to kill him when I woke up…I had to keep still…' d'Artagnan paused again, 'I'm sorry,' he said looking at Aramis.

Aramis caught hold of the young man's hand and squeezed it, 'you had to,' he whispered.

D'Artagnan did not reply, he began sorting out some bandages. His mind was racing, he felt to blame, he felt he should have made his move earlier.

'Hey,' said Porthos as if he were reading the young man's mind, 'you did the right thing. It must 'ave been difficult, but you did the right thing.'

'I know, but it was so hard to watch what they did. I felt to useless.'

'From the sounds of things, you kept him alive,' said Porthos reaching out and putting a reassuring hand on the musketeer's shoulder.

This time d'Artagnan nodded and smiled. He knew they were right. It had been an impossible situation, but it was over now.

'Let's get you sorted out,' he said indicating the bandage he held, 'can you sit up, it will be easier.'

Porthos helped Aramis to sit up and despite wincing in pain he managed to remain upright as d'Artagnan began dressing the worst of the cuts. Once he was finished Porthos helped Aramis to stand but kept hold of him as they made their way back towards the fire. With some difficulty, they got Aramis into a clean shirt and lying by the fire with a blanket over him.

He was asleep in minutes.

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'He'll be fine,' said Porthos to d'Artagnan who was still preoccupied with the day's events.

They were carrying the body of the older attacker away from the centre of their camp, they unceremoniously dumped the corpse alongside the other man. Porthos had collected his horse and those of the dead men. They had searched both of the bodies but could not find any identification on either.

'What I don't understand is why? What were they getting out of it? We had nothing to offer.'

'From what you've described I think they were just sadistic bastards,' said Porthos as they walked back to the camp, 'some people are strange that way. Getting their entertainment from hurting others. You said they were well spoken?'

'Yes,' replied d'Artagnan, 'they clearly had wealth…were they just bored?'

Porthos thought for a moment, 'I don't think I want to know.'

D'Artagnan knelt beside the still sleeping Aramis and gently lifted the blanket to check the dressings. Satisfied he recovered the injured man and turned back to the fire. Porthos had found them some food, bread and cheese. They settled down to eat.

Porthos looked over at Aramis as he moaned in his sleep and began moving and breathing harder. D'Artagnan quickly moved to their friend's side and gently shook his shoulders, 'Aramis,' he said as calmly as he could, 'Aramis it's ok, you're safe now. Just sleep.'

Aramis stilled and his breathing evened out. D'Artagnan rearranged the twisted blanket, once satisfied his friend was no longer in distress he turned back to Porthos who had been watching young man.

'We'll make a field medic of you yet,' he said with a grin, before continuing to eat.

D'Artagnan smiled back, 'thank you,' he said, 'but I still feel guilty, could I have done anything differently?'

'You will be faced with many seemingly impossible situations in your life d'Artagnan,' said Porthos, 'and you will always wonder if you made the right decision. In this instance, you did. It was difficult and we still nearly lost 'im but if you had reacted differently you might both be dead…'

Porthos paused watching the young man process what he had just reiterated to him. Once he was satisfied that his words had sunk in he stood up.

'Now. Sleep. I will take the first watch,' he said firmly.

D'Artagnan did not argue.

The End.

Authors note: I hope you enjoyed it.

I had original planned on having the sadistic bastards as bandits but after a bit of research into the history of salt I found that it was quite the sought-after commodity at the time. So, it would be more likely that someone with money would be happy to frivolously use it for their evil entertainment.