Small Injuries

Chapter One

Porthos howled in pain as the hot metal was pressed against his arm, he swore, loudly, at the man holding the poker. When the poker was removed and the man stepped away he visibly sagged, breathing hard.

Athos scowled at their captor. The man had spent some time asking them what they knew, and when none of them had responded he had walked over to the camp fire and pulled the previously inserted poker out. He had walked with purpose towards Porthos and without ceremony pulled his shirt away from his shoulder and cruelly burnt the musketeer.

Aramis and d'Artagnan had complained at their friend's treatment, whilst Athos had glared silently for a few moments before saying in as calm a voice as he could muster, 'we do not have the information you want. We are not the group who were sent to collect the missive. You have the wrong musketeers.'

The man with the poker walked across to where Athos sat, he crouched down, the still hot poker held to his side. Athos could feel the heat.

'Well why didn't you say so sooner?' he said, his tone sarcastic, 'we could have avoided all this unpleasantness…' the poker was swung closer to his face, he unconsciously moved back a little, 'I do not believe you.'

He stood and walked back a few paces before his eyes settled on d'Artagnan, who was sat next to Athos. The man stepped forward, bringing the poker up, he paused for few moments as if deciding where to lay the metal on his next victim. As he was about to step forward one of the other men shouted out.

'Excuse me a moment, I'm needed…look after this for me, will you?'

The man twisted the poker around and pushed the cool end into the soft earth by d'Artagnan, the hot end dangerously close to the young man's arm. Their captor walked away.

MMMM

D'Artagnan wondered if he could be burnt just from the proximity of the poker. He tried to shift away slightly, as he moved the poker fell forward, a little closer.

They had not been taken by surprise, they were prepared, they had even taken out a couple of the men before the attackers had them overwhelmed. Bound firmly with ropes around their wrists and ankles they had been forced to sit on the damp ground whilst the leader of the men questioned them. The man was lean and tall, he had steely eyes that were constantly threatening. There did not appear to be a kindly bone in his body.

When they had been questioned, they each remained silent. The man had asked each of them in turn the same question about a missive. They knew he had the wrong musketeers but they were not going to tell him that, at least d'Artagnan had thought that would be the plan. He had been surprised when Athos had told him they were the wrong musketeers. But Athos always knew what he was doing.

The heat from the poker was close to his arm. If he still had his doublet on he probably would not have felt quite so exposed to the hot poker. An idea occurred to him.

He twisted around slightly and managed to move his bound wrists up to the heat of the metal. It was uncomfortable but he could put up with it.

'What are you doing?' hissed Aramis from the other side of Porthos.

'Getting us out of this, keep an eye on him.'

Aramis looked back towards their captors, who were searching though their belongings, then returned his gaze to d'Artagnan, 'you'll burn yourself.'

'And you can put a bandage on it,' replied d'Artagnan with determination.

'Be quick,' Porthos managed to say.

D'Artagnan was glad Porthos had managed to regain his focus after being burnt. Whilst Porthos might be fine for a little while, particularly if his escape attempt worked, the man would feel the pain of the burn soon.

The ropes were smouldering, he had to concentrate not to pull away from the heat. His fingers were being burnt where he was forcing the rope against the poker. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to regulate his breathing. D'Artagnan started to wonder if he would be able to persevere long enough to burn through the thick scratchy rope which had been used to bind them.

'You're nearly through,' said Athos who had managed to shuffle back a little to watch his progress, 'try pulling your arms apart.'

D'Artagnan forced his arms apart, the rope fell. He quickly leaned forward and started to untie the rope around his ankles. He knew he had to be quick, the man could return at any moment and his hands were already starting to smart from the burns. He wondered how bad the pain would get, if he would be able to move his fingers again. He pushed the worry away, the first thing he had to do was free himself and his brothers.

Once the rope fell from his ankles, he moved across to Athos, the rope around his wrists was tight, it took him longer than he would have liked to undo, but he managed it. Athos immediately got to work on the rope around his ankles as d'Artagnan moved across to Porthos who winced as he pulled at the rope binding his injured arm.

Their captors were still deep in conversation, d'Artagnan could not believe their luck, they were nearly all free. He began to untie the rope around Porthos' ankles. The big musketeer was cradling his injured arm as he watched.

Athos moved across to Aramis who said, 'there's no time, just untie my legs and let's get out of here.'

Athos did as he was told, after untying the rope around the marksman's ankles, he hauled Aramis up. They moved as silently as they could away from their captors, keeping low. With his arms still bound behind him Aramis had a little trouble keeping his balance, Athos kept a steadying hand on his arm.

They reached the tree line leaving the clearing behind them. But their time was up, a shout of annoyance behind them forced them into a run.

MMMM

They were running through a wood that none of them knew, whilst being pursued by men who probably would not think twice about killing them. Porthos and d'Artagnan were injured and Aramis was still restrained. They could not stop to tend to the injuries and there was no time to untie Aramis.

Athos decided this was not a mission that was going well.

They were on their way back from delivering important documents. They had set up camp for the night when the men attacked, they had nothing of value on them. Athos suspected their captors knew that now, but that did not mean they were safe. The men were chasing them, they wanted them caught again. Four Kings Musketeers were valuable in other ways. Even though they did not have the information the men clearly wanted, there was always the possibility they had other information which might be useful to someone.

Aramis was breathing hard next to Athos, they were running at a reasonable pace, and with his arms pulled back behind him Aramis was having a hard time taking enough air into his lungs. Athos knew they could not continue for long as they were. He looked ahead at the others.

Porthos was not using his burnt right arm, keeping it clutched protectively across him, any time he needed to move a tree branch or clamber over a fallen log he was reaching out with his left arm.

D'Artagnan had both his hands held close to his chest and was having to step carefully each time he would normally have reached out with his hand to steady himself.

Athos realised he was the only one of them who had full use of his arms. He reached out and grabbed Aramis as he stumbled again, pulling him back up and urging him forward.

They could hear the men following them, they were at a severe disadvantage. Aramis fell again, this time Athos could not keep hold of him. The marksman went down hard on his side with a yelp.

The others paused looking back concerned, 'keep going,' said Athos waving them on as he reached down to pull Aramis back up, 'OK?'

Aramis could only nod, as he managed to get his feet under him and move off again. Athos noted that the marksman's shirt and breeches had been torn when he fell, but there was no time to fully check him for injuries.

Their captors were gaining on them.

MMMM