Authors note: My customary five minutes of research has led me to the conclusion that the science is not fit for the purpose of the story. So it is just that, a story, using a dollop of my poetic licence.

I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One

Perrault smiled; the two men were very good. If they had both been fit the match would have been perfect, but beggars could not be choosers. Although mused the noble, he was no beggar. His well-paid men had done a good job and would be rewarded. He knew that to keep their loyalty cost money. And Perrault was only too happy to pay if he was able to continue to enjoy his revenge quite as much as he was.

The older swordsman looked angry; it was clear he was torn with his own loyalty. The threat to one of his friends causing him to fight another. The soldier seemed to be able to read the moves of the younger man, he parried with ease and landed bruising hard strokes of his sword, clashing hard with the other man's weapon.

The younger man, d'Artagnan, he was excellent, but his injury was marring his performance. His moves were a little slower than perhaps they should have been. D'Artagnan was stealing the odd glance towards their friend. The distraction perhaps too much for him. Perrault wondered if he had done the right thing with his earlier demonstration of power. The older soldier had been forced to stop d'Artagnan moving forward during the demonstration. But it was done now, and the fight was still entertaining.

Perrault wondered how much longer the two men would last. They could not fight indefinitely but he would know if one of them pretended to collapse. It would be d'Artagnan, Perrault was sure of that. The younger man was now sporting two additional injuries, a cut across his right bicep from early in the fight and a more recent slice to his left side. Neither appeared to be bleeding badly, but they must have been affecting him.

D'Artagnan glanced at their friend again. The man Perrault had used to encourage the two swordsmen to fight was obviously struggling to remain still. The noose was perhaps a little tight around his neck, the stool they had stood him on a little too rickety. The man was following the action but had obviously wavered a few times. Perrault thought it would be a shame if the man caused a distraction by falling off the rickety stool. It would make both the fighting Musketeers stop and Perrault did not want that. He wanted one of them to collapse, he did not want them to have a break, even if that was for them to plead for their friend's life.

Of course, he still had the other Musketeer to use, the one he was looking forward to seeing in a fist fight. But Perrault did not want to use all his cards too soon. He wanted to enjoy toying with the men.

The older swordsman managed to twist his main gauche around d'Artagnan's sword and stepped in closer to him, the two tired men paused for a second before d'Artagnan managed to push his comrade away. But it was obvious he would not last any longer, he was panting, he stumbled back a couple of paces and seemed to simply fold up, he ended up in an undignified heap on the ground.

Perrault smiled; he was enjoying his revenge. And he was only just beginning to have his fun.

MMMM

Earlier…

Porthos took a deep breath. The sweet scent in the air pleased him. He loved being in the city with its noise and people, but the calm and freshness of the French countryside was also welcome. And if he could enjoy it with his best friends when they were merely ambling their way back to Paris, all the better.

They had been escorting a couple of noble birth back to their own lands at the King's request. The Comte had received a few threats and had visited the King to ask for assistance, which was given. The matter dealt with, the King had deemed it necessary for the noble, who he obviously wanted to keep on his good side, and the man's wife to be accompanied home. The job done, with no interference, the Musketeers were enjoying the return journey.

Porthos estimated they would reach Paris in time to get to the tavern for a meal and possibly a game of cards. Until they reached the edge of the city, they could continue to enjoy the countryside.

He glanced at his brothers. Aramis and d'Artagnan were a few yards ahead deep in conversation. Aramis had chuckled several times and even earned himself a friendly slap from d'Artagnan at one point. Athos was lost in quiet contemplation about...something. Porthos saw no reason to disturb him.

Instead, he looked around, taking in the trees and flowers. Several areas of the wood, where the trees thinned slightly were carpeted with small blue flowers. He wondered if they were the source of the pleasant smell. It had rained a few hours before leaving the leaves on the trees with an extra sheen.

The road they were travelling along was well maintained, but quiet. The ground sloped off quite sharply a couple of yards to their left, but the wide road meant there was little danger to them.

Porthos looked along the road when he heard a horse being urged forward. Aramis had pushed his mare into a trot. Further along the road, Porthos could see the reason for his brothers need for haste. A man, obviously injured, had stumbled into the road.

Aramis was off his mare before she had fully come to a standstill. He approached the man and grabbed him as he swayed, apparently close to collapse.

As Porthos reached Aramis and the man he heard their conversation.

'...my wife...she's dead, monsieur…'

Aramis shifted slightly as the man wilted. D'Artagnan had reached him and slipped his arm around the man's waist offering him more support. Porthos could see Aramis looking the man over as he related what the man had said.

'Their cart went over the edge,' said Aramis, vaguely pointing to the left, 'he said his wife was pinned underneath. The horses were spooked.'

Porthos dismounted and walked past the man who was composing himself slightly. With Athos at his side, Porthos could see where the cart the man had been travelling in had gone over the edge of the road.

'The ground is soft after the rain,' observed Athos, 'they must have had some momentum to end up down there. Or the horses sped up when they were spooked.'

Athos pointed forward, following the furrows in the ground caused by the cart's wheels. Ahead of them, they could make out the cart, lying on its side. Two horses were wandering a few yards from it, their tac still in place, the reins trailing along the ground.

'I think he's only bruised and shocked,' said Aramis, from behind them. 'I want to check on the wife.'

'Of course,' said Athos with a nod, leading them forward.

Porthos followed behind, he knew their own horses would not wander far. Aramis and d'Artagnan walked with the man, d'Artagnan still had his arm around the man's waist, keeping him steady.

All pleasant appreciations of the area had disappeared from Porthos' mind. He never really stopped being a soldier, never really completely let his guard down, but for the few minutes before coming across the unfortunate incident, Porthos had been enjoying the surroundings. Now he was not. Now he was on full alert.

What had spooked the horses?

There was something else niggling at the back of his mind, something else that was out of place, but he could not put his finger on what it was. He started to scan the area, but nothing seemed wrong, other than the upturned cart.

Aramis had left the man in d'Artagnan's capable hands and moved to kneel at the side of the woman lying pinned under the cart. She was probably in her forties, although the hard toil of a farming life might have aged her prematurely. It was obvious she was dead, her sightless eyes staring up at the blue sky above. Aramis was about to cross himself when he paused. He reached forward and pushed the fabric of her dress a few inches down over her shoulder, the wound that was revealed had clearly not been caused in the crash. The woman had been stabbed in the chest above her left breast, a no doubt fatal injury.

Aramis looked up, towards the man who had stopped them, the question obvious on his face. Before Porthos turned back towards the man he saw the expression on Aramis' face turn to one of shock. A thump and a gasp caused Porthos to quickly turn in time to see d'Artagnan crumple to the ground. The man, who was not really injured, had struck their brother with a stout stick he must have had hidden in his tatty doublet.

Porthos reached for his gun, at the same time as Athos. They both levelled the weapons at the man who simply grinned at them and indicated for them to look behind them. Porthos looked around and realised why the man was not in the slightest bit bothered to have two armed soldiers aiming guns at him.

The wooded area was alive with men, all armed, all aiming their own guns at the four Musketeers.

'What is the meaning of this?' asked Athos, who was still looking at the man who had lured them from the road.

Another man approached from the right. He wore better clothes than the rest of the men, his were embroidered and of much better quality fabric. Porthos thought he recognised the man.

'The meaning, Musketeer,' said the man, 'is that you four are going to help me.'

'Help you?' said Aramis as he rose from where he had knelt beside the dead woman.

A couple of the men nearest to him took a few steps forward. It was clear to Porthos that the men knew what they were doing. They knew how much of a threat the well trained and disciplined Musketeers would be. Aramis spotted the men and not wishing to make the situation worse spread his hands to the sides palms out showing the men he was not holding a weapon.

'Yes, you four, are going to help me get my revenge on that pompous twit of a King.'

Athos had narrowed his eyes slightly as he regarded the man, 'Perrault,' he said.

The man smiled, 'you recognise me. Good. When you return to the King you will be able to tell him that he should not have wronged me.'

'We haven't got anything to do with what the King decides,' said Porthos, his gun still aimed at the man with the pretend injuries.

'I know, but he has denied me a better title. A title I deserve. Therefore, I shall be depriving him of some of his soldiers. You can be either dead or injured, it makes no difference to me. But you will not be working soldiers...perhaps you will recover. If you are not dead.'

'Harming us would be akin to harming the King,' pointed out Athos, 'it would be taken very seriously.'

'I won't be hurting you...I've more sense than that,' replied the man with a smirk.

Porthos wondered what Perrault meant as he eyed the rest of his men. The hired men looked as though they were being loyal to their paymaster. Perrault was wealthy enough that he could keep them on his side and most hired men were more than happy to see soldiers hurt or killed.

'You have already hurt our friend,' said Athos with a nod toward d'Artagnan who was still sprawled on the ground where he had fallen.

'I did not hurt him, that man did, and I cannot be held responsible for his actions.'

'He is in your employ,' said Athos.

'Is he?'

Porthos realised Perrault could deny luring them into his well thought out trap and get the other men to do his dirty work for him. He would be the one to have caused them harm but would not be responsible.

Perrault nodded toward a couple of his men who moved towards d'Artagnan. Athos followed them with his gun.

'I've already said that you don't have to be killed,' said Perrault, 'lower your weapons and he will not be hurt further...yet.'

'What are you planning to do?' asked Aramis, unable to hide his incredulity at the situation.

'You will see.'

Perrault turned away from them and began to walk into the wood.

One of the men near Aramis waved his gun to indicate that they should follow Perrault. Porthos watched the two men who had gone towards d'Artagnan hook their hands under his arms and pull him up, dragging him between them in the direction Perrault was walking. D'Artagnan was showing no signs of waking. Porthos wished they could check their brother was alright, he hoped they would get the opportunity before Perrault did anything else.

They were ushered further into the wood which thickened before they came to a clearing. The clearing showed evidence of preparation for something. The ground had been cleared of leaf litter and small plants. Porthos watched as several of the men took up position around the clearing, leaning on trees or settling themselves on the ground.

The Musketeers were walked out of the clearing on the far side. D'Artagnan was dragged towards a tree and manhandled to sit with his back to the trunk. Porthos could not watch further as he was approached by two men, one holding a gun pointed at his head. His weapons and weapons belts were taken from him, the man then searched him, checking his pockets and his boots for any concealed weapons. Porthos glanced at Athos and Aramis who were being given the same treatment before each of them were pushed against a different tree and forced to sit down before being tied to the tree with ropes around their wrists and waists. None of them were going to escape easily. D'Artagnan, despite being unconscious, had received the same treatment.

Athos had spent the entire time glaring at Perrault whilst Aramis had been watching d'Artagnan with concern.

'Let me check him,' asked Aramis as he was tied to the tree he had been pushed against.

Porthos thought his brother's request was fair and Aramis had managed to keep his tone even and polite as he asked. He had offered no resistance to the men as they were marched through the wood. Perrault obviously thought differently, he nodded to one of the men who had tied Aramis to the tree. The man, of large build, smirked, he twisted slightly before slapping Aramis hard across the face with the back of his hand. The strike was enough to force Aramis to the side, only remaining upright because he was tied to the tree. Porthos shouted at the man but it made no difference. Aramis managed to pull himself straight but was obviously stunned by the sudden assault. He was blinking and working his jaw. The mark left by the man was already showing on Aramis' face.

The large man, who had a pockmarked face, grinned at Aramis before stepping away out of sight of them.

'That was uncalled for,' said Porthos, unable to stop himself.

'I know, how callous of him,' said Perrault with another smirk.

Porthos watched Aramis scowl at Perrault before glancing at him and Athos and nodding that he was alright.

The pockmarked man returned carrying a bucket. Porthos watched as the man walked straight up to d'Artagnan who was sat slumped against the tree he had been tied to. His head was tipped forward. The pockmarked man stopped in front of the unconscious Musketeer, he glanced at Perrault who nodded. With a satisfied grin, the man poured the contents of the bucket over d'Artagnan. Porthos guessed the water was cold as the reaction from d'Artagnan was instant.

Breathing fast and looking very confused d'Artagnan sat up straight and tried to pull away from the assault. It took him several seconds to orientate himself, he pulled at the ropes and looked around, his gaze settling on his brothers.

As he settled his breathing d'Artagnan opened his mouth to speak, Porthos saw Athos shake his head. He did not want d'Artagnan to be on the receiving end of the pockmarked man's fist.

'So glad you could join us,' said Perrault before looking at them each in turn, 'I want you to understand that I have picked you four because you are the best of his Royal stupidnesses Musketeers. And I am, therefore, going to be depriving him of you. Probably not all of you, and possibly not permanently. But you will be suffering on his behalf. By hurting you I intend to hurt him. And I believe I am entitled to some entertainment along the way.'

None of them responded, there was nothing they could say, all they could do was speculate as to the disenchanted nobles plans for them. He moved to Athos and crouched down.

'You are supposed to be the best swordsman of the Musketeers, and I understand that d'Artagnan there is something of a protege of yours. How good are you against each other? I would like a demonstration.'

Athos glared at the man before responding, 'I would gladly give you a demonstration, how is your swordsmanship monsieur?'

Perrault grinned with a nod, 'oh, it will not be that easy, monsieur. You will be fighting him,' Perrault nodded towards d'Artagnan who was watching the exchange with confusion, 'And I will be ensuring that you and your friend there are fighting and not sparring.'

'And how do you propose to do that?'

'I can tell the difference between a duel and a sparring match. And you two are going to fight until one of you is dead or has collapsed from exhaustion...and I will be able to tell if you are pretending to be exhausted...I am not an imbecile-'

'Are you sure, monsieur?' asked Athos.

Porthos wondered if Athos was pushing his luck at that point, but Perrault again smirked before waving his hand in the direction of Aramis. Three of the thugs stepped forward. One grabbed Aramis around the shoulders as the other untied him. They hauled him to his feet, Aramis tried to pull away but the men held him firmly before trying to force him out of sight. When Aramis tried to pull away a second time he was slapped again by the pockmarked man. They could not see where Aramis was being taken but could hear movement a few yards behind them.

Perrault rose and wandered a few yards away from Athos, he peered through the trees towards the area Aramis had been taken to.

Athos made another effort to put a stop to the ridiculous farce, 'it would be an unfair fight, d'Artagnan is injured-'

'I don't care, he is supposed to be as good as you. Let's see him prove that. If you do not fight your friend will be hanged. It is as simple as that. If I believe you are not genuinely fighting, your friend will be hanged. If the fight does not conclude with one of you dead or convincingly collapsed, I will hang your friend.'

'You will hang him?' asked Athos, with the emphasis on 'you'.

Perrault paused for a second, he looked annoyed at being picked up on his words. Porthos hoped Perrault would not react violently.

'He will be hanged…' reiterated Perrault with a scowl.

Porthos tried to twist around to see the clearing behind them. He wondered what had happened to Aramis. The threat from Perrault was obviously real, he could not see them getting out of their current situation unscathed. He looked around for something, anything, that could help them.

The noble continued to look towards the clearing for a few more seconds before he seemed satisfied.

'Bring them,' he said with a glance towards the men that had gathered around the captured Musketeers.

Porthos could only watch as the men approached Athos and d'Artagnan. His brothers were untied and pulled up to stand. D'Artagnan was struggling, but he was trying to hide it, he had closed his eyes for a few seconds as he was roughly forced to walk forward. Athos looked worried, Porthos could guess his brother was trying to think of a way out of their current situation.

Porthos hoped Athos had more luck than he was at that moment.

MMMM