The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [149]
“Planchet,” D’Artagnan ordered, cocking his pistols, “I will handle the one up here, you answer for the one kicking at the door.”
The Englishmen turned. “Gentlemen, you asked for a fight, did you not? Well, I promise you a hot one.”
“God in Heaven!” cried Athos cavernously from the lower darkness. “It is D’Artagnan I think. Yes, that voice is unmistakable.”
“Right you are, Athos, here I am, friend!” the Gascon shouted.
“Good, D’Artagnan, we will give these trespassers a little exercise, eh?”
The Englishmen had drawn their swords but they found themselves caught between two fires. Again they hesitated. But, as before, their pride prevailed. A further kicking split the door from top to bottom.
“Take cover, D’Artagnan,” Athos warned crisply. “I am about to fire!”
But D’Artagnan knew better. Here was a case for common sense and D’Artagnan’s common sense never abandoned him.
“Gentlemen,” he shouted, “pray think what you are about! As for you, Athos, patience! Gentlemen, you are courting trouble, and if you persist we will riddle you from crown to toe. My lackey and I have three shots apiece for you and the cellar can produce as many. Should you survive, we have our swords and I promise you we know something of swordplay. Allow me to settle your problem, gentlemen, and my own. Presently you shall have all you want to drink, I assure you.”
“If there’s any wine left,” Athos jeered.
A cold sweat broke over the landlord’s face and, judging by his wriggling, doubtless trickled down his spine.
“If there’s any wine left,” he echoed dully.
“There must be plenty down there,” D’Artagnan said. “Never you worry, landlord, two men cannot have drunk your cellar dry. Gentlemen, sheathe your swords if you will.”
“Agreed, Monsieur, if you return your pistols to their holsters.”
“Certainly, with the greatest of pleasure, gentlemen.” Whereupon, setting the example, D’Artagnan obeyed the injunction and, turning to Planchet, motioned to him to uncock his musketoon.
Convinced by this gesture, the Englishmen, grumbling, returned their swords to their scabbards. D’Artagnan then told how Athos had come to be imprisoned in the cellar and the Englishmen, gentlemen both, agreed that the innkeeper was at fault.
“And now, Milords, go back to your apartment; I warrant you that within ten minutes you shall have all the wine you care to order.”
The Englishmen bowed in appreciation and withdrew.
“We’re alone now,” D’Artagnan called. “Do please open the door, Athos.”
“Certainly, right away!”
A great sound of shuffling, a creaking of logs and a groaning of beams ensued, as the beleaguered Athos in person dismantled his bastions and counterscarps. A few seconds later the broken door parted and Athos poked his pallid face between the split panels to survey the situation. They embraced heartily. Then as D’Artagnan sought to drag his friend from his damp quarters he realized that Athos was reeling and tottering.
“Were you wounded?” he asked anxiously.
“No, no, no, no, no, my dear fellow, I’m dead drunk, that’s all, drunk as David’s sow! Never a man made a better job of getting royally and imperially drunk as your friend Athos. Praise God and bless my landlord, I must have personally and individually downed at least one hundred and fifty bottles. I have enjoyed your hospitality, my dear host,” he added, bowing to the innkeeper.
“God help us, Monsieur, if your lackey has drunk one half of that, then I am a ruined man and might as well close shop.”
“Come, landlord,” Athos protested, “Grimaud is a well-bred and seasoned lackey. He would not have taken upon himself to drink of the same vintages as I. No, my friend Grimaud drank only from the cask. Incidentally, I think he neglected to fasten the bung.”
D’Artagnan burst into peals of laughter that changed the landlord’s chills into a burning fever. Suddenly Grimaud appeared behind his master, his musketoon on