The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [234]
A small troop was advancing toward the bastion. There were about twenty-five men; but this time they were not sappers. Their uniform and gait indicated clearly that they were garrison soldiers.
“Hadn’t we better make for camp?” Porthos suggested. “The odds against us are pretty grim.”
“That is impossible on three counts,” Athos answered. “First, we have not finished breakfasting . . . second, we still have important matters to discuss . . . and third, we have been here only fifty minutes. . . .”
“All right,” Aramis agreed, “but we must draw up a definite plan of action.”
“Very simple!” Athos told him. “As soon as the enemy come within range, we fire; if they continue to advance, we fire again; and we keep firing so long as our ammunition holds out. If the enemy survivors then try to storm the bastion, we let them advance as far as the ditch and then we push this strip of wall down on their heads. Look at it, lads, it seems to be standing only by a miracle of balance.”
“Bravo, Athos!” Porthos applauded. “You were born to be a general. The Cardinal fancies himself a great captain but compared to you he is very small beer indeed.”
“Gentlemen, let us have no duplication,” Athos called out crisply. “Let each of us pick his own man.”
“I have mine covered,” said D’Artagnan.
“Mine is as good as dead!” Porthos boasted.
“Mine is marked!” said Aramis.
“Fire!” Athos commanded.
The four shots rang as one, four men fell. The drum immediately beat and the little troop advanced at the double. From then on, the volleys followed irregularly but with the same telling effect; but the men of La Rochelle, as if aware of the defenders’ numerical weakness, pressed on. On every three shots from the bastion, at least two men fell but the advance of those unscathed was by no means slackened.
When the assailants reached the foot of the bastion, they still numbered a dozen or more. A final salvo greeted them but it did not halt their progress as they jumped into the ditch and prepared to scale the breach.
“Now, lads, let us finish them off. To the wall, to the wall, and one good push—”
The quartet, seconded by Grimaud, pushed with the barrels of their muskets against an enormous fragment of masonry. It bent, as if rocked by the wind. Then, loosened from its base, it fell with a deafening crash into the ditch. A horrible clamor arose, a cloud of dust spread toward the heavens—and all was over.
“Do you think we have crushed every last one of them?” Athos asked.
“It certainly looks like it,” D’Artagnan assured him.
“No,” Porthos corrected, “there go a few, hobbling away.”
In point of fact, three or four of these unfortunates caked with mud and blood were retreating painfully along the communication trench toward the city. These were all that remained of the little troop. Athos looked at his watch:
“Gentlemen,” he announced, “we have stayed here for an hour and thus won our wager. But let us be good sportsmen and stay on a while. Besides, D’Artagnan has not had a chance to tell us about his idea.”
And with his usual calm, Athos sat down again before the remnants of the meal.
“My idea?”
“Ay, you were saying you had an idea when we were suddenly interrupted.”
“Now I remember. My idea is for me to go to England a second time and find Lord Buckingham.”
“You shall do nothing of the sort!” Athos countered sternly.
“Why not? I did it before!”
“True, but at that time we were not at war. At that time, Lord Buckingham was an ally, not an enemy. What you propose to do has none too pleasant a name. It is known as treason.”
D’Artagnan, realizing the strength of the argument, relapsed into an awkward silence.
“Ho!” Porthos proclaimed joyfully. “I have an idea now, I think.”
“Silence, gentlemen!” Aramis admonished. “Monsieur Porthos has an idea!”
“My idea is for me to ask Monsieur de Tréville for leave on any excuse you care to invent, for I confess I’m not very inventive myself. Milady doesn’t know me from Adam. I can approach her without arousing her suspicions. Then, when I catch my beauty,