Love and Honor

by Harry Samkange

  “What is the meaning of this? How dare you shoot at us, and on my own lands! By God, I shall see that you hang for this!” Blaise thundered.

  “Monseigneur, I am called Tibohio. My master, Monsieur Petitfleur, and our party were in hot pursuit of some runaway slaves. That man came unexpectedly across our path, causing my master’s son to lose control of his horse and fall. When my master admonished him for causing the accident, he had the temerity to answer back most insultingly. Our honor could not allow such an affront to proceed…”

  “Your honor? Your honor?” Blaise thundered. Nicolas had never seen his father so incensed.

  “What honor have you to speak of, and whom do you think you are talking to, by God?” Blaise shouted, haranguing the man mercilessly.

  “My master recently purchased a plantation not very far from here. He was an important gentleman among the planters. You would do well to cooperate with us and to mind your tone. I imagine the authorities will take interest in the circumstance of his death,” Tibohio said.

  “How dare you presume to threaten me! I am the Marquis de Blaise. You are all intruders here and subject to my justice. You have trespassed upon my lands, insulted my family, and compounded your crimes with a brazen attack upon my son, who is a nobleman of France, which I witnessed with my own eyes. If I decide not to hang you today myself, I shall recommend to the Governor that all your lands and property be forfeited as reparation for the insults you have given and that you yourself be put in the stocks and publicly flogged as an example!” Blaise said with contempt. Tibohio blanched at the revelation of the true identities of the men he confronted, aware now of the magnitude of the error his master had committed in seeking to mete out his own summary justice. He also realized that the rashness of his own words risked compounding the severity of the sentence not only for himself, but for the Young Master as well. He looked about himself in utter confusion, unsure of what to do, the disembodied head of his former master staring at him accusingly in death. My master is dead. So is the overseer Mordu and Quinot as well. The best I can hope for now is to look after my master’s son and protect my own skin, Tibohio reasoned.

  “Please, Monseigneur!” he begged, falling to his knees to beseech the marquis for clemency. “I did not know to whom I spoke and humbly ask for your forgiveness. It is the shock of seeing my master killed before my very eyes that drove me to speak with such impertinence. I beg you, Monseigneur, to have mercy. We have already lost our master; do not take away from us our means of livelihood as well. Punish me if you must, Monseigneur, but spare my master’s family. The Young Master has a mother and three sisters to look after now. What shall we do if we lose our plantation?” Tibohio pleaded. The marquis considered the appeal as he continued to seethe. He looked toward Nicolas, deciding then and there to present his son with another test of his manhood.

  “As the Chevalier d’Argentolle is the one most aggrieved by your conduct, I shall leave it to him to decide your fate,” Blaise said.

  Nicolas looked at his father in surprise, unsure of what to do. He turned to regard the bodies of the fallen men, his stomach now turning at the thought that for the first time, he had actually killed a man. Although he had dueled many times before, none of those encounters had been fatal. He felt no pleasure in what he had done, even though he had acted to save his own life. Though he was still angry at how he had been spoken to and spoken of, he thought about how he himself would have felt if it were his own father lying in the dirt before him. And what of this Petitfleur’s family? Nicolas asked himself. Must they all now suffer the loss not only of a father, but of their livelihood as well? He couldn’t bring himself to order such a thing, even though he knew that despite the mercy he was inclined to show, the young Petitfleur, when he regained consciousness, would undoubtedly be a lifelong enemy.

  “Take your dead and return to your lands. I bear no grudge against anyone,” Nicolas declared, dismounting to retrieve his sword. Putting his foot securely on the chest of the man he had slain, he grasped the hilt and pulled it slowly from the dead man’s skull, wiping the bits of brain and flesh that clung to the blade on the man’s shirt.

  “But I warn you, my benevolence comes at a price. Should you or those you serve ever insult me or my family again, you may assure yourself that my retribution will be swift and merciless. I will not be the one to begin a quarrel between us, but if one should for any reason arise, I promise you, I shall be the one to end it. Make sure your young master well understands that,” Nicolas said menacingly. The deadly hiss of his sword as it was returned to its scabbard added emphasis to his words. Turning to regard his father, Nicolas then remounted his horse.

  “Your sentence has been pronounced. See that you mark it well. I shall send a wagon down to help you carry your dead and wounded, as it appears that your new master will be unable to ride. Remember well these woods, they mark the outer boundaries of our lands, I trust you will be more prudent in respecting them the next time you come this way,” the marquis said, spitting his disgust onto the earth before spurring his horse in the direction of the road to his château. Nicolas followed closely behind him, both riders putting their backs and their disdain between them and the trespassers as quickly as possible. When they arrived at the estate, the servants, some of whom had seen the encounter from their higher vantage point, rushed out to express their concern for the welfare of their beloved seigneurs, the marquis assuring them all that neither he nor his son had been harmed. He then gave instructions to send a wagon down to carry away the dead, sending along with it an armed guard to escort the unwanted visitors off his lands. Once that was done, he took Nicolas aside and spoke to him privately.

  “Today you have had three trials, Nicolas, only one of which was anticipated, and you have learned the most important responsibilities of a seigneur: to dispense life and death honorably, tempered with justice and mercy,” the marquis said, putting his arm around Nicolas’ shoulder as he walked with him into the house.

  “Do you think that’s the end of it, Papa?” Nicolas inquired hopefully as they walked into the salon de compagnie, grateful that he had only water in his stomach, else he would have been sick on the spot; the sour aftertaste of his conscience rising in protest against the lives he had taken. Blaise saw the turmoil on his son’s face and was relieved that Nicolas felt no glory in the taking of human life. Though he knew that it was sometimes necessary, it was never something that one ought to develop a taste for.

  “The end of it? On the contrary; I’ve a feeling your story with the Petitfleurs is only beginning. As you have pledged your word not to strike first, you must be very well prepared to absorb the first blow when it comes, and I assure you it will come when its arrival will be of the most inconvenience to you,” the marquis said, crossing over to the hearth to regard with pride the boy who had proven today that his heart, his arm, and his reason were mature beyond his years.

  “Do you know what it is that makes us noble, Nicolas?” Blaise asked, his gaze fixed on his son.

  “The law and custom say that it is our bloodlines, but that is only the least part of it. What makes us truly noble is how we act. For us, honor is not just a word, it is how we live. The sword is our scepter of justice, but its use must always be tempered by mercy and compassion. Today you have truly become a man. You have bested me on horseback, a thing not many can achieve; and you have spoken like a man, of your love and your future. You have also taken lives -- justly perhaps, but more importantly…with regret. You have done today all that your duty and your honor required of you, and you have again made me proud,” Blaise declared.

  Nicolas nodded his head in silence, understanding that today he had truly become a man in his father’s eyes, for better or worse. He looked up at the family coat of arms that hung above his father’s head.

  “Honor. Justice. Mercy,” Nicolas read the words softly, finally understanding the true meaning of the proclamation on the Montferraud heraldry. The marquis looked again at his son, his
eyes hard and unyielding.

  “Honor first. Honor last. Honor above everything,” Blaise said solemnly. “Now, my young chevalier, you are more than just a servant of glory. Now you understand what it is to be a Montferraud.”

  *

  A few days later over breakfast, Nicolas was informed by his father that a formal agreement had been reached with the baron allowing Nicolas to begin open courtship of Sérolène. Elated at the apparent success of the negotiations with the baron, Nicolas resolved to spend as much of the remaining time as he could with the vicomtesse before he sailed for Martinique, and to test the limits of the freedom of association he might be allowed. As soon as he had finished his breakfast, he ordered his black stallion saddled so that he could ride to pay a call on the vicomtesse. He rode at the gallop, arriving at the Salvagnac plantation shortly before mid-day, where his arrival was announced into the general company. Striding in confidently in anticipation of the vicomtesse being there to receive him, his swagger was noticeably deflated on finding, instead, his seemingly indefatigable nemesis awaiting him in the salon de compagnie.

  “Ah, Monsieur le Chevalier d’Argentolle. What a happy surprise,” the Baronne de Salvagnac said neutrally as Nicolas was announced.

  “Madame de Salvagnac,” Nicolas said with a bow, paying his hostess the customary courtesies while noting the very handsome figure of a golden-haired woman reclining next to the baronne on a chaise longue, whom he did not recognize. He bowed to the stranger in greeting, waiting for the baronne to introduce him.

  “Monsieur le Chevalier, I don’t believe that you’ve been introduced to Madame la Comtesse de Talonge,” the baronne said as Nicolas bowed again, reaching out to kiss the proffered hand of the comtesse.

  “No Madame, I have not yet had the honor or the pleasure of an introduction,” Nicolas said, bowing low and performing the ritual courtesies as he was introduced.

  “You did not tell me he was so handsome, dear Agnès,” the comtesse purred, eyeing Nicolas coquettishly and inviting him to take the seat nearest her. Nicolas sat as he was directed, not altogether comfortable at being alone in the society of such ladies, but determined to soldier on as the price of admission to see his beloved.

  “You have ridden very far from your estates today, Monsieur. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” the baronne said, knowing full well that in light of the agreement her husband had just recently concluded to allow the open courtship of her niece, Nicolas had come straightaway to see Sérolène.

  “I decided to take Scipio…the black stallion Monsieur de Salvagnac presented to me…for a run-out. Both of us were in need of a bit of exertion, so I thought I’d ride here to pay my respects and again thank you both for the splendid gift,” Nicolas explained.

  “You named your horse Scipio? After the Roman Consul?” Madame de Talonge asked.

  “Yes, Madame. I have rather a fondness for the history of Rome. As the horse is jet-black and the Consul was also styled Africanus in his day, I thought the name fitting,” Nicolas explained.

  “Indeed,” Madame de Talonge purred, her eyes wandering leisurely over Nicolas’ very pleasing visage and form.

  “So you came all the way on horseback and not by carriage, Monsieur?” Madame de Talonge asked, fanning herself seductively in the heat.

  “Yes, Madame. I prefer to be in the saddle as long as I can,” Nicolas said.

  “And you do not grow tired from such strenuous exertions?” the comtesse replied with more than a hint of seduction in her voice.

  “No, Madame. I’m quite used to it so it doesn’t trouble me at all,” Nicolas answered innocently, unaware of the dual currents of their conversation.

  “No, it doesn’t, does it?” the comtesse replied, admiring Nicolas’ tight-fitting riding breeches, which revealed his strongly muscled legs, her obvious admiration of Nicolas becoming a source of increasing irritation to the baronne.

  “Nicolas! Nicolas!” Éléonore shouted, hurrying into the room to greet her new brother-in-law.

  “Hello, Ellie!” Nicolas replied happily, grateful for the distraction of Éléonore’s arrival.

  “Aren’t you forgetting your manners, Mademoiselle?” the baronne chided her youngest daughter.

  “Oh. Please excuse me. How do you do, Madame de Talonge?” Éléonore said, turning to greet their other guest. Madame de Talonge responded with a curt nod of her head.

  “Excuse me, Maman, but may I take Nicolas to hear me practice the piano?” Éléonore asked.

  “If the chevalier would be so inclined, you may go on and take your favorite with you,” the baronne replied, eager to have the distraction of Nicolas’ presence removed.

  “Of course. I’d be delighted to hear you play,” Nicolas said, similarly eager to be freed of the formalities of salon conversation, and hoping to find Sérolène on the way to the music room.

  “Would you follow me please, Monsieur?” Éléonore said, taking Nicolas by the hand as he rose and bowed his courtesies to the baronne and her guest.

  “My my, he is delicious isn’t he?” Madame de Talonge purred to the baronne, once they were alone.

  “Oh, stop it, Charlotte. Haven’t your silly games gone far enough?” the baronne said with exasperation. Madame de Talonge stood, circling the baronne languidly before joining her friend on her chaise longue, wrapping her arms seductively around the baronne’s waist.

  “Come now, my sweet Agnès, there’s no need for you to be jealous. You of all people know best the particular preferences of my philosophy. Haven’t I given you enough proofs of that?” she purred, kissing the baronne tenderly behind the ear.

  “Lottie! What if someone should see you?” the baronne said with nervous delight.

  “What if they should? What’s wrong with me sharing an innocent kiss with my dearest friend?” the comtesse asked.

  “I have the other part of the money you asked for,” the baronne whispered, her heart beating excitedly.

  “So soon? How ever did you manage it?” the comtesse asked in surprise.

  “I told my husband I’d lost the money at cards. He was quite upset about it. Made me promise not to play for such stakes again, but in the end he gave me what I needed. It’s in a large heavy strongbox. I shall have my servants load it into your coach when you are ready to depart,” the baronne said.

  “You are indeed a wonder, my dear sweet Agnès. You’ve kept your promise; now I’ll keep mine. Come visit me tomorrow at my estate -- I shall send everyone away as I promised,” the comtesse purred, gently stroking the baronne’s arms and shoulders, her lips tantalizingly close to the baronne’s own.

  “And you’ve no need to bring a large wardrobe, for I assure you my sweet, your clothes are the last things you shall have need of.”

  **

  “Lena! Look who I’ve brought to visit!” Éléonore said excitedly, pulling Nicolas along into the music room where Sérolène was busy practicing at the harp.

  “Nicolas! Oh this is a most delightful surprise! But what are you doing here, and why didn’t anyone tell me you had arrived?” Sérolène asked.

  “I arrived not too long ago on horseback. I was received by Madame de Salvagnac and the Comtesse de Talonge in the salon de compagnie and feared I’d never escape them. Fortunately Ellie came just in time to rescue me, and here I am,” he explained.

  “Oh, it is wonderful to see you. Come, shall we all take a walk in your favorite garden?” Sérolène suggested coyly.

  “But aren’t you going to listen to me play piano first?” Éléonore pouted.

  “Of course, Ellie. You go ahead and play and we’ll be your audience, all right?” Nicolas answered.

  “Will you indulge me, my love? I promised her I’d listen to her practice and I do have her to thank for bringing me here to you,” Nicolas pleaded softly, as Éléonore hurried off to begin her impromptu recital. Sérolène willingly nodded her acquiescence and they both sat and listened to several pieces, Nicolas content to sit and stare indulgently at S
érolène while Éléonore played. After Éléonore had exhausted her limited repertoire, they all three made their way to the gardens, Nicolas lending Sérolène his arm, and Éléonore his hand as he escorted them on a leisurely walk to admire the various plantings.

  “My father informed me yesterday that he and Monsieur de Salvagnac have agreed to terms with regard to my request to be allowed to pay you formal court,” Nicolas said with a bemused smile.

  “Nico! Did you really ask such a thing of my uncle?” Sérolène exclaimed in surprise.

  “I certainly did, Mademoiselle, though I admit I was more than a little nervous that he might refuse me outright. I am also happy to report that I have been allowed the additional privilege of writing to you-- indeed I have already sent to you my first letter, though I confess that in my eagerness to see you, I’m afraid I’ve outdistanced the post,” Nicolas said to Sérolène, who smiled with delight at the prospect of receiving her first “official” letter of courtship.