Love and Honor

by Harry Samkange

  From her new vantage point she considered Nicolas as he leaned against the wall, marveling at the pillar of a man he was becoming. His clothes could barely contain him. Even under the loose-fitting garb of his costume, he was a primal thing of beauty, to which the eye was naturally and inexorably drawn. One felt the raw power of his superb physicality even when he was just standing still. When he moved, he was like a prowling lion, commanding respect -- and desire.

  Her eyes wandered leisurely down the length of him, noting the slight rise below the waist in his knee-length armored tunic, which hadn’t been there before. She felt a delicious wave of warmth move through her body like a summer wind across a field of long grass, stirring all that it touched. All of her felt alive and awakened, aware of the power of her femininity in a very different way than she was accustomed to, the same way she supposed that his body was showing that it was aware of her. She felt herself flush and turned away modestly. Nicolas, suddenly aware that his manhood had betrayed him, was mortified.

  “I’m sorry…I—I…” he stammered, turning his body away from her in an effort to conceal the source of his embarrassment. She smiled invitingly, holding out her hand to beckon him to her. He came toward her, unable to resist the gentle tide of her yearning, pulled by the irresistible force of their mutual attraction to stand behind the chaise and attend her. She wrapped her hand in his, enjoying the feeling of the hard calloused skin of his palm against her long soft fingers.

  “It’s all right, my love. I was just thinking to myself how beautiful you are. It’s rather nice to be so well thought of in return,” she purred, kissing the back of his hand. She looked back over her shoulder, trying her best to hold back her laughter, but it was no use. Her amusement proved infectious, Nicolas finally able to accept the humor in the situation, despite his embarrassment. Happily, his mirth served to deflate the point of interest sufficiently for him to walk around and join her on the chaise. She leaned back so that she reclined against his torso, snuggling in the crook of his arm, her nose against his neck as she gently caressed his earlobe and cheek with her fingertips.

  “I thought of you each day you were away from me, and dreamt of you each night. The moments right before I went to sleep became the most welcome part of my day, because I always had the pleasure of hoping that you would pay me a visit in my dreams,” she whispered, tenderly stroking his ear.

  “How I adore you,” he replied softly, gently caressing her cheek. She pulled his face toward her, happy to find no resistance at all as his lips once again found hers and he willingly surrendered to her the tribute of his love, accepting her own in return.

  The spell of enchantment was broken at last by the sound of discreet knocking at the door. Sérolène quickly sat upright, adjusting her gown and coiffure to ensure that nothing appeared amiss. Nicolas moved quickly to stand behind the chaise as the door opened slightly to reveal the unmasked face of his mother, peering around the corner.

  “Come in, Maman. We were just discussing poetry,” Nicolas said.

  “Of course you were. Now put on your masks and come down. The fireworks are about to start and it’s time for us to join the others,” Madame de Blaise said, smiling knowingly as she looked from Nicolas to Sérolène.

  Nicolas nodded, donning his helmet and lending his arm to help Sérolène rise from the chaise. They descended the stairs together, just as the eighth bell began to toll, making their way down into the garden, which was so crowded with people that even Madame de Blaise was soon separated from them in the throng. Nicolas took Sérolène by the arm, eager to escape the eyes and the press of the crowd, the uniqueness of his attire and what it revealed of his magnificent physique, drawing only slightly less attention than the vicomtesse’s own costume.

  “How splendid you look tonight, Monsieur,” a man dressed all in black with a flowing black cape and a satyr’s mask, said to Nicolas; stepping in front of him to block his passage. He removed the mask, revealing his face.

  “Baron de Ginestas,” Nicolas said, his senses alert, knowing that this was no chance meeting. The baron bowed deferentially toward Sérolène, obliging Nicolas to make introductions.

  “Baron Ginestas, may I present to you Mademoiselle la Vicomtesse de La Bouhaire. Mademoiselle, the Baron de Ginestas,” Nicolas said tightly. Sérolène removed her mask so that proper introductions could be made. Sensing the change in Nicolas’ mood, however, she remained warily silent beside him.

  “Mademoiselle, would you please forgive me, but the chevalier and I have some personal business that honor requires us to tend to at once,” the baron said. Nicolas seethed inwardly at the impertinence of the baron to dare and seek him out here, in his own house. The requirements of honor however, obligated Nicolas to accompany him.

  “My dearest, my mother is over there near the fountain. Would you do me the honor of keeping her company? I promise I shall return to you here in just a short while,” Nicolas said, squeezing Sérolène’s hand tenderly.

  “As you wish, Nicolas,” Sérolène replied dutifully, eyeing him intently before taking her leave as both men bowed to her retreating back.

  “Mademoiselle de La Bouhaire is quite a delightful young lady…” the baron began.

  “I forbid you to speak her name, understand me?” Nicolas said hotly, moving close to stare down menacingly at the baron. The baron felt his cheeks flush, the heat rushing down past his belly to fill his loins.

  “You’ve hidden yourself like a rat for the past two days, now you show yourself in the open on a day when my family is in celebration. I presume that means Mauran’s close by and you wish to conclude our business. Well then, so be it. Let’s be about it and the sooner the better,” Nicolas said, turning to follow the baron as Ginestas led the way through the crowd, heading toward the stables.

  “Where do you think Nicolas could be going, Madame? That man with him seemed awfully peculiar,” Sérolène said, observing Nicolas discretely as he walked past with the Baron de Ginestas.

  “I don’t know my dear. Don’t you worry though, I shall send someone to watch over him,” Madame de Blaise said reassuringly, motioning to one of the house attendants who arrived quickly to hear her whispered instructions.

  “Come dance with us if you please, my golden beauties. All night we’ve admired you and now you mustn’t refuse us!” a reveler exclaimed, bowing low before Sérolène, pulling along his partner to dance with Madame de Blaise. They both assented reluctantly, Sérolène turning to look for Nicolas, who had already disappeared into the hedges at the edge of the courtyard.

  ******

  “Where is Monsieur de Marbéville?” the surgeon said, pacing near the line of trees opposite the rear wall of the stables that formed the border of the clearing in which the encounter between Nicolas and Mauran was to be held. The rectangular area had been marked at regular intervals with torches staked in the ground to provide light. At the center, Montbatre was engaged in a practice bout with Mauran, helping him to warm up for the pending encounter. There was the sound of approaching footsteps to his left. Glancing up, he saw the curious combination of the Baron de Ginestas in his all black outfit, satyrs mask and flowing cape, arriving in company with Nicolas, in his extraordinary costume of Alexandre the Great. As soon as Nicolas entered the rectangular area, Mauran retreated to the far side of the clearing in company with Montbatre.

  “The Comte de Marbéville has not yet arrived. We cannot begin until he is here,” the surgeon pointed out.

  “My brother has better things to do than to occupy himself with such foolishness as this. This fête is for him, and I will not have him disturbed. Mauran is here, I am here, that is all that is required for us to settle this,” Nicolas said tersely.

  “I suppose I could stand for the chevalier,” the surgeon said. Ginestas nodded, happy for any excuse to begin the business at hand.

  “That would be splendid. Now we can begin,” the baron said, motioning for his valet to fetch the weapons to be used. The lackey brought forth
a long wooden box that held two identical swords, offering Nicolas, as the challenged party, the first choice of weapons.

  “Let Mauran have his preference,” Nicolas said, yielding the advantage to his weaker opponent.

  “That is very gallant of you, Monsieur,” Ginestas said with a nod, motioning to his lackey to take the weapons to Mauran. So they were right about your honorable nature. More’s the pity my beau young Adonis, Ginestas mused, admiring how much of Nicolas’ well-muscled form was revealed by his short Greek tunic. The lackey opened the weapons case for Mauran, who selected the uppermost weapon.

  “That blade seems unlucky. Best to take the other,” Montbatre advised. Mauran looked intently at Montbatre before deciding to accept his advice. Returning the blade he had chosen to its case, he selected the second weapon, hefting it for weight and feel.

  “Yes, this one will do nicely,” he said, reaching out to touch the rapier to test its sharpness.

  “Wouldn’t do that if I were you. Very sharp, might injure yourself,” Montbatre said, his eyes wide in warning as he steered Mauran’s hand away from the exposed blade. Mauran nodded slowly, the wheels of comprehension beginning to turn slowly in his head. Poisoned? So that’s why Ginestas and Montbatre are so sure of themselves. I’ll only have to nick him and the vile elixir will do the rest. How marvelous! he thought to himself, his confidence in the certainty of a fortunate outcome taking root for the first time. The remaining blade was brought to Nicolas, who hefted it with ease, removing his red cloak and the short Greek sword strapped to his waist to prepare himself for the pending combat. As the lackey took his things, Nicolas heard a noise that distracted him, looking up toward the sound to see a crowd of boys perched on the roof of the stable to observe the forbidden spectacle of mortal combat. Along the edge of the shoulder-high stone wall that ran past the back of the stable, the heads of several coach drivers and attendants could be seen; the men observing the sacred martial display in hushed silence. Nicolas noted his own valet Julius among them.

  “Take my cloak and sword, Julius,” Nicolas said, calling forth his valet from the shadows. Julius obeyed immediately.

  “Madame was worried and sent me to accompany you, Monseigneur,” Julius explained. Nicolas nodded.

  The Baron de Ginestas moved to the center of the rectangle to begin the ritual of the duel, both combatants now at their respective places at the opposite ends of the rectangle, their seconds beside them. There was a dense crowd of moths and other nocturnal insects that were attracted by the light from the torches. While Nicolas remained still, his sword at his side, Mauran strutted confidently about, swinging his sword back and forth with confidence. He wasn’t so sanguine when I first arrived. I wonder what’s happened to change things? Nicolas thought to himself.

  “Are both parties determined that their differences can only be resolved through honorable combat?” Ginestas asked. Mauran spoke to Montbatre who replied on his behalf, as the ritual of honor required.

  “Monsieur de Mauran is determined that his honor can only be satisfied by shedding the blood of his adversary,” Montbatre said.

  “He is a fool, but I shall oblige him with the blood he seeks, though it shall not be my own,” Nicolas said to the surgeon, who acted as his second.

  “The Chevalier is also so resolved,” the surgeon said, as Nicolas carefully studied his opponent. He noted with curiosity that the bugs that flitted around the light of the torches seemed unusually attracted to Mauran’s naked blade, as if it were coated with honey or some other such sweet and attractive substance.

  “Both gentlemen will come to engagement distance and salute each other,” Ginestas called out, raising his hand above him. Mauran swaggered forward with brazen confidence. I’ll wipe that silly smile off your face soon enough, Nicolas resolved. Wait! There’s something you’ve missed. Men are not so cavalier when faced with death by the sword. Stop looking only with your eyes. Do as Vesterkamp taught you. Use your perception to see the truth! His training shouted out to him. Nicolas moved to the proper distance, breathing slowly in an effort to calm his mind and allow it to see what his eyes had missed. He took in the entire scene around him, trying to feel, scent, touch what was amiss; searching for the clues his mind needed to unlock the odd puzzle of Mauran’s behavior.

  Both men saluted each other, bringing their blades toward their chests. There was a large white moth that circled about Mauran’s blade, landing near the point, where it appeared to be feeding or resting. It stayed on its odd perch not more than a second before dropping to the ground, stone dead. Poisoned! The blade’s been poisoned! Nicolas understood at last.

  “En garde!” Ginestas shouted, lowering his hand to signal the start of the combat.

  Mauran ran forward at once, thrusting eagerly in an attempt to land any touch he could upon Nicolas, the furious savagery of his attack driving Nicolas back as he struggled to avoid the likely fatal contact of his opponent’s blade. I must withstand his initial onslaught. He will tire quickly, and when he does, I shall have my chance, Nicolas resolved, parrying every attack, but not launching a counter of his own to avoid being struck. But why? Why would Mauran do such a thing? We have no real quarrel between us? It was he who chose to flee our encounter and dishonor himself. Who has put him up to this vile and dishonorable act? Nicolas wondered as he continued to dodge and parry. Ginestas is the key to it, and Montbatre’s in league with him I’m sure. He only came to the salon after I arrived, and how quickly he befriended the man who now opposes me. I must find out who is behind this. Perhaps I am not the only target, or even the principal one, he considered, reminded of his father’s warnings and Ginestas’ interest in Sérolène. Does he seek her hand for himself? Is Mauran his proxy to clear a path for his own suit?

  His honor incensed by the thought of the double game being played, Nicolas went on the offensive as his opponent began to tire, Mauran’s energy expended from the violence of his initial unfruitful attacks. Nicolas began to press forward relentlessly, pressuring his opponent on all sides, swinging the rapier in wide oblique arcs to force his opponent to cover his flanks. He maneuvered Mauran toward the corner of the rectangle where Montbatre stood, cutting off the angles of escape as he began to press more aggressively forward. I’ve only one shot at this. I must get everything just right, he reminded himself, forcing his opponent very close to his second as he cut heavily from above; causing the desperate Mauran to raise his sword to deflect the blow. Nicolas caught the blade near the center, pressing downward so that the poisoned tip was dangerously close to his own chest. It was an opportunity Mauran could not refuse. He thrust forward, aiming to stab Nicolas in the chest. It was exactly what Nicolas had hoped he would do.

  Nicolas turned his wrist in quickly, using the power of Mauran’s thrust for leverage as he spun the blade, twisting the tip up and back. For a split second the poisoned rapier was pointed backward toward Montbatre as it came out of Mauran’s hand. Nicolas surged forward, thrusting his own blade through Mauran’s heart with his right hand, while with his left, he flung Mauran’s reversed blade toward Montbatre with a flick of his wrist, the weapon piercing the startled second in the side.

  There were gasps as both men fell to the ground. Everything had happened so quickly that no one was quite sure what had occurred in the torch lit darkness. Nicolas knew at once that Mauran was dead. He looked toward the fallen Montbatre. If I am right about that blade, then so shall you be soon, though the wound I gave you would not normally have been fatal. If I am wrong, then you have nothing to fear, save the ridicule of being injured in another’s duel. Perhaps you have acted honorably, in which case you have nothing greater than your embarrassment to regret. If not, then you deserve the death that is coming to you, Nicolas mused as he bowed and returned to his starting position.

  “My honor has been satisfied,” he declared somberly, as the surgeon came quickly to his side. They both bowed once more in unison as the ritual of honor required, before Nicolas released his second to return to
his primary duties.

  “You may go and tend to them, Monsieur, though only Montbatre has need of your services now,” Nicolas said, eying the baron coldly as he spoke to the surgeon. Ginestas was in a state of utter bewilderment at what had occurred, his plans suddenly thrown into disarray. Nicolas approached Ginestas slowly, motioning for his valet to bring him his cloak, sword and helmet.

  “You will leave our lands at once, and I do not wish to see you here ever again,” Nicolas said coldly, knowing that the man who stood before him was no better than a hired assassin, though he was not yet sure who ultimately employed him.

  “Hover too near my torch again and I assure you, you will not escape the flames of my retribution,” Nicolas said menacingly before turning his back on Ginestas to address his valet. I don’t know how much a dupe Mauran truly was, but he’s played for stakes too great and lost everything. Father warned me that there might be trouble. Well this ought to send them a proper message that we Montferraud are not to be trifled with, Nicolas reflected somberly.