Love and Honor

by Harry Samkange

  “Come Julius, I promised the vicomtesse I’d return to her shortly and already I’ve been longer than I intended,” Nicolas said, setting off with his valet to return to his brother’s fête.

  The Baron de Ginestas walked somberly toward the prone figures of Mauran and Montbatre, the cloak draped over Mauran telling him all he needed to know of his fate. He stood over Montbatre, who had pulled Mauran’s blade from his side and was still being attended to by the surgeon. Ginestas carefully retrieved the poisoned blade, motioning toward his lackey.

  “I want both of these weapons melted down at once, do you hear? Be careful that you do not touch the bloodied blade with your hands, understand?” Ginestas said tersely. The baron then moved closer to check on the fate of Montbatre. Their eyes met, Montbatre knowing that though the wound dealt him was not fatal, the poison soon would be.

  “He’s a real devil that one. He knew, I’m sure of it, and the wound he gave me is no accident. The bastard’s killed me for sure, though I’m still not quite sure how he managed it,” Montbatre hissed. Serves you right for picking that fool Mauran for the task, Ginestas thought to himself.

  “Rest easily brave Montbatre, we shall of course do what we can for you,” Ginestas said in an effort to appear encouraging, though he knew full well that his compatriot was a dead man.

  “It should not be fatal, Monsieur, the blade only penetrated through the outer layer of skin and tissue. No vitals look to have been damaged,” the surgeon said with assurance as he worked to bandage the wound, unaware of the fatal poison that had already begun its grim, unstoppable work.

  Ginestas looked away. First touch to you my handsome young Achilles. I had not thought it possible for you to avoid even the faintest of touches. How like that fabled warrior you are in beauty and in terrible might. Perhaps you may be invincible in war, but Achilles had a fatal weak point and so do you and what a pretty heel she is. She shall be our means of defeating you. Yes you’ve made things more difficult for me now, but I’ve many more cards to play than the feeble ones on display here. We shall meet again soon enough my beau chevalier, then we shall see whose flame burns the hottest and the longest.

  *******

  “Nicolas! There you are at last. Madame de Blaise and I were both very worried about what you’d gotten up to with your mysterious companion,” Sérolène said, breaking away from the dance in which she was engaged. The man with whom she had been paired, seeing the robust figure of Alexandre the Great as his rival, good-naturedly relinquished the vicomtesse and went off in search of another partner.

  “I see you’ve kept yourself happily busy in my absence. Where’s Maman gone to? She was supposed to be playing a proper chaperone to you. Did she not understand she was to keep you out of the grasp of everyone but me?” Nicolas teased.

  “You must not blame her, the fault is entirely yours for abandoning me for the company of that horrible little man,” Sérolène proclaimed with a pout. Nicolas smiled, desperately wanting to kiss the adorable look off her face.

  “What is it?” Sérolène asked, noting the particular way he regarded her. A fanfare of trumpets interrupted his reply.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please move forward toward the western part of the courtyard. The fireworks are about to begin!” a voice called out.

  “Come with me,” Nicolas said, offering his arm. While the crowd pressed excitedly forward to gain the best viewing positions for the display, Nicolas led Sérolène through the garden, making his way by a hidden path, to a small clearing near the cane fields where they at last found both privacy and space. As the fireworks began, drawing the attention of everyone, Nicolas found a comfortable place at the base of an old oak, where they could sit and enjoy the display unseen and undisturbed. Sérolène sat across his lap to avoid soiling her dress, her right arm around his shoulder, leaving her left hand free to point delightedly at the bursting fireworks, her squeals of delight punctuating the noise of the spectacle overhead.

  “Did you see that? A shooting star!” Sérolène exclaimed, pointing excitedly. Nicolas nodded, admiring the faint trail of stardust it had left in its wake.

  “Quick, make a wish,” she implored, grasping his hand and holding it between both of hers.

  “What did you wish for?” she asked.

  “I thought if you told your wishes they wouldn’t come true,” he said with a smile. She rolled her eyes endearingly at him in the darkness.

  “That’s only for birthday wishes. It doesn’t apply to shooting stars…or wishes you share with those you love,” she said, hoping to persuade him to divulge his secret.

  “Oh? I think, Mademoiselle, that you’re making that up entirely,” he said, chuckling. She giggled with delight.

  “That may be so, Monsieur, but nevertheless I quite demand to know!” she said, smiling beguilingly, confident that he could not resist her.

  “Well, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. I wished for a life filled with an eternity of your kisses,” he confessed. She purred deep in her throat in response, kissing him gently on the neck before resting her head on his shoulder.

  “There, that’s one,” she whispered, kissing him again tenderly on the cheek. “And two.”

  “You’ve quite a long way to go before reaching eternity,” he teased. She turned to face him, her eyes shining liquid blue in the darkness.

  “Then, Monsieur, you’d best live up to your reputation…and have the boldness to make your wish come true,” she declared. He readily accepted her challenge, his lips covering hers, which parted eagerly to receive his love; willingly yielding up her own, as underneath the canopy of real and artificial stars, they began in earnest, their quest for eternity.

  XI. Running the Gauntlet

  In the moist morning heat of early June, a long train of carriages and wagons left snakelike tracks from the offloading point on the docks at Cap François to the anchorage of the Belle Héloïse, the ship assigned to convey the Montferrauds, Salvagnacs, and other passengers to France. The Belle Héloïse was one of five ships of the convoy currently lying at anchor under the protection of the guns of Fort de Picolet. The other ships included her sister ship, the Belle Claire; a large man-o-war, the Bon Majesté; and two escorting frigates, the Fantassin and the Pomerol.

  The small flotilla was under the command of Vice-Amiral de Baudrie, Comte de Morlaix. His flagship the Bon Majesté would lead the escort of three warships that would provide protection from the English and any other hostile vessels that they might encounter on their journey. It was not typical for a Vice-Amiral to be in command of such a small squadron, or for there to be more ships in escort than in convoy, but Amiral le Marquis de Vaudreuil had insisted on the arrangement as a means of ensuring the safe passage of so many important guests, and as a mark of his continuing favor toward the Marquis de Blaise and his family in appreciation for Nicolas’ rescue of young Charlotte.

  Since the early morning, crowds of stevedores and porters had been busy loading the personal provisions and baggage of the noteworthy passengers aboard ship. The heavier cargo of tons of raw foodstuffs, supplies, and other goods had already been loaded by crane and carried below decks on the backs of enslaved blacks and porters. For days the ships had been taking on freight, and now sat low in the water. Below decks, the sounds of the animals being transported echoed in the cramped space; the cries of cows, sheep, and pigs for slaughter intermingling with the whinnying of Nicolas’ horses, which were also being transported. Preparations were now at the last phase before embarking, the final loads of cargo stowed securely aboard, decks beginning to clear of all but passengers and sailors.

  Each cargo ship bore a wealth of produce from St Domingue, the richest jewel in the French Crown Colonies. The massive holds were laden with coffee, spices, tobacco, rum, and molasses; but more than three quarters of the cargo was sugar, the sweet crystallized gold of French commerce. All of the cargo shared space with the numerous humans required to operate the ships and the even more numerous rats that
were the true permanent inhabitants. The rats quartered wherever they willed, the humans according to a rigid hierarchy of status and role.

  The voyage would be several weeks long under the best of circumstances, and the requirements of space meant that there would be few luxuries to speak of for the passengers. In order to maximize the comfort of the guests, the crews’ original plan had been to have the respective parties of the baron and the marquis travel aboard separate ships. This arrangement, although practical for space, was impractical for either of the principals as it did not allow them to conduct their affairs in concert. It was therefore decided, after long consultation with the officers of the principal vessels, that both Montferrauds and Salvagnacs would be housed on the Belle Héloïse along with the servants who accompanied them. This meant, of course, that cabin assignments had to be completely rearranged at the last minute.

  Accommodation aboard ship was decided by rank and status, the capitaine traditionally being uppermost and therefore accorded the most space. With so many passengers of high noble rank aboard, even Capitaine Closon was forced to cede his place in favor of his guests. The preference of the largest cabin was given instead to the women of the Salvagnac household, since all three ladies could share the large cabin along with their personal maids. The capitaine moved into the quarters of one of his junior officers, the dislocated men forced to double up or rearrange their berths to accommodate the marquis, the baron, the Comte and Comtesse de Marbéville, and other important passengers.

  The upper decks housed the remaining senior officers and privileged passengers, wealthy enough and of sufficient status to warrant the greater space and cleaner air that these decks afforded. The lower decks housed the common travelers -- of which there were more than a dozen -- as well as servants, crew, and cargo. Non-essential servants, flunkeys, lackeys, maids, and other domestics were to travel aboard the Belle Claire, along with the majority of the several dozen regular passengers making the voyage to France. As is common when things are hurriedly done, some matters were invariably overlooked. In this case what had been deemed satisfactory to all became much less so when it was pointed out, in the final calling of the roll, that one person remained without suitable accommodation on either ship.

  “You’re sure there’s no more space?” Capitaine Closon inquired of Lacombe, the new officer they’d picked up in Marseilles along with a cargo of manufactured goods to be carried to St. Domingue. The normal cargo would have been enslaved blacks, but the Marquis de Blaise refused to allow any human cargo to be carried aboard his ships. Manufactured goods were less profitable to carry, but also less trouble than the forced transportation of hundreds of chained and miserable Africans, whose conveyance always risked the prospect of violence or mutiny, to say nothing of the moral hazard in transporting such cargo.

  “I’ve been over the manifest several times, Capitaine. There’s nothing to be had on board either ship if we’re to be away today. We’ve already made several different attempts at sorting things out, and some of the passengers are beginning to get testy,” Lacombe reported.

  “It’s no good delaying again. If we do, we’re likely to lose our escorts. The Comte de Morlaix has been quite clear about that with all the Capitaines,” Closon said emphatically, sucking on teeth long stained brown from pipe smoking as he began pacing the deck in an effort to think his way out of the situation. The Marquis de Blaise would not look kindly on one of his sons being left off the passenger manifest, but to redo the berths would cost them time and perhaps their escorts, and that was something they could ill afford.

  “Perhaps suitable accommodations might be arranged for him aboard one of the escorting frigates?” Lacombe suggested. Closon raised an eyebrow, but did not dismiss the idea out of hand.

  “He’s almost fifteen, the lad in question?” Lacombe asked. Closon nodded.

  “Well I should think he’d rather enjoy the prospect of undertaking the crossing on a bona fide warship. It’s the trip of a lifetime for a young man, don’t you think, Capitaine?” Lacombe said persuasively, waiting patiently at attention as Closon considered his idea.

  “All right, it’s worth a try. See if you can arrange it with the other Capitaines. If you do, there’s an extra purse in it for you,” Closon replied, seeing no other way out of the dilemma in so short a time.

  “It’s as good as done then, Capitaine,” Lacombe assured him, the promise of money sealing the deal for him.

  “We shall see, Monsieur….we shall see,” Closon said, shaking his head doubtfully as he turned to see to his many other tasks.

  In the end, Lacombe was as good as his word, and the thing was done. It was agreed among the Captains that Nicolas and his two trunks would be quartered aboard the frigate Fantassin. Captain Closon sent for Lacombe as soon as he was given the news, rewarding him as promised with a purse full of coins. Lacombe felt the weight in his palm, judging expertly the value.

  “Well done, Lacombe. I must say you’ve been a fine addition to the crew. I foresee good things in your future if you continue on as you have begun,” Closon said, genuinely pleased. I must admit he’s good-looking and charming, and has performed his duties admirably enough on the voyage to the Colonies. The only thing that disturbs me about him is his penchant for gambling and drink. I’ve had long experience of both in my years of sailing. They’re trouble enough separately, but in combination are almost always fatal for sailors and crew, Closon mused

  “One piece of advice: keep your distance from the noble passengers, especially the ladies. They may seem polite enough on the surface, but don’t let their manners fool you. There’s nothing that more irritates the high and mighty than having their women sniffed after, so mind your place. To them we don’t really exist -- at least not in the same manner that they do. They may smile and flatter and cast alluring glances, but don’t for a moment believe that the ladies coming on board would consider us as anything more than beasts of burden to be put to proper use. Am I making myself clear?” Closon said. Lacombe nodded, though he thought the advice idiotic and Closon an old fool for giving it.

  “Of course, Capitaine,” Lacombe replied earnestly, swallowing a yawn in his throat. Are you finished yet old man? You’re preventing me from admiring the potential beauties coming on board and more importantly, preventing my own fine form from being admired in turn. Just let me get back on deck so that I can begin sizing up all the plump rich game. The men I’ll relieve of their purses, the women of their virtue -- the troublesome, if necessary, of their lives, Lacombe vowed.

  “If you have nothing further for me, Capitaine, I have much to do on deck to prepare us for departure,” Lacombe said, giving Closon his most winning smile. A chill inadvertently went up the capitaine’s spine and he looked away, momentarily nonplussed.

  “Yes. Of course you do. Dismissed,” Closon said, rising to begin his own inspections. Lacombe turned to go, Closon watching his retreating back closely. There’s something about that man that disturbs me, as if a dark, sinister presence lurks behind that pleasant mask, he thought to himself.

  “Probably nothing; just the normal jitters before setting sail,” Closon said with a shrug. Putting thoughts of Lacombe behind him, he stepped out onto the deck to begin the final preparations for departure.

  *

  The unhappy news of the revised berthing arrangements was communicated to the marquis as he waited patiently with the other passengers in the common rooms of the large hotel that overlooked the port. Only the furrowing of his brows gave any indication as to the degree of his displeasure, his emotions kept well below the surface, the mark of a true gentleman. All of the high-ranking passengers were collected together, save for Nicolas, whose arrival had been delayed at the insistence of Madame de Blaise. Now that the time for departure had come at last, the marquise had wished to spend the last precious moments she could with Nicolas before he set sail. Orders had already been sent to fetch the chevalier some hours ago, and he was expected to arrive shortly, accompanied by h
is mother in her carriage. Blaise now would be faced with the unpleasant task of informing Nicolas that instead of the happy prospect of spending some weeks together with his family and his betrothed, he would now be separated from them all, for the duration of the voyage. The marquis knew that this, on top of the loss of his mother’s companionship, would be another bitter blow for his youngest son. His eyebrows furrowed together in thought, he reflected that the only consolation at the moment to his troubles was the very welcome view of the radiant Vicomtesse de La Bouhaire, who sat to his right amongst the general company, chatting amiably with him like the dutiful daughter she might one day become.

  “Monsieur de Blaise, may I ask when we might expect to have the pleasure of the Chevalier d’Argentolle’s company?” Sérolène said, her smile brightening the room with its warmth. So there it is at last, she wonders where her beau is – and have I the heart to tell her that though he will be here soon enough, he must travel separately from the rest of us on this long voyage? the marquis pondered.

  “He will be along shortly, Mademoiselle. I’ve indulged his mother in allowing him to spend his last moments here in her company,” Blaise explained. No. I don’t have the heart to tell her yet, and take away that glorious smile.