chapter 10 the art of disarming a man - amazon web … · having left our two priests to languish...
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Chapter 10
The Art of Disarming a Man
Having left our two priests to languish in their unseemly fates, we return
instead to our three cavaliers, for there is much yet to know about them.
They are warriors, it is true, but they are more than that too. Marie was a
warrior first, but she was a scholar also, and a lover of books. Tathos
was a warrior first, but he was a musician also, and a poet. Phillip was
warrior first, and a warrior second, and then a warrior third as well. But
let us rather address them one at a time, as they sit at a card table in the
Hotel de Guallie’, where the Republic is less present, and those once
affluent citizens still pop up, from time to time. Here the wine and cards
mix about the tables, ensuring that there will be losers, while ensuring
also that they shall be drunk when they lose. Thus significantly
increasing the risk of injury, to the otherwise non-violent sport of cards.
Marie of Meung we have already become slightly familiar with, and
so we know already the power she possesses, lying behind her long
lashes, as well as her long blade. We will note, in addition to what we
have already learned, that she is practical, logical, and severely
pragmatic. Yet to suggest she was humorless, or devoid of the many
subtle traits which separate the sexes, would be equally false. Marie is
lighthearted amongst her friends, her humor is particular, and she is most
kind to strangers.
As we conclude our inspection of Marie, we follow the card passed
from her slender hand to that of Tathos, the man who father Wendell
most likely owes his liberty, if not his life as well. He is tall, and while
not as handsome as his partner Phillip, he suffers not amongst the
company of pretty women. His dark hair falls in wavy locks upon his
shoulders, and his moustache is as sharp as the point of his fine beard,
which befits the fashion of the day. He dresses well, better than a good
citizen ought to, but neither is he flashy, nor ordained by fine threads.
Tathos wears a wide-brimmed hat when outdoors, the kind cavaliers
once wore so fashionably, as well as famously. It holds a long white
plume, extending even beyond the width of his wide rim, not unlike
those famous Musketeers given to the world by that great genius Dumas,
and then further immortalized into bars of the fluffiest of chocolate.
If Tathos was a man of more virtue than vice, then his compatriot,
Phillip, was a man of more vice than virtue. To be sure, Phillip was as
bound and blind to his vanities as Samson was to his Philistine pillars,
though, like Samson, his strength of limb was known to provide
redemptive compensation, and often at the most opportune moments.
But Phillip was also deeply flawed, as if that old devil addiction had
thrown his saddle upon his very spirit, and ridden him from form to
form, never giving Phillip the rest or peace he might otherwise have
known.
However, he is not the greatest of friends with these more noble hearts
by accident, for he is not all vanity and vice. He is brave, honest (when
at his best), and as fiercely devoted to his friends as a starving dog might
be, to the very last scrap of meat left upon this world. He can also drink
in excess of three normal-sized mortals. This last ability I do not
attribute to his virtues, but rather needs to be said, for we see him
drinking a considerable sum, and already have begun to worry about his
chances of coming out ahead this evening. But, as I said, Phillip can
hold his liquor as well as he can hold his cards, and he can hold both far
better than he can hold his tongue. As we shall soon see…
Our three friends have played for some time now, at a table which
holds six. They have remained in their seats as other players have come
and gone over the last few hours. It is only now that the three seats,
having been filled by rotating strangers, have become vacant once again,
which allows a group of three gentlemen to approach the current game,
and ask if they might join the table. All three of the cavaliers were
currently in the advantage, thus were in high spirits, and invited the men
to sit and play with them. The three gentlemen accepted the invitation,
and took their places at the table, sitting opposite Marie, Tathos, and
Phillip.
The three Englishmen were well dressed, wore black suits, and ruffles
about their wrists. Englishman number one was tall, and large in
proportion. He was not built with nearly the brawn as Phillip, but not
much smaller, either. Englishman number two was equal in height to
Tathos, possessing a similar frame. And the third was a pudgy little
fellow, with small eyes set too near together across his nose. Each
possessed the fine air of an aristocrat and the breeding of a gentleman,
something both Tathos and Marie respected, even if they were not
overly fond of the English in general.
The three Englishmen quietly played their hands, round after round,
and while the three friends retained a steady advantage overall, their
luck began to slip by degrees. This was especially true of Phillip, who
was still ahead upon the evening, but had now lost half the advantage he
had gained. And, as his advantage began to slip, his suspicions began to
rise, until the evening came to what many might consider to be its
enviable outcome, if not yet its conclusion...
“That card has been played already, monsieur!” Phillip’s voice
reverberated off the walls of the drinking hall. “I recall it specifically
laid with the very last hand, and I defy you to say that it was not!”
The gentleman opposite him took the cigarette from his mouth, and
rested it gently next to his glass of wine, the only glass he has had this
evening.
“I do defy you, monsieur, for I know that it hasn’t.” Englishman
number one’s retort was as calm as Phillip’s was not, and spoken in near
perfect French.
“And I say that it has! Perhaps we shall draw swords upon the issue,
and let God decide who is lying!” Phillip’s eyes were more red with
wine than anger, though both were well represented.
“If the card has been played already, then it would have been I who
played it,” Englishman number one replied. “And that would, by the
very definition of your accusation, mean that you have called me a
cheat. Is that not correct, sir?”
“It appears to be so,” the large cavalier returned, “does it not, my
English friend?”
“Let us keep from using that term so liberally, shall we?” said the first
Englishman, while preventing any emotion from entering his tone.
Here the room about them, the surrounding tables, and the men about
the far corners of the darkened establishment, begin to turn their heads.
And the room grows more quiet about them, as the volume at our table
continues to grow.
The other two Englishmen have sat quiet, and calmly, as have Tathos
and Marie. The two cavaliers know their friend quite well, they
understand that his spikes of mood often fall as quickly as they rise, and
this would end in naked blades, or it would not. Little they might say or
do would have any bearing upon that outcome, and so they simply allow
events to play out as they will.
“Perhaps, then,” said the Englishman, “if the other players at the table
do not object to forfeiting this hand, and allow us to study the cards
already played upon the pile, we might ascertain who between us is the
ignoramus, and who is the cheat?” He asked the question to the group
about him, rather than to Phillip, but Phillip gave the other players no
opportunity to reply.
“What? Forfeit the hand I am winning at? So that you might cheat me
further, only because you have been caught cheating the first time?
Never! I say the card has been played already, and so it has been played
already!”
“And so what is your solution, monsieur?” The first Englishman
inquired of Phillip, who continued to lean further forward in his seat.
“As I have said: We draw blades upon the matter, and allow God to
decide who is right, and who is lying!” and Phillip gripped the hilt of his
blade in a posture of infinite confidence, for, in truth, he was nearly as
dangerous drunk as he was sober.
“I will agree to this proposition, upon one condition,” replied the first
Englishman.
“And that is…?”
“When the duel has ended, we both reenter the room to inspect the
cards already played, just in case God is mistaken in the matter,” and the
first Englishman began to loosen the ruffles upon his wrists, after
undoing the top two buttons of his coat.
“And if we do not reenter the room together?” Phillip asked with a
grin.
“Then the survivor will return to the room and, in the presence of the
other players, the cards will be viewed.”
Phillip had attempted to keep the cards from being seen (already less
confident of his claim than his voice might have indicated to those
around him) and had avoided the first attempt of the man to prove him
wrong with a rather deft move, for, in fact, he was not winning the
round. However, the logic of the man’s second request was something
which he seemed incapable of dodging, without suggesting that he was
less confident than was his opponent, regarding the contents of the stack,
sitting there before them all. He had already been dueled, in a manner,
into a corner which he could not maneuver from. And so Phillip
relented, realizing that if the card wasn’t in the stack, no matter who won
the duel, he would still be considered the loser. For even if he won the
duel, it would be a dishonorable victory, having been predicated upon a
false accusation.
The more Phillip considered the hole his temper had begun to dig, and
his pride had proceeded to dig much deeper, the less confident he
became of the claim he had made regarding the card. In fact, now sitting
quite deep in his hole, he wasn’t even entirely sure if he hadn’t
dishonestly played the card himself!
“Agreed!” replied Phillip, refusing to surrender even an ounce of his
rapidly draining confidence.
“Come, come gentlemen,” said the second Englishmen to the group,
coming to the aid of Englishman number one, and further burying
Phillip in the trap he had set for himself. “If we are to suspend the game
that you both might duel, and then reenter regardless of the outcome,
only to inspect the pile, then the game is now, effectively, over. For
whether or not you both return, one of you will return to view the pile,
which means that the game is over for the rest of us. By just now
agreeing to the terms, you have already ended your winning hand, the
very reason you claim to not wish the pile be viewed! Let us simply
rather view the cards, and skip the duel, for the outcome remains the
same! Or better yet, let us view the cards first, and then we shall know
who was right, before the duel even is fought!”
“Ah, but there you are wrong, monsieur,” Tathos interjected. For
between Phillip and the Englishmen alone, it had been a fair duel of
wits, one against one, even if Phillip was severely overmatched. But
now this second English gentlemen had entered the fray, making it two
against one, a decidedly unfair advantage over his friend. “Yes,
monsieur, you are wrong because the outcome does not necessarily
remain the same.” And Phillip looked at his friend come to his aid, the
way a man drowning in a whirlpool might look to a man upon the shore
with a rope.
“And how then is the outcome changed, sir?” returned Englishman
number two.
“Because you have neglected a third possibility.” Tathos reflected,
retaining an expression severely composed.
“And what is that third possibility, sir?” he replied.
“Is it not also possible that neither man will return from the duel?
Thus effectively allowing the remaining four to continue the game
without them? I have not agreed to the terms of this gentlemen. You
have not inquired of my hand, monsieur. How do you know that I do not
have a winning hand, which I might wish to preserve as well?”
“Absurd!” Englishman two concluded. “Why, we need only an even
number to play, and should they both return, we could resume the game
equally well.”
“But there is no guarantee of that,” Tathos insisted, “and even if there
were, my second observation stands regardless.”
“Which is?”
“Which is, that I have not agreed to observe the cards, and end the
game as this man has.” Tathos nodded, to indicate his large friend.
“It remains ridiculous nonetheless!” The second Englishman shook
his head in disagreement, though was unable to articulate any reason to
refute Tathos’ logic.
“Does it monsieur?” Tathos then leaned forward in his seat, as well.
“It does!” Englishman number two insisted, doing the same.
“Then perhaps you and I shall draw swords as well,” Tathos
suggested coolly, “thus allowing God to decide if, in fact, it is
ridiculous.”
“Very good sir! We shall let God decide who is lying, and who is
being ridiculous! ...and then we shall check the cards!” The second
Englishman began to undo the ruffles of his sleeves as well, imitating
the first Englishman in preparation of the second duel now to take place.
“Then let us simply examine the cards now, before we step from this
establishment,” came the quite logical, and entirely accurate, assessment
from Englishmen number three, who spoke his French as perfectly as his
two compatriots. “For, if you both have also agreed to the terms of the
duel, and to the inspection of the cards, then, once again, the game has
ended! For the lady and I cannot complete the hand alone, thus the game
is now forfeit, regardless!”
“And how can you be so certain of this, monsieur?” came the
inevitable response from Marie.
“Excuse me, mademoiselle?” the stout little man turned to her,
surprised that she should have an opinion, and more surprised still that
she should be so liberal with it in the company of men.
“And how can you be so certain of your claim, monsieur, that our
game is forfeit?” she repeated, not looking up from her cards, and in a
tone nearing boredom.
Englishman number three bowed slightly in his seat to the fair
mademoiselle. He was a gentleman of nobility, and would no sooner be
rude to a woman of her quality than strike her across the face, so he
navigated much more gently the waters of this debate, than had the first
two Englishmen.
“You will please excuse me, mademoiselle; I mean you no disrespect.
But I fail to see how this contest might possibly continue, when they
have all four agreed to examine the cards left upon the pile, at the
completion of their duels. For two alone cannot play this particular
game.”
“I am a woman, am I not?” she replied, looking up for the first time.
“And, as such, I am both fickle and capricious, yes? And you are a
gentleman, yes? And as such, are you not bound, by a gentleman’s
honor, to endure these feminine deficiencies?”
“Mademoiselle, really, I am quite sure that these things, while true,
are only true in the very slightest of degrees concerning yourself.”
Number Three replied, sheepishly.
“Because I am more beautiful than the other girls, yes?”
“Mademoiselle, really, you quite embarrass me.”
“But you agree to my claims, nonetheless, do you not?”
“I do not disagree with your claims, mademoiselle,” Englishman
Number Three did confess.
“Very good; then we agree that I need no reason, other than the fact
that I am a beautiful woman, to express my desires as well.”
The table became at full attention in their seats, as they all leaned
forward, waiting for this most curious play, by its final player. And,
having the rapt attention of all five men, Maggie continued.
“You see, I have become both irritated and bored with this little pile
of cards, which you have all begun to babble about, each of you staring
incessantly at it, as if you might divine whether or not the accused card
does, in fact, rest within it. And so, I say, monsieur: Duel me also for
this pile of cards. If I win, they will be mine to do with as I please.”
Englishman number three laughed aloud at the proposal he took for a
jest. However, the expression upon mademoiselle’s face quickly
convicted him of her seriousness, and, consequently, his mistake.
“Mademoiselle, surely you jest?”
“Do I appear to be jesting?” she asked, having yet to take offence.
“Well, no, mademoiselle,” he replied, assuming now a more serious
tone. “But such a thing, I’m afraid, is quite impossible.”
“And why should it be quite impossible? Allow me to lay terms: If I
win the duel, the cards should belong to me. If you win the duel, then I
shall allow you to kiss me.” And she held coolly, with sublime
confidence, the gaze of the round Englishman, with his eyes set too
close together.
“Mademoiselle,” said Number Three, now blushing more deeply than
did his wine before him, “I’m afraid that I am married.”
“Very well,” she conceded without pause, “if you win, then I shall
kiss you.”
“Really, mademoiselle, I don’t think…”
“Come, come, old boy,” chimed Englishman Number One, “surely a
single kiss is nothing to concern your wife about. And it shall be of even
less concern to her when none here speak of your collection from the
wager. Besides, your wife should be flattered to have a husband who
such a beautiful young Frenchwoman should want to kiss.”
“I did not say I wanted to kiss him,” she corrected Number One, “I
said that I should allow him to kiss me.”
“There you are, old boy!” Number One laughed aloud, despite being
British. “Her lack of desire should quell your wife’s misgivings, all the
more!”
“Ah, but mademoiselle,” returned the third Englishman, “even should
I acquiesce to such a tempting wager, I’m afraid that there still exists
two problems, each mountainous, and both rendering your proposal to
remain quite impossible.”
“And these two mountains, sir, are what?” she asked, switching now
to speak English, as well as they spoke French.
“Well, my lady, the first is that you are a woman, and dueling with a
woman is not honorable for a gentleman to do.”
“And how is that a problem for you?” she replied. “I should think,
rather, that it should be a problem for me, no? Since you are a man, and
in all ways superior?” Her facetiousness was entirely subdued, her face
perfectly composed.
“Well, mademoiselle, I should not venture to say in all things, but,
certainly, in strength and swordsmanship, the advantage is unfair, at
best.”
“Have you ever played tennis, sir?” Maggie inquired, without a hint of
concession approaching her tone.
“My lady?” Englishman Number Three remained confused. “I’m not
sure that I understand your meaning.”
“Is my English truly so poor?”
“No miss, and yes, I play often,” he willingly offered.
“And have you ever played against a lady?”
“Yes, mademoiselle, I have often played against a lady,” he offered
also.
“And did you consider the contest to be dishonorable, despite your
advantage in strength, speed, and skill?”
“Well…no.”
“How should this, then, be any different?” And Maggie rested her
cards upon the table before her. “Play me in a game of fencing,
monsieur, and we shall play only to disarm one another. Surely your
level of skill allows you to fence with the intent to disarm only?”
“But, again, mademoiselle,” Number Three insisted, “there is no
victory for me in either outcome. My only options are to disarm a lady,
or to be disarmed by a lady, neither very noble.”
“And this is very different from tennis…how?”
Here the first Englishman lays his cards upon the table also, and
smiles broadly. “She has a point, old boy! Agree to the wager, for she
has already defeated you in debate! You can now only return the favor
by taking the kiss!”
“Very well, mademoiselle, I concede to your point. However, the
second mountain remains, and I’m afraid it is too high to overcome...”
“And that is?”
“These gentlemen have already agreed to view the cards as a part of
their bargain. I’m afraid that their wager preceded ours, and thus,
supersedes ours.”
“Nonsense!” she scolded him gently upon such a notion. “Why can’t
there be two legitimate wagers, upon the same stack of cards?”
“Well…I’m not sure…”
“Then allow me to assure you,” she insisted once more, “by adding
this condition: If I disarm you, before these men finish their duels, then I
shall be allowed to reenter the hall first, and claim the stack. If you can
best me, or keep your sword long enough to give your friends time
enough to finish their duels, then the deck shall belong to the winner of
their match. I cannot help it if there are two legitimate bargains made for
the same stack of cards, and if our wager is concluded before theirs. It
shall be their own fault for not having the sense, nor the skill, to bargain
more expeditiously. Spolia opima, monsieur, spolia opima.”
“I say old boy! You had better hope she is no sharper with her sword
than she is with her wit!” Englishman Number One’s smile broadens.
“She has just scaled two mountains in the same breath!”
“Very well, mademoiselle,” replies Number Three, “I agree to your
wager. Shall we all then proceed to a safe place, to play our wagers
out?”
Phillip was inwardly ecstatic. He knew Marie to be the finest blade in
France. There was no doubt that the cards would become hers, and he
would avoid the embarrassment of either wounding, or killing a man, for
goading him into a duel based upon a false accusation.
“There is a fine place not far from here, a sizable but reclusive garden,
which is walled in on three sides, while the fourth border is a large pond.
I believe it will suit our purposes, quite well,” Tathos concluded. And
they all eyed the pile of cards with great anticipation, as they followed
the slender cavalier from the gaming hall.
Part II
Shortly after, the six duelers entered the garden by its only gate, and
the French entered first, as they had a lady amongst their party. The
English were, indeed, gentlemen, partaking in the rigid rules of chivalry,
and, as such, they observed another particular rule regarding a custom of
the day, as it pertains to fencing. This custom ensures that gentlemen
only duel with other gentlemen, which Englishman Number One
explained, as they were all finally within the lamp-lit garden.
“Come now, monsieurs, as Englishmen we must know the names of
who we are to duel with. We cannot commence without knowing your
names, and the titles you hold. For we do not fight with peasants or
commoners in our country, nor any we travel through.”
“You were willing enough to play at cards without knowing our
names,” asserted Phillip, not wishing to reveal himself to the
Englishmen, should something go wrong, and the cards be inspected.
“Ah, but then we were playing for money. Now we are playing for
blood. Come, come, I’m afraid we must insist, for without it we cannot
proceed,” the Englishman insisted.
“A reasonable request, and one simple enough to satisfy. I am Tathos
of Gascony, this is Phillip the cavalier of Bastion, and this is Marie of
Meung. Phillip and I were soldiers in his majesty’s royal army, before
becoming enlisted in the Cardinal’s royal guards. Does this satisfy you?
Are we, then, worthy of crossing blades with you, monsieurs?”
“Certainly! I am Lord de Summer, this is the Baron of Shellfield, and
the gentleman promised the kiss is Lord Powell. His wife is staying in
the hotel just above the gaming hall. Do not worry, Lord Powell, we
shall have you safely back into her plump little arms before she grows
suspicious enough to come searching for you, or witness the lovely
lady’s kiss! Now, will you allow us a few moments to prepare?”
“Of course monsieurs; take all the time you require. We wish you to
be as comfortable as possible…before you lose.” Tathos assured them
good-naturedly.
“Very good!” The Lord de Summer smiled back, at the wit as much as
the courtesy.
Our band of three had been leaning quietly upon the garden wall for
several minutes now, while the Englishmen languished in preparation.
They were silent in their observations, even perhaps becoming bored by
the interval. Marie bit back her nails, irritated by one which had been
eluding her incisors for nearly a week. Tathos, who always kept a piece
of parchment about him, was scribbling out a verse which had floated to
him upon the breeze, rather than allow it to pass by, and its inspiration
become lost to another. Phillip became tremendously pacified in the
interim, between the card in question and the event about to take place.
He held his sword in one hand, a bit of red wine in the other, and seemed
to gently swirl them both, each in its turn, as he waited quite patiently
for a man of his impatience.
None of the French hurried the English, respecting their noble
gentility, yet, at length, Phillip began to cough slightly, with a restrained
sense of vehemence. The Englishmen, not wishing to harass their good
French counterparts, hastened then through the donning and undonning
of attires, and the lighting and relighting of cigarettes, until they were
quite prepared to be entirely comfortable, while facing their accusers.
“Now then, are we all agreed upon the multiple terms of the multiple
wagers?” asked Tathos of the duelers assembled at last, standing beside
and before him.
“We are!” they all spoke as one.
Tathos then saluted his adversary, hat in hand, even allowing his
plume to touch the ground, in a gesture of French respect. Then,
addressing both his friends, and his adversaries, now circled about the
center of the garden: “Guard, then!”
And six blades flashed into the night air, each glinting from the lamps
hung about the sycamores filling the garden. Phillip rushed eagerly upon
Lord de Summer, unleashing a flurry of attacks that the Englishman
became pressed backwards to parry. It quickly became evident that the
French Swordsman must be superior in skill, should he have been
entirely sober, but, being impaired in direct proportion to his
intoxication, they were engaged with one another upon a nearly even
field of play. However, Lord de Summer possessed neither the size nor
strength of Phillip, two things which did not then become impaired, or
diminish by his love of wine. And so, it became thrust parry thrust, parry
thrust parry, with the Englishman steadily giving ground, and the
Frenchman steadily accepting it. Yet, there was no certainty of the
outcome at a first glance, and initial comparison of skill.
Tathos allowed the Baron of Shellfield to come at him, and engaged
in their dance by estimating the speed and skill of his opponent. He
parried effectively, while the Baron rushed upon him again and again
with a series of swings, alternating horizontal and vertical attacks.
Tathos realized within the first volley that this man was inferior in
technique, form, and speed, and he might simply allow the man to
fatigue himself before simply overpowering the Baron. He was only
pondering whether or not to wound him before disarming him, as
recompense for the slight made against himself and his friend.
Marie crossed her blade in an X with Lord Powell, as is the custom
when playing for the sport of disarming. The two blades touched for a
full count of three, before they withdrew from one another, to prepare to
reengage in a series of swings rather than thrusts. At the very first
contact of steel, she slid her blade up the side of his, until she was near
enough to grasp the hair upon the back of his head. Then, pulling her
body quickly into his, she placed her lips full upon him in a kiss more
passionate than had ever Mrs. Powell yielded in their twenty years of
exceedingly dull matrimony. Upon pulling away from the astounded and
wide-eyed Lord Powell, she held her blade in one hand, and his in the
other.
“M, m, mademoiselle…?” he stammered.
“Yes, monsieur?” she replied.
“I am not entirely sure that you have acted within the rules of
combat.”
“Monsieur, you appear to be quite disarmed to me,” she confessed
without a smile.
“Yes, but I had rather thought …”
“Monsieur,” she interrupted him, “if you need a judge to determine
the legitimacy of the contest, I’m sure that we could call upon Mrs.
Powell to judge the merits of the…affair?”
“No no, no no! Certainly, I think that would be unnecessary.
Mademoiselle, I yield. The cards are yours.”
“Very good, monsieur.” And then she turned to leave through the
garden gate, to retrieve the spoils of her brief war.
“But, mademoiselle?” Lord Powell meekly interjected.
“Yes, monsieur?” she turned back to him.
“Their contests are still in play…” He indicated the four men, still
engaged in violent combat.
“Yes, what of it?” she replied in a casual manner.
“Well, what if one of your friends should fall? Should you not remain,
in the chance that they might need aid rendered unto them? Or even
possibly should one fall dead?”
Marie laughed, and gave the Englishman a pretty smile.
“Have no concern upon the matter. There is little chance of even the
prior. Come; let the men finish their wagers together. Escort me, sir, to
back to the hotel, and then, upon our return, you might collect your
friends, and help them up from the ground, provided they are still able to
do so.” Then they stepped, arm in arm, from the garden, as the
Englishman glanced back, bearing no small concern upon his brow.
Part III
From the corner of his eye, Phillip saw that his dignity had been
secured by his clever friend, and this allowed him the option to wound,
or disarm, his adversary, rather than kill him. Lord de Summer also
realized that their wager had effectively been voided within the first few
seconds of their combined combats, and this relieved his mind greatly,
understanding that the severity of the duel had lessened, with this
unexpected turn of events. This ensured the likelihood of one of them
yielding, rather than dying, something none of the contestants
necessarily wished to see.
Phillip had pressed de Summer for some time, but his level of
intoxication gave him some fatigue, as well. So they paced and circled
one another, exchanging solid strikes upon the other’s blade. Both men
had drawn blood, each a scratch; de Summer’s left sleeve was torn open,
and Phillip’s left shoulder had been lightly pierced. Both men were
swirling in a stalemate, where the next man who made an error would
most likely have made his last for the evening.
Tathos engaged his Englishman with his sword in his strong hand, and
his offhand resting against his hip. The Baron’s technique was similar,
except that his offhand remained suspended in the air behind him, the
most prominent fencing distinction between the two nations. After
allowing his adversary to swing his sword relentlessly upon him, and
having yet to provide a single counter-thrust, Tathos began to grow tired
of the sport. He saw that the Baron was beginning to breathe heavily,
and so chose the next attack to disarm his adversary, but he was never
afforded the opportunity.
Both men momentarily ceased their struggle, when a man with an
exceedingly pointy nose led a force of six city guards behind him, into
the garden. Each was armed with a sword, as they were performing their
nightly rounds through Paris, to preserve their own particular brand of
order.
“Monsieurs! You are breaking the law!” decried the Nose. “There is
no public dueling in the People’s Republic! Lay down your weapons,
and proceed with us.” Then, in the light of the lamps, he spied his man:
Tathos of Gascony!
“Ah, monsieur, what a fortuitous chance of events this is! We shall
have a separate cell set aside for you, for you have separate charges
awaiting you, do you not?” The Nose grinned ear to ear.
“Ah, dockmaster! Are you not too far from your docks? What brings
such a fish so far inland?” Tathos replied, stalling to catch his breath
before proceeding, and understanding the inevitable outcome now
placed before them all, as they should be thrust into a far more difficult
battle within moments.
“Looking for Worms, monsieur, worms!” the Nose replied.
“Bravo, monsieur! There is wit in that nose!” Then Tathos addressed
the Baron, who remained just beside him. “Perhaps we should shift our
positions and unite together? Yes?”
“Decidedly so, sir!” And the Baron, who did not appreciate the
manner of this unsightly Nose, stepped shoulder to shoulder with the
man he had been dueling only moments ago, as the city soldiers began to
encircle their group of four.
“Sir?” inquired de Summer to Phillip.
“Absolutely, monsieur!” returned Phillip to de Summer, and they also
turned shoulder to shoulder, the four men making a small circle, as the
guards began to tighten their ring about the previous duelers.
“Understand that you have broken the people’s laws, monsieurs!” the
Nose reminded them. “Surrender now, that it might not go so badly for
you!”
“You mean that we should be provided the honor bestowed by La
Guillotine, rather than to die with swords in our hands?” Tathos replied
grinning. “Thank you, monsieur of the pointy nose. But I believe we
shall take our chances against your steel!”
“Very well.” The Nose replied to the four men, who were shifting
their footing heel to heel in the dirt, digging in to defend one another
with the very same resolve which they had, only moments ago,
expended against one another. “Guards, I’ll have them dead or alive, but
the one with the mouth is not to be killed! He shall answer to the people
before tribunal, and will then donate the wit in his skull to the lady’s red
basket. A small contribution to the revolution, no doubt, but readily
accepted, nonetheless!”
“Bravo again, monsieur the pointy nose!” Then, to the soldiers
surrounding them, Tathos spoke on behalf of his beleaguered party, “On
guard!”
The garden then erupted once more, with thin steel whipped about in
graceful brutality, as six fresh, well-rested soldiers engaged four weary
duelers, who must renew their vigor once again, and against superior
numbers. The Nose stood apart from the scene, near the garden’s gate,
salivating his anticipation.
Two soldiers pressed in upon Phillip, as he was the largest, suggesting
also that he would be the most difficult tree to fell in this small forest of
four. The premonition proved accurate, though much to their chagrin, as
the behemoth began to attack his aggressors with a newfound energy,
and a wild cunning, which left one soldier upon the ground with a sword
thrust deep into his thigh. Phillip had seen an opportunity to end the
soldier’s participation, and he purchased it with a deep gash inflicted by
the other soldier upon his right arm. It was a calculated exchange, which
cost him little, as he then tossed his sword into his left hand, and turned,
no worse for battle, to the remaining soldier engaging him in this
contest.
With their other numerical advantage, the guards pressed upon the
Baron, believing him to be the least dangerous opponent, and again, they
had guessed correctly. They quickly brought the Baron to the ground
with a wound through his lung, as the waltz of sharp steel continued to
rotate, two men fewer, with the guards retaining their advantage.
This meant that the three remaining duelers were all superior to their
uniformed opponents; however, they were fatigued, one was wounded
and drunk, and they remained outnumbered. Time was also opposed to
them, for there would be no reinforcements coming to their relief, while
another band of guards making rounds might, at any time, turn a corner,
and swiftly end the affair.
The duelers were aware of this, as they pressed their attack again
upon the superior numbers still circling them, their new advantage of
two against one now pressed against Tathos. This was advantageous,
however, as Tathos had always prided himself upon his ability to defend
as well as even Phillip, and he parried with unparalleled speed. Thus, the
guards engaging him could gain no advantage, though neither had
Tathos the opportunity to attack them back.
The Lord de Summer was not a heavy man, but he was older than the
Frenchmen by several years. The labor in his breath betrayed him to his
adversary, who took advantage of the fatigue beginning to spread down
his arm, slowing the steel held in his grip. De Summer became disarmed,
and suffered a deep wound into his shoulder, ensuring he would not
rearm himself, for he was not ambidextrous like the remaining
Frenchmen.
The fight now became two city guards upon each cavalier, with
Tathos still sending blades bouncing away, but each time they crept
further in, and never was it otherwise. The mighty Phillip began to
swing in wider arches to keep his remaining adversaries at bay; his
strength not yet abated, he continued to roar with speed and power. But
even he began to miss wide, the sign of muscles tightening by overuse
and, unlike Tathos, he had no off hand to switch to after his initial
wound.
“Hold!” commanded the Nose, and the guards ceased, allowing the
two remaining cavaliers a brief respite. Both Tathos and Phillip
endeavored to mask their labored breathing, as the sweat pouring from
their faces told the tale of their imminent disadvantage.
“Come now, monsieurs, you have fought both well and bravely, but
the tide is against you, and it cannot be stemmed! Lower your swords,
then. Why die here like this? Face your tribunal; your crime is not one
subject to the penalty of death,” he lied. “A fine, and a week in jail,
nothing more will the people demand of you. Lower then, monsieurs,
and let us not allow more blood to slip to the ground this night.” The
dockmaster had begun to grow concerned, not that they would win, but
rather the way in which they would lose, namely, that they would both
fight, quite literally, to the death, and rob him of his satisfaction.
“Ah, but dockmaster, your pointy nose has just grown longer by
degrees! For what of your speech to us earlier?” Tathos reminded him.
“The deposit I am to make to the red basket bank of la Revolution, yes?”
“I overstated, monsieur.” The Nose’s tone softened abruptly. “Lay
down your weapons, and I shall rescind the requirement stated.”
“And longer still it grows!” Tathos exclaimed. “Do you think that I
would rather surrender my head while in chains, when I have a beautiful
night such as this to die? With a very good sword in my hand, and a
better friend at my side? You deceive yourself, my good Nose.
Undeceive yourself, and quickly now! For you begin to interfere with
my glorious death, that of my friend, and the death of at least two of
these fine guards as well!”
The Nose’s ire could mount no further, but he would simply have to
enjoy this man’s death, such as it must be.
“Guards…” He began to give the command which did never come, or
at least did never come from him. “Lower your weapons!” A female
voice bellowed for all to hear, followed by the click of a pistol hammer.
Part IV
Marie held the gun, cocked, with the barrel pressed against the back
of the dockmaster’s skull. The command, given in a tone much different
than they had expected, prompted each soldier to turn his head. And
perhaps the soldiers would have simply allowed the beautiful woman
standing behind their captain to pull the trigger, and end the life of a man
they actually cared for no more than did the cavaliers! But the cavaliers
were not in the habit of taking such chances, and the moment the guards
turned to look upon her, two had been disarmed, and the other two had
blades pressed against the side of their necks!
“I believe, monsieur, you were speaking of tides?” Tathos mused to
the Nose, catching his breath, and standing taller.
“Ah, my lovely, lovely mademoiselle!” Phillip cast her a wink, then
pressed the tip of his blade further into the neck of the man before him,
causing the guard to wince loudly, and drop his blade to the earth at the
large man’s feet. The final soldier realized himself to be in a similar
predicament, and, realizing also that he was the only guard still holding
a blade, he allowed his to drop as well. De Summer then raised himself
to his feet, while pressing his palm to the wound in his right shoulder, to
help slow the loss of blood.
“Now then! What shall we do in this situation?” pondered Tathos
aloud, to either friend or foe, anyone who might offer a solution to the
very real predicament still before them. For no victory had yet been
attained by either side, not unless the Duelers, now aided by the
beautiful Marie, were willing to kill all the guards, leaving them free to
escape unpursued. For if they simply ran, the alarm would be raised and
they would be most likely overcome within minutes, they should have
no time advantage over the men they were fleeing from. They had no
rope to bind the guards with, they had no means of locking the garden
gate, and even if they had, they could not prevent the soldiers from
quickly scaling the wall in pursuit. Such time as it would allow, would
not be enough to lose themselves safely into the shadows of the Parisian
alleys they would need to disappear within.
Therefore, they could neither leave safely, nor could they stay. They
had their opponents at their mercy, but for how long? The next group of
guards making their rounds through the middle of Paris would be upon
them soon, and the guards currently at their mercy knew this, as did the
pointy Nose. And so none answered the query of Tathos, for it was a
difficult riddle to solve. The quiet then bolstered the courage of the
Nose.
“So what, then, have you accomplished, mademoiselle? Hmmm?
What, monsieurs, shall you do now? Execute an entire group of the
citizen’s guards in cold blood? Would you have your offense go from
public dueling to multiple murders of the people’s guards? Innocent men
slaughtered for the crime of walking their appointed rounds? Hmmm? If
it please, Tathos of Gascony, what shall be done now?”
Tathos had no answer. He knew as well as the others, that to kill
these men in such a helpless position was utterly impossible, for it was
ignoble and unworthy of a gentleman to do such a thing. The guards
knew this too, but knew also that it became less unworthy of a
gentleman, should they attempt to turn and attack the men who still
impressed the advantage upon them, at least, until the next group of the
guards turned the corner towards the garden they all tarried within.
“Allow me to hold them prisoner while you three find your way to
safety,” suggested de Summer.
“Never!” resounded Phillip. “You are the least despicable Englishmen
we have ever met! And even were you not, to leave you at the mercies of
these hooligans whilst we fled? To allow an Englishman to cover our
retreat? It would be dishonorable!”
“He is correct,” Tathos added his vote.
“Ah, but I would not be at their mercies!” de Summer replied. “We
have been invited to France by the Assembled Governors of the People’s
Republic! No government, even a revolutionary one, can survive without
exportation! We have come at their request, and on behalf of the King of
England, to negotiate a purchase of the vast majority of the French
barley exportation, from the following harvest. We are assured
protection under diplomatic immunities, signed and sealed by the great
cobbler himself. The People’s Republic will hardly allow themselves to
be forfeit millions of pounds, and further strain their economic
relationship with Britannia, over a public duel with three French
cavaliers at a gaming table! And so you see? You shall not be
abandoning us to anyone, for these ruffians have no power over
us!…Speaking of us, where the devil is Lord Powell?”
“He is quite comfortable with Mrs. Powell at the moment.” Marie
allowed the whereabouts of the stocky, absent dueler to be known to all
present.
“The devil, I’ll bet he is! All warm and cozy, while we are out here in
the snow, beginning to fall upon our blood!” The Lord’s claim was true;
it had begun falling upon the red pools at their feet, and upon the Baron,
perhaps never to rise again. Flakes collected upon the wide brim of
Marie’s hat, and disappeared as they touched the cool waters of the pond
forming the western boundary of the beautiful garden. And then the
solution came to Marie (the member of our trio to whom solutions most
often came).
“Strip your clothes, monsieurs, down to your skin!” she commanded
sternly.
The guards looked at her incredulously, as if perhaps they had all
similarly misheard. Phillip and Tathos had yet to divine her intentions,
or the solution she had found to their riddle, but they were aware of the
second group of guards scheduled, at any moment, to turn the bend of
the street, and they pressed their urgency through the tips of their blades,
into the guard’s soft hides. This prompted the men to disrobe without
further delay, and entirely, as ordered. The Nose, however, objected.
“Mademoiselle, are you entirely sure you have considered the…” but
the end of the barrel pressed into the base of his neck with additional
force, caused the notion to flee his considerations, and he entirely
disrobed before the assembled duelers. When the guards and the
dockmaster had each become fully nude, Marie made known her
intentions.
“Now, monsieurs, you will each walk to the center of the pond. If you
cannot reach the middle of the pond, you may continue until you are up
to your chin in water, and then we shall promptly exit the garden. This
will leave you to make your way back to the edge of the pond, clothe
yourself, and go fetch whatever help you might need to apprehend us.
Understanding, also, that you each have a second option, of returning to
your warm beds and warm wives, never having to speak of what
happened here this evening at all, thus preserving your dignity and honor
in the process. This choice in the matter is yours. The choice not yours
in this matter, is whether or not you proceed to the center of the pond.
Any man who does not, shall be pricked severely in the ass by the blade
of the Englishman, a humiliation no true Frenchman would ever allow
done to him. Now then, gentlemen, to the pond!” The men, without a
single word to one another, began wading into the frigid water, each one
cupping his dignity against the inevitable sting.
The pointy nose (which was less pointy in the naked cold) got to the
edge of the pond and touched his toes to the frigid waters, then he turned
back to run naked from the garden, and into the street beyond. But
Tathos nimbly sidestepped his adversary, and bared the escape.
“Come, come, monsieur.” The grin upon Tathos’ face was
irrepressible. “By the look of things, I cannot imagine that your testicles
could get any smaller in that water behind you, and, even should it be
the case, we shall be long gone before we might be able to tell. Let’s be
a good pointy nose then, shall we? Turn around and enter, monsieur, or
the mercy granted to your men shall no longer be extended to you.”
And the sternness in both his tone and glare convinced the dockmaster
that the frigid chill of the icy waters was indeed preferable to this man’s
steel, leveled so close to his manhood. He turned back around, and
Tathos gave his derriere a slap with his thin blade, sending the Nose
immediately back into the water.
When the remaining members of the night watch had reached the
center of the pond, which did indeed leave them up to their very chin,
and in the coldest of positions, they turned back to see the three cavaliers
and Lord de Summer waving goodbye to them. Phillip raised the
Baron’s unfinished glass of wine, to toast their good health, and their
safe return to the shores of France. Then the four of them vanished
through the garden gate, and into the cold Parisian night, to disappear
amongst the shadows.
The soldiers, and the dockmaster, managed several minutes later to
reach the shore, trembling nose to toe (and blue in-between) to dress
themselves. They spoke not a word amongst themselves, and each
returned to their warm beds and warm wives waiting in them. And they
proceeded to make the predictable decision that evening, for not a word
was ever spoken of their humiliation to any ever again.
It should be noted that the Baron did recover, and was returned within
several months to his native land. The dockmaster redoubled his efforts
to find not only the man from Gascony, but now his two friends as well.
The Lord de Summer was correct in his estimations regarding privileged
immunities, and no one ever knocked upon his hotel door in reference to
the events of that night.
And finally, gentle reader, the stack of cards was disposed of by
Marie, dropped into the hotel’s hearth fire, for each one to shrivel into
ash, each except the card in question. It did not burn with the others, for
it had never been played at all.
Copyright © 2015
by Timothy Raymond Kazmarek
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author.