Chapter II: End of the Ball
As Guy and Signoret stood in the courtyard, Guy noticed the
Contessa and her dwarf ascending the main stair. Hmmm. Going to join the Duc? Finding them en flagrante delecto could be
embarrassing but that may provide just the leverage we need. “Let’s follow
them,” Guy said.
They followed the pair up the main stair and saw them go
down a corridor where the Contessa entered a private bedroom. L’Omino remained
outside, presumably on guard. But as they watched, they saw him alternately peak
through the keyhole and listen at the door. Soon, Guy noticed the Duchess
ascending the main stair. He told Signoret to warn the dwarf, but the Jesuit
righteously replied, “Let the sinners harvest the fruits of their own evil.”
“Then keep watch and if I can’t distract the Duchess, then
do something.” Guy adjusted his hat, then slowly descended the main stair
towards the Duchess. Meanwhile, Signoret darted down a narrow passage and used
a servants’ stair to reach a new location to keep the dwarf under observation.
As he reached the Duchess, Guy sketched a deep bow. Exerting
all his charm, courtly flattery, and etiquette, he told the Duchess that he
must have become lost; he complimented the Duchess on her dress and hair; and he
asked her if she could show him the way to the ballroom. “And then Your Grace, perhaps
you will make this evening complete by allowing me the honor of a dance with a graceful
Duchess.”
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| Anne de Bueil-Fontaine, duchess de Bellegarde |
The Duchess agreed to show Guy the ballroom and the two
danced. Afterwards Guy offered to fetch the Duchess some refreshments and they
stepped through the French Doors onto the terrace and out into the garden.
“It is a shame that the fireworks are over so soon. Did you
have a chance to see them, Monseiur?”
“I was looking for a higher vantage point when I saw you,”
Guy said. “And I do not regret the fireworks.”
The Duchess fanned herself as she said, “Are you a friend of
my husband?”
“I have not had that honor,” said Guy.
“Then I am fortunate to have met you first,” she said as she
smiled at Guy.
Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the
Chevalier de Branville. “De Bourges is not what he seems, your grace. He has
certain nefarious connections." Guy made an inarticulate objection.
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“Has not your name been linked to that of the Duke, or
should I say, der Landgrave DeMainz?”
“Nefarious? Sir, you insult me.” Guy nearly lost his temper
at the untimely interruption and nearly lost his composure to Branville’s
cutting wit.
“Then you deny knowing DeMainz?”
“I know you Branville. Does that add to my ‘nefarious
connections?’ Why the very notion. I have a cousin who is a Jesuit priest and
another who is a King’s Musketeer.”
“You see, Your Grace. De Bourges has a number of interesting
ties.”
“Speaking of interesting ties, perhaps Her Grace would be
interested in your ties Branville. That woman you were screaming at by Saint
Catherine’s Fountain, was she perhaps your fiancée?”
“Say what you will Branville, I am discrete. Saint Catherine’s Fountain and right outside a
church too.” Guy shook his head slowly as he made a tsking sound.
The Duchess, unamused by Branville, dismissed him. Guy said,
“I am sorry you had to see such a scene Your Grace. I can leave if I have distressed
you.”
“Branville has distressed me, not you Monsieur. But let us
go somewhere for a more private, or shall we say more discrete discussion.” To which, Guy raised one eyebrow.
Father Signoret walked towards the dwarf, “I’ve been
watching you little man. What mischief is in your devilish heart?”
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| L'Omino the Dwarf |
“I know your kind, Black Crow,” said L’Omino.
“And I know your kind,” Signoret said.
“All your kind are alike,” L’Omino said. “You sneak priests
and your damned Inquisition are out to get me. Just like you did my cousin
Jacomo.”
“Your cousin got what he deserved,” Signoret said as he
started to leave. But out of the corner of his eye he saw the dwarf stealthily
creeping forwards with a dagger hidden behind his back. The fighting priest
whipped out his rapier.
The dwarf loudly cried out, “Please don’t kill me. Mercy!
Mercy! Ow! Oh! That hurts! Mercy! Please don’t beat me! Mercy!”
The door opened and the Contessa emerged, in some disarray.
“Mistress save me from this cruel priest!”
“How dare you beat my dwarf! And what’s this?” She pointed
to a cut on the dwarf’s cheek from which blood was flowing.
“That’s where he hit me with his sharp sword Mistress.”
Signoret, stood silent thinking, But I didn’t hit him.
The Contessa scolded the Jesuit priest at length for harming
her “poor, dear, little L’Omino,” while behind her back, the dwarf made faces
at the Jesuit.
Signoret continued explaining, but it was only when he was
finally able to draw the Contessa’s attention to the dwarf as he again made a
face, that he seemed to be believed by the Contessa.
“Naughty, naughty L’Omino,” she scolded. “I shall have to
punish you.”
Beyond the Contessa, Signoret saw his cousin, Guy with the
Duchess as they ascended the stair.
“I leave your dwarf to you. I must be going,” Signoret said
as he quickly walked towards his cousin.
Seeing his approach, Guy gracefully asked the Duchess if he
could have a brief word with his cousin. “I wouldn’t want him to worry and
start looking for me.” She agreed and Guy stepped away. Father Signoret quickly
informed him of recent events with the dwarf and the Contessa. Then the Jesuit
warned Guy to be chaste and careful.
“I’m always careful cousin,” Guy said as he took the
Duchesses arm and the two continued up the stair.
The two swordsmen paused while the fireworks exploded
overhead. But after a few minutes, Baron Villemorin leveled his blade and
advanced on his opponent. Repeatedly he drove Michaud back to the edge of the
riverwalk then allowed him to move back to the center of the path, toying with
him as a cat toys with a mouse. Villemorin refused several opportunities to
wound his opponent so that he could time his hits to an explosion of fireworks.
Twice he succeeded and Michaud bled from his shoulder and leg as Gaston
watched.
After the second blow, Paulin cried, “Finish him! Finish him
off!” But Gaston intervened saying that he must see whether his principal was
able to continue the duel.
Quietly he said to Michaud, “Fall down you idiot! Next time
fall down at his first pass.”
“Surely that would be dishonorable?” Michaud protested.
“There is no honor in this,” said Gaston.
As he impatiently waited for his cousin, Father Signoret was
approached by one of the Spaniards he had seen earlier. The Spaniard introduced
himself as Don Martin Santiago de Rodriguez y Alta-Marino. Don Martin tried to
get Signoret to tell him about Lieutenant Thibeault, but the wily Jesuit
revealed nothing.
Signoret excused himself and searched for Guy’s friend,
Madame de Combalet. When he found her, he returned immediately to the
conversation they had left on the theological and philosophical view of
violence. He justified his beliefs with the jus
bellum iustum, the Tomasine Just War doctrine articulated by Thomas
Aquinas. Impressed by the Jesuit’s scholarly erudition, she mentioned that,
“Aside from certain discussions with my uncle, I have seldom heard such
conversations outside of Madam Rambouillet’s salon. Its blue draped walls are
the scene of more intelligent discussions than are found in most of the
universities of Paris.” Having impressed Madame de Combalet, Father Signoret
bid her adieu to look for Gaston or for some sign of Guy.
Gaston roughly bandaged Michaud’s wounds. In the end the
little fat man had finally fallen, though whether from strategy or exhaustion,
even Gaston could not have said. Gaston confirmed that Villemorin considered
his honor to have been satisfied. “A most honorable affair, my lord. I’ve
seldom seen so much honor…except when butchering a lamb.” But the Baron refused
to rise to the bait and despite his brother’s objections, he led Paulin away.
The duel over, Gaston arranged for some servants to take Michaud to a sofa to
rest while a physician was sent for.
As he returned from ordering the servants, Gaston’s gaze
crossed that of an elegantly dressed courtier who he recognized: Isidore
Lafontaine Sieur Le Roulle. Gaston knew Lafontaine was a notable duelist and a
member of the Fratellanza di Giganti, the largest Italian Fencing school in
Paris and one of the busiest schools. On this occasion, Lafontaine was dressed
as a courtier and had eschewed the black tabard that the members of the school
wore like a uniform. The Fratellanza di Giganti maintained a long and intense
feud with the Fraternité Sainct-Didier, and Gaston gently rubbed his thumb over
the crest of the Fraternité that he wore pinned to his hat as he smiled coldly
at Lafontaine.
Lafontaine turned and walked away. Gaston continued across
the antechamber, where he paused to allow a soft-handed gentleman with a plate
of food to pass by, only to see the same gentleman bump into a thin and
sinister looking young man who wore a long rapier with a cross guard hilt
beneath the cloak of a Knight of Malta. In the collision, the gentleman spilled
his food on himself provoking a string of curses which he directed at the
Knight.
“God’s Bones! Damme sir if you
cannot watch where you are going. This room is far too crowded. S’Blood! This
suit is new today and now it is ruined.”
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| Phillipe de Saint-Cassien, Chevalier de Didonne aka Brother Phillipe |
The knight responded calmly, “You blaspheme sir! Moreover, the
fault was entirely yours. If you find this room too crowded for your tastes,
you may find that the garden is less crowded and there is still a bit of a moon
to see by so that I may instruct you on how a Christian gentleman should
properly conduct himself.”
Gaston followed to observe the affair. This duel was the
antithesis of the previous one. The Knight was skilled in the aggressive
Italian style and he wasted no time in running his opponent through the breast.
The Knight then knelt with his sword upright in front of him as he prayed over
his fallen foe, who mumbled a few words and then died.
Father Signoret found Gaston, arriving just in time to see the
Knight wipe his sword off on the body of his opponent, don his black cloak with
the Maltese cross in white, and walk away without a backwards glance. “What
happened?” asked Signoret.
“A sinner has gone to his judgment. The Knight objected to
his oaths,” Gaston said sarcastically. “He tried to say something there at the
end, perhaps to confess, but he wasn’t able.”
The Jesuit said, “So he’ll burn in hell with the other
blasphemers.”
Gaston glanced back at Father Signoret, but said nothing as
he walked away. The Jesuit went up to the victor and introduced himself. He
learned that the other man was indeed a Knight of Malta, named Phillipe de
Saint-Cassien, Chevalier de Didonne. Brother Phillipe, as he suggested the
Jesuit call him, told Signoret that he had recently returned to Paris after
finishing a tour of duty, during which he had served under the command of the
Spanish Capitan-General, Pietro di Leyva. “With God’s grace, we were able to
smite the infidel destroying a Turkish fleet near Alexandria. And now I have
returned to France to aid the Grand Prior. One day, God willing, I hope to
return with a host of Christian knights to smite the infidel an even greater
blow.”
The Jesuit praised the Knights of Malta and complemented
Brother Phillipe on his crusading zeal and invited him to dinner the next
evening, which Brother Phillipe conditionally accepted, “If the God Lord allows.”
As Gaston stepped out of the garden, he nearly ran into a
nobleman who stepped in his path. The man’s features looked familiar, but his
name was unknown to Gaston.
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The man said, in heavily accented French, “I am Don Martin
Santiago de Rodriguez y Alta-Marino. And you should know that the vizcaina you
bear has a long and honorable history. It has been to the new world and
back…And it should not be in the hands of some common soldier. It was my
father’s blade. And you killed him.
Gaston stared coldly at Don Martin as he considered his next
words. Then said, “He was in my way…and I was in a hurry. I’ve been a soldier
for more than sixteen years, Monsieur. I’ve killed many fathers. Spaniards
among them.” Don Martin stood without replying, so Gaston turned and walked
away.
Guy had used his courtly flattery and flirtation to distract
the Duchess. The distraction succeeded, though, as Guy gathered up his clothes
and prepared to tip-toe out of her bedroom, he thought, perhaps that succeeded too well. As he headed towards the door, the
Duchess said that he should use the window. Guy bowed in assent, then took one
perfect rose from a nearby vase and placed it behind her ear as he asked her to
stand there in the moonlight so he could take one perfect image with him. Then
he nimbly descended the Trellis.
Below, Gaston and Chancie waited. Chancie drawled, “Oooh
Guy, wherever have you been? Why, you’ve missed a button!” Chancie added with
amusement. “We-ell, I think we had best be leaving. May I offer you a ride
home?”
“Most kind,” said Guy.
“And on the way, you must tell me all about what you have
been up to!”
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| Vicomte "Chancie" de Chambre |
The three friends, along with the Vicomete de Chambre, rode
away from the Hôtel de Bellegarde. As they went, Signoret told Gaston that a
Spanish nobleman, Don Martin, was interested in him. “Asked many questions
about you, but I managed not to tell him anything of importance.”
Gaston said, “He claimed to recognize my main gauche.”
Gaston asked Guy if he knew anything about the Spaniard, but Guy did not, nor
did Chancie.
As the clock on the Bastille struck five in the morning, the
coach halted along the rue Saint Antoine not far from the Fountain of Saint
Catherine. The coach was next to the construction site for the new Jesuit
chapel. The site was a maze of wooden scaffolding, festooned with ropes, block,
and tackle and stacks of building supplies: bricks, stone, and lumber. In the
street was a pyramid of stone blocks that formed the base for a massive crane.
As soon as the coach stopped, a troop of dark cloaked men
ran forward. Several men stuck staves between the spokes of the wheels or
placed stones to block them to prevent the coach’s departure. “Oh Guy,” Chancie
said, “This looks exciting.”
To Guy’s surprise the band said, “Turn over the message you
won’t be killed!”
“You must have mistaken us for the King’s messengers,”
Chancie drawled.
Guy said, “As you can see, we just came from a court ball.
We don’t have it with us.”
While Guy had been talking, Gaston and Signoret had quietly
stepped out on the other side of the coach. They were confronted by eight
swordsmen whose identities were hidden by the darkness and the shadow of their
black cloaks. Giving their opponents no time to coordinate their actions, the
soldier and the priest drew their swords and sprang into motion thrusting and
slashing their way through their adversaries. As he fought, Signoret yelled loudly
for the watch. Gaston commanded, “Keep your backs to the coach! Don’t let them
get behind you.”
“Stay in the coach, Chancie” Guy ordered. “You don’t have a
sword.”
“What and miss the fun?” Chancie asked?
Gaston was facing four swordsmen, none too skilled but the four
together could be dangerous. They hesitantly attacked, but Gaston brushed their
thrusts aside and launched a devastating attack of his own. His aggressive
assault quickly overpowered his adversaries. Three fell to his blade. Then he
disarmed their leader and called on him to surrender. But though unarmed, he
refused. So Gaston punched him in the face with the hilt of his sword, knocking
him unconscious.
On the other side of the carriage, Chancie and Guy faced four
of the black clad duelists. Guy was armed with his rapier but Chancie only with
his cane. Behind them they heard the clash of blades from Gaston and Signoret. No help from them for now, Guy thought. And at any moment these four will be
reinforced by those others. I must act quickly. Guy cut his way, one, two,
three through the weaker swordsmen. Chancie was faced by a more skilled
opponent and though the Vicomte surprised his adversary with the blade inside
his cane to score first blood, soon Chancie was bleeding and being driven back
by his foe. Having finished all three of his opponents, Guy moved to aid his
friend the Vicomte. As he did so, Guy noticed a man watching the combat from
the shadow of a pillar. The man’s features were completely disguised by the
grotesque, long-nosed mask that he wore. The masked man noticed Guy’s regard
and slowly retreated into the shadows.
Like Gaston, Signoret also faced four opponents, but schooled
as he was in the Spanish style, the Jesuit was more concerned with protecting
his flanks than attacking directly so he circled and parried waiting patiently until
a an opponent made a mistake, then striking rapidly and precisely. One by one,
his foes slowly fell until only the leader was left.
Gaston said, “Hurry up and finish your man, Priest. We need
to go.”
As the Jesuit ran his blade through his final foe, Gaston
charged around the coach towards the remaining attackers, who quickly fled. All
their adversaries were fallen or dispersed.
Guy said, “Chancie, you’re bleeding.”
“My house is too nice Guy. No blood on my carpet Guy,
promise me,” Chancie said. Then the Vicomte fainted. In the distance the
friends heard the running footsteps of what must be the nightwatch.
“Time to go,” Guy said. As the driver freed the coach
wheels, Guy and his cousin carefully lifted Chancie onto the bench seat on one
side of the coach, while Gaston tossed his unconscious foe onto the floor.
In the kitchen of the Vicomte de Chambre, Gaston and
Signoret stood looking down on the body of Gaston’s recent foe. Signoret
pointed, “A black tabard, just like the others.”
Gaston said, “Fratellenza di Giganti. They like black.”
Gaston picked up a bucket of water and tossed in on the unconscious swordsman
who spluttered awake. “Who sent you and what do they want?” Gaston asked,
quietly as he drew the short leaf-shaped blade that he kept in one boot.
“You can kill me, but I won’t talk.”
“Admirable,” said Gaston, as he remembered that this
swordsman had refused to surrender even when disarmed. He turned to the priest.
“Allow me,” said Father Signoret. “As my friend says, your
bravery is admirable. But what about your eternal soul. If you die without the
last rites your soul will go to hell where you will suffer a thousand torments
for all eternity. The plaything of each and every one of Satan’s devils.”
The swordsman paled at the thought, and he nervously told
the Jesuit that he and his fellow students were from the Fratellanza di Giganti
school and that they had been hired to waylay Guy de Bourges to recover a
stolen message. He didn’t know the man who hired them for he kept his face
hidden by a strange mask like those you sometimes see on stage. Gaston asked
him to describe the mask, which he did.
Signoret asked, “And what were paid for your ambush?” The swordsman
said they had been offered money and a chance at revenge against Guy and Gaston
who were members of a rival school, the Fraternité Sainct-Didier. Having learned
what they could, they blindfolded the swordsman while they went out to the
other room to tell Guy what they had learned.
Guy was sitting on a small sofa sipping a fine wine. As the
other two appeared, he said “Fabré is with Chancie. He is weak from loss of
blood and was in some pain, but Fabré says the wounds should heal in time. He
gave the Vicomte an herbal draft for the pain and to help him to sleep.”
Signoret told his cousin what they had learned from the
swordsman. Gaston added “From the description, the mask worn by the ringleader
was from the commedia dell'arte. I’d say it was the mask of Il Capitano. This mystery man has a
sense of humor.”
Then Signoret and Guy discussed what to do with the captured
swordsman. Guy did not want to risk dragging Chancie into a quarrel with the di
Giganti and was concerned about what the captured swordsman might tell others.
Gaston said, “He’s a brave man and I won’t kill him.”
“Of course not,” Guy said. “It never crossed my mind. But we
can’t just let him go here. We need to take him somewhere, preferably while
blindfolded, before we free him.”
“I know just the place,” Gaston said.
The swordsman agreed to give his parole and to wear a
blindfold, so long as the priest gave his word that they wouldn’t murder him or
allow him to die unshriven. Signoret agreed and told him to say ten Hail Marys,
for his soul.
A coach, stopped outside the door of the Fratellenza di
Giganti. The coat-of-arms on its side was obscured by a cloak hanging from the
inside. It was early morning and the school was not yet opened for students. A
man wearing a blindfold and with a bruised and swollen jaw was pushed out of the
coach which then raced away. The man stood there for perhaps as long as it might
take to say ten Hail Marys, then he removed his blindfold and blinked in the
bright morning sun.
The next day, a small package arrived at Guy’s
apartment. Fabré brought the package to his master. “A package for you Monsieur
Guy.”
Guy briefly examined the package, weighing it and
looking at the wrapping, before opening it. Inside was an emerald ring inscribed
with the words: Semper Fidelis. Guy
pondered the words than said softly, “Always faithful. Interesting. I wonder
how I should interpret this gift.”
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