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.