For The Love Of Adventure Chronicles

Chapter 2

You will obey orders? You don’t know what that means.

You will obey orders? You don’t know what that means.Paul d’Ornille to Francis de Brangelton to - 1690

Six years ago, the Sun King had summoned Laurent de la Fleure, the young Comte de Chatreaux, to gossip-infested, malice-filled Versailles. Joining the Musketeers meant he had a chance to escape the intrigues and backstabbing that plagued the Court, so Laurent put on the gray-blue coat with a deep sense of relief. Even then, the brand-new Palace of Versailles was packed and bursting at the seams.

Laurent’s accommodations in the barracks were spacious by comparison. As a military man, he was excused from suffering through (what passed for) intelligent discourse in salons. And, incidentally, a certain duke had promptly abandoned his efforts to marry off his hare-brained daughter to Laurent. The duke violently disapproved of a young Comte taking a military post designated for younger sons without prospects.

Laurent had considered himself fortunate in his decision. He appreciated the comradery of the elite regiment, but he also carved out time to enjoy small bits of peace and quiet away from the court chaos. With a copy of the latest newspaper in one hand, a meat pie in another, and a flask of spiced wine in a pocket, Laurent strolled through the wide-open space of Water Parterre.

The sun was peeking through the clouds, but a soft breeze was preventing most of the courtiers from venturing outside, allowing Laurent to feel undisturbed on this rare mild day. Laurent turned right, and sat on the stone bench by the trees. He finished eating, took a refreshing sip from the flask, and opened the newspaper to peruse the articles of human follies.

“M. de la Fleure, may we implore you to settle a dispute?” Paul d’Ornille was one of the best and brightest new recruits to the regiment, and he was approaching with a stranger in tow. The stranger’s swagger reminded Laurent of privateers and, observation assisted by personal experience, warned him that this young man was, despite his tender years, an accomplished cutthroat. It was easily deduced from his self-confidence, his apparent lack of respect for decorum and authority, and his arsenal of weapons (a sword, a pistol, and a dagger – and those were just the items on display). His somber dark clothes were plainly cut, his black boots were stained and scratched with age, and his leather gloves had been vastly repaired, but the hilts of the sword and dagger were brightly polished. When he took off his maroon hat, the broken nose and the nasty scar across the forehead added the final touches to his appearance.

“With all respect, I apologize for intruding on your solitude, but I hear that you are a man of wisdom and order, M. de la Fleure,” the young brigand said as he gracefully bowed. His address was unpredictably cultured. “Will you please settle a difference of opinions between Paul and me?” He did not pause in case Laurent meant to object. “When a sightseeing visitor in Paris catches another man"s hand in his pocket, and the visitor’s purse is in that pocket, does tossing the would-be thief in the Seine constitute an act of justice? Or is it a disturbance of the peace?"

Laurent considered it. "Did the would-be thief drown?"

"No. The ungrateful swine climbed on shore to bray obscenities at the visitor from a safe distance, and that"s after the visitor had gone through the trouble of arranging a bath he badly needed." The stranger clearly had a unique perspective on life.

Laurent suppressed a chuckle. "Did you assist in that spectacle of reforming a would-be thief, d"Ornille?"

"No. Meet Francis de Brangelton. I would not dream to intrude on his performance."

"He is a friend of yours?" Laurent inquired.

D’Ornille nodded. "Since he learned to walk and talk."

"Denounce me, Paul. If your comrade-in-arms condemns your association with me, I am just a disreputable neighbor." He deftly dodged a friendly kick by d’Ornille.

"What brings you to Paris, de Brangelton?" Laurent asked.

His smile was disarmingly innocent. “That is a long and convoluted story.”

Laurent folded the unread newspaper. He had a feeling that no composition there would be as amusing as de Brangelton’s tale. “I have time.”

D’Ornille and de Brangelton fell in step with him as they walked down the stairs and along the wide path toward the Grand Canal.

“I abandoned the town of my birth before I was blamed next for all the sins of any renegade neighbors. The local former judge is a lunatic – he believes my father’s ghost haunts him,” de Brangelton begun his chronicle.

“You don’t say,” Laurent scoffed at the last sentence. “Pray tell, on what grounds would anyone accuse such a fine young man as you of a crime?”

“Will you do the honors, Paul?”

“No.”

“My older brother was once accused – and later acquitted – of a murder. The people in Poitiers whisper that I destroyed the prison to save him from the noose, and somehow, I managed to almost murder a man while I was traveling miles away. They imagine that I sailed with Barnaby pirates while I resided – peacefully, for the most part - in Marseille,” de Brangelton cheerfully expounded. “Not to mention that one sweet damsel caught me in her clutches, but then another claimed me for herself."

D’Ornille’s jaw dropped and shut with a snap.

"So, there I was, standing in front of the glorious Notre-Dame-La-Grande Cathedral, respectfully conversing with one of these charming women, when the other joined us." De Brangelton theatrically shuddered. "I quite admired the accusations and insults that these beautiful creatures passionately and loudly exchanged - until they came to blows. I took them apart, and they turned on me. I escaped with a bite on my hand, a scratch on my face, and a torn sleeve."

Laurent could no longer keep a straight face. "That should teach you to play with the affections of two women!"

"He never learns." D"Ornille noted.

“Oh, faithless friend of mine, I am neither foolish nor reckless, although I did attempt to reconcile them.”

D’Ornille’s eyes almost popped out of his head. "Have you succeeded?"

De Brangelton flashed a predatory smile. "No. I left Poitiers. Being caught between two women is more dangerous than fencing against two opponents, and I am one of the best swordsmen in France. Bet you a bottle of rum you will lose a round with me." The last sentence sounded like an afterthought to Laurent, tacked onto the same breath as de Brangelton’s bragging.

“I respect your confidence,” Laurent said with a well-deserved touch of sarcasm. “We shall see about it tomorrow-- nine o’clock in the morning in the fencing hall by the arsenal.”

He belatedly realized that was exactly what de Brangelton wanted to happen: a fencing round with Laurent would make the young reprobate known.

The news of a provincial newcomer challenging the famous de la Fleure spread like fire. When Laurent arrived at half-past eight o’clock, the viewing gallery in the fencing hall was full. De Brangelton swaggered in at quarter to nine and calmly observed the crowd.

“I am astonished that men of Paris crawl out of bed so early.” He greeted Laurent. “It is obviously not for the wagers. From what I have heard about you, no one would bet on me to win.”

“They envision a figurative slaughter.”

De Brangelton wrapped a black-and red kerchief around his head in the style of sailors and pirates. Exhibition rules required fencing barefoot, but it said little, if anything, about fashionable headgear. “They will be greatly disappointed. Shall we raise the stakes, de la Fleure? When I win, you will offer me a commission in the Musketeers.”

During their exchange, the crowds had hushed, and the last sentence was heard by all. Laurent checked his temper at being so skillfully manipulated. “I have no authority to offer you a commission. Here is my counter-offer to you, de Brangelton: if you win, I will recommend you.”

De Brangelton went for the first attack. Laurent was one of the elite fencers, but the speed of his opponent stunned him into retreat. His counterattack was met with a solid defense, and the riposte came immediately. Laurent parried, and their blades met again and again; the steel-on-steel clash was the only sound heard in the fencing hall.

Laurent blocked his mind and vision to anything but his opponent’s blade. He delivered a minor blow to his opponent’s upper arm, and the covered tip of de Brangelton’s blade grazed his upper arm. His next attack came from an unexpected angle. Laurent abandoned caution and used a two-handed grip to slam his sword into his opponent’s blade. De Brangelton reacted immediately, but his step faltered and Laurent was able to follow through with another light touch to the ribs.

Despite the cool air, both were covered in sweat. After what seemed to be a million parries, time was called. The deafening sounds of applause, praise, and excitement erupted among the audience.

De Brangelton wiped his face with his head covering. “I almost became a Musketeer!”

“Could have happened if this bout lasted longer,” Laurent hollered over the uproar. “You are a devil with the blade!” He weaved his way through the crowd.

De Brangelton followed him to the wash closet. “When shall we have a rematch?”

Laurent gulped cool water and poured some over his head. “I don’t want to deal with you for at least a week. Why do you wish to become a Musketeer?”

De Brangelton held his look. “It seems to be the best way to establish my connections at the Court.”

“It seems to be the best way to keep an eye on you,” Laurent responded just as honestly.

The young man’s blue eyes took on a disconcerting, opaque glint. “I must warn you that my older brother sailed to the New World to escape his self-imposed responsibility for my well-being.”

“Your older brother is a man of excellent judgment. Unfortunately for him, I am able to arrange for you to join him there if you stir up any trouble here.”

“Trouble? I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“I suppose you do not quite comprehend the meaning of the word ‘trouble’”, Laurent replied.

trouble’”It was probably a mistake to bring Francis de Brangelton even within a mile of the Musketeer’s Headquarters. The young man seemed reckless, manipulative, and ambitious. However, even more than with many of the younger recruits, dealing with him would provide both a challenge and entertainment. Then again, de Brangelton would probably resign as soon as he had to follow orders, Laurent consoled himself.

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