Love and Honor

by Harry Samkange

  “I’m so happy we were able to pay a visit before we set sail. I was overcome with worry that your conditions and company here would be very disagreeable, but the capitaine and his officers seem surprisingly cordial,” Sérolène said quietly to Nicolas as they followed behind the main party.

  “They were not so charming when I came on board alone, I assure you; all except for Lieutenant Fortier. I believe you’ve quite enchanted them, as you have me,” Nicolas chuckled. Sérolène flushed with delight, the tips of her ears turning pink. Nicolas felt a wave of affection wash over him as he did whenever she colored so alluringly – one of the many things about her that he found so utterly charming.

  “Oh, Vous! Stop distracting me with all your sweet talk,” Sérolène said with a mock frown.

  “Vous? Vous?...Vous yourself!” he said almost too loudly, playfully annoyed that she would address him in the more formal style. She smiled serenely, switching at once to the familiar form of address.

  “Calme-toi, my dearest. Have you forgotten where we are? Though my words are discreet, my heart gives itself to you with abandon,” Sérolène assured him.

  “Careful, you know how your words set me aflame,” he replied ardently, almost walking into the back of Capitaine d’Armillac, who had stopped to point out a detail on the horizon.

  “Flame, Monsieur? You need not worry; we have an experienced crew and fortunately we’re surrounded by lots of water,” the capitaine said, turning to address Nicolas. Everyone laughed, Sérolène covering her mouth with her fan as she joined in, only she and Nicolas knowing for whom his words had truly been intended. A thunderous report ripped through the humid air, the echo cascading along the walls of the port. Sérolène flinched at the sound of the single cannon shot, causing Nicolas to place his right hand atop hers in reassurance.

  “It’s a signal from the flagship,” he said, pointing to the slowly rising puff of white smoke above the vice-amiral’s warship, from which the single shot had come.

  “That’s our signal to prepare to depart. Messieurs, Mademoiselle, though we shall long regret your absence, you’d best head back to your vessel; we shall be making our way out of port first as the lead escort,” the capitaine explained.

  The guests prepared to depart, the marquis embracing Nicolas before taking his leave and descending into the waiting launch, the baron shaking Nicolas’ hand warmly as he followed the marquis. Full of the ruses necessary for young girls at times like these, Sérolène chose to employ a rather simple one. Feigning that she was thrown off-balance by the unaccustomed movement of the ship, she allowed herself to fall toward Nicolas, holding her head for a brief moment against his chest as he “caught” her.

  “I love you ever so dearly. Please take good care of yourself,” she whispered behind her fan. Nicolas nodded, unable to utter his own response in the midst of the surrounding company as he released her with reluctance. He helped her into the sling and watched as she was lowered over the side, her eyes ever fixed on him as she descended to join the others in the waiting launch. Once she was securely on board, the oarsmen pushed off and began rowing across the bay toward their own ship. Nicolas rushed to the railing, waving at the boat as it was rowed back toward the merchant ships, his eyes never leaving the departing longboat as it slowly receded from view.

  “She’s quite a beauty,” the lieutenant remarked, coming to stand by Nicolas, his gaze in the direction of the flagship.

  “Yes, she is. How the sea and the light of day become her,” Nicolas replied absentmindedly, his thoughts and his attentions still on Sérolène. Fortier, noting the direction of Nicolas’ gaze, realized with some embarrassment that Nicolas must be referring to the departing vicomtesse, not the Bon Majesté.

  “With the wind willing, we’ll be in France soon enough, Monsieur, though it will not seem fast enough for either of you, I wager,” the lieutenant remarked sympathetically.

  “Is it that obvious?” Nicolas asked.

  “Perhaps only to one who has also experienced such feelings of devotion,” Fortier said, reaching into his vest pocket to remove a small portrait. “This is my dear Aurélie. Her father is Comte de Galand-Laperche. She and I are to be married…when I make Capitaine, that is.”

  “She’s very handsome. You have my sincerest congratulations, Lieutenant,” Nicolas said.

  “If I may be so bold as to ask, are you promised to each other? Forgive me for prying, but I should like to set the expectations and behavior of the other officers appropriately. She makes quite an impression…as I’m sure you’re well aware,” Fortier said.

  “We are not yet formally betrothed, though there is an understanding of sorts between my father and the Baron de Salvagnac,” Nicolas said, mindful of his father’s admonition not to reveal what had been agreed to with the baron.

  “I see. You both seem so well suited for each other. All the officers remarked on the degree of mutual affection evident between you. Mostly with some jealousy, I might add,” Fortier observed.

  “Raise anchor and canvas! Monsieur Fortier, if you please, prepare to take us out,” the capitaine shouted his orders.

  “Aye, Capitaine!” Fortier responded, saluting crisply, nodding to Nicolas as he took his leave to join the capitaine and other officers on the bridge.

  The ship’s great timbers creaked and groaned as the vessel of war came to life on the wind, imperceptibly at first and then with increasing speed; the foresails bulging in the breeze, the men climbing about and over her in interdependent motion. It was a wondrous sight for a young man to behold, very much different from the passage aboard the mail ship that had first carried him to France on his way to Brienne. Transfixed by the majesty of the experience, he looked solemnly toward the shore as the only home that he had known or experienced, began to shrink into the distance. He couldn’t help but wonder, when or if he’d ever see it again.

  ***

  “Monsieur Lacombe is it? Capitaine Closon tells me you’re new to the crew, joined up in Marseilles as I understand it.”

  “That’s right, Monsieur...”

  “Baron Ginestas. Happy to make your acquaintance. What ship were you on before this one may I ask?” the baron inquired, content to occupy himself with small talk to relieve the boredom as they waited for the last of the passengers to board. Damn it, what did it say in Lacombe’s papers? Malveau asked himself, hesitating as he tried to remember.

  “The Oliphant, a cargo ship out of Brest,” he at last recalled, smiling cordially to try and cover his momentary lapse.

  “The Oliphant? I know that ship and her capitaine. How is old Clermont these days?” the baron inquired pleasantly.

  “Very well when I left him, Monsieur, as capable and stern as ever,” Lacombe replied with a wide grin.

  “Splendid, splendid indeed,” the baron said, returning the smile measure for measure.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Monsieur, the passengers are returning now in the launch and I must go and help them to board. Very nice meeting you, Monsieur le Baron,” Lacombe said deferentially.

  “And you, Monsieur, and you….” Ginestas replied, his eyes unreadable as he watched the officer move off to see to his duties.

  The vicomtesse was the first to board the Belle Héloïse from the launch, the crew using the ship’s sling to bring her comfortably aboard. The men used the more convenient but strenuous method of climbing up the ship’s side ladders as Sérolène rose above them in her brief flight to the deck. What a particular beauty we have here, Lacombe thought with admiration as she was lowered slowly and carefully on board. As soon as her feet touched down, Lacombe stepped forward to help her out of the sling.

  “Welcome aboard the Belle Héloïse, Mademoiselle,” Lacombe said, offering Sérolène his hand to help her dismount.

  Sérolène took the proffered hand and stepped onto the deck of the vessel that would be her home for the month and a half it would take them to complete the voyage to France. Turning her head toward the helpful officer, she noted the
angular face, which was most remarkable for its prominent chin and hooked nose, a feature which might have ruined the visage of most others but instead imparted an air of rakish danger to the officer. She was about to offer her thanks for his help, when his eyes locked on hers with the cold-blooded ferocity of a hawk sizing up its prey. She felt a chilling dread race up and down her spine, her words of thanks suddenly frozen on her tongue.

  “Pierre Lacombe. Charmed to have the honor of such beautiful company, Mademoiselle….?” He asked, waiting for her to give her name.

  “Thank you, Monsieur,” she said nervously, refusing to do so and attempting to disengage herself from his company so that she could join her family. To her surprise, he held on to her hand, refusing to release her. Unaccustomed at all to such treatment, she looked about in embarrassed consternation, hoping perhaps that others might take notice of what was happening and come to her assistance, but they were all preoccupied with the gentlemen coming on board and their own particular affairs.

  “Mademoiselle de La Bouhaire, how nice it is to see you again; it seems we’re to be companions together on this comfortable floating prison for the next several weeks. I had the pleasure of meeting you at the fête a few nights ago. Guillaume de Noirmince-Vauginon, Baron de Ginestas, at your service.”

  “Oh! You were dressed all in black. And you wore a satyr’s mask?” Sérolène replied, happy to be separated from Lacombe, but nonplussed that her unexpected rescuer should prove to be the enigmatic Baron de Ginestas.

  “I’m happy that you remember me at all,” Ginestas said, peering pointedly at Lacombe as he offered Sérolène his arm, which she accepted with some reluctance. He’s the lesser of two evils I suppose, and at least he’s a gentleman, she reflected.

  “I have not seen the Chevalier d’Argentolle, will he not be travelling with us?” Ginestas asked with feigned concern, leading her away from Lacombe and toward the greater privacy of the ship’s railing.

  “He is to be berthed on the Fantassin, unfortunately. We have just come from his ship to bid him farewell,” Sérolène explained.

  “That is indeed a pity,” Ginestas replied, smiling inwardly. And he left such a rare beauty as you, here all alone and unprotected did he? the baron reflected sinisterly.

  “Mademoiselle de La Bouhaire, would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a sojourn of the ship?” a voice called out from behind her. Sérolène turned around.

  “Of course, Monsieur de Blaise,” Sérolène said with relief as the marquis came alongside her. A flash of annoyance -- or was it something else? -- crossed Ginestas’ face as he bowed before the marquis, relinquishing the vicomtesse to his custody.

  “Monsieur de Blaise,” the baron said coldly.

  “Baron Ginestas,” the marquis said with equally measured indifference, offering his arm to the vicomtesse and escorting her out of Lacombe’s and the baron’s presence.

  “Thank you, Monsieur. I was hoping someone would come to my rescue,” Sérolène proclaimed softly.

  “That officer’s manner toward you was impertinent to say the least. If you should like, I shall speak to Capitaine Closon about it at once,” the marquis offered.

  “I shouldn’t like to be the cause of trouble for someone,” Sérolène hesitated.

  “I do not believe you could bring misfortune to anyone, Mademoiselle. Not unless they roundly deserved it. In my experience I have found that the weed of trouble, if not quickly uprooted, has a habit of growing swiftly beyond all attempts to control it. Ginestas is a very good example of that. You would do well to avoid his society. That officer also appears to be cut from the same troublesome cloth,” the marquis said. Sérolène understood that he was giving her a choice on both the nature and timing of his intercession.

  “It’s nothing, Monsieur. I’m sure I’m just nervous from the adventure we’re all about to undertake, that’s all,” Sérolène said in an effort to reassure him.

  “Very well, then; it shall be as you wish it. We shall leave our pruning for another time,” the marquis said. Sérolène nodded, continuing their walk in silence, hoping that she would not one day come to regret the benevolence of her decision.

  XII. First Encounter

  After the first few days of excitement and sea-sickness had subsided, the close confines below deck and the lack of familiar company made it challenging for Nicolas to adapt to life at sea. The tedium of unchanging routine, though vital to ensure the optimum functioning of the ship and the adequate preparedness of officers and crew, was for Nicolas, almost unbearable. As he was the only non-soldier and non-seaman aboard a working warship, there was little in the way of enjoyment or amusement, save the occasional game of cards with the officers after the evening meal. Deprived of the rigorous physical activity he had become so accustomed to on St. Domingue and then Martinique at the Salon de Fer, Nicolas spent much of his spare time walking the decks to rid himself of the surfeit of pent-up energy he accumulated each day. With the capitaine’s permission, he started a fencing group with some of the officers as a way to end his boredom and restore some of the daily physical activity he was used to, throwing himself into his training with a level of energy and enthusiasm that was commented on by all who observed him.

  All of the officers were surprised at his skill with a blade, many paying for their initial casualness toward him in training with the nick to their respective egos that came along with the string of successive defeats he inflicted on his opponents. After Nicolas narrowly defeated the ship’s own Master of Arms, who had been sent against him as a last resort in order to try and retrieve the vessel’s pride, there was no thought of quarter either asked or given among any of the officers or sailors due to Nicolas’ youth. To be sure, Nicolas had a decidedly more demanding time imposing himself on his opponents, all of them professional fighting men, but he rather preferred the greater challenge, knowing he was gaining something in the process.

  Nicolas also took particular interest in the ship’s guns and gunnery practices, the capitaine allowing him to drill with some of the gun crews. From them he learned how to aim, serve and fire a cannon, and about the proper caring for and preparation of the big guns that were a warship’s raison d’être. He was rather proud of his ability to calculate aiming points with some accuracy, although his targets, more often than not, were just pieces of driftwood.

  Despite these diversions, Nicolas longed for something to break the tedious monotony of the voyage and hoped as well for some cleansing rain to wash away the collective odor of humanity of which the concentrated intensity, well fed by the sweat and unending daily toil of the crew, grew more potent with each passing day. Fresh water, however, was a luxury and no thought could be given to using it to bathe. In order to escape the odor that seemed to creep into every part of the ship, he began to take increasingly longer walks about the deck in the open air, the fresh sea breeze providing a temporary solace from the increasingly inescapable reek of unwashed humanity. He desperately longed for something exciting to happen, but nothing seemed to change from one day to the next, the sea stretching on endlessly across the horizon as the days passed tediously by.

  On the Belle Héloïse, the passage was much more pleasant and enjoyable than what Nicolas endured on the Fantassin. The cargo ship was fully laden with all manner of consumables, including fresh beef, lamb, and poultry stores. There was a variety of wines to complement the general fare, and the celebrated nature of the guests ensured that conversation and entertainment was as diverse as the selection of dishes at the capitaine’s table, to which all the notables were nightly invited. A general air of gaiety prevailed, despite the sea-sickness that had discomfited most of the passengers for the first few weeks. With enough company to pass away the many hours of idle time enjoyably enough, only the relatively cramped quarters and general lack of privacy gave cause for complaint. The men habitually formed their own circles for cards or to indulge in the small pleasures they could find aboard ship, which usually involved gambling, smoking, and
drinking; often in that order, and sometimes all together. There was a particular circle of heterogeneous society that centered around the Baron de Ginestas, who appeared to have developed particularly cordial relations with Madame Dupluie and the officer Lacombe. Ginestas was the only one of the nobles to mix so freely in common society. The other passengers of noble rank kept more to themselves, their associations centered on the Salvagnacs and the Montferrauds.

  As the marquis had forewarned, the weed of Lacombe’s presence, perhaps encouraged by the noticeable favor and support shown him by the Baron de Ginestas, began to grow rapaciously; as hardy and resistant to pruning as ivy. While Lacombe was readily accepted into the society of misfits clustered around Ginestas, among the high nobles, the manner in which he constantly hovered at the edge of gatherings to which he did not belong and had not been invited, earned him no friends, but rather a good deal of resentment and suspicion instead. The Marquis de Blaise felt his premonition of trouble increasingly justified, and decided at last to raise his concerns directly to Capitaine Closon.