Love and Honor

by Harry Samkange

  “Ah, fortune smiles upon me still. My clothes at least are here,” Nicolas said with satisfaction. “Doctor, would you be good enough to procure me a basin of water that I might wash, and then help me to dress? I believe I have a banquet to attend.”

  *

  The vicomtesse and Lieutenant Fortier arrived back on deck just in time to take their places around the vice-amiral’s table before the first toasts were given. There were curious odd glances directed toward them, but no one said anything, given the dignity and decorum of the occasion.

  “Where have you been, my dear?” the Baron de Salvagnac whispered, as Sérolène claimed the seat next to him.

  “I have been where duty and friendship called me to be. I simply could not join the general company without first assuring myself as to the condition of the Chevalier d’Argentolle. The lieutenant was kind enough to escort me to Nicolas’ cabin. Perhaps you did not know, Uncle, that he has been transferred to this ship to recover from his injuries,” Sérolène explained.

  “Well that is very generous of you, I suppose, but you would do well to consider the propriety of such conduct more carefully, my dear. Such an awkward disappearance in the company of a young man might cause wicked tongues to waggle,” the baron admonished his niece, looking across the table toward the Baron de Ginestas and an openly staring Madame Dupluie, to emphasize his point.

  Everyone took their places, the seating carefully arranged so that there was a lady placed next to each of the gentlemen at table. Sérolène was seated next to her uncle on one side, but the chair next to her was vacant. Looking at the name on the place setting, she noted that it was reserved for Doctor Hornsby, who still had not come up from below decks. All of the guests were seated, the vice-amiral alone remained standing, raising his glass to begin his toast to the glittering assemblage of notables.

  “To the gallant Captain Lakestan and his crew, who fought bravely and with honor, and to the French capitaines and sailors who did their part with equal measure. We shall not forget the actions or the sacrifices of all those who gave of themselves today. Through the most difficult of trials, we have seen the very best of character, of courage, of endeavor. I raise my glass to all of you and the brave men who have today given their all and more for England, for France, for duty, honor and God!” the vice-amiral said, downing his glass in a single gulp, the rest of the male guests following suit. The vice-amiral then nodded to the defeated English captain, who was seated to his left, so that he could reciprocate with his own toast. Captain Lakestan stood, waiting for the attendants to pour the gentlemen another round before taking up his glass, still bearing the loss of his ship and his status as a captive with dignity.

  “Monsieur l’Amiral, I thank you for your gallantry and courtesy, but most of all, I thank you for the delightful company of such extraordinary examples of French womanhood. Without firing a shot, their grace has charmed us and their beauty has conquered us all,” Captain Lakestan replied, bowing solemnly before the assembled guests, who applauded the civility and graciousness of his remarks. Captain Lakestan took his seat, once again ceding sole command of the floor to the vice-amiral.

  “I should also like to recognize for particular distinction someone whose bravery and merit shone particularly brightly during today’s engagement. Would that he were well enough to partake of this meal with us -- but alas, his injuries have kept him confined to bed, where we hope he shall soon be speedily recovered. As our hero is not here to take his bows, perhaps his father might stand to receive our acknowledgement instead,” the vice-amiral said, nodding to his right to the Marquis de Blaise, who stood to receive the vice-amiral’s embrace.

  “Monsieur le Marquis, today the Chevalier d’Argentolle covered himself in glory. Spartan, stoic, courageous, with a lion’s heart and a knight’s good grace. Who could have observed his deeds and not have been proud to say ‘there is a true son of France’! I’m sure you are proud to have raised such a worthy scion. Long may his boldness and audacity serve the cause of France!” the vice-amiral said as everyone applauded, with the single exception of Madame Dupluie. The Amiral then stood back to allow the marquis to say a few words.

  The marquis smiled graciously, bowing his head as he gathered himself to begin his remarks. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, he looked toward the door, halting in unconcealed surprise. Everyone’s gaze followed his, astonished to see the unlikely sight of Nicolas standing at the entrance to the vice-amiral’s stateroom, immaculately dressed in a claret-colored silk-satin suit and light-blue patterned waistcoat. His left arm hung in a sling, his eyes pained but proudly alert and defiant. The English physician Doctor Hornsby stood behind him, lending him his much-needed support.

  “Brother!” Francis exclaimed, rising in surprise, relieved to see Nicolas but concerned at how ill he looked after almost a month at sea. His face was pale and gaunt, his eyes hollowed and darkened from both the loss of blood and the many weeks on Navy rations. The stateroom was deathly silent, the sound of Nicolas’ labored breathing heard audibly, testament to the effort required to be where he was and standing upright, which only lent more intensity to the fire blazing beneath his piercing green eyes as he leaned against Doctor Hornsby for support. The French gentlemen all stood as one to applaud his conduct on the day and his determination to appear among them at the banquet.

  “Forgive me, Father. Monsieur l’Amiral, officers, ladies, gentlemen; I beg you to pardon the lateness of my arrival,” Nicolas said, bidding everyone be seated.

  “Mademoiselle de La Bouhaire was kind enough to honor me with the courtesy of a visit to my sickbed and to remind me of the importance of coming here to do my duty to my family, the distinguished officers and crew of this fine ship -- and most of all, the brave men with whom I have had the honor of fighting side by side…some of whom have even given their lives today,” Nicolas said softly, reminding them all of the hard price of victory. He looked admiringly toward Sérolène.

  “She has also admonished me for my clumsiness in not being able to avoid certain pieces of wood,” Nicolas deadpanned, to grunts of appreciation from the officers and sighs of admiration from the ladies.

  “So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my place now and be content to let Monsieur le Marquis de Blaise do the rest of the talking for me,” he said with as much of a bow as he could manage without falling over. There was a second round of general applause after Nicolas finished speaking, the marquis looking at his son with unconcealed pride.

  “Well, there you have it from the Chevalier himself. And as he is content to let his deeds speak for him, so shall I be,” the marquis said, bowing to his son and the rest of the guests before retaking his seat. The vice-amiral moved forward again to take the floor.

  “Such modesty does you both credit, but I’m afraid I shall not let it go at that,” the vice-amiral said, striding forward resolutely to face Nicolas.

  “Monsieur le Chevalier, as a Commander of the Order of St. Louis, I look forward to the day that you will also wear the distinction with honor.[6][6] I have no doubt it will come quickly for you. Until that time, I beg you to keep my cross as a symbol of the respect and esteem in which I hold you. I’m sure that the Minister of War, when he receives my report of today’s action, will be as watchful and attentive to your career as I promise you I shall be. Today, you have covered yourself in glory; allow me now to cover you with my most sincere respect and admiration,” the vice-amiral said, embracing Nicolas gently and kissing both his cheeks.

  All the officers and gentlemen again rose and applauded as one, even the English joining in. There were several shouts of ‘bravo!’ and ‘well done!’ as Nicolas made his way slowly toward the table. Though Madame Dupluie looked down at her place setting in thorough disgust, the Baron de Ginestas grinned widely, clapping rapidly and with seemingly heartfelt enthusiasm. Nicolas used the prerogatives his actions on the day had earned him, to claim the seat next to his beloved as another setting was quickly made for Doctor Hornsby. The vice-a
miral then gave the order for the meal to begin.

  The feast was long, the food plentiful, the wine even more so. Normally it would have been an occasion that Nicolas would have enjoyed immensely, particularly given the fact that he spent the entire evening seated next to the object of his affections, from whose regular company he had been separated for months. The fact of the matter, however, was that after managing to take in a few morsels of bread softened in soup, just staying awake and upright exhausted him. Though he sat stoically at table for the better part of an hour, the throbbing in his arm became acute enough that he could no longer ignore it. Sérolène watched over him carefully, attentive to any signs of his discomfort. When she felt that he had done all that he could, it was she who drew Julienne and then Francis aside to plead for what she saw as the only suitable course of action to be taken in the matter.

  “Monsieur le Comte, I must appeal to you as one whose love for his brother is above question. You must ensure that Nicolas joins us on the Belle Héloïse. It is the only course of action that will guarantee that he is properly looked after. I know they’ve done their best here -- but it’s a warship, after all, and I fear the worst if he is left to the care of soldiers alone,” Sérolène pleaded. Francis remained silent, though he nodded his head in a sympathetic but noncommittal way. Dissatisfied with this display of indecision, Sérolène continued to press her case.

  “You would have been appalled had you seen the conditions in which he was being held. Damp, suffocating, bandages unchanged, and poor Nico left to lie with no companionship or sustenance! How glad I was to be able to render him the service of dressing his wounds, but how sorrowful I felt at having to do so. It was the need to tend to him so, that caused me to take so much time before I finally appeared amongst you,” she explained. After this revelation of the true circumstances in which his brother had been found, Francis at last made up his mind to act, turning to address Julienne.

  “Perhaps, Madame, if we were willing to make the sacrifice of lodging apart for the remainder of the voyage, Nicolas might be domiciled with me. Of course it would mean that you and the vicomtesse would have to share a berth as well,” Francis pointed out. Julienne willingly gave her consent, eager to repay Nicolas for his many kindnesses toward her. Sérolène thanked them both effusively.

  “I am ever so grateful to you both! I should like to ask the lieutenant if he might ferry us back to the Belle Héloïse by launch as soon as it can be arranged. You can see for yourself it’s taking all of his strength just to sit upright. He needs to lie down and rest and to be with those who care for him. After such an ordeal, his spirit needs tending as well as his body,” the vicomtesse insisted. Francis nodded his assent, convinced as he looked over at his brother that Sérolène was right and that there was no better soul to watch over him than she, whose singular concern and affection for Nicolas could not be denied.

  “Consider it done. I shall speak with the capitaine immediately. I’ll accompany you myself, along with Fortier. We’ll make sure this time that he’s well looked after,” Francis said.

  The Comte de Marbéville proved as good as his word. While the other guests danced and enjoyed themselves, he, along with Lieutenant Fortier and the vicomtesse, escorted an exhausted Nicolas to the rear of the deck where they prepared to lower him in the sling and take him to the Belle Héloïse in the launch. Though they did their best not to attract undue attention as they conveyed him to the stern, there were many who noticed the march of the small but elegantly appointed procession. Some of these were comrades in arms, who wished to acknowledge the deeds of the brave chevalier by speaking a word of encouragement or familiarity to him; others were merely desirous of catching another glimpse of the vicomtesse as she accompanied Nicolas and his escorts. One of these latter types was Michel Petitfleur.

  In the excitement and press of the crowds, Michel had not at first realized that the man he considered his sworn nemesis was aboard ship, or that he had been seriously wounded. The young Petitfleur had hovered in the vicomtesse’s wake as closely as he dared, having spent much of the evening waiting patiently for her to emerge from the vice-amiral’s supper. When he had seen her at last exit the stateroom, he had pressed as close to the party as he could, gathering up his courage to speak to her, to ask for a dance despite the gulf in their respective stations. Just as Michel was about to call out to the vicomtesse, he saw Nicolas’ face, freezing him in his tracks. He recoiled instantly behind a wall of bodies, watching his sworn enemy from a distance, wondering if he himself had been seen. He noticed a look that passed between Nicolas and Sérolène, and a subsequent touch from the vicomtesse that struck him as exceedingly familiar. Is there something between them? he wondered, feeling his hatred redouble as he looked down at his crippled arm. No! She cannot love him; she who is the most perfect example of womanhood I have ever seen, and to whom I should be happy to dedicate my life, my very existence! Michel screamed in silent rage. It seemed too cruel a farce to play, even on him.

  He continued to watch from a distance, trying to interpret as much as he could of their relationship from his observations, but ended with more questions than answers. Eventually, he was forced to give up his surveillance as the party descended down to the launch and departed the ship. I must find out as much as I can about her. Perhaps there are others onboard who can tell me more of her, Michel reflected. He looked toward the railing and noticed a portly and very dandily dressed gentleman who also appeared to be following the vicomtesse with intense scrutiny. He was with the others in the vice-amiral’s stateroom. He must know something about her. I shall make an effort to speak to him later, when the generous flow of wine has removed the barriers of distinctions between us,” Michel resolved.

  **

  Aboard the launch, the steady cadence of the rowers marked the passage of time for a completely spent Nicolas as he was ferried across the small expanse of sea to the Belle Héloïse. Francis and Lieutenant Fortier climbed up the boarding ladder first, so that they could help Sérolène to be raised aboard in the sling. Once she was securely on deck, they then had Nicolas lifted up the same way, with the help of the sailors from the launch.

  “I’ll go and look for some of the crew to help us carry him to our quarters,” Francis offered, finding the ship strangely deserted, as most of the men were aboard the flagship enjoying the festivities.

  Fortier remained on deck with Sérolène and the prone Nicolas as Francis descended below decks. He heard a noise that startled him, turning round to glimpse a shadowy figure emerging from the darkened corridor before him. After a moment he realized it was Lacombe, coming from the direction of the capitaine’s stateroom where the women, the baron, and the marquis all had their cabins. Francis thought he had a decidedly suspicious air about him, as if he’d been surprised in the act of something dishonorable.

  “Ah, Lacombe. Why are you wandering around in this part of the ship?” Francis said evenly. Lacombe carefully tucked the dirk he always carried, into the palm of his right hand, prepared to use it if necessary.

  “Just making sure everything is secured. Never can be too careful, you know. I thought I heard noises in this direction and came to investigate,” Lacombe offered with an easy smile. Francis thought the explanation doubtful, but his concern for his brother trumped his suspicions for the present.

  “We need you on deck. My brother’s being transferred aboard the Héloïse. He’ll share my quarters and the comtesse will move in with the Salvagnacs. He’s been wounded, so we’ll need help in moving him,” Francis said.

  “You lead the way, Monsieur,” Lacombe said with a nod. Francis turned to go, but kept a wary eye on the following officer.

  That was close! Lucky for all the noise they made on deck. I had just enough time to make my way out before he came down, Lacombe thought to himself, knowing that if he’d been caught in the act of rifling through the marquis’ cabin, he’d have had to dispatch the unlucky comte over the side. Luckily for them both, that had not happened.
He didn’t much fancy trying to escape by launch while they were still in the middle of the Atlantic, though that was his failsafe plan if his true identity was discovered.

  “Here he is. You’ll need to help us lift him gently and carry him to my cabin,” Francis explained.

  “How lovely you look tonight, Vicomtesse,” Lacombe said, leering at Sérolène in an attempt at gallantry. Sérolène ignored him entirely.

  “Please, Monsieur le Comte. You can see he’s exhausted. He needs to be moved and quickly,” she said imploringly. Lacombe at last moved in close enough to see Nicolas for the first time as he lay on the makeshift stretcher that had been used to transport him.

  “That’s your brother?” Lacombe said with a sneer.

  “I’ll do the asking of questions, is that clear? You’ll do as I tell you, or I’ll have you stripped and flogged for your damned impertinence!” Francis snarled, exasperated by Lacombe’s superior air and lack of proper respect. Lacombe fingered the dirk in his sleeve, shaking it loose as he prepared himself for action. Fortier looked on in astonishment, girding himself to come to the aid of the comte.