Love and Honor

by Harry Samkange

  “I understand. I shall be ready,” the marquis nodded, his heart breaking all over again. Closon nodded, softly closing the door as he left. And how on earth am I to tell his mother? the marquis thought to himself. Overcome at the thought of how her heart would break, he rested his head in his hands and wept deeply and bitterly for the loss of the child that had been the joy and the light of his life.

  XV. In the Bosom of the Divine

  Almost eight and a half weeks from the day they set sail, the sun ascending toward its zenith on a clear bright late-August morning; the Belle Héloïse prepared to make entry into the great port of Nantes. The pre-dawn haze had gradually given way so that the continuous shelf of land that was home to the storied country of the Gauls, extended as far as the eye could see along the horizon. The approach to the port was full of ships, anticipation growing by the hour as the passengers, exhausted by the triumph and tragedy of the journey, began making final preparations to disembark. Trunks were packed and prepared, the most presentable dresses and suits selected; powder, rouge and perfume applied, everything made ready for as swift an unloading and departure as possible. Most passengers were on deck to get the best vantage they could, making things very crowded for the crew, who still had the difficult task of navigating the approach through the outer harbor to reach the mouth of the Loire. What should have been a happy and exciting time for all, however, was instead marked with solemnity.

  At Capitaine Closon’s command, the Belle Héloïse began to lower sail, decreasing her speed as she transited through the crowded approach to the port, passing the warships of their convoy, which had dropped anchor just outside the main channel, their flags lowered to half-mast in remembrance of the Chevalier d’Argentolle, whose tragic loss had been a devastating blow to the entire convoy. As the Belle Héloïse sailed past, the prize ship Perseverance fired a salvo of guns in salute, followed by the Fantassin, in tribute to its fallen comrade. On both ships, the sailors stood on parade, rendering full honors as the Belle Héloïse sailed majestically into the mouth of the Loire on the northern side.

  In the distance, on the tip of the southern bank, could be seen the town of Paimboeuf, which marked the point at which the mouth of the great river began to narrow as it wound its way to the southeast toward the Port Atlantique de Nantes. The crew was hard at work navigating around the other ships and the several sand bars that needed to be avoided, a pilot having been brought on board during the night to guide them in. As they moved further up river, the deep blue of the ocean’s waters began to show streaks of brown, as ocean and river intermingled in a briny buffer zone between fresh and salt water.

  The sailors were now at their busiest, managing the navigation into the outlying anchorages where the large ocean going vessels would dock, the passage further up the river suitable only for smaller ships with shallower drafts than the heavy merchantmen, which were fully laden with sugar and other commodities. Lines were tossed to oared tugs that gently towed the heavy vessel in toward its berth, the final guiding ropes thrown aboard as they were pulled the last few yards toward the docks. As soon as the ship came to a complete stop, deck hands swarmed over her like ants – throwing ropes, moving crates, preparing hatches, tying sails, making gigantic impossible knots. In the midst of this frenzy of activity the Marquis de Blaise and the Baron de Salvagnac stood motionless near the center of the main deck, deep in conversation; everyone waiting for the general signal that it was safe to disembark.

  Several carriages pulled up to the pier in anticipation of being engaged by the passengers. Most appeared relatively plain conveyances; a few might even be called shabby. Two fine carriages, each drawn by four-horse teams, pulled to the front of the queue, trailed closely by a large uncovered wagon. The mounts on the first carriage alone were worth more than the entire assemblage of vehicles preceding them, and the speed with which the other carriages relinquished their hard-won places in the queue by the ship spoke to the prestige and rank of the owner. A well-dressed man stepped down from the first carriage and made his way toward the ship, where he signaled with a wave to one of the members of the crew. The seaman immediately ran over to speak to the Marquis de Blaise and Baron Salvagnac, and within minutes a small procession of porters arrived on deck to begin filling up the wagons with the personal belongings of the most select passengers. Also arriving on deck were three gentlemen who had been waiting at the head of the pier to board. Two of the men were large and tough-looking, with the air about them of men accustomed to violence. The smaller of the three was thin and wiry and wore the dark, distinct dress of the King’s Police. He made his way aboard quickly, asking to be directed to the capitaine and the marquis; one of the ship’s junior officers quickly pointing them out for him.

  “I’m Inspector Vienneau of the King’s Special Police,” the man said, bowing to the marquis and the capitaine in turn.

  “My deepest sympathies, Monsieur de Blaise, for the loss of your son. Dreadful business, as I understand it, but nevertheless I’m sure you must be proud of his heroic and selfless conduct, not only at the end, but on the Fantassin as well. As you might have guessed, I am here to inspect the body. Once that has been done, I shall take a brief statement from the capitaine and the primary witness, as evidence in the case. As soon as I have completed my interviews, you shall all be free to depart. I regret the delay, but in cases such as these where the death of a nobleman is involved, strict measures are required to ensure that nothing has been overlooked,” the inspector said. The marquis nodded curtly, but remained silent.

  “You may take me to it Capitaine,” the inspector said to Closon, who turned and began making his way below decks.

  “Right this way, Inspector, if you’ll follow me down. We’ve kept it in salt to preserve it. I presume you received all the details of the incident?” the capitaine asked as they made their way down to the hold, followed by the Inspector’s entourage.

  “I did indeed. The Pomerol signaled ahead to the shore posts and we quickly dispatched someone to look into things based on the details given and the description of the marks on the body. It seems the real Lacombe was killed in Marseilles some months ago, before you departed that port. The remains of a body washed ashore a few weeks ago. It had been in the sea for quite some time and had been picked clean by scavengers. We suspect those pristine bones to be all that’s left of the real Pierre Lacombe. The man you had aboard is suspected of being his killer, a very dangerous thief and habitual criminal named Claude Louis Malveau. The police there were closing in on him when he suddenly vanished. Now we know why,” the inspector said.

  “So the papers that he had were real?” Closon asked, realizing how he himself had been duped by the imposter. The inspector nodded as they continued down into the belly of the ship.

  “Very much so. Taken from the dead man himself, I’m sure. We’re not certain how they came across each other, but Malveau was a notorious gambler. It’s one of the ways he acquired his victims,” the inspector explained. Closon stopped as they came to a sealed-off storage area, pointing to two wooden crates that had been set apart from the other cargo and had been sealed shut.

  “The near one is Malveau, the other belongs to the Baron de Ginestas,” Closon said.

  “Open Malveau’s first,” the Inspector said to the men who had accompanied him. One of the men bent to perform the task with an iron crowbar, the odor of rotting flesh rising to assail the small party’s nostrils as the lid came off to reveal the body of Malveau, which had been packed in salt to preserve it. The inspector knelt down, covering his nose with a kerchief against the stench of the bloated corpse. He withdrew a sketch from his pocket of the man they were searching for, reaching down to pull out his right arm as he checked for a series of tattoos and identifying marks.

  “That’s him. Here’s the prison mark, and there’s the tattoo that he was known for,” the inspector said. It was a playing card with a knife through it.

  “Well, no doubt about the cause of death,” the inspect
or said, pointing to the dirk that was driven into the center of the body with such force that it was still buried deep in Malveau’s chest; the handle just visible under the sternum.

  “He must have been quite powerful, the chevalier, to have delivered a blow like that,” the inspector said with admiration.

  “Seal it up,” he said, nodding to his men, who were happy to comply. Closon muttered a swift, silent prayer as the coffin-crate was nailed shut. It was bad enough luck to keep a corpse on ship, worse when its soul had belonged to a man as evil as the one before him. One could never tell where its ghost might decide to linger.

  “The Baron’s next,” the inspector said. The lid was pried off the second crate, revealing the forbidding grimace of death on the face of the body, the mouth open, eyes wide and staring. There was a gaping wound in the throat where the knife had entered and sliced through. The inspector searched the pockets of the corpse deftly before shaking his head in seeming disappointment. Closon had no idea what he could be looking for and didn’t ask.

  “Alright, close it up. Take them back to the wagon and wait for me there. Both bodies are to be stripped and thoroughly searched before we perform an examination as to the official cause of death,” the inspector ordered his men. Assisted by a work team of sailors, the men obediently lifted the caskets between them and carried them out of the hold.

  “Is there any doubt in your mind as to how both men died?” Closon asked, regarding the inspector with some degree of confusion.

  “Things are not always what they seem in such cases, Capitaine. Two noblemen have died, Monsieur, one of high rank, the other of high influence. We leave nothing to chance in such matters. His Majesty himself will want a full report and a precise accounting of the details. I must also ask for private access to the Baron de Ginestas’ cabin, and that of Malveau’s so that I may examine their personal effects. You are sure that the unclaimed gold among the stolen valuables belonged to Ginestas?” the inspector asked.

  “Ten thousand livres is a very large sum for someone to overlook. I’d say the gold belonged to Ginestas and Malveau killed him for it. We found a strongbox in Ginestas’ quarters. I would not be surprised to find it empty, though we did not have the key to test our assumptions,” Closon said. The inspector nodded.

  “After I examine the quarters of both men I shall interview the vicomtesse. She is the only direct witness to the preponderance of Malveau’s crimes,” the inspector said.

  “Of course. I shall inform her family of your plans so that she is made ready to see you,” Closon said.

  “Thank you, Capitaine. Any chance for the boy to survive? Perhaps he made it to some driftwood or to shore?” the inspector asked hopefully. Closon shook his head.

  “Not in this bloody ocean he didn’t. The Atlantic’s a nasty little pond, Inspector. With the currents as they are this time of year, he’d have drifted far to the south by now even if he did survive. They’d have carried him toward the Spanish coast and then back out to sea. His only chance would have been if he happened to come upon another ship or managed to reach the launch we cut loose. We never did find it,” the capitaine said.

  “Damned shame. He seemed to have been a rather promising young man,” the inspector said as they made their way to Ginestas’ cabin.

  “The bravest are always the first to fall,” Closon murmured disconsolately, presuming that once the Marquis de Blaise was made aware of the full circumstances of the case, his career at sea would be another casualty of Malveau’s crimes. Once they reached Ginestas’ cabin, the inspector went in alone, spending almost twenty minutes by himself, before he came out, bearing only the strongbox that Closon had mentioned.

  “I want this cabin sealed off and a guard placed on the door. My men will come back and take everything else as soon as the bodies have been put in the wagon,” the inspector commanded.

  “Of course, Inspector,” Closon replied, calling for a sailor to fetch one of his junior lieutenants to see to it at once. The inspector then made an examination of Malveau’s quarters, spending half as much time there as he had in the baron’s.

  “Seal this one off as well, Capitaine. If you could lead me toward the witness now, I shall take her statement and be on my way. It’s really just a formality, though,” the inspector assured him.

  “Right this way, Inspector,” the capitaine said with a nod.

  Closon and the inspector came up from below as the men were returning from placing the coffins in the wagon. The inspector ordered them to clear out Ginestas’ and Malveau’s cabin, but held onto the strongbox himself. Now that the body of the man who had caused so much grief to all, had been removed from the ship, Sérolène at last set foot on the main deck, aided by Julienne. Everyone turned to look with sympathy at her somber countenance, the shadow of her grief still upon her. During the last days of the voyage, her anguish had so consumed her that many of the passengers had thought that the ship would have need for a third coffin to be placed alongside the other two. She stood quietly behind her aunt and uncle, holding Éléonore’s hand, all the life and light seemingly snuffed out of her.

  “Mademoiselle la Vicomtesse, I am Inspector Vienneau of the King’s Special Police. I deeply regret the events that have occurred. If you will be so kind as to give me a brief statement as to what you witnessed, I shall then be able to finish the collection of evidence in this matter and allow everyone to depart,” the inspector said gently. Sérolène nodded numbly, stepping to the side so that she could relate what had happened, her tears and her sadness overcoming her as she was forced to once again recount the tragic events that had taken her Nicolas from her.

  “Thank you, Mademoiselle la Vicomtesse; that is all that I require. Please accept my heartfelt condolences on the loss of your cousin,” the inspector said with compassion. Sérolène stood mute, looking down toward her feet, as if she hadn’t heard him. The inspector sighed in sympathy, turning back to address Closon.

  “Everyone may go now, Capitaine. I’ll let you know if my office has any more questions, but I think we can consider the matter closed,” he said, bowing to the baron and the marquis as he took his leave, departing the ship with dignified and somber formality.

  When he had gone, the marquis approached Sérolène to say his goodbyes, everyone moving away some steps to give them the privacy their mutual grief deserved. The marquis hugged Sérolène to him, kissing her gently on the forehead, feeling her tremble against him with the force of her raw and aching grief.

  “You must go on now, my dear child. You have a wonderful and joyous life ahead of you, and you must decide to live it to the fullest. I thank you for the love you gave my son. You were the joy of his life,” the marquis whispered to her, his voice thick with sentiment.

  “Oh, Monsieur,” Sérolène whispered, unable to contain her emotions, remembering how on that last night Nicolas had asked her to marry him and how she would now forever regret that in her excitement and delight, she had forgotten to give him her answer.

  “I cannot forget the final look in his eyes. As if he were saying goodbye to me. I knew somehow that he would prevent that wretch from harming me. I know he sacrificed himself to keep me safe. All my life I shall love and honor him for it. But dear God, Monsieur, I feel as if my soul has been torn asunder. How am I to go on without him? Without my dearest Nico,” she said, her voice breaking. The marquis kissed her forehead again as she dissolved into tears, embracing her tenderly.

  “How well I understand your pain. But go on you must, for our hearts could not stand the blow if anything were to befall you. I beg you also to consider the sentiments of my poor, dearest friend. Only you, whom she cherishes like her own daughter, can help to heal her heart, which surely will be broken when she hears the tragic news,” Blaise said. Sérolène nodded, reminded by the marquis’ words, of her promise to Madame de Blaise to take care of Nicolas. It only made her pain all the more acute. It’s all my fault! she said to herself. If I had only left him on the flagship he’d still
be alive, she thought bitterly.

  “Shall I tell you a secret, about Nicolas?” the marquis asked. Sérolène nodded, grateful for any fact which would keep her beloved alive in her memory.

  “I wish you had seen his face the day I told him that the baron and I had secretly agreed to your betrothal,” Blaise said.

  “Betrothal…truly, Monsieur?” Sérolène asked in wonder.

  “We decided to keep it a secret from you. So you wouldn’t feel pressured…in case you changed your mind as you grew older,” he explained, seeing the reproachful look in her eyes.

  “I know now we were wrong to have done so. But we did it out of the best of intentions. I’ve never seen Nicolas happier than he was on that day. He even knelt and kissed my hand,” Blaise explained, wiping away a speck from his eye, pretending it was not a tear.

  “How I would have liked to see you both joined together,” the marquis sighed, his voice thick with regret and resignation. Sérolène felt as if her whole world was closing in on her. She wanted to be away from the accursed ship that had taken her Nico from her, and she wanted to be away from everyone and everything.