Ted Anthony Roberts

On the first Monday of April, 1625, in Paris, France, Monsieur d'Avaloy strolls into the antechamber of his apartment, it being well into the evening when the sun had but recently made its escape beyond the horizon to declare that a new night has arrived. As he enters his small, but quaint and well decorated antechamber, he is stopped short by the sight of a dark figure that is standing in the midst of his apartment. As soon as Monsieur d'Avaloy shuts the front door, and with an agility that is true to his nature, he quickly unsheathes his sword from its leather shoulder-belt, throws himself into the direction of this strange figure, and gravely places the naked blade near the throat of the unknown; who has his head covered with the hood of a cloak. And with an even more ferocious gesture, he roars at the stranger with a rugged burst of his lungs, forming it into these words:

"Speak! Who are you? Or, by all that you hold dear, this blade will be your ticket to another place – of which place, though, I know not where!"

"But I know which place." calmly replies the stranger.

"Oh?" says d'Avaloy. "Well, then, you should be prepared to go there without much complaint."

"'Tis true: I will not complain – for I am confident that my Lord will accept me with open arms into Heaven; for I shall then be in his presence."

With a slight disdainful grin, d'Avaloy replies, mockingly: "So you think."

"So I know!" forcefully implies the stranger.

At this, d'Avaloy's grin turns once again into an angry expression. "Enough of this! Who are you? And why are you in my apartment?"

"I see that you have not changed in all these years, dear brother." At this last sentence, the voice of the stranger suddenly changes from a low gruff, into a voice that is more familiar to d'Avaloy. Quickly, the master of this dwelling place pulls off the cloak-hood from the stranger, and what follows next from d'Avaloy is a good, hearty laugh!

"Oh, you are too much, brother mine!" bellows out d'Avaloy, as he takes away his sword from his brother's throat, and places it back into its sheath. Now beginning to walk, d'Avaloy makes his way over to a small table, where there is a bottle of Anjou wine; of which he begins pouring for himself. "Would you like a glass, Arnaund?"

"No thank you, Charles." Says Arnaund d'Avaloy, as he completely takes off his cloak, and lays it over a nearby chair, revealing his priestly robes that were hiding underneath.

"So . . . how long has it been?" asks Charles.

"Since we have last seen each other?" says Arnaund, finishing Charles' thought.

"Yes. Five years, is it not?"

"Six years, two months."

"Counting the months even?" Charles d'Avaloy asks, chuckling.

"Of course; for I love you, brother mine."

"But why do you love me? I haven't exactly been a nice brother to you since childhood." says Charles, laughingly.

"I have endured." Arnaund replies, gravely.

"Well, if you love me as you say you do, then why have you waited six years – I mean six years and two months – before you came to see me?"

"I admit that I have purposely stayed away from you."

After a quick gulp of his wine, Charles' eyes widen at this strange statement. "Stayed away purposely?" he repeats, questioningly, with a grin. "And what, brother mine, do you mean by that?"

"Well, you have just said yourself that you weren't exactly the ideal brother to me."

"True." Charles admits with a consenting nod, as he pours himself more wine. "But what has made you come to me now of all times?"

There is a moment of silence while Arnaund's eyes survey Charles' countenance. After Charles empties his glass once more, as he did with the other filled wine, he too begins to stare for a slight second at Arnaund. "Well?" Charles asks, while his shoulders rise in a questionable gesture.

"It is for your benefit, brother. It was because of you that I came."

"Oh? And what for? What do you mean?"

"Your soul, Charles! I must try and give you the gospel before it is too late.”     

"Oh, is that what it is?" Charles says, as his body moves in a manner that indicates that he is laughing strongly on the inside, while his mouth keeps that same grin he has maintained since he found out his brother was behind that dark cloak.

“Why, I hear rumors, of what seems weekly, that you have got yourself mixed up into another duel, and I always fear the worst for you."

"My soul, is it? Well, brother mine, you have no need to worry. My friend will take care of that for me."

"Your friend?" asks Arnaund, confused.

"Yes. My friend is strong, lengthy, and takes nothing from anyone! Here she is." he says, picking up his sword. He slowly unsheathes it, giving it a slithering sound as it makes it way out of its scabbard, and he holds the blade directly in front of Arnaund.

"Yes." Arnaund says very seriously, frowning. "We have already met, her and I. But I have a sword as well, Charles – and it is mightier than she!"

"Really?" replies Charles, laughingly. "You? A sword? Get serious, brother." he continues, while still holding his sword near Arnaund’s face.

Arnaund quickly pulls a small book from his pocket and places it against the naked steel of Charles's sword. "Touché!" boldly pronounces Arnaund.

"What!" bellows out Charles. "A Bible? Are you serious, sir?"

"Quite serious."

Once again, Charles bellows out with a hearty laugh. "I think, Arnaund, that you have been drinking way too much holy wine!"

"Give in to God before you give in to death." gravely states Arnaund, staring his brother directly in the eyes.

Charles' amused face quickly goes back to its serene look once again. He sheaths his sword, lays it back down, and returns to his glass – which he fills once more – and he downs it again in only one gulp. "And here I thought you came to just say hello." Charles admits, while looking toward the empty fireplace.

"Hello, brother." Arnaund says, seriously. "Will you now accept Christ?"

"Are you mocking me?" snaps Charles angrily, quickly spinning his glance toward Arnaund.

"Of course I'm not." Arnaund assures him. "I am very serious about what I am telling you. I do love you, brother – but so does God! I just know it."

"Well, then!" says Charles, beginning to shout, "Just where was God when I was young and needed Him? At that time I did call out to Him, but He didn't answer me. I really needed God at that time, but where was He? Did He wield the sword that saved my life on numerous occasions? . . . Nay. Did He give me the gold to feed me when I was hungry? . . . I think not. For I did all of this with my own hard work – mine! – but not His."

"I see that you are hurting on the inside." Arnaund pronounces, sadly.

"You've noticed that? What a genius you must be!" he concludes, while pouring himself yet another glass. "Sure you won't have some, brother?" Charles asks once again, yet this time in a loud, rough manner.

"No thank you, Charles. But I know someone who can give you something to drink, the which, if you drink, you shall never thirst again."

At this, Charles takes his freshly poured glass of wine and slings it at the wall – which bursts immediately as it makes contact.

Arnaund stops short and stares at Charles with wide eyes. Charles also is staring at Arnaund, but he has a glassy, dull look in his eyes. And what follows next is yet another moment of silence, which is interrupted by a low knock at the front door. At first, the two men remain frozen, continuing to stare at each other.

A second knock sounds.

"Charles," Arnaund ventures to say, "I believe that there is someone at your door."

Charles' eyes slowly glide into that direction, when there is a third, yet more pronounced knock.

"So there is." Charles merely says. He then slowly sets the bottle of wine back onto the small table, and starts to walk into the direction of the door. Just then there is a fourth and more hurried knock. Opening the door, while Arnaund remains where he is inside the apartment – yet looking on in curiosity, Charles notices a dark figure standing tall and erect, being enveloped in a dark cloak.

"Another dark cloak," Charles says to himself, shaking his head a bit. But then aloud: "Yes? Can I help you?"

There is no answer from the unknown, but the dark figure extends a piece of paper to Charles. And as soon as Charles takes the rolled parchment, the dark figure walks away. He then shuts the door, unfolds the note, and he silently reads it to himself. After which, he quickly looks up and over at a curious Arnaund.

"Is this your doing?" Charles asks seriously.

"Is what my doing?" asks Arnaund, confused.

Charles walks over to his brother and hands him the piece of paper. The which Arnaund reads aloud:

“I have been admiring your swordplay, and have been studying it for months. Your style is quite remarkable, yet so predictable. I know your moves, every one of them – and it shall be your undoing! Meet me behind the Louvre at noon tomorrow, and I will take you to a spot where I can prove this to you. Signed: ‘Your murderer.’”

Arnaund, after reading it, looks up at Charles.

"Is this why God sent you here?" Charles asks him. "To kill me? Yet to insult me before doing so?"

"God is not like that, and you know it!"

"Oh? Do I?" Charles shouts. "First my life is going fine; now this mysterious letter at the very moment you show up – it all adds up very pretty!"

"Well, you are right about one thing: I can see that God did send me – not to kill you, or to announce your death – but to give you hope; and to tell you that it is time to stop this madness!"

"Madness is this letter showing up when you did!"

"You must not go!"

"What do you take me for – a coward?"

"I shall come with you, then."

"You will most certainly not! You have caused quite enough damage as it is."

"Well . . . ." says Arnaund, sadly, as he grabs his cloak. "I will keep in touch, Charles. I cannot let this matter drop."

"I think it wise if you did." pronounces Charles, gravely. "If you are trying to convert me, brother, I think that you have picked a very bad way to start. If and when we meet again, let it be for other reasons, brother mine. Adieu."

"Nay, not adieu – say rather Au revoir!" sadly announces Arnaund. "Adieu seems too permanent of a goodbye. Au revoir, till we meet again, dear brother."

At this, Arnaund walks to the front door, opens it, walks outside, and begins shutting the door. Yet, not being able to help himself, and just before the door is closed, he stops and takes a final look at his brother in a very worried manner. Charles doesn't even bother to look back at him.

"You know," Arnaund ventures to say further, "this is nothing more than a life of swordplay against a life of priestly robes . . . a life of flesh as opposed to a life of the spirit . . . it is a sword against the robe!"

Finally, Arnaund shuts the door and leaves.

Charles remains standing where he is, finally turning his head slowly toward the front door, of which Arnaund had just left out, and Charles begins to roll all types of thoughts through his head, and he feels all types of emotions raging through his frame.

Indeed, a strange occurrence it was to have his brother drop in the very evening he receives a note in a fashion that he has never experienced before. Sure, there were duels galore for this man, but always delivered in a normal fashion, through acquaintances of his own. But this is a bit strange, and far too curious as to being delivered the same evening his brother suddenly comes out of nowhere, six years after they had said their last adieux in Gascony. Could God truly be trying to call him to a life of the Spirit through these strange circumstances?

"Bah!" Charles says to such an idea. He then heads straight to bed – leaving his thoughts only to his dreams.

***

In the morning he heads straight to the gates of the Guard's Headquarters, where he holds a position therein as a lieutenant. He barely makes his way into the courtyard, however, when a Guard seizes his attention.

"Holla! d'Avaloy!" The guardsman calls out, in a laughing manner. "And what makes you in such a haste this morning?"

At this, d'Avaloy turns around and notices a small group of soldiers who were having a conversation when he walked in. Charles stops his pace and rests his eyes upon the one whom had addressed him thus, and d'Avaloy recognizes the man immediately – yet he has not known him for very long. He can see, though, that the men are in an awkward humour, as they seem bent on making sport of him.

"I am in haste," Charles says, having no expression at all upon his face, yet delivering the announcement with an obvious sarcasm that is hard to miss, "for I am in hopes of passing by before you would notice me, dear Monsieur l'Forney!"

"Ah, surely you jest, my friend." l'Forney says, grinning widely; enjoying, and eagerly awaiting the results of this strange conversation.

"And why should I do such a horrible thing as to jest about such a serious matter, sir?" Charles asks, continuing his sarcastic tone.

"Why, because, dear sir, I would think that you would be speaking to me in a more kindly manner than this, considering you are perhaps touched by divine grace this day."

There is a pause on d'Avaloy's part. But just as soon as this line is delivered, the small assembly of Guards that are standing directly behind l'Forney start to laugh a little. Charles slowly surveys the small group with a careful eye. Charles is not an acquaintance of any of these other men, for he has but recently been admitted to his post as lieutenant, and has not had the chance as to make known who each Guard is as of yet. And as far as he being a Guard for several years now, we must note that Monsieur d'Avaloy is not one to make friends with many people, therefore he knows but only a quarter of the Guards personally.

"And what mean you by this, sir?" Charles finally asks, looking back at l'Forney.

"Why," l'Forney begins, "only yesterday a stranger in priestly robes stopped by here looking for you. I know he was looking to know of your whereabouts," he continues, sarcastically turning his gaze slowly toward his listeners behind him, hoping to get more laughter, and he not being able to fight the grin that has embedded itself upon his face, for he is enjoying every minute of this, "for I was unfortunate enough to have had the pleasure of eavesdropping in on the captain's conversation with him." He then looks back at d'Avaloy. "A priestly brother, aye?"

There is more laughter from the small group of soldiers. L'Forney continues to grin with satisfaction, as he adds: "Is this the case, brother d'Avaloy?” he adds, stressing the word brother, which had a religious ring about the way he pronounced it. He causes the small group to laugh with more vigorous zeal.

D'Avaloy's grim look then takes on a sarcastic, swaggering grin. "Why, dear l'Forney, did you not know that it is a serious offense to insult an officer? I would think that the good manners would have to be on your part, for I do outrank you. Also, you come from too good of a family to be insulting them in such a manner as this."

"Really?" says l'Forney, beginning to lose his grin. "As far as my family traits are, they are no concern of yours." amply implies l'Forney. "And as far as your rank is concerned, you can choke on it – I have been transferred to a better unit than this as of tomorrow."

"Oh? Is this true? And what Guard unit is better than this? The Cadets?" D'Avaloy adds, with a more sinister grin.

"Nay, but the Musketeers; and as a Lieutenant!"

"Lieutenant of Musketeers?" D'Avaloy says, laughing. "They couldn't have picked a better man!" he adds, mockingly.

"Too true, I am the better man." l'Forney concludes, insinuating that he is a better pick than d'Avaloy for the position.

D'Avalory gets the point; and he takes a step toward l'Forney to where he is only twelve inches from him. L'Forney stands his ground, gravely staring at d'Avaloy without blinking an eye.

"Good." simply says d'Avaloy; and adds: "But then a better man for the job should know not to insult a better man at the sword – for he may see that a high rank does not entail that he is manly enough to back up his insulting words behind a blade."

"All in good time, d'Avaloy." l'Forney says, beginning to smile again. Then as he leans forward, he adds with a wink: "Finish your other quarrels first."

At this, there is more laughter from the small group.

This last statement has struck home. D'Avaloy knits his brows into a worried frown. Does l'Forney know of the mysterious note that d'Avaloy received just the night before?

"What do you mean, sir?" d'Avaloy asks, very seriously.

"Nothing, sir." l'Forney says, leaning back to where he was originally, and still continuing to smile. "Soon enough, my friend," he adds while starting to walk away, "soon enough!"

The small group of soldiers walk away, still laughing at d'Avaloy – who is standing here quite vexed, not knowing what to think about what he had just heard. He finally breaks away from where he was standing and looks all around him to see if anyone is watching him; but he notices nobody looking at him, so he proceeds on to the captain.

"Lieutenant d'Avaloy, reporting for duty, sir." he says, saluting his captain upon his entrance into his office, just after he was announced by the house servant.

Captain Des Essarts, of his majesty's Guards, quickly jumps up from his desk, holding out his hand for d'Avaloy to shake; and d'Avaloy does so with a smile.

"Are you feeling well, sir?" asks his captain, with a worried look upon his face.

"Quiet well, sir.” says d’Avaloy, confused. “Why do you ask?"

"There have been a couple of strange events that have happened since I have seen you yesterday." the captain says, as he walks back around his desk, sitting down and facing d'Avaloy.

"Yes, sir. I know. My brother had come to see you yesterday evening, asking about where I lived."

"I was surprised to see that you had a brother; I did not know that you had one. I was reluctant to give out your address at first, but, as you may or may not know, my servant has taken holy orders himself and had been an acquaintance of your brother in the church, and he was able to identify him as a reliable and honest man of God; and I gave out your address on such grounds. However, having a brother that you have not seen in six years is hardly a strange occurrence, and is not what I was referring to – though it was the first of a couple of events that were about you."

"Alright, you now have my curiosity up; for, verily, some strange things have been happening to me since last night, and not just my brother showing up. Please tell me what you mean, sir."

"Well, like I said, it started with your brother asking for your address, and no sooner had he left then a stranger showed up also asking for your address."

"A stranger?" d'Avaloy asks, interrupting his captain's tale.

"'Tis true. I had never seen him before. He said that you have never met him, but that he was trying to warn you that your life is in danger, and that it was most urgent for him to meet you. I refused to give him your address, but I promised him that I would send you a note, telling you of his request to see you. That is why I sent you that note last night."

"You sent me that note?" d'Avaloy asks, surprisingly.

"Of course. I signed it, didn't I?"

"Are you then my murderer?"

"Your murderer? What ever do you mean by that, sir?" asks the captain, confused.

"The note that was delivered to me last night was signed by my murderer, and was challenging me to a duel at noon today."

"Really?" says the captain, thoughtful. "Well, I assure you, sir, that I sent you no such note. Mine was of an entirely different nature. You say that you have been challenged to a duel? Well, that is nothing new! But what has become of my note to you, then? Had my boy messenger not reached you?"

"The only messenger that I seen last night was one enveloped in a dark cloak, being careful to conceal their identity."

"I see." says the captain, continuing in deep thoughts over the matter, while looking away – as if he can more easily see this whole situation by looking out the window. "It appears," he continues, now looking back at d'Avaloy once again, "that my messenger is then dead."

"Dead?" asks d'Avaloy. "I don't think that it is as serious as all that now!"

"My boy, I think that you are mixed up in a rather pretty net, and the catcher is just about to reel you in."

It is now d'Avaloy's turn to look out the window, perhaps to see what his captain was seeing. He now turns back. "Are you sure?" he says, unconvinced. Looking attentively at his captain, and while his captain looks attentively at him, d'Avaloy reenacts in his mind the events of last night.

"I have not told you all yet." the captain announces.

"There is more?" asks d'Avaloy, his eyes widening.

"Yes, yes. It is concerning the stranger who asked of your address last night. It would seem that he didn't get too far. Only five minutes before you were announced this morning, I was informed that the stranger was found two streets down in an alley – dead! One of my guardsmen who lives in that quarter happened to have seen his body, and recognized him as to have been the one who visited me last night. I was just about to send a small troop out to search for you, but thank the Lord that you are safe and sound. I fear also for your brother's life as well."

"Oh, as far as he is concerned, his God will protect him."

"His God?" asks the captain, curiously. "Is He not your God as well?"

There is a moment of silence before d'Avaloy answers: "Of course."

"I think that now of all times you will need Him for your well being, sir."

"Of course." d’Avaloy mechanically repeats a second time.

The captain now scans his lieutenant’s countenance with all the scrutiny of a parent, who holds his child's protection in his hand.

"As far as this duel at noon is concerned,” the captain says, continuing, “you must not attend."

"But captain," d'Avaloy protests, "my honor is at stake."

"You mean your life! You know as well as I that duels are forbidden – you have to set an example for the men."

"That is exactly why I must attend – to set an example!"

The captain sighs. "True." he admits, shaking his head a bit, while moving his eyes away; for he understands too well the flawed logic of that statement.

"What kind of lieutenant would I be if I decline such an engagement?"

"A scorned one." unhappily says the captain.

"Now you see why I must attend – even at the risk of death."

"I'm afraid that it will be at the risk of death. This letter of yours smells of ambush to me!"

"Well . . . what must one do?"

"Well, one – such as myself – will send an attachment of guards with you to make sure all will be fair play: unofficial, of course."

d'Avaloy smiles at his captain’s cleverness. "Of course." he says, with satisfaction.

"Still," the captain continues, "we must find your brother for protection."

"If I know my brother, he will show up at the duel at noon. Otherwise, I know not where to find him."

"Why do you say that he will show up at your duel? Is this priest then fond of fighting?"

"Nay – but fond of saving my soul! That is why he was looking for me last night, to get me to give in to his . . . I mean, our Lord."

"Oh, I see. Well, a little religion never hurt any soldier: I myself included. I pray under my breath before every skirmish – bloody as well as political; for there is no real difference between the two! Well, if your brother will be at the duel as you say, then we must try and convince him that his life is perhaps in danger as well. Get this matter over with as quickly as possible, and I will try and find out what this whole thing is about concerning you from this end."

"Thanks, good captain."

"Don't thank me yet, there is still much we must do."