**A Problem Named**
*Rosalaine*
Gravel crunching underfoot, Phillipe crossed the pale courtyard. The moon bobbed overhead, sparkling on to the stones. The boy headed to a door at the far end of the school. Monsieur Dagbovie, the fencing instructor, lived away from the rest of the faculty. He always said it was so that he could keep an eye on the weapons supply, but almost everyone knew that he wasn't fond of the teaching staff, and so chose to keep away. Phillipe approached the door and knocked soundly.
"Entrez," a voice called from inside. The boy pushed the door forward, looking for the owner of the voice as he did so.
"Well?" the voice spoke again.
"Monsieur, I was here to work with you. We had spoken of an extra lesson."
Phillipe moved slowly, not wanting to be startled when he finally found the instructor.
"Right! Of course. Close the door boy, and come in."
Ever one to obey, Phillipe hurried to push the wooden door shut.
"Now what's this about a lesson?" Dagbovie called from a near-by room. The boy headed again into the interior of the small house. He found the instructor collapsed in a chair, a wine bottle and glass standing perfectly aligned on the table next to him.
"Monsieur?" Phillipe asked nervously. He had had experience with those under wine's power. It usually ended with him being beaten.
"Forgive me Phillipe." Dagbovie said, rising from the table. Phillipe took a wary step back.
"Is there a problem?"
"Oui, Phillipe. There is a problem. A problem by the name of Rosalaine."
The boy a bit taken aback. He had not heard of anyone naming their problems before, but as Dagbovie was his superior, Phillipe chose to keep his thoughts to himself. The instructor sank back into the chair, and let his head rest on the table.
"I can leave if you wish, sir" he said softly. Dagbovie laughed bitterly, and motioned him to sit.
"I apologize; I won't be able to give you the extra lesson tonight. But I did speak of it, and it will be done. Perhaps tomorrow?" he said, without moving his head.
"Thank you, sir that would be excellent. Should I ask the matron to send you something for your Rosalaine problem" Phillipe asked eager to leave.
"I am afraid this is the only medicine for Rosalaine" the teacher said sadly as he nodded his head toward the bottle. He lifted his eyes and noticed the fear written on his favorite student's face. "Oh come now, sit down for a moment, I am all right. I won't bite you. The way you look, you'd think I was about to strike you. I promise, I'll save that for our lesson tomorrow. Sometimes I wonder if the pain of love is worth it?" he said, his voice a bit slurred.
Phillipe dutifully sat down, still keeping a wary eye on his teacher, confusion only adding to the gnawing fear.
"How could you love a problem?" he asked, before remembering how insolent that sounded. When he did, he automatically swallowed sharply, fully expecting the instructor to attack him for it. Although the instructor was well known for almost never punishing a student, surely blatant insolence would not be tolerated.
To his surprise, Dagbovie laughed. "Most women are problems, Phillipe my boy, but delightful problems. You'll understand someday" he said, his voice growing more slurred.
"Yes Monsieur. I.believe you. I just don't want to bother you any longer." The boy said as he tried to swallow the fear that had been slowly crawling up from the pit of his stomach, but it was to no avail.
"Tomorrow we will practice with one of those." Dagbovie said, doing all he could to keep the drink's influence from his voice. However, when he raised a hand to gesture toward a wooden rack on the wall, Phillipe shied away and closed his eyes, instead of turning them toward the row of gleaming rapiers. Dagbovie was too stunned to speak as he slowly straightened up, lowering his hands to his sides.
At length, he spoke again, his voice hoarse.
"Mon Dieu, what has been done to you?" Confusion and concern etched into his face.
Phillipe opened his eyes after a few seconds had gone by without an attack. When he heard his instructor, the boy cast his eyes down and sighed.
"I."he started, not quite certain what to say. He debated telling Dagbovie what truly had happened to him, something that even his closest friends, Luc, Louis, and Antoine, did not know. While he was thinking, all of his emotions flashed through his eyes. Though fairly intoxicated, the fencing instructor was able to detect them.
"Forget it boy, " he said quietly. "It was not my place..."
Phillipe nodded. "Thank you, sir"
Gravel crunching underfoot, Phillipe crossed the pale courtyard. The moon bobbed overhead, sparkling on to the stones. The boy headed to a door at the far end of the school. Monsieur Dagbovie, the fencing instructor, lived away from the rest of the faculty. He always said it was so that he could keep an eye on the weapons supply, but almost everyone knew that he wasn't fond of the teaching staff, and so chose to keep away. Phillipe approached the door and knocked soundly.
"Entrez," a voice called from inside. The boy pushed the door forward, looking for the owner of the voice as he did so.
"Well?" the voice spoke again.
"Monsieur, I was here to work with you. We had spoken of an extra lesson."
Phillipe moved slowly, not wanting to be startled when he finally found the instructor.
"Right! Of course. Close the door boy, and come in."
Ever one to obey, Phillipe hurried to push the wooden door shut.
"Now what's this about a lesson?" Dagbovie called from a near-by room. The boy headed again into the interior of the small house. He found the instructor collapsed in a chair, a wine bottle and glass standing perfectly aligned on the table next to him.
"Monsieur?" Phillipe asked nervously. He had had experience with those under wine's power. It usually ended with him being beaten.
"Forgive me Phillipe." Dagbovie said, rising from the table. Phillipe took a wary step back.
"Is there a problem?"
"Oui, Phillipe. There is a problem. A problem by the name of Rosalaine."
The boy a bit taken aback. He had not heard of anyone naming their problems before, but as Dagbovie was his superior, Phillipe chose to keep his thoughts to himself. The instructor sank back into the chair, and let his head rest on the table.
"I can leave if you wish, sir" he said softly. Dagbovie laughed bitterly, and motioned him to sit.
"I apologize; I won't be able to give you the extra lesson tonight. But I did speak of it, and it will be done. Perhaps tomorrow?" he said, without moving his head.
"Thank you, sir that would be excellent. Should I ask the matron to send you something for your Rosalaine problem" Phillipe asked eager to leave.
"I am afraid this is the only medicine for Rosalaine" the teacher said sadly as he nodded his head toward the bottle. He lifted his eyes and noticed the fear written on his favorite student's face. "Oh come now, sit down for a moment, I am all right. I won't bite you. The way you look, you'd think I was about to strike you. I promise, I'll save that for our lesson tomorrow. Sometimes I wonder if the pain of love is worth it?" he said, his voice a bit slurred.
Phillipe dutifully sat down, still keeping a wary eye on his teacher, confusion only adding to the gnawing fear.
"How could you love a problem?" he asked, before remembering how insolent that sounded. When he did, he automatically swallowed sharply, fully expecting the instructor to attack him for it. Although the instructor was well known for almost never punishing a student, surely blatant insolence would not be tolerated.
To his surprise, Dagbovie laughed. "Most women are problems, Phillipe my boy, but delightful problems. You'll understand someday" he said, his voice growing more slurred.
"Yes Monsieur. I.believe you. I just don't want to bother you any longer." The boy said as he tried to swallow the fear that had been slowly crawling up from the pit of his stomach, but it was to no avail.
"Tomorrow we will practice with one of those." Dagbovie said, doing all he could to keep the drink's influence from his voice. However, when he raised a hand to gesture toward a wooden rack on the wall, Phillipe shied away and closed his eyes, instead of turning them toward the row of gleaming rapiers. Dagbovie was too stunned to speak as he slowly straightened up, lowering his hands to his sides.
At length, he spoke again, his voice hoarse.
"Mon Dieu, what has been done to you?" Confusion and concern etched into his face.
Phillipe opened his eyes after a few seconds had gone by without an attack. When he heard his instructor, the boy cast his eyes down and sighed.
"I."he started, not quite certain what to say. He debated telling Dagbovie what truly had happened to him, something that even his closest friends, Luc, Louis, and Antoine, did not know. While he was thinking, all of his emotions flashed through his eyes. Though fairly intoxicated, the fencing instructor was able to detect them.
"Forget it boy, " he said quietly. "It was not my place..."
Phillipe nodded. "Thank you, sir"