Strength (part 2)
1633. 25th April
"Not bad. But you are still taking too long to aim."
Juliette sighed and lifted the pistol again, her tongue showing in-between her lips. She tried to take less time to aim properly at the bottle which was her target, and shot. Missing it by a foot.
She groaned. "I am rubbish at this!"
Damien chuckled, and took the weapon away from her to reload. "No you are not. Far from it. I was far worse when I started learning."
"That's because you probably had a weapon that weighed more than you did," she joked.
He laughed back. "True. Come now, once more. I want you to inhale, aim, and exhale as you shoot."
Juliette did as she was told, and grazed the bottle. It wobbled on its perch atop a fence, but did not fall. She sighed again, but at least it was better than before.
Damien had done good on his word. Earlier that morning, he had guided Juliette through the city and towards the countryside beyond, showing her to a nice piece of field that was remote enough to make sure they'd not be spied on.
Juliette still woke up at night, the ghost of hands on her body, and she was screaming in her sleep more often than not. Some put it on the account of a strange illness, as she had not publicly told of her shame.
She still felt as though she should have done something that night. Push her assailants away, kicked harder, regardless of whether or not she was hurting herself in the process.
Damien slept close now. The first two nights, he had placed a mattress next to her bed. Then further away in the room. And now, he was sleeping in the study just next door. This arrangement was no issue to him, and Juliette trusted him so completely she didn't even consider the gossipy implications this could have in the future.
As for Eric, he had left Bayeux for a few days, wishing to visit a famous painter further North, in the Principality of Liège. Juliette had hesitated to send him a letter to explain her predicament, but had thought against it. Damien was a far good enough teacher.
"Come now, we have worked hard enough and the sun is begging us to retreat for dinner." Damien reached for the pistol in Juliette's hand, and she stared at the neckless bottle she had managed to touch only once in the whole afternoon.
She'd get better.
She linked her arm with her apprentice's, and said with a confidence she wasn't sure she possessed quite yet, "I think I'll try to do some good when I'm shooting well enough."
Damien huffed. "And do what? Roam the streets at night, looking for rapists and thieves?"
"Precisely," she answered with her chin slightly tipped up.
He stopped, forcing her to do the same. "This could be very dangerous, Juliette. Much more dangerous that what I thought you'd do with the skills I am teaching you!" He started walking again, his hold on her slightly tighter. "I don't want you to talk of these things ever again."
Juliette wanted to talk back, but thought against it. She nodded like the good little soldier she was becoming to be. "I promise I won't."
Talk about it at least...
1633. 12th June
The sun was scorching Juliette's delicate skin as she was practising her aim in her and Damien's usual spot. Her teacher was not there, for once, having gone back to the village to fetch some refreshment to counter the summer's heat.
Juliette recharged her lent pistol and aimed, fired: the bottle shattered to pieces. She repeated the movement a second time: a second bottle shattered.
She had gotten quite good at shooting, and in not so long after all. Her desire to do good once she had all the skills necessary had acted as somehow of a catalyst. Not that she would tell Damien. After his first outburst concerning her vigilante's wishes, he had refused to talk more about the matter.
Juliette could understand his point, for they had grown very close since they had met. Damien was like a younger brother, one who sought to protect her at all costs. And letting her into the night battle thieves and rapists and such was not exactly his definition of safe. She did not want to disappoint her good friend. But she didn't want to leave poor defenseless women either...
"And what do we have here? A woman who shoots?!"
Juliette whirled around, preparing to have to hide her disheveled appearance, for she had shed the top of her dress and was now showing an ample part of her chest under her cream-coloured corset. But she did not have to, and a smile formed on her lips when she recognized the figure of one long-lost friend, even if he had more facial hair than when he had left.
"Eric!"
The blonde man hurried to her side and pulled her into a gentle hug. He did not discuss her attire, nor did he actually oggle her like any other man would. He just smiled widely, and pointed at the pistol she was holding. "And what is this, Madame Durieux? I did not take you for the murdering type!" He laughed, and his good-humoured joke made her chuckle as well.
"Damien is teaching me how to defend myself. And I think I'm not that bad."
"Not bad at all, I'd say!" came Damien's voice from further down the hill. She and Eric watched as he climbed their way, a loaf of bread and a jug of water in his hands. He was beaming too, no doubt proud of his pupil, and turned to the newcomer. "I was not aware you had come back, Eric."
"I was just returned," the blonde answered. "I saw Juliette on my way down and climbed back up to see what she was up to."
Juliette felt happy in that moment. Her two good friends were there with her, and she was getting quite good at her deed. There was nothing missing. Almost nothing...
"You have the aim of a she-devil!" Eric was laughing after a display of Juliette's skill. She was smiling back, proud of herself, before he turned to her teacher and asked, "what about the sword?"
"Sword?" she echoed.
Eric nodded. "I understand that you were attacked in close quarters. Shooting someone when they are so close to you may not be very convenient. I'd say you also need to know how to defend yourself with a blade."
"Don't encourage her," Damien sighed, "she already thinks she can play the vigilante. I'd rather not give her too much power over that..."
Eric chuckled, but not in a way that felt mocking of Juliette's ambitions. He looked over at her, a grin on his lips. "Let's not talk about masks and good deeds for now. But Juliette still needs to know how to wield a dagger and sword." He stood from his perch on the fence of the field, and unsheathed his own weapon, a thin, delicate blade that looked fit for a musketeer.
He then showed off some moves that looked more like a dance than a real fight choreography. Juliette was watching, wide-eyed, and more than ever aware of the power of attraction of this man. If he had ever showed these skills to other young women, they surely had fallen into his bed right after.
"Where on Earth did you learn this?!" she half-shrieked after he sheathed back his sword.
Eric let out a small laugh. "Florence teaches you many things, I can assure you. I had this sword made there before I came back."
"Will you teach me?" she pleaded, aware of how childish she sounded. When he nodded once, she hurried to plant a sound kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."
Beside them, Damien was shaking his head in mock disapproval. He, too, had a smile of admiration on his lips.
1634. 7th May
Juliette was flying around, parrying every blow and throwing in some attacks as well, until she managed to break Eric's defense and slash across the leather armour he was wearing on his arm.
Her teacher flew away from her and beamed. "Well done! It's the second time today!"
Juliette wiped a path of sweat on her forehead and sighed. "And it only took me so long..."
"Don't be so hard on yourself. You are very talented. Let it never be said that women can't be good swordsmen!" He laughed and moved to remove his armour. Juliette did the same.
Eric had taken to teach her the ways of the sword in barns. Empty barns, or hay-filled barns. So long as they were void of any visitors. He had also been adamant that she wear breeches during their lessons, and he had offered her a pair of leather-made ones that fit to her like a second skin and were very comfortable to fight in.
"Have you thought about this vigilante idea of yours any more?" he then asked while removing the thick leather from his chest. There was no judgment in his voice, and Juliette spoke forward without fear.
"I have. I think I still want to do it. But I'd have to be masked. And my hair hidden...it's too recognizable like this," she gestured with a huff to her fiery mane.
Eric paused and eyed her up and down critically before nodding. "Yes, you definitely are showing too many womanly features." She blushed, but he carried on, very professional in his way of eyeing her. "You'd have to bandage your chest, your breasts are ample enough to show under a jerkin... And maybe dye your hair. I have some ideas about that." He paused again. "Don't tell Damien, though. He'd kill me if he knew I was putting you in danger."
Juliette nodded. "I promise. And I thank you for being willing to help me in this endeavour." Her smile was bright, and he mirrored it instantly.
"Well, people already think I am going to propose any moment now, so let's not disappoint them by being unfriendly, shall we?"
His words gave Juliette some pondering to do. She knew, of course, that most people in Bayeux thought Eric to be her suitor. She had never denied those claims, even as their relationship evolved more towards a passionate friendship than a passionate love. Maybe somewhere in her heart she wished he'd propose. That she'd be free from talks about her celibacy and could easily spend the rest of her life married to a good friend, even if they'd have to...well, produce heirs, most probably. Eric would be freedom, and Juliette longed for it.
But somehow, his words told her that he did not wish for the same outcome...
1634. 25th July
The air was thick with heat; a thunderstorm would do some good to the summer air, no doubt. Juliette advanced through the streets, making sure she hid in darkened corners, to be unseen by the drunks and wanderers of the night.
Adrenaline pumped through her veins as her hand rested lightly on the hilt of the sword Eric had delivered to her not a week prior. Made in Florence, just like his. He called it a 'graduate' present. She had broken it through, so to speak, and now, was the big night.
She had bind her chest as recommended, flattening her chest as best she could, before dressing in her training breeches, a black shirt that had belonged to Damien once, and a purple jerkin. Her hair had been coloured with ink from a kind of fish, and Eric had sworn that it would go with a good wash in the morning; and she hid her feminine facial features under a large-brimmed hat and a leather mask over her eyes.
Juliette walked through the streets of Bayeux, making sure she did not spot any crime nearby, but the evening was quiet. Quiet and boring. No robbery on sight; no drunk trying to force himself on a poor girl.
She had to admit that the fire running through her veins at the thought of her first good deed had died out a bit, replaced by disappointment and a certain apprehension. What if some crime was happening on the other side of the city, and that she hadn't been there to stop it? The thought killed her.
But the sky was getting a slightly paler blueish tint, and she had to accept that her first night as the Nightswatchman had not been a success.
Defeated, she made her way back home, longing for a bath, to wash the ink off her hair, and to sleep. Damien would not question her tiredness, and besides, they had recently hired a new help for the shop, and she trusted him to steer the ship to perfection.
The candles were still lit when she entered the small halfway, and she wondered if Damien had noticed her absence or if he had not slept at home. She advanced slowly into the house, noticing some sort of whispering that came from the sitting-room.
Taking off her hat, Juliette peaked inside, through the door that had been left slightly ajar by whomever was inside. Her eyes widened, and she muted a gasp.
Damien was there, and he was not alone. From where he was sitting in front of the fire, another person was kneeling in front of him and this person was close, so close to his body that their doings could not be mistaken. They were kissing.
Juliette would not have been shocked, however, if it hadn't been for the lover's identity. She would not have guessed it in a million years, but now it stared her in the face.
Damien's lover was Eric.
1634. 26th July
Juliette did not sleep that morning, nor did she the following night. She did not eat either, and refused to see Damien or anyone until her thoughts were cleared.
Damien and Eric were lovers.
She knew what her Catholic upbringing would expect her to do now: denounce them to the Church and to the City Guard. And they'd be tried for sodomy and unnatural feelings. And they'd be killed. In horrible circumstances.
Did she want that for her two closest friends? Certainly not. Did she agree with their ways? She did not either. But did she disagree with love finding its way in the most unlikely of places? No, she did not either.
In fact, for two long days and nights, Juliette wondered if she was not upset more because her future with Eric was therefore jeopardized rather than because she was disgusted by their dalliance. She had put much hopes in the fact that Eric could make her his wife and she'd be happy with him, she would.
But now, would he ask her to marry him when his heart and lust brought him more to people his own sex? She doubted he ever would.
The sun was setting on the city when Juliette decided: she would not give her dear friends away. And that was flat. But she needed some time away from the house. So she got up and prepared her attire for the night.
This time, she expected trouble in Bayeux. She needed release from her thoughts.
Bayeux was again too quiet to Juliette's taste, and it did not give her leave from her 'predicament'. If anything, it made her think about it far too much still.
When the cry of alarm of a woman near the river alerted her, Juliette sighed in relief, and unsheathed her sword. Her knuckles were white so hard she was gripping the hilt, and her jaw was set painfully, but she was bent on saving the woman no matter what.
She soon noticed a pattern close to what she had herself lived all that time prior, and it made her heart twitch as she remembered the hands of those men upon her: two men, one holding the young lass while the other groped her in the cover of a alcove.
She hissed and made herself known was a swish of her sword.
One man turned to her, the other still holding the woman. She could see her torn dress and the tracks of tears on her cheeks, and it made her blood boil.
"Release her!" she hissed, making sure her voice sounded lower than her usual one.
The man laughed. "And why's that? Don't you want a taste yourself?" he drawled before turning back to his prey, tearing the dress a bit more. Juliette caught sight of a naked thigh, and she saw red.
The blade entered the man's back as if it had been butter, and caught in one of his ribs. Juliette thought she had punctured the lung, but did not care. She stabbed once more, and turned to the second man, who had immediately released the girl and ran away without a second thought.
Juliette moved to the girl in an attempt to comfort her, but she cowered away in fear, whimpering as she tried to put as much distance as she could between them. Juliette was shocked, and turned to the first man, who had become silent.
She froze. The man was fallen in a stupid position on the pavement, a large puddle of blood growing even more under him. No breath was rising in his chest, and she suspected that his open eyes were not seeing anything anymore.
In her back, the girl ran away, alarming the Guard. Juliette stood there, shocked, staring at the man she had just killed, and then looked at her bloodied blade.
She doubled over, and vomited. She cried, too, but the tears were hidden by the mask. And then she ran.
When she reached her house, Juliette did not care that Eric's horse was haltered in the front, or that Damien was not alone. She hurried up the stairs and bolted into the sitting-room, not caring if the two men were holding hands.
She buried her head in Damien's chest and cried. Cried and cried and cried until the words spilled out of her mouth and she could not stop them.
"I killed a man..."
Damien shushed her and comforted her the best he could. And Eric joined in the hug, making their company of three even more peculiar than it already was...
1365. 3rd November
After spilling her first blood, Juliette stayed clear of the streets for a while. She could not bear the thought for killing anyone anymore, even if they were criminals and deserving of their punishment.
She also told Damien and Eric she knew about their relationship, and before they could deny or try to protect themselves, she swore not to give them away. And both carried on comforting her every day and every night.
Bayeux was more than ever in talk of her and Eric's betrothal, since he was spending so many of his days and nights at her place. Little did they know that he and Damien were planning to leave the city, and country, to live their love freely, or as freely as religion and society allowed.
"Have you got everything?" Juliette asked as Damien packed the last of this belongings.
She was watching him like a mother watching her only child leave her, with a clenched heart and tears welling in her eyes.
Her friend nodded, tears streaking his cheeks as well as he came to hug her. "Promise me you'll be prudent. And happy."
"And promise me you'll write."
"Always," he whispered while peppering the top of her head with kisses.
Juliette took strength in his arms, and hugged him until she could hold onto him no more, and Eric came to fetch his loved one.
His message was almost the same as Damien's, except he added a small "Keep on doing good" before handing her a small case she'd later discover hid a brand new pistol.
Juliette then went to wave her friends goodbye, under the quizzical and mocking gazes of her neighbours and clients, and they were gone.
With them went Bayeux' respect for Juliette, for Madame Durieux had seen her suitor run off with a man and leave her alone in a hostile world.
A few months later, she'd decide to sell the shop and move to Paris...
1645. Some time during springtime.
"And what happened to Uncle Eric and Uncle Damien after that, Mama?"
Juliette looked to her daughter's big blue eyes, and laughed. "They lived wonderful adventures and loved each other very very much."
A hand came to her shoulder, and she did not have to look to know it was her husband's. She gripped it tight, and turned to their guests. Rémi was sitting in his father's lap, and looked up at him too. "Can I have a sword, Da?"
d'Artagnan sighed. "See, Juliette? Now you corrupt our young as well as us!"
She laughed. "I don't need to do anything to make little Rémi eager to fight. He has enough Gascon blood in his veins for that!"
The young Musketeer smile, then nodded once. "Thank you for sharing this story with us."
Athos's hand was firmer in hers, and she met his blue eyes with hers, smiling. "Well, I did promise, didn't I?"
Clémence then let out a squeal of pleasure when her favourite Uncle passed the door, and all in presence laughed as she ran into the arms of a very stunned Porthos who took her seven-year-old weight with dignity but difficulty...
