A bit of a change of pace for you, but I still don't own Erik, Christine, or any other of ALW's characters, nor Nadir. And huge thanks to Filhound for all her help sorting out some of my ramblings!
Revenge Chapter 9
Never let it be said that Reynard de Ville was not an opportunist, though some might go so far as to call him a con man. He had sold his only daughter (well, with women as they were, could he really be sure she was his daughter?) to a flophouse not too far from the fancy opera house in Paris. She was only 12, but she would get a good 'education' from the girls there. With that money and what was left of his wife's inheritance he was able to buy his way into the French Legion in Africa with the rank of colonel. It wasn't a bad life. He was able to run a little scam here and there to augment his meager salary. Kella had been a beautiful woman and her daughter was looking like she would be as well. But lugging a child around with him after the death of his wife was not his idea of fun. He habitually brought her along when he went to visit the local House of Delights and would tell her to sit and wait for him to come back out. She w0ould sit there and try not to look at all the men who entered and left the establishment during the night, some of them even approaching her, to her fright and disgust. She hated the looks of lust and hunger in the men's eyes and the smell of alcohol on their breath. One night he had been so distracted by the woman he had encountered there, and not a little bit inebriated, that it had completely slipped his mind that his daughter had been waiting for him. The very next day when he returned to take her home, he spoke with the Madame about the girl. He had no idea of how to raise a daughter of this age, so he asked the Madame to take her under her wing, more or less permanently, in exchange for a small consideration from the Madame for her future services, essentially selling the girl to the Madame. The girl was comely and promised to be a great attraction for the house, and the Madame agreed.
Once his daughter was out of his hands he took the opportunity to seek his fortune by joining the army.
He gained access to his late wife's funds – which had been intended to be as a dowry for their daughter - and added them to his own and approached the recruiting officer for the Armée d'Afriqueto offer his services as a gentleman and a senior officer. The corps had happened to be in need of competent officers and a gentleman of de Ville's seeming standing would fit in quite nicely in the new brigades that were forming – no questions asked. Especially attractive was his promise to raise a small corps of his own so that he might enter at the rank of a colonel.
Upon arriving in Africa, de Ville was dismayed to see that the isolation of his new post would severely limit his extra-curricular activities. But one day, while scoping out the busy souk*, he accidentally bumped into a very lovely, and very young, woman. He struck up a brief conversation, despite her chauffeur trying to separate them. Innocent as she was, she was impressed with his uniform and the fact that he was French and handsome and a high ranking officer. When he invited her to a dance on the base, her father was adamantly opposed. He reminded her of her duties as the daughter of a Berber chieftain, of her long line of ancestors who had fought for and dominated this part of the world for hundreds of years. But she convinced him that he was being stodgy and old-fashioned and that many other men and ladies would be present and that he was free to accompany her as her chaperone.
During a break in the music de Ville invited her outside for some fresh air. Her idea of 'fresh air' varied widely from his and she returned to the dance somewhat disheveled and requesting of her father to take her home. When she became ill a few weeks later and it was found that she was with child, they were both banished , her to the slums of Birkhadem where she managed to eke out a living as a lowly washer woman and him to Cochinchina*, with a demotion.
But a resourceful man like him could always find profitable distractions, especially after a few years to become ensconced in the gambling dens of Saigon. Unfortunately for him, he encountered a beautiful woman who appeared to be of mixed descent and took her to a secluded spot to have his way with her. It wasn't until two days later that he discovered that she was the daughter of his commanding officer. This time his title and background, questionable as it may have been, saved him from the guillotine. He was demoted to the rank of lieutenant and sent back to Algeria in a punishment brigade known as the 'Battalion of Light of Africa'. He had begged to be sent anywhere else as he was fairly certain that the Berber chieftain's daughter and grandson were living nearby and he didn't want to have to face a Berber chieftain bent on revenge.
But not all the news was dire here for he had received an invitation to a fairly new brothel called La Babineau Maison de Felicite. He couldn't wait to sample the local color of the town of Birkhadem, just south of Algiers.
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The docks at Algiers were bustling with activity, with ships being loaded with trade goods, excursion boats boarding wealthy European passengers, small craft with men selling fruit and seafood to passengers on the ships or transferring goods from the docks to other smaller ports along the seashore. Men with donkeys laden with all sorts of goods were heading inland to deliver products shipped from Europe or even from England and the eastern Mediterranean. When the soldiers disembarked a cluster of boys quickly surrounded them asking where they needed to go and offering to act as guides. For those wanting to visit the Babineau House, the boy guiding them tried in vain to get them to hire burros for the trip, "Messieurs, the trip is long and the way is very hilly! You will be worn out by the time you arrive!"
But the soldiers told him, "We are well accustomed to hard labor and a walk of four miles will be a fine stretch of the legs after the cramped quarters of the ship!"
And so they headed south, through the heart of Algiers, where their guide strongly suggested they buy something to eat and drink to refresh themselves along the way. At one such booth a woman who was bargaining for fruit looked up aghast and dropped the melon she was buying on the ground. "Mother?" asked the boy accompanying her. "What is wrong?"
Reynard turned at the question and looked directly into the face of his wife. "Fatima!"
The boy, Ahmal, picked up the melon, "What is wrong, Mother? Who is this man? Is he bothering you? Shall I get help?"
"No, Ahmal. This man is not bothering me." She quickly paid for the melon without even bargaining for it and pulled Ahmal to another vendor away from the soldiers.
But Reynard followed, calling her back, "Fatima! Wait!" He caught her by the arm and spun her around.
At that Ahmal rushed in and started pounding him with his fists, "You leave her alone! Go away! Leave my mother alone!"
Reynard took a step back and looked from her to the boy, stunned, "Your mother? How old are you, boy?"
"Ten, I think. Why? What does that matter to you?" Ahmal paused long enough to finally get a good look at Reynard before spitting at him. "You! You are a worthless dog! You leave us alone! We don't need you anymore!" He took his mother by the arm, telling her, "Come, Mother. I will return and buy whatever else it is we need after these men are gone."
Two of the other soldiers gradually caught up to him and handed him a cigarette, "Someone you know?"
He took the smoke and lit it, taking a deep drag, "Yeah. My son."
"Your son, you say? And you let him speak to you like that? I would have decked him if he were my son."
"Yeah, well, I guess I deserved it." He turned and resumed following their guide.
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Things weren't going much better for Raoul in Paris.
After the butler left to answer the door, Philippe turned to Raoul, "Another one of your friends, Raoul? I believe they come here because of the fine liquor we serve. Perhaps we should stock some cheaper vintages."
Their butler reappeared, bowing slightly. "Excuse me, Messieurs, but you are wanted at the front door, Monsieur Raoul."
"Ooh-h! That's got to be his secret paramour!" quipped Philippe.
"It is a messenger from the Admiralty, monsieur," the butler replied dryly.
Raoul got up from the table and headed toward the entry door, "What the devil?"
A man in the uniform of the French Navy handed Raoul an official looking envelope.
"What's this about? What brings you out in the middle of the night?" asked Raoul jokingly.
"I'm sorry , sir, but it is an official summons, recalling you to active duty."
"It's WHAT?" Raoul snatched the envelope and pulled out the message inside, reading it, "It says here I am to Report to the S.S. Versailles, berthed at Marseilles, by next Monday!" He looked up at the messenger, "That's only three days!" Turning on his heel he strode into the parlor, "Father? What do you make of this?"
His father slowly looked up from the game tally pad, "Oh, you shouldn't have any trouble getting there in time if you take the train."
"But can't you do something to get me a clerical position? I don't think it would suit me to actually go into battle and be injured."
"Oh, dear little brother, just think how the girls will swoon around you when you leave - and when you return!" teased Philippe.
Raoul began to dream of being swarmed by girls… "No! That's not why I signed up! Well, maybe it is, but…"
"Look at it as an opportunity to rid your head of that Phantom character and that silly girl!" his father chimed in.
Raoul looked up at his father with the sudden realization that this was partly his father's doing. "You! You did this?"
"Well, the way you have been malingering we had to do something to get you interested in life once more."
Raoul was livid with disbelief, "By sending me to WAR? What kind of logic is that?"
"Oh, don't be so melodramatic, it's not a real war, just a little uprising of the natives."
His mother looked up from her book, "Perhaps you will meet someone who piques your interest?"
He shot his mother a withering look, "Oh, please!"
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POV Erik
For two months I designed and drew up plans for both the basilica and my new home. For the basilica, I designed a three-story portico loggia comprised of a series of arches looking out over the countryside, the arches of each row one-third the size of the ones below, and with every third pillar soundly anchored to the main pillars below. On the third level the porticoes were smaller yet and were perched atop a solid frieze, braced with strong timbers of cedar and iron bars. Overall, it made the basilica look twice as massive as it was while still looking as delicate as a piece of Austrian pastry.
The work was going very well at the construction site, now that Zahir was under control and seemed to be behaving. He was even beginning to show some pride in the progress of the restoration.
For my home I designed a two-story portico loggia that covered three of the four sides of the house. For the roof I designed a walled open space with several broad umbrellas to shield us from the sun, that could be moved from place to place as needed. The main floor would be for an entrance, for cooking and for storage. On this level would be quarters for Ahmal and his mother. The second and third floors would be for myself and Christine, with accommodations for any guests we might have. Four bedrooms were arranged on the third floor, along with three bathrooms. This floor would be for the family. There would also be a bathroom on the first and second floors.
I worked feverishly – and saw to it that those I had hired did as well – to finish the house in time for the wedding. While the exterior stucco remained white, I had hired artisans to paint grape vines along just under the eaves. I planned on planting grapes, but grape vines took years to mature to the point where they would encircle the house. The entry walkway was lined with fragrant lavender and potted hyacinths and shaded with swaying date and other native palms. Inside, the three-story house was painted with soft, cooling colors: seafoam green, celery and a soft pink, a cheery lemony yellow, and peach. Decorative carpets lined the floors and decorated the walls. The borders of the courtyard were filled with roses and other exotic species, protected by a masonry wall and spraying fountains.
One evening, when I had returned late from working on the house, I found Christine clipping a few flowers from the garden. I silently watched her for a few minutes before whispering to her, "Good evening, my love!"
She turned abruptly, "Erik!" she giggled. "Why must you always startle me?" The setting sun caught the surprised look on her face giving her such an innocent appearance, so sweet and yet alluring. I gave her a gentle kiss and led her to the cement bench we had out there and took the flowers from her hand and laid them beside her as she sat.
Still holding her other hand in mine, I told her, "Because I love the way you look when I do it! Christine, I didn't do this correctly the first time. We were in such a confused rush and I want to do this in a way that you will know my heart for certain."
"Erik, you…"
"Sh-h. You are the world to me, Christine, the sun , the moon, the stars, the flowers – everything that's beautiful and graceful and wonderful, that's what you are to me. I couldn't ever live without you any more than I could live without air." By now I had gotten down on one knee and Christine had begun to tear up, trying in vain to keep her cheeks wiped dry. "Christine, I will try to make you feel safe and happy and fulfilled until the day I die, if you let me. Would you do me the honor of being my wife?" At this I pulled a package from my pocket and unwrapped a simple ring with a diamond set off with two onyx chips embedded in the gold of the band and reached to place it on her finger.
She took off the ring Nadir had bought for me to give her in Marseilles and put it in her pocket. "Yes, of course I will love you, and care for you and help you in all your endeavors in whatever way I can. I love you, Erik!" She took off my mask, as she often did now, before kissing me and allowed me to slide the new ring onto her finger.
"I love you so much!" I took her in my arms and just held her, savoring the closeness of the moment.
She held her hand out to look at her ring, then suddenly took hold of my hand where I wore my onyx ring and studied it, noting the obvious places where two chips had been removed from the large stone before looking at me with surprise, "These are chips from your ring, aren't they?"
I smiled at her lovingly, "Guilty as charged. They are, both rings, made of the same stone."
She threw her arms around me, "Oh, Erik! You are so thoughtful, so romantic! What did I ever do to deserve such a wonderful man as you?"
"You need do nothing to gain my love. Just being you overwhelms me and inspires me to devise tokens of my love with which to adorn you."
As our lips drew closer, she whispered, "I do so love you!" before her lips met with mine in a warm and loving kiss.
As we entered the house, I told her, "I have been speaking with one of the priests from the basilica who can marry us in three days. Is that too soon? He has agreed to do it in exchange for some little extras that I have devised for the building restoration."
"Oh, Erik! Three days would be wonderful. After all, I have nobody that will be coming from a great distance, although I will miss having Meg and her mother here, but their presence would alert Raoul to our location and it is not worth the risk," she said. Coming into the bedroom, she changed into her night dress and sat on the bed, waiting for me.
I changed into my sleep pants and joined her in bed, considering who we might invite on such short notice. Once again our difficulties with Raoul seemed to interfere with Christine's happiness, for had it not been for my entanglement with the Vicomte, she would have been free to invite anyone she wanted from Paris. In fact, we wouldn't even be here, in exile, but for my past deeds.
"I am so sorry that my hideous past has resurfaced to interfere with what might have been a joyous reunion for you and your foster family. Perhaps we can devise a way to return to Paris for a visit at a later date?"
"Oh, Erik, it isn't only any fault of yours; I am equally to blame for my indecisiveness with him and my attraction to his dashing appearance. I foolishly fell for his show of gallantry and couldn't know my own heart. I am so sorry that my immaturity caused you so much anguish. But as of now it is neither of our faults, but Raoul's alone for not accepting my final decision."
"Well, in any event, he has come unhinged and has become dangerous as a jilted suitor, even as he refuses to accept that it is over between the two of you and that he no longer has a hold on you or on your affections." I reached out and cupped her cheek, tracing her mouth with my thumb. "I know that if the roles were reversed, I would probably do the same."
"Perhaps. But we can worry about those things tomorrow. Right now it is more important that you need to get some sleep so you can work tomorrow."
I reached for my pocket watch on the night table, "Too late. In two hours it will be time to prepare for work."
"That's time enough for a nice long nap! Good night, my soon-to-be husband!" She snuggled down under the covers, curling up next to me and in mere moments her mumblings of "I love you, Erik" had turned to a steady, deep breathing of slumber.
I sighed and closed my eyes, thinking about the project tomorrow, and the changes I was making to the house, the people I had hired to paint some of the rooms, those I had hired to build the stable, those I had hired to install the new indoor plumbing that the old house needed… But what I really wanted was something higher up in the mountains, where it would snow in the winter and where I could have ample pasture for the horses. And privacy.
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The road to the brothel, though only a little over four miles from the docks on a map, was significantly longer in actuality because it wound its way around or through smaller souks and mosques, and up and down hills. It wasn't long before the soldiers began quarreling with their guide over the route he was taking.
"Believe me, Messieurs, this is the shortest route. I tried to get you to hire some burros because it was clear that you were not accustomed to this terrain and I was afraid it would be too much for sailors like yourselves."
"Yeah? Well I would have felt downright silly riding on a burrow," complained one of the men."
But another man chimed in, "Well, it would have been better than arriving in need of a day's rest!"
"Hah!" replied a third, "One look at those sweeties and I'll have enough energy to fight Hercules!"
Finally arriving at the brothel, the soldiers waited in the entry parlor for the girls to come out and be chosen by the men. Babette had seen that there were six men, so she sent out five girls and told them that they were not to go with the tall man with the graying blonde hair. She wanted him to go with her most experienced girl, Marta. As each girl came out into the parlor, Reynard tried to get her to come with him, but they all chose someone else. When the fifth girl left with the final man but him, the man remarked, "Sorry Ray, guess it's just not your day!"
"Yeah," he groused under his breath. Then Babette sent out her best girl. "Ooh, yeah! Saving the best for last, are ye?" Babette watched through hidden crevasses and windows, watched this man who was supposedly her father make sloppy love to her most talented girl.
As she watched, her mind drifted. She led him to a private room and danced before him, twirling before him in her layers of silk scarves, tantalizing him until he was fully aroused when she pulled out her janbiya* knife and slashed him across the front of his drawers. He yowled in pain, falling to his knees. "You sonofabitch! What have you done? You've ruined me!"
She pulled off her veils to allow him to get a good look at her, "You! You who ruined my mother and left her to die! You, who dragged me along on your visits to whorehouse after whorehouse, making me wait for you while men devoured me with their eyes as they fondled their moistening crotches! You who sold me – your own flesh and blood – to a brothel! You deserve much worse! She turned to walk out of the room but he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down and was about to choke her, but something was stopping him. A look in her eyes. Her eyes! He'd seen those eyes before, years ago…
"No! It can't be! Not twice in the same day!"
"Hello… 'Father'," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You have raised a very successful daughter! Just see what all your loving attention has accomplished for her! You who use women like dishrags – use them to your fill and then discard them when you are faced with responsibility. How many others have there been besides my mother? Do you know how long I have waited for this? Planned for this? Dreamed of this?"
Reynard could do nothing but sit on the floor and try to stanch the flow of blood coming from his crotch. Finally he got up his courage and yelled for help while she sat in an easy chair and laughed at him.
Her arm slipped off the arm of the chair where she was seated and she pitched sideways, almost falling out of the chair. She looked around the room, stunned, then through the peep-hole to Marta's room but it was empty. She straightened her dress and smoothed her hair before going to the parlor. There were other clients entering from the street but no sign of the sailors.
Marta stepped over to her, "Madame, the sailors have left and left you a message. They thanked you for your hospitality and promised to return in a few days, as they will be in Algiers for a week. And they left you this…" and she placed a 20-franc gold 'Louie' in Babette's hand.
"Only that? That's hardly enough for all of us!" declared one of the girls.
"Not to worry, Francine, we will extract our pound of flesh from them. You'll see."
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During the crossing from Marseilles to Mers El Kebir, for want of anything else to pass the time, some of the soldiers began to fraternize with the ship's crew, playing cards, exchanging stories. It was well known that sailors were a superstitious lot, so when talk of ghosts and hauntings aboard the ship began to circulate, they were mostly chalked up to just that – superstition. But there was one story that seemed somehow … different. It was the story of a dead man coming to life. A dead soldier being shipped to Algiers in a coffin, who sat up and spoke to the crewman. "His eyes were orange set deep in his skull and half of his face had been blown away!" the crewman told them in a hushed voice. "Then he turned and looked right at me and told me to forget what I'd seen and to never speak of it to anyone!"
"What did you do?" asked one of the soldiers, rapt by the story.
"I ran, and screamed! Ran all the way to my quarters! And he laughed, like a maniac he did! I could hear him all the way to my berth! That awful, insane laugh." The sailor's eyes looked back toward the hold, as if he could still see and hear the image of the spectre.
"Bah! You're always coming up with scary stories, tryin' t' spook the passengers with 'em!" piped up one of the crew who then looked at Raoul, Don't pay him no mind, monsieur. He's just buggerin' ye!"
"Maybe so, but this one were for real! I swear it were!"
Raoul began to study the crewman who had gotten quite pale and begun to shake. "What was the name of this soldier?"
"Oh! I don't remember none o' that… Miller? Mullen? Sounded Prussian. I do remember that I was wondering why a Prussian were wearing a French uniform, and being buried in Africa!"
Raoul scooted his chair closer to the crewman, "Do you remember where he was disembarked?"
The crewman studied Raoul for a moment, "You believe me, doncha? You believe the story! About time somebody did, I'll give ye that! Hmph! Only one place they could've got him off – Algiers. But I'll tell ya, he were dead alright! Was there when they opened the coffin for inspection. Whew! The stench coulda knocked you over!"
Raoul squinted his eyes in response, then looked away, deep in thought.
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Translation:
Cochinchina = French Indo China/ Vietnam
Janbiya= a knife with a short curved blade and handle sometimes made of Rhino horn or ivory. Original source in Yemen
