I had to rewrite the first half because I am an idiot. I also had to rewrite the same half because I've been trying out ligatures. Written under the influence of Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg. Gino in a Pickelhaube prompts insane giggling.
alalala221: Glad you're not offended. Well-spotted on Dumas, this fic is at least to some extent inspired by it - I believe. I had the first plot bunny (which included pirates) swimming in a pool in Cambodia, and read the German translation of The Count of Monte-Cristo the very same week (thank Boney for free e-books), finishing it in the plane to Dubai. So, yeah, it is certainly influenced by it to some degree. There's a reference in this chapter to something the Count says at some point, let's see if you catch it :) (I'm a guy, by the way, and somewhat embarassed by my nickname these days - not because I'm ashamed of having watched A:TLA, but because it sounds kinda cheesy.) Cheers, and thanks a lot for your review!
Decline and Fall
"Isn't that precisely what you have always advocated? A single strong hand to lead the …"
"I never advocated anything of the sort, you're putting words in my mouth. All I ever said was that the revolutionary government is unable to govern due to its endless bickering."
"… which the Danton Committee will alleviate by mediating between the armies, the Assembly, and the judiciary. The Americans have their president, the English have their king, and I never hear you complain about either George …"
"Just listen to yourself! Have you finally come to sense, woman, or are you betraying your ideals without even realising it?"
"Do explain."
"All the time you're raging against tyrants and despots. Well, Danton's committee is shaping up to be more tyrant than King Louis ever was."
"You have no idea, Lelouch. Madame Malkal assures me that Citizen Danton is the most passionate republican, the most vigorous defender of popular sovereignty she has ever met …"
"Dear God."
"What."
"You're beyond sense, Cecilia. Excuse me, but I've got a demonic regime to overthrow."
"Yeah, just run off with your tail between your legs! I'm third month pregnant, and you don't see me running away from an argument!"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said I'm not …"
"I know what you said, I just don't know what you said. You're pregnant?"
"Are you blind as well as dumb? It's been obvious for at least a week."
"Well, you might just have put on a little … ouch, sorry. What … what are you going to do about it?"
"That depends entirely on you. I don't particularly care for a child, but I might make an exception for yours …"
"Let's marry."
"Don't be absurd."
"No, I'm serious. Let's get married and have this child."
"… we'll see."
Venice, June 1793
The service was exalted, as always, all incense and four choirs in the four arms of the basilica, candles and diluted sunlight making the splendorous gold-ground mosaics of the lives of the saints and Christ Pantocrator shine and glimmer. The patriarch's voice carried strongly throughout the cathedral as he transfigured the host.
"Check," said Lelouch, moving his pawn forward to king's rook's seventh, taking Haliburton's king's rook's pawn and freeing his queen. Haliburton frowned, then took his queen with his knight. "… and mate." Bishop to king's knight's sixth.
"Oh, damn," his opponent said. "Didn't see that coming …"
"Moving your king's bishop's pawn to the fifth was a mistake," he pointed out. "Leaves your kingside far too open. Another one?"
"Er, not right now," the Scot replied with a quick glance over his shoulder at the packed benches behind them, "People are staring already." He began to pack the travelling set's tiny pieces. "Why are we here anyway?"
"Because it's the Day of Udine," Kallen Campocitta beside them pointed out in a low voice. "A festival of thanksgiving for the Venetian victory over the insidious Patriarch of Aquileia in 1420. And because you wanted to hear that Galuppi Gloria, as if …"
"Look," Lord Gino von Weinberg-Aschenbach excitedly interrupted her, discreetly pointing out a young lady on one of the galleries, "that's the Marchesa Attavanti." Lelouch couldn't quite see what made her so remarkable, except for being extremely well-endowed.
Campocitta elbowed her fiancé. "And what's so special about her, huh?"
"Er, I was complimenting her, er, dress. Yes. e dress."
She laughed and kissed his cheek. "Well, as long as you don't compliment her too much …"
"How could I ever, with you for comparison." Someone in the row behind them hissed at them to be quiet.
Haliburton chuckled at their friends' antics. "By the way, has Cecilia said if she'd come?"
Lelouch shrugged uneasily. "I've asked her to join us, yes. I don't think she'll come, though … she was ill-disposed today." He disliked having to lie to his friends – particularly one whom he owed this much – but neither did he know how to tell them. After all, he was in the wrong. Every kiss and be it but so tender between him and Cecilia was a slight to the honour of Matteo Dupole, third capo of the Ten, and their friend as well as his. He figured Cecilia's friend would understand and the Prussian poet might as well, but that wouldn't make it any easier, or less embarrassing before Haliburton. And that was the least of his problems – he dreaded the day Dupole's third consequent term as a head of the Council of Ten would end. When he would leave the Doge's Palace, he would head to Ca' Rezzonico without delay …
"She's been sick for weeks," Campocitta expressed her concerns. "In fact, I haven't seen her for at least a month. That's not like her. Do you think it's something serious? I hear there's been cases of the typhus on the Giudecca …"
"Everyone gets sick once in a while," von Weinberg-Aschenbach pointed out. "It's probably nothing."
His fiancée crossed her arms and puffed up her cheeks. She was just about to start on an angry tirade about taking responsibility, caring for friends, and female intuition, when a murmur went through the congregation of the faithful. Lelouch rose a little to see the cause of the disruption. From the passageway connecting the basilica to the Doge's Palace, an old man in a gold brocade robe and ermine mantle had entered, a white cloth cap upon his powdered wig, and with arthritic hands waved a few times. The Doge Manin. Behind him, several gentlemen in both crimson and black velvet robes and rectangular shoulder-plaid entered with their ladies. When the Prussian exile asked, Campocitta explained that the ones in red were members of the Signoria, the minor council (she used the word "Geheimrat" to illustrate its duties), while the ones in black robes were of the Council of Ten, which functioned as the supreme court of the nobility and supervised the three State Inquisitors – one red, two black.
Lelouch wasn't listening to her explanations, for amongst the black councillors he had discovered Mao Dupole, the only one without an old-fashioned wig dusting down on his shoulders; and beside him Cecilia. She looked stunning in a new yellow dress, but after a moment realised that something was wrong. She kept her eyes lowered, her imperious demeanour replaced by timidity. Mao's hand rested on her lower arm, even as they seated themselves behind the Doge.
"Isn't that Cecilia?," Haliburton exclaimed.
"Doubtless. Do you see il negro next to her? at's Mao."
"White suits him better," von Weinberg mused, "but I imagine he's dying to try on the gold. Seems his term is over …"
"High time. He's held the office of capo for three months at once when it should rotate monthly. Such imprudence would not have been permitted a hundred years ago …"
Lelouch didn't listen. Even from this distance, and even though the skirt of her dress fell loosely from just under her breasts, he could discern the slight bulge of her belly. Had Dupole noticed? His face, or what he could see of it, gave away nothing, though his smile as he chatted with the elderly Doge seemed somewhat forced.
Cecilia did not seem to notice him, and for the rest of the service he tried to subtly gain her attention. Mechanically he rose with the others to join the procession to the Communion table.
He was not disappointed. Mao had finally let go of her arm and was quietly chatting with il Rosso, the ducal councillor that chaired the three State Inquisitors, and his wife. Gladly, the men's splendid robes did nothing to divert attention, and the moment they proceeded to take Communion, a cloud of petitioners and sycophants formed around them. Cecilia had distanced herself from the group to join another queue and Lelouch managed to cut in line just behind her. He tried to kiss her for a greeting, but she drew back.
"You shouldn't be here," she hissed at him as they slowly made their way forward.
"How are you? What happened?"
She struggled to free herself from his embrace. "I'm fine. Well, Mao's back now, so … this has to stop, Lelouch. That … thing between the two of us."
His eyes widened. "I … I'm afraid I do not understand …"
Cecilia stepped back from him and stared into his eyes. "It's over."
The words hit him like cannonshot. What … what was happening? Were had this come from? Frantically he searched his memories for what might have given reason to it, but found none. "But …," he said because he was unable to say anything else, "Cecilia …" He took a moment to gather his thoughts. "But … what about the child?"
"I've been pregnant before. It's a bit late, but still more than enough time to remove it." For a moment she looked as if she wanted to say something, apologise, perhaps, or just explain, then she lowered her eyes and turned away from him.
But he had to know the reason! Had he hurt her? As she slowly moved away from him, he grasped her arm. He had to know – she winced at his touch, as though in pain. Had he done that? God, he had not wanted to hurt her … yet then he saw a dark purplish spot on her upper arm that had not been there that morning. "Cecilia … what happened?"
She was quick to cover the bruise with her scarf. "It's nothing," she repeated. "Don't ask." en, her expression turned tender again. "Please … leave. Leave Venice at first light tomorrow, for Vienna or wherever you feel destined to be, but you must leave. You're not safe."
"Neither are you. Did he do that?"
Cecilia averted his gaze. "It should be none of your concern."
"But it is …"
"Don't do anything reckless, do you hear me? Farewell, Lelouch. I shall miss you." Hesitatingly, she pressed a brief kiss on his lips, then knelt, made the sign of the cross, and received the body of Christ. He could only watch as she quickly returned to Dupole's side, excused herself on a pretence and left the cathedral through the main gate. Lelouch swallowed the host and walked away without losing sight of Cecilia. He wanted to follow her, comfort her, but there were more pressing concerns.
To the sound of a virtuosic organ recessional, mass ended. Slowly, the congregation dispersed, though the cloud of petitioners around the ducal party only thickened. With the aid of his bodyguard of Arsenalotti, Manin and most of his councillors returned to the adjacent palace, but Mao stayed behind, engulfed in a discussion with an elderly gentleman. Lelouch approached him.
Mao Dupole cut an intimidating figure even in his absurd robes. His queued snow-white hair contrasted deeply with the black velvet of his robes and plaid, making him seem even more of a titan than usual. e moment he saw him, his visage froze over. Icy blue eyes seemed to throw lightning and thunder at him.
"Sir," Lelouch coldly greeted him. "Upon a word."
"I had been wondering when we would talk," Dupole replied, just as cold, then turned to the elderly gentleman. "Excuse me."
Lelouch led him into a side chapel, then turned to face him. "I have reason to assume that your recent treatment of Madame Cuzzoni has been most ungallant and disgraceful to both her and yourself. On her behalf, I must take offence … and demand satisfaction."
"On the contrary, it is I who am insulted. I thought I had made my intentions regarding Madame perfectly clear, and left her in your care, trusting in your honour as a gentleman of Spain to behave gallantly …"
Lelouch interrupted him. "Then you will certainly find that a duel is unavoidable."
Dupole adjusted his shoulder plaid. "I am a decemvir," he then snapped. "My duties to the Most Serene Republic include the persecution of illegal duellists, not taking part in their crime.."
"You will find it the easier to name a field of honour of your liking, to avoid our discovery. Though I am the offended party, I leave you the choice of weapons, as I am sure to gain with whatever arms you may prescribe."
"… very well. Swords. Tonight on the Lido, at midnight. There is a large beach on the northernmost point of the island where no one will see us. Your second?"
"Mr Haliburton," Lelouch said without hesitation. He hoped the Scotsman would agree, since he had no idea of whom else to take.
"I shall send my own second to take all necessary preparations with him. Good day, sir."
Mao Dupole turned with clenched fists and flowing robes and left the basilica.
Lelouch looked after him for a moment as he hurried across the nave. He was fairly certain that he had made the right choice. As he had no time to lose (suppose Haliburton declined, he would have to find a new second in a city of strangers before morning), he hurried back up to the bench he had left his friends at. Apparently they had been looking for him, for relief stood written in their face when they saw him, yet Haliburton realised that something was off and rose. "Where've you been?," he asked with genuine concern. "What's happened?"
He took a deep breath. "Mr Haliburton … I have to beg a favour, yet again."
"Anything … if there is any way I can help you, just say it."
A smile flickered over Lelouch's lips. He would one day have to repay his friend for all the generosity he had shown him for more than a year. "You may find that you would prefer not to have said that … I need you to second for me."
Campocitta gasped and von Weinberg jumped to his feet, but the Scot didn't even flinch. "Gladly. Leave everything to me."
Having settled a few details with Haliburton, they parted. He needed to see Cecilia. There were things they had to talk about; and had to tell her of his arrangement with Mao. If he were to die, though he did not think it likely, Lelouch felt obliged to explain his motivations in person. He got on a hired gondola by the Piazetta and told the gondolier to punt him to Ca' Rezzonico. At long last, summer had come to Venice, and with it the heat and the pervading sweetly stink of the lagoon. Indeed, the stench seemed to him like that of a rotting body, a conception which the crumbling palazzi along the Canal Grande did nothing to lessen. Cecilia had been right on this issue; he had spent far too much time in Venice – but he would stay as long as necessary, for her sake.
He paid the gondolier and got off at Ca' Rezzonico. He found the main gate closed and no servant in sight, so he walked around the palace to use the landside entrance. Again, the gate was closed, but when he knocked, a downstairs maid appeared and opened it a little. "Signore?"
"I need to talk to your mistress," he said. "She likely expects me by now."
"I'm sorry, Signor Lamperouge," the girl replied quite unperturbed, "Madama takes no visitors today. Come back another time."
"She will meet me," Lelouch insisted. "Just let me in."
"Her orders were quite clear, Signore. She will receive no visitors, and expressly forbade us to allow you in."
He was at a loss. How on earth was he supposed to explain, to protect her, if she would not even speak to him? "Listen, girl," he sharply said, "you can either let me in now and risk that your lady is slightly annoyed with you, or you can let me inside and …" Lelouch broke off when the servant girl jumped back a step in surprise and the door was opened from inside.
"Father Ottavio," he said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"Signor di Lamperouge. Might I …" The priest gestured to the entrance and Lelouch stepped aside. "I have heard a lot about you from Madame," he then said. "I did not make the connection, though. I am sorely disappointed."
"You know Cecilia?"
"Quite well, in fact. I am her confessor, and used to be … well, her guardian angel, so to say. No, not that way." He forced a humourless smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me …"
Ottavio passed by him, but Lelouch grabbed his cassocked arm and held him back. "Pardon me, Father," he quickly said, "I have a request to make."
"Let go of me."
Lelouch ignored him. "Cecilia won't talk to me, but not of her own volition – ah, she might have told you already. You're her confessor, you say? Then you must talk to her for me, tell her what she won't let me say …"
"I will have no part of your lecherous games, sir. Good day."
"No, don't leave!" Again he grasped the priest's soutane. "Just tell her … tell her that I will duel Mao tonight, for her sake. Tell her that he will not molest her again. And … and, Father, tell her that I earnestly repeat my proposal."
"What proposal?"
"She'll know what I mean."
Father Ottavio scoffed, but then walked back inside the palazzo, slamming the door shut behind him. Overcome with relief, Lelouch sank against the wall. He had once before lost someone without a chance to bid her goodbye, and though he should have explained to her in person, this was better than nothing. ough his dislike for the priest was mutual, at least he could trust him to deliver the message.
The cleric returned shortly. Distaste was written clearly on his face, but Lelouch didn't care as long as he brought news. "What did she say?"
There was a slight hesitation in his reply. "She bids me wish you the best of lucks in your encounter. Surely you are aware that, should you should win, you will have to leave Venice and her Italian empire to avoid persecution? Cecilia asks that you leave without delay for the French port of Toulon."
Lelouch nodded; that was much like her – force him to go amongst the scum of the earth, his sworn enemies. "Alright, but what about her?"
"I am proud to say I have been able to convince her to carry the child, if not raise it herself, that it may one day please the Lord. I have to agree with her decision: it might be wrong to separate a child from its parents, but with all honesty, sir, I would not trust you to raise even your own child in a godly manner. Cecilia has declared her wish to give birth in Venice, but has promised to join you in Toulon and wherever fate may lead you thence … is that sufficient?"
Gladly, he shook the priests hands. "I thank you, Father, from all my heart. You have done me a great good today."
Father Ottavio struggled to free himself. "I would add something in my own cause. I have known Cecilia since she was a girl of seven. I have seen her rise from the gutters she was born in to the most excellent luxury the most luxurious of cities has to offer. But with every step I watched her climb, she fell the height of three steps towards the fiery pits of depravity, and I could do nought to stop her downfall. So, I ask of you in stead, sir, that you help her return to grace. Make an honest woman out of Cecilia, Signore Lamperouge. That is all I have to say."
With flowing cassock, the priest turned and paced away across the piazza. After but a few feet, he turned. "One more thing, I almost forgot. She says that she accepts your proposal, whatever that is supposed to mean."
At half past eleven, the two exiles got in a small rowing boat Haliburton had prepared and set off for the Lido. Lelouch had spent the afternoon reading the papers, then changed – instinctively, he had reached for coat, waistcoat, breeches and boots all in black, with only his neckcloth and cuffs providing a contrast of purest virginal white. It seemed appropriate for the occasion; and he had never seen Mao Dupole in anything other than white.
His Scotch friend was rowing the boat, alone – "I want you to be rested for the fight," he had said with a smile, lighted by a lantern he had thoughtfully brought along. Lelouch was quite thankful for it; he knew his strengths, and stamina was most certainly not among them.
"Have you prepared everything?," he asked as they passed between the Giudecca and the Isola San Giorgio Maggiore. Behind Haliburton's back, the Lido was visible as a black line on the nightly horizon – little more than a glorified sandbank, some two leagues long and but a hundred yard wide at its widest point; and yet it was the fount of Venice's wealth and glory, protecting the lagoon against both floods and hostile navies.
"Of course," Haliburton replied with an eerie cheerfulness. "I have made all the customary arrangements with Mao's second. He should already be present to mark the field. It's all quite usual – your personal swords, first blood, a field of twenty times twenty feet marked by wooden stakes. We've also set up torches around the field, so you won't go hacking blindly at each other. It's just on the beach, though, so both of you will have to move in the sand. There was no other possibility, but since both of you have the same impediment, there is no prejudice against either side. I must warn you, though, that neither myself nor my counterpart have brought any weapons of ourselves to prevent an unfortunate outcome – so, none of us will be able to interfere. Once the handkerchief touches the ground, you're on your own."
"I would not have it any other way." Lelouch forced a smile on his face. He awkwardly adjusted the smallsword girdled to his side to sit more comfortably – bought upon his arrival in Venice, it had never once been drawn. "I must thank you for all the good you have done me," he said after a while.
"Think nothing of it." Not for a moment did Haliburton's regular, forceful strokes lose their measure.
"No, I insist. Ever since I arrived in Venice, you have shown me kindness far exceeding that one would customarily accord a perfect stranger such as myself. Were it not for you, I would probably be dead by now …"
"I told you," Haliburton insisted, "think nothing of it. I would do it again, as many times as need be, and should gladly perish in your service."
"But I must repay you some way, sir. Whatever can I do to return your kindness? I have nothing in this world but that which you have given me."
Haliburton chuckled. "Well, there might be something … But honestly, it's fine. You do not need to repay me, or reward me, nor even thank me. Just your friendship, sir, is reward enough."
Lelouch wanted to make a reply, but then remained silent. ey closed in on the northernmost point of the Lido, a wide beach at the edge of a wood. As the boat hit ground, a most awkward silence appeared.
"Mr Lamperouge …," his companion began, "Are you a good fencer?"
Lelouch shrugged. "I had a teacher, of course, my mother made sure of that. But, well … I never took much interest in my lessons. When I left home, I would be hard-pressed to withstand my sis... a young girl for more than a few moments."
The Scotsman nodded without looking him in the eye. "I see. Is this your first duel?" Lelouch affirmed and Haliburton gave a deep sigh. en, he jumped into the water and pulled the boat ashore. From within a square lit by four wooden torches staked into the ground, a figure approached them. Since he had his back against the only source of light and it was a virtually starless night, Lelouch could not discern his features. He did recognise his voice, however, as he called out to greet them.
"My lord von Weinberg?," Lelouch called back. "What are you doing here?"
A moment later, the Prussian stepped into their lantern's shine and frowned at Haliburton. "Didn't you tell him?" Haliburton gave him an odd look and von Weinberg turned back to Lelouch.
"Oh, well …," he murmured, " is is awkward …"
"He's Mao's second," Haliburton explained.
Lelouch's eyes widened in shock and he involuntarily retreated a step. "What … but why? I thought you were my friend."
"I am!," von Weinberg was quick to insist. "And I hope we will remain thus. But I am Mao's friend as well and … well, you have to understand that everything is pointing towards Mao being in the right and you in the wrong. I mean, of course he may have mistreated Cecilia, and if she loves you, that's alright, but, well … the way you handled it … was not very honourable. When he asked you to be her cavalier, at the latest, you should have sorted things out with him …"
Lelouch sighed and averted his gaze. "Never mind," he gravely said.
For a moment, no one dared speak. Then, von Weinberg nervously broke the silence. "Er, well … may I see your sword?" Lelouch drew and handed it to him as the Prussian stepped closer to one of the torches to examine the blade. "Not bad," he then said. "Well-balanced, though you shouldn't normally fight duels using Galanteriedegen …" ("Smallsword; or épée de cour," Haliburton supplemented), "Thanks. The Irish Code, of course, has no problem with them, but still a rapier or sabre would be preferable. Heavier, you see. More robust."
"You seem quite an expert, my lord," Lelouch noted. "You did not strike me as someone quick to get into duels."
Von Weinberg chuckled and rolled up his sleeve to reveal an impressive-looking scar. "I did a lot of fencing at university. It's practically a requirement that students must have scars to show, the more the better. It's all in good spirit, of course: I had friends so good-natured that no one would insult them, so they were made to call a volunteer a 'silly boy', that they too might get their chance to honour."
Haliburton interrupted him, pointing in the direction of the floating city. "Someone's coming," he said. "Must be Mao." He checked his watch. "Two to twelve. Excellent timing."
Von Weinberg paled, then put his hand on Lelouch's shoulder. "Apologise," he hissed. "Mao is an excellent swordsman. He will kill you if it comes to blows." Lelouch ignored him.
Stone-faced, Lelouch watched as von Weinberg helped the patrician disembark. As expected, he was dressed from head to toe in white, had even gone so far as to wear silk stockings and court shoes instead of more practicable boots.
"Gentlemen," von Weinberg then spoke, leading him to face Lelouch. "Now is the time to apologise for the wrongs you have done each other, and part honourably and amicably. Now is the time to resolve the issue without bloodshed, in a manner pleasing to all parties. Signor de Lamperouge of Spain has grossly insulted Signor Dupole of Venice by duplicitously exploiting the trust placed in him to start an affair with the latter's lady, leading to the lady's disgrace. Signor Dupole has grossly insulted Signor de Lamperouge by violating the honour of the contested lady in a manner not befitting a gentleman, and Signor de Lamperouge has taken it upon him to protect the lady's honour. Since your insult came first, Signor de Lamperouge, I now expect your apology."
Haliburton threw him a pointed look, but Lelouch ignored him, spitefully staring back into Dupole's irate eyes. "Never," he simply said.
Dupole nodded in agreement. "Blood must flow."
"First blood!," von Weinberg quickly interjected. "The Code Duello is quite clear on that, first draw, first sheath, the moment either combatant is visibly wounded, he has to yield – honourably, of course."
Neither of them did reply. Instead, they silently took positions between two opposite pairs of stakes in the ground, marking the field of honour. Desperately, von Weinberg looked to Haliburton for counsel, but yet none came. The Scotsman produced a plain white handkerchief from his coat pocket and stepped between the combatants. "At arms, gentlemen."
Both combatants closed their fists around their sword's hilt.
"None is to draw until this handkerchief touches the ground. To draw before that would be to forfeit." Haliburton took a deep breath. " is is your last chance to make amends without carnage. I am waiting, Mr Lamperouge … no, well, then Signor Dupole?"
Neither spoke.
"Very well. May the better man win." He opened his fingers and let go of the handkerchief. For a long moment, both combatants warily eyed the square of cloth as it slowly drifted to the ground.
The moment the first silken corner touched the sand, before Lelouch had even realised that it had begun, Mao had drawn his sword and charged at him. Lelouch jumped to the side, awkwardly fiddling with his sword. It seemed stuck in its sheath – ah, finally! Quickly he raised it in a basic defensive stance he had learned ages ago, Mao's sword struck his with a light bell-like clang. Lelouch retreated a step, already breathing heavily.
His opponent was warily eyeing him from a distance of three paces, calm and relaxed. Lelouch lunged in a weak feint, Mao effortlessly diverted his thrust to the side and, in the same movement, ducked under his sword and thrust his blade into Lelouch's right armpit.
He could see no blood on his black coat, but he knew at once that he had been wounded – not deep, but blood had flown. "Halt," Haliburton shouted, "I need to examine …"
Lelouch didn't give him a chance to finish. Jumping in, he slashed at Mao's right shoulder, who parried, then thrust at Lelouch's face. As he narrowly evaded the swordpoint, Lelouch realised: he wants to kill me.
"Stop!," the Scotsman repeated and was about the jump between the combatants, but was narrowly held back by Gino, "First blood! First blood!"
Mao ignored him and continued to thrust and slash at Lelouch, a flurry of gleaming steel. He was able to parry or evade most of them, but seemed entirely unable to land a blow of his own. By now, he was panting with exhaustion, the light sword was heavy in his hand and he had taken several cuts to brow, hand, and forearm. One particularly vicious thrust from below aimed at his crotch forced him to jump back. He will kill me.
"Lamperouge has left the field, forfeit! Forfeit, I say! Stop!"
"Don't, du Volltrottel, you'll get yourself killed …"
By now Mao had the high ground, and as he drove him into the sea, his blows were lent additional force by gravity. e ground under his boots became slippery and soft. Surprised, he looked down, and found that he stood to his ankles in the sea – he almost missed Mao's next blow. Presently of mind he hurried to raise his sword and parry the slash straight down against his head. Under an incredible force, his blade bended and would have shattered, had he had the strength to resist. Instead, his knees gave way and Lelouch fell into the shallow water. He struggled to stand up and perhaps land a lucky blow from below, but almost immediately, Mao had followed him into the water and stepped with the whole weight of his body on Lelouch's blade, pinning it to the ground.
Haliburton appeared to have freed himself from the Prussian's grasp, for he ran down the beach towards them, followed by the other second, shouting all the while.
Lelouch looked up in Mao's face, which sported a satisfied smirk. Very slowly, he raised his sword for the coup de grace.
So, he had failed again – not only to win, but to protect someone he loved. Forgive me, Nunnally. Forgive me, Cecilia. It was only fair, of course. He had been living on borrowed time ever since his sister had died and he, entirely undeserved, by an accident of fate, had not. He should have died back then, he figured, on the clearing. Would he join her, wherever she was now? Doubtful, he knew, he had angered a god too many and appeased one to little. Cecilia would laugh at him, fool that he had been.
Cecilia. One thing he regretted, and that was that he had failed to free her from Mao's tyranny. Idiocy; she was too strong for him to hold her forever. Still, he would die in the pursuit of a good cause …
And yet, there was a greater cause still, that he had vowed to pursue until final and utter victory … He could virtually hear Nunnally's disappointment in his head. She had never been one to give up this easily. In his place, she would die sword in hand, a smile on her lips … I will kill him. And live.
Lelouch's hand tightened around the pinned-down sword's hilt, then he slammed his knee into the back of Mao's. The Venetian uttered a surprised cry and went down on one knee, freeing Lelouch's sword as she did so. At once he was back on his feet, and now it was he who held the high ground. He would not be driven into the sea again.
He let Mao get up. His opponent uttered a curse ("maledetto figlio di puttana"), then raised his sword once again.
Lelouch charged at him, feinted to the left, narrowly dodged under a blow aimed at his shoulder that left Mao's side wide open.
He would not get another chance. Lelouch lunged, thrust, and ran his blade through his enemy, just below the last rib on his left.
Matteo Dupole opened his mouth in protest, but no words would come out. Panting, Lelouch still managed to return his smirk as he pulled out the gory blade. Mao took a few halting steps towards him, raised his sword, and fell face-first into the sea.
Standing over it, Lelouch turned the body around with his feet. His foe was still breathing, so he sliced his throat. For a moment, he still gasped for air, then he was dead. Bright blood sullied Mao's snow-white coat and neckcloth. He should have worn black.
At last, the seconds ran to his side, both visibly pale, and pulled the body out of the water on the beach. Von Weinberg knelt to close his eyes. "It's only fair," he quietly told Haliburton. "He wouldn't listen to you." And, to Lelouch, he added, "Honour's had its due, and more. It's done, and I stand corrected. You were in the right."
"This proves nothing," Lelouch responded after he had gathered enough breath to speak, touching his armpit. Blood wet his fingers. "There was no right, nor wrong in this matter. I am glad I killed him."
"Mr Lamperouge!," Haliburton jumped to his feet, visibly shaken. "You're bleeding. We'll have to get you to a doctor …"
"It's just a cut," he replied. "It'll heal. Let's leave."
"Don't worry," von Weinberg told them, "I'll take care that his body is given to his family. You must leave, though – in the eyes of the law, you have murdered an elected official."
Lelouch nodded. "I shall leave the country at once. Can you give me a day or two?"
"Of course. On my honour."
Over Mao's corpse, they bid their farewells. Haliburton and Lelouch got in the rowing boat they had come in and again the Scotsman took the oars. In the distance, the city's bells rang one in the morning, and Haliburton steered the boat towards the lights of Venice.
None of them spoke a word. Lelouch could not tell if his friend was angry with him, or afraid, or merely in shock.
"I will leave Venice before dawn," he told him. "I will no longer burden you with my presence. Again, you have my thanks for your hospitality."
"No more of that. It is I who have to thank you for your friendship and company. I would not give it up for all the money in the world. Just give me a moment to pack a few things."
Lelouch frowned. "Pack?"
"Of course. If you don't mind, that is."
"Good God, Mr Haliburton … you don't have to come with me."
"But I want to, Mr Lamperouge. I have nothing here in Venice I could not leave behind at a moment's notice. I'll just write to Morrison from on the way and have him sell the house and send me the money, and he can go back to Scotland and do whatever dismissed retainers do. So, you see, there is nothing keeping me – but everything is enticing me to join you. We're friends, aren't we? And friends have to stick together."
He could barely hold back the tears. "Yes, sir," he said, "let us stick together." What had he ever done to deserve such luck? "I owe you my life."
"Oh, not quite. Though, come to think of it, there might be something you could do …"
"Anything."
Haliburton put the oars at rest and reached out his hands. "Call me Rolo."
Without hesitation, Lelouch shook it. "Gladly, if you will call me Lelouch." They embraced each other. "You shall be like a brother to me."
Rolo wryly smiled at that. "Oh, dear. Ah, well. So … where are we going, Lelouch?"
Lelouch cast one final gaze at the lights of Venice in the distance. He had spent far too much time ensnared by her beauty, and would soon hold the greatest of the city's splendours in his arms again. "Toulon," he firmly said, "France."
Gino is referring the the German academic tradition of Mensur, or Academic Fencing. While it originated in the 17th century as an actual duel, it would transform into a highly formulaic ceremony of scarring one another by the middle of the 19th century. It is nearly extinct as of today, but several nationalistic / far-right studentic corps continue to practice Mensur. The scars are usually on the face, but Gino is such a pretty boy~
A Code Duello is a general code of conduct for duels between gentlemen. They reach back as far as the Roman Empire, but the one in common usage in 19th century Europe was the Irish code from 1777 (There were separate codices for fisticuffs and the Southern United States which probably included slamming each other with slaves). It focused on pistols, but also offers some directions for swordfighting in its 25 rules, most of which concern themselves with kinds of insults that warrant a duel and the proper way of apologising. The many opportunities to honourably withdraw show how concerned Europe's gentry was about preventing deaths in duels. Consequently, deaths were rare in duels - case in point: two French hussars fought a duel in 1794, and fought a further 30+ duels, all with a clear victor and loser, for the next 19 years without either of them sustaining serious injury. They are, BTW, the basis for Ridley Scott's excellent film The Duellists (in the US called Point of Honor).
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