Chapter Ten: Contest
Etienne, Emris and the elder d'Artagnan finalized their plans before the young spy slipped off to rendezvous with the rest of his team. He had given the men precise information detailing the terrain separating them with the remaining body of the rebel force. He also knew the precise route the enemy planned to take toward the boarder.
By taking an alternate route the two men had been able to slip past the enemy guards, and outdistanced them. Now they were lying in wait for Condé and his men to come to them. This had the added benefit of letting them rest, while the rebel prince spent several hours in the saddle. "He will be stiff when he arrives," de Batz reasoned, playing the plan over in his mind. "It should work."
The two men lounged in the bushes. For a long while neither said anything. But for the first time in a long time, it wasn't an uneasy silence. Both seemed more agreeable this morning. Finally, it was Emris who spoke. "I AM sorry." He said softly.
"For?" Charles asked, a bit suspiciously.
Emris rolled his eyes, 'where to begin?' he wondered. "I have done a lot of things I regret…but I think most of all I wish I had been a better friend to you and the others. You remember when I used to write poetry. I could always turn a phrase to impress the ladies, but words on paper are never as intimidating as dealing with raw emotion face to face. When it comes to speaking my heart and mind…I am a coward," he said, plucking a mint leaf from a nearby plant and chewing on it thoughtfully.
"You know how much your secrets hurt us? How betrayed we felt that after all that time you didn't trust us to…" the words died away and Charles shook his head. It would be easy to reach for the anger such memories always stirred, up but right now he just felt tired.
"I know, and I AM sorry." Even as he said them, Emris knew the words couldn't adequately convey what he wanted to say. "Did you ever forgive yourself for that night you spent with Anne?" he asked.
"Y-you knew about that?" Charles sputtered his mind reeled--Aramis knew and he had never said anything.
"We all knew you loved her. Even though you never said anything, we all knew." Emris whispered. Charles de Batz Castlemore d'Artagnan had a treasonous affair with the queen he was sworn to protect—. It was the ultimate betrayal of the code. He had been manipulated by the king…and as a result the royal twins Louis and Philippe were born. Of course, that last bit had never been brought to Charles's attention. But that was Anne's secret not his.
After thinking about the question for a few minutes Charles finally answered "No, I haven't." He pulled a leaf from the mint plant, rolling it between his fingers and breathing in the fragrance. "Emotion clouds a man's judgment sometimes. You act without thinking and don't consider the consequences."
"I understand," Emris answered solemnly.
They felt the rebels approach before they heard them. An army of 300 strong—with its associated animals, equipment and supply train—made the ground tremble. The two former comrades waited anxiously as the military vanguard passed them, fording a brisk stream and rounding a bend in the trail. Condé always traveled in the middle of his host. When he entered the clearing, the action would begin.
At last, Emris leapt to his feet and fired his pistol. Quick as a thought, Charles removed the smoking weapon from his hand and put a loaded one in its place. The single shot was every bit as effective as they had hopped. It whizzed between the ears of Condé's steed, making the beast rear and tossing its master unceremoniously to the ground. The rebel general got to his feet cursing and wiping the dust from his velvet doublet. A thin line of blood marked the back of his hand where he had been holding the reins.
In a loud voice Aramis, announced, "I, Henri Aramitz Béarn-Bonasse de Ruse, do here by challenge you, Louis II de Bourbon-Condé, to a contest of arms—A duel of honor. If you have any" he whispered the last sentence between shouts. "Do you accept?"
Condé looked suitably stunned. "What are your terms?" the hawk-faced man asked.
Emris smiled wickedly. "I want your sword…the pretty one with the emerald."
"How are you willing to pay for it should you lose?" Condé asked, a note of amusement in his voice.
"With my life," the former musketeer said off handedly.
"Not enough," Condé sneered arrogantly.
"And mine," Charles added, rising to his feet to stand beside his friend.
"Ahhh, Captain de Bats d'Artagnan, and that would make you the equally legendary Aramis. Pardon, I didn't recognize the name." He bowed mockingly. "I see my cousin sent his faithful watchdogs to see me safely on my way. You say you want the sword…but I expect you have come for the boy. You won't get either. This is clearly an ambush." With that pronouncement, he directed his next words to the soldiers at his side, "You, men! Search the countryside and uncover the rest of his force. There can't be many of them or our scouts would have noticed the pursuit. Those you don't kill outright, bring to me. I'll let these two watch their friends die before meeting the same fate. Perhaps I'll send your heads to my cousin."
"You haven't won the duel yet," Aramis reminded him. You must earn the right to take our heads. Do you really think you can best me and my duel-second? Remember if we win, the sword is ours and you let us go on our way. That is the way the game is played."
"If you don't play by the rules, your men will know you for the graven villain you are," Charles added, his voice dripping with characteristic Gascony insolence.
Condé looked around at his men. Many were casting uncertain glances at one another. Some, it seemed, didn't think he could win in this exchange. He hated to admit it, but the man was right. This was a matter of personal honor, independent of his conflict with his cousin. It was not a matter of war. If he refused or if he simply killed them outright, he would tarnish his reputation before his men. And he still needed them.
"Very well, I accept," the rebel prince announced. The men who captured his frightened steed brought it close so he could draw the decorative Spanish long sword from the pack behind the saddle. He walked to the center of the clearing and placed the blade point first into the earth so that it stood on its own. While his men fell into a loose circle, ringing the area, to get a good view of the spectacle. "There is your prize," the general said, and then drew a more common rapier from the scabbard at his side. "Are you ready?"
"En garde," Aramis announced, his own blade singing as it left the sheath. And in the space of one heartbeat, the two combatants went at it hammer and tongs. The sound of metal rang out, time and again, as their practiced footfalls traced intricate patterns in the short grass. Both were clearly masters of this dance of death. The outcome was far from certain. D'Artagnan had forgotten how good Aramis had been and it didn't appear his skill had mellowed any with age. For once Charles was glad he was not in the ring with the man.
This was going to be a long fight.