Call me Ishmael. He said to her as he helped her up from the dewy grass. Gabrielle Émilie recalled that faithful evening. When she ran naked through woods with him, ducking under branches and darting through aspens and ancient oaks, every cell in her body was electric with life as the rush of cool night air washed over her nakedness. She had never felt such freedom; such lightness of being.
She had left all of it behind; never to return. She pondered the thought as they reached the far edge of the dark woods. Past it was an open field, and before her sprawled this large campsite. At the edge they both stood very still amongst the shadows. Then in the silence she heard a bird’s thrill which she found odd for this hour. She watched Ishmael cup his hands over his mouth and he mimicked the same call. Not even five feet in front of her, a man stepped out of the shadows with a crossbow pointed at her heart. He spoke to the man in Italian and he ran off and returned with a simple cotton dress.
In an hour’s time the sun rose and the camp bustled with activity. At Ishmael’s campsite, Gabrielle Émilie met Enkidu, Ishmael’s servant, and Enkidu’s wife, Shamhat. Gabrielle Émilie had the most ravenous appetite that morning, and after a delicious breakfast cooked by Shamhat, She also met Niccolò and Maffeo. The Radhani were Jewish merchants from Venice who traded between the Christian and Islamic kingdoms. These Radhanite merchants dominated the trade along the Silk Road, from Cathay to Iberia. Their trade network covered much of Europe, North Africa, the Middle East, Central Asia and parts of the Far East. Niccolò and Maffeo were brothers, and this was their caravan. The brothers were originally from Damasco, and they provided exotic spices, jade, Egyptian cotton and Oriental silk to the royal courts of Europe. Ishmael asked for permission for Gabrielle Émilie to join his group. They looked at her, and Niccolò il vecchio (the Elder) gave his approval, and Maffeo nodded his consent. At that, Ishmael handed a small purse of gold coins to pay for her way.
Upon her return to Ishmael’s camp, Enkidu and Shamhat had almost finished packing up their camp, and Shamhat greeted her with a broad grin and a hearty hug as Enkidu tied his own mount to the rear of the wagon. She was happy to have the company of another woman. Gabrielle Émilie then told Ishmael her tale that she had been a princess-bride, born of noble stock, promised to another whose face was as foreign to her as was his land, but she could not bear to marry a man that she did not love. She feared that her father would come for her. Ishmael thought for awhile then replied to her, “To thine own self be true. Decide what path you wish to take. I will leave you to make your decision.” With that he lifted her onto the wagon, and mounted his steed and rode off to direct his men. As the wagon lurched forward to take its place among the caravan, Gabrielle Émilie recalled the words of the good Viscount de Sans-Terre, a man nourished in letters, “that things cannot be otherwise than as they are; for as all things have been created for some end, they must necessarily be created for the best end.” She thought of her opulent and splendid comfort in the best of all possible worlds. She contemplated these matters until mid-afternoon when the caravan stopped along a creek to water the animals and prepare a meal.
As Enkidu left to gather water for the stew, Shamhat pulled Gabrielle Émilie aside to assist in the preparation of the meal. Enkidu returned with a small rabbit and water. He immediately set to preparing the cooking fire. Shamhat prepared the rabbit, as Gabrielle Émilie cut and chopped the vegetables. Though she had observed the castle cook prepare meals many times, she had never done it herself and was a little clumsy with the knife. Several times she almost cut herself. Shamhat just observed smiling patiently at her pupil. Once Enkidu had the fire started, he fixed the cooking pot filled with water over it. Then he un-harnessed the mules and took them down to water. Once the water was at a boil, Shamhat directed Gabrielle Émilie to put the cut vegetables into the roiling water and she added her cuts of rabbit as well. Then she went to the wagon and brought back small cloth parcels and carefully unwrapped each parcel revealing bright yellow, red and orange spices as well as a parcel of flour. She added dashes and pinches of spice and flour to the stew as Gabrielle Émilie stirred it with a wooden spoon. The smell began to make Gabrielle Émilie’s stomach rumble. After an hour’s time, the meal was ready and Enkidu returned with the mules and harnessed them once again. Shamhat served him a bowl of the stew as he sat around the fire to warm himself. He smiled at her and thanked her in their mother tongue, “Shukran, Habibtii,” and she in turn responded “Afwan, Habibii.” Gabrielle Émilie watched with earnest interest this exchange between these two lovers and compared it to her own parents’ relationship. Enkidu then leaned over and kissed his mate upon her cheek. He said a small blessing, and then took the first spoonful of stew. A broad smile spread across his weathered face. Shamhat’s smile widened as well as she gestured to Gabrielle Émilie who could not help but blush with joy; she had prepared her first meal, and by all accounts it was met with great success! Enkidu nodded his approval, “Montez, Montez!” Shamhat handed Gabrielle Émilie a bowl of her own.
As the three travelers conversed over the meal, Gabrielle Émilie asked of how the two of them had met. Enkidu, who could converse in both languages, said that they had met in Tabriz, though both were Muslim, they each were from different sects. Enkidu was Shi’a and a Tofongchis or Royal Guard at the Caliph’s palace while Shamhat was a Sunni slave girl and servant within the palace. She had been a daughter of a Sunni Cleric who was executed by the Shah when he took power. She and her sister were then enslaved to serve in the palace. Enkidu was quickly taken by Shamhat’s beauty and sadness. He would do small favors for her when he could and soon a forbidden romance took root and blossomed. But their love was a dangerous thing. The Shah made conversion to Shi’a mandatory for the largely Sunni population. All of her sisters followed the Shah’s decree, but Shamhat was the youngest and most stubborn of the daughters and out of respect for her dead father, she refused to follow the Shah’s decree. The Shah was enraged. The following day she was to be executed, but in the cover of night, Enkidu helped her escape. On the frontier town of Baku they met with the Caravan heading east to Cathay. It was then that they came upon Ishmael who was willing to take them on. At that moment Gabrielle Émilie recalled the young maiden in the kitchen and what she had said. The maiden spoke of women following their virtues and proving that all women are not evil creatures born of vice. She was impressed by Shamhat’s conviction and told Enkidu and Shamhat that she admired their courage. She then asked of Enkidu about Ishmael, and Enkidu waved her off, “He eats with his men at this hour. He will join us at supper.”
Later that afternoon, the Caravan came to stop once again and set up camp for the evening. The same pattern was repeated for this meal as the last, each of them with a separate but equal part in its preparation. Again Gabrielle Émilie was reminded of the city of the three ladies where women were free to follow their virtues. Ishmael, as Enkidu had said, joined them for supper. After supper Ishmael inquired of Gabrielle Émilie if she had made her decision. Though she had not completely put her anxieties to rest, she replied that she would stay with him and the caravan. Ishmael smiled as he set his bowl down and said, “This is no idle fairy tale, child. The world beyond your castle walls is harsh and cruel at times, and the roads we travel are often fraught with danger and peril, such is a need for men such as I who harbor no love for those I protect nor hate for those I fight. I shall teach you such skills to protect yourself and your own virtue. ” He then walked to his steed and drew out a Mongol bow and a handful of arrows from a sheath at the rear of his saddle.
They walked some distance into the woods away from the camp. Then he selected a tree twenty paces to his front, drew an arrow back against the bow, and with his arm level to the ground, let the arrow fly. The arrow flew straight and true striking the tree with a solid thud. Then Ishmael doubled the distance from the tree and again drew an arrow against the bow; with a level arm, he aimed directly at the first arrow and let a second arrow fly. Its flight was as straight and true as the first, but this time the arrow dipped towards the end of its flight and struck the tree four inches below the first arrow. He then added another ten paces, and a third arrow he drew. Ishmael raised his aim several inches above his first arrow. The third arrow arched into the air and struck the tree an inch to the left of the first arrow. “You will first learn to master the bow, to build strength in your arms. First you must know the range of your bow, whether it be a Mongol’s bow such as this, or an English Longbow; know the distance of your enemy and his movements,” then sweeping his hand to the woods around him.
The first snow had yet to fall, the woods still held their color. “Know your surroundings, do not allow your enemy to choose your field of battle. This is your greatest weapon. Look at anything,” Ishmael walked towards the tree to retrieve the arrows, and her eyes were upon him as he spoke. “If you would know that thing, you must look at it long—to look at its green and say ‘I have seen spring in these woods,’ will not do…” Ishmael stood before the tree and looked at the lush green landscape before them and again she followed his gaze. “You must be the thing you see: you must be the dark snakes of stems and ferny plumes of leaves; you must enter into the small silences between the leaves, you must take your time and touch every place that they issue from.” With that he pointed above him and for the third time she followed and looked with surprise to see Enkidu high upon a branch with a crossbow trained at her. “In arrogance, a man’s strengths can turn to weakness; I learned this while recovering in an Abbot’s care in the isle of Curzola. With cunning, a man’s weakness becomes his greatest strength.”
From that first night and every night since, she practiced with the Mongol’s bow every evening after supper. She went to bed with her arms aching. Perhaps, other ladies of the time would not have picked up such a weapon, but it intrigued her, and excited her at the same time. It was a forbidden world she had no access to, not even with her royal title. It was very difficult at first, and that first night, her wrist and arms were bruised and bleeding from being struck by the bow’s taunt string. Her first arrows either completely missed or weren’t even strong enough to penetrate the bark of the tree. But she was eager and was determined to learn. At mid-day, Shamhat would teach her to cook and prepare meals, and after her mid-day meal, as Shamhat and Enkidu said their noon prayers, Gabrielle Émilie would practice archery for an hour or so, and again after supper when Ishmael returned for the evening. With time, she grew stronger and her aim improved. In a fortnight’s time, after winter’s first snowfall, at twenty paces her arrows were striking their mark.
That following afternoon, Ishmael rode his Arabian steed next to the wagon while his trusted servant, Enkidu guided the oxen northward on the trail. Once again her memories intruded on the present. She pulled the shawl around her closer. Without a word, Enkidu’s wife Shamhat draped a blanket over her from within the covered wagon. Ishmael glanced over and smiled. The rough cotton of the dress she now wore rubbed against her skin and the wool shawl draped over her shoulders made her itch at times. The blanket that now covered her had just the night before sheltered Ishmael’s steed. It was a long way from the silken and perfumed sheets of her bed chamber and opulent comforts of her castle-life. She pushed these thoughts aside, and met Ishmael’s warm blue eyes with a smile of her own. The landscape was covered by a layer of snow and crystalline flakes gently fell around them as the caravan moved north. She glanced at the muddy brown trail that the wagon tracks had cut in the trail. It would not be hard to follow. They were on the most northern part of the Silk Road that led into Eastern Europe. She glanced behind her at another dozen or so wagons that lumbered behind her. A dozen men-at-arms rode along the flanks of the caravan. Several more rode inside the treeline on either side of the trail. Ishmael leaned over from atop his mount and kissed her softly on her rose colored cheek. Ishmael was indeed condottieri – a mercenary. He worked for Radhanite merchants, Niccolò and Maffeo. Ishmael and his men were paid handsomely to protect the caravan from bandits.
Of Venetian origin, Ishmael’s Christian name was Rustichello da Pisa. He grew up as a child in the Venetian quarter of Constantinople, where his family enjoyed political privileges and tax relief because of their father’s role in establishing the Latin Empire in the Fourth Crusade. Ishmael was orphaned at twelve years of age when Constantinople was sacked by Nicaeans, who promptly burned the Venetian quarter. Captured Venetians were blinded or executed. Many of those who managed to escape perished aboard overloaded refugee ships fleeing to other Venetian colonies in the Aegean Sea. When he was fifteen, he was pressed into sea service as a sailor traveling between Venice and Constantinople. He worked on merchant ships mostly which traveled the Mediterranean. Pisa, Genoa and Venice were at constant war fighting over the Mediterranean and Levantine trade routes.
When he was twenty, during a naval skirmish in the Adriatic Sea, Ishmael’s galley was sunk and broken up by the sea. After washing ashore on the island of Curzola, he was taken in by a Jesuit at a local abbey. As he was unconscious and feverish for several days, the Jesuits took to calling him Ishmael. During his recovery, he came across a manuscript the Abbot was working on. It had been written by another Venetian, Machiavelli. In the following months he studied Machiavelli’s teachings on leadership and military tactics.
After he had recovered, he made his way to Spain, where he was hired on by a Portuguese explorer, Hernando de Magallanes, who had been commissioned by the Spanish Crown to lead the first expedition around the world. Captain Magallanes was planning his second voyage to the Spice Islands. However, the Captain’s second voyage would prove fatal. After becoming involved in the local intrigue of the islands, Magallanes was killed in the Battle of Mactan by hostile natives half way around the globe. Ishmael had fought along side his Captain, but there were only forty-nine in their party and there were 1500 native warriors. He slew ten and twenty men that day; five by sword, ten by crossbow and fifteen more by halberd. Five ships set sail from Spain with about 270 men. At the end, only one ship managed to return with a crew of 18 after the three year ordeal. Ishamel was among the lucky ones. This much Gabrielle Émilie had learned over the past two weeks, mostly from Enkidu.
Gabrielle Émilie was stirred from her reminiscing by a rider’s approach. It was Ishmael’s trusted lieutenant, Juan Antonio de Cucombo, a Spaniard who had accompanied Ishmael on the voyage with Magallanes. Cucombo spoke to Ishmael and reported four light horsemen fast approaching, and that they were a day’s ride behind them. Ishmael then instructed Enkidu to inform his men and Il Vecchio that there possibly were bandits and to be on the alert. He steered his mount to rear of the wagon where Shamhat handed the long bow to him along with a quiver of arrows. Ishmael had acquired the bow from a Welshman, and it was made of Yew and stood the height of a man. The arrows themselves were about a cloth yard in length as well. Enkidu asked if he should accompany him, Ishmael replied, “No, not this time old friend, I need you to stay with the wagons.” Then turning his attention to Cucombo, Ishmael said, “Come, there is a saddle we crossed a day’s ride from here. There is high ground on either side of the trail and it is heavily wooded on either side and we will have the advantage.” The two then rode off towards the rear of the caravan. Enkidu handed the reins to Shamhat and untied his own mount. He hopped from the wagon and mounted his steed to alert the men-at-arms and Il Vecchio. As the men rode off, Gabrielle Émilie felt her heart quicken with the beat of the hooves. Far to the south, a wolf howled in the shadows and a second answered in reply. The pack was gathering in the distance and the prey was somewhere out there. She shivered beneath the heavy blanket, but wondered if it was the cold. She knew that the hunt was on. She glanced back into the wagon where the Mongol’s bow lay. Her heart raced beneath her breast. The hunt was a foot.
The Captain of the Guard, Jean-Michel LeGuen, sat in a small canvas double-belled wedge tent pitched in the clearing amidst the woods. Designed for an officer’s use, with a door in the center of the body of the tent, it offered the officer useable floor space allowing for sleeping quarters for up to two officers at the “belled” ends of the tent. These tents are strong and able to withstand any weather thrown at them due to their triangular cross section. Add to this the fact that the double-belled wedge needs only two vertical poles and one ridge pole and you have an easy tent to transport as well. Circular or conical tents were used by the other soldiers and consisted of a single pole, single canvas tent. Up to eight men slept in a single tent with their feet towards the center pole. Given he had a troop of ten Halberdiers, the troop quarter were a bit crowded. There was a collective sigh when LeGuen ordered François and the others to pursue the caravan.
It was dusk. Two cooking fires blazed against the dying of the light. He was camped with six of the King’s Halberdiers, the Royal Guard. After searching the breadth and width of the kingdom for the better part of a week, he had finally found the last place that the princess had spent the night. His tent stood in the very place where she had abandoned her clothing and jewels. He lifted the dress to his face and tried to draw from it her sweet perfume, but all it surrendered to him was the musty smell of the earth. He rolled up the dress and carefully bound it with hemp and twine. The jewels he secured in his purse. He then leaned out of his tent and sent for one of the older soldiers, a well-spoken man, but seasoned in battle, one by the name of Sebastián Elcano. He was educated in the ways of the world and was considered by LeGuen as a prudent and rational man. Upon Elcano’s arrival, LeGuen was tying the bundle of clothing to his saddle. LeGuen then instructed Elcano, “I leave you in trust to man this camp with the others. You are in charge old friend until my return.”
Elcano replied, “Donatien should catch up with the Radhanites in a few days ride.”
LeGuen nodded in agreement. Donatien Alphonse François was a hard and brutal man and a soldier to the end. It was François who had found their trail, despite the snow cover, and discovered the Radhanite camp. The caravan had left a fortnight ago, but a caravan of that size would not be traveling very fast. LeGuen dispatched François and three of his fastest riders to catch up to the caravan. “This forest is the outer boundary of our kingdom, and for us to proceed in force we shall need a decree from the King and perhaps an emissary as well,” at which LeGuen mounted his steed. “I shall make haste and return as soon as I have secured such provisions.”
As LeGuen exited the forest, night had stretched a blanket of stars across the land. Left with his own thoughts, he recalled the events that led him to this dark forest and the troublesome package he now carries to his King. After the season’s first snowfall, a nearby farmer entered the castle with an Andalusian stallion. The farmer had woken up that morning and found the steed grazing on his property. He recognized the royal seal upon the saddle and brought it directly to the castle. The farmer’s land was on the edge of the forest in which the princess had sought her “escape.” The farmer brought the horse directly to LeGuen, who in turn had to report it to the King.
The King was furious at the princess’ audacity and defiant behavior. The crucial treaty with the Saxons was no more, and the prince who was greatly offended stormed off under the threat of war. The prince would wait a month’s time in Calais on the coast. If his bride was not delivered in that time, then there would surely be war between their two lands. Neighboring sovereigns and his own nobility now whispered of the King’s weakness. “Dieu et mon droit…L’Etat c’est moi! I am anointed by the hand of God; the state is me! How dare this impudent wench defy my will!” Behind the throne the Cardinal woefully shook his jowled face as if to emphasize his disbelief and disappointment. The Cardinal quoted the Holy Scriptures, "Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God. Whosoever therefore resisteth the power; resisteth the ordinance of God: and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation." The Queen Mother had been in seclusion ever since the princess’ disappearance.
At that the King sent him with ten of his best men to return the impudent child to him at once. François picked up her trail quickly despite the snow cover as she had stayed on the path that traveled along the creek. Upon coming into the clearing, François was the one who found the Princess’ clothing in the clearing; he had spotted a swath of color in a patch of fresh snow. Bending over he reached through the fresh blanket of snow and pulled from it the royal gown, muddied and soiled. Now LeGuen carried the same muddied and soiled garment bundled behind his saddle. Her jewels secure in his purse were firmly lashed to his belt.
Enkidu had pulled the wagon to the side of the trail at the request of Gabrielle Émilie. Ishmael and Cucombo had two hours lead on her. Gabrielle Émilie scrambled to the back of the wagon and scooped the Mongol bow she had practiced with as well as a quiver of arrows. Shamhat had a worried look upon her face as she prepared provisions for her journey. Enkidu untied his own steed from the wagon and lashed two jars of oil to her saddle. Enkidu at first had opposed her plea to join Ishmael, but Gabrielle Émilie persisted stating that these men were after her and that she had brought this upon the entire caravan. Enkidu could not argue with such a headstrong woman. As she mounted Enkidu’s steed, he informed her that his horse was the fastest in the caravan and that she should have no problems catching up with Ishmael.
It was twilight as the riders approached the saddle. Ishmael counted four riders in heavy cloaks. They wore uniform steel “kettle hats” or as the Franks called them Eisenhuts. In these parts there were known as chapel de fer or "iron hat." Commonly used by foot-soldiers, their wide brim offered protection from sword blows from charging cavalry. However, Ishmael judged them to be Halberdiers by the long pike axes they carried. There were little provisions on their horses and they traveled fast. That particular part of the trail had a flat straight run for a good mile. The road came up to a slight hill that peaked at the saddle itself. On the left and right of the road, there were sharp inclines that were heavily wooded and this is what gave it the appearance of a ‘saddle.’ The riders were heading north on the path following the trail of the caravan. Ishmael glanced at his feet where he had stuck fifteen arrows in the snow for easy access. He glanced across the saddle to the far side where his trusted lieutenant Cucombo waited with his cross-bow. Their elevated positions gave them a clear vantage over the road and were unobstructed. Ishmael had measured the distance from the point where the road started to rise up to the peak to his very position – he was eighty yards away and the longbow’s range was 200 yards. He had once struck a man at a full gallop at a hundred and fifty yards. They had tied their horses on the north side of the peak out of sight of the approaching horsemen. Ishmael drew his first arrow. Cucombo was closer to the road as he carried a crossbow. The crossbow’s disadvantage is that the arrow’s bolt is inferior aerodynamically compared to the longbow’s arrow - being shorter and fletched with leather instead of wood. It starts out going faster, but bleeds off speed much more quickly. At this point where the road started its climb to the peak was what Ishmael called their ‘kill box.’ The riders came closer, their steeds hard pushed and straining at the bit; their steamy breath flaring at the nostrils. Then one of the riders pulled hard on his reins, his mount’s sharp neigh shattered the silence. The others followed suit. The rider who had stopped first drove his pike ax into the ground and began to draw his sword.
They were just ten yards short of the kill box. The rise from the kill box to the peak was another 20 yards. Although they were still within range of Ishmael’s longbow, they were just out of range for Cucombo’s crossbow. Ishmael would have to take the first few shots and try to buy time as Cucombo tried to reposition himself. As he drew back on his first arrow, he heard a covey of quail break from the brush behind the peak of the path. It sounded like it came from where their horse had been staked at. He tried to glance back, but could not get a clear view on account of the trees. He returned his attention to the riders. The one who had first drawn his sword, had now replaced in its scabbard and reached for his pike-ax. They were looking amongst each other smiling and amused. He decided to leave his position to make his way back to see what the disturbance was.
Cucombo had also seen the riders stop and knew full well they were out of his range. He had carved a tree by the trail that marked the kill box. The markings on the tree could only be seen from his view and not from the path. The riders were about ten yards shy of the tree. He would have to try and move closer. He quietly and quickly retrieved the shafts he had stuck in the snow and started to move forward when a covey of quail broke from the brush beyond the peak of the path. As he was closer to the path than Ishmael, he had a clear view of the peak. What he saw surprised even this seasoned adventurer. In his travels he had seen war-elephants trample men and horses, and island natives wrapped in thick jungle vines to protect them from arrows and a sword’s blow. What he saw before him bested all of what he had seen in the past.
François pulled hard on the reins and his mount’s neigh pierced the cold still air. But that was precisely why he had stopped – the cold still air. The others stopped as well and looked back at their leader. One of them a bearded and scarred man, inquired, “Donatien, Que passé? What is wrong?”
François stuck his pike ax into the snow and he spoke, “There are no birds in flight…not even a rabbit scurries across our path.” Now the others are also wary and start to scan the woods around them. “There are men in these woods and they intend to do us harm. Dismount and use your horses as shields.” At that François began to draw his sword. At that moment a covey of quail broke from the brush and in a flurry of flight and movement, a lone figure rode into view upon the peak before them. At the sight, François returned his sword to its scabbard, as a carnal smile spread across his scarred and leathery face like a wildfire. He had suspected as much when he found the bundle of clothing in the clearing. Now his suspicions were confirmed.
Gabrielle Émilie arrived and spotted Ishmael’s magnificent steed tied just inside the treeline. Almost immediately she spotted their footsteps parting in different directions. Over the past two weeks she had noticed that Cucombo had a slight limp and dragged his left foot ever so slightly from an old wound. In the snow it made a distinctive print. At that moment she heard the distant gallop of hooves beyond the peak. She had to think quickly as the horsemen would be charging over the peak in a moment or two. She thought of that night in the clearing, and she then dismounted and quickly disrobed. The thunder of hooves grew closer and closer. She just as quick mounted her horse completely nude and lashed her quiver of arrows to her saddle and notched an arrow to her bow which she held with one hand. She heard the neigh of horses just beyond the peak, and charged her own steed up to the peak. As she closed to the top, she startled a covey of quail that in a fury broke from the cover of the brush and rushed into the air. At the peak of the path and against the backdrop of the pristine white of the snow covered landscape and a covey of quail in flight behind her, her stead reared up on its hind legs and there holding tightly to the reins was the princess bride in full nude atop a beautiful painted gelding. Her chestnut tresses flying wildly in the air and her soft pink skin was flushed from the ride and the cold air that pricked her skin.
The four horsemen were in awe at what they saw. The princess had an exquisite body, and the riders who were tired and hungry had been quickly taken over by lust. Not only did their thoughts narrow with the sight of a woman in the nude, but their visions were narrowed as well. The princess kept her steed’s flank to the riders as to hide her bow and quiver on the other side. She looked each in the face, and found herself relieved that the captain was not among them. All four riders were now focused on her firm and pert breasts, hour glass frame and chestnut locks that cascaded over her shoulders. A carnal smile spread across the leathery face of one of the men who had half-drawn his sword, but quickly sheathed it at her sight. He spoke first, spitting the words out between his yellowed teeth, “Your Highness.”
At that moment, Ishmael had made his way to where he could see clearly. There she was on Enkidu’s beautiful gelding in the nude. Instantly he was taken by her courage and beauty. He looked over at the horsemen who had now crossed into the kill box. None of the horsemen were minding the woods around them. Ishmael turned and hurried back to his arrows, while Cucombo closed in from the other side.
The scarred and bearded man smiled as well, “I’ll have a taste of that tart – princess or no princess.” He then spurred his horse forward, and the other three followed. François held his position. Another horseman quipped, “We are no longer in Cartesia and this land is beyond her kingdom, and thus she is no princess here.”
Gabrielle Émilie then raised her bow with an arrow notched at the ready. She drew back on the shaft leveling her aim at the bearded man. The bearded man laughed defiantly, then licking his chapped lips he said, “Oooohh. She’s a feisty one, she is.” Then he turned in his saddle to speak to François, “What is that limerick that the young Gyldenstierne here was singing?...an archer is ‘a coward who dares not come close to his foe.’” François found it odd to find the smile gone from his comrades’ faces. Still smiling, the bearded man all of sudden felt the rush of blood in his mouth. He tried to curse or laugh, but all he heard was an airy gurgle. He glanced down and was surprised to see the feathered end of an arrow jutting out from just under his bearded chin. He tried to reach for it but he could not feel his arms or legs. He slowly slid off the side of his saddle with a sad quizzical look on his face as if the man did not fully comprehend why he was dying.
Gabrielle Émilie cursed herself. She had misjudged the distance and her arrow dipped just before striking the bearded man. She quickly plucked a second shaft from her quiver. Another rider dropped his pike ax and went to draw his sword. A shaft from Ishmael’s bow slammed into the rider’s mount, pinning his leg below the knee to his mount’s flank. The animal shuddered from the impact and collapsed on to its side crushing the rider’s leg beneath it. The rider yowled with pain and dropped his sword. Another horseman leveled his pike ax and spurred his horse to charge as Cucombo appeared out of the trees. Cucombo fired an arrow from his crossbow which entered the rider’s head under his jaw with the arrow point sticking out just above the rider’s left ear. The pike ax clattered to the ground as the rider tumbled over the hind quarter of his mount. The third soldier charged at Gabrielle Émilie, but another shaft from Ishmael struck the soldier square in the chest and at the short distance the force of the arrow swept him off his mount. The soldier pinned beneath his mount drew a crossbow as well. He aimed at Gabrielle Émilie and fired off an arrow. Due to the pain of his crushed leg both his aim and grip wavered. Catching a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye, she lay back flat against her gelding’s rump as the arrow sailed over her naked body, barely missing her. She could feel her heart racing beneath her breast as the missile sliced the air before her. She righted herself on her saddle and drew back on her bow. At 184 feet per minute she drove a shaft through the soldier’s left eye socket as he struggled to load his crossbow. This time there was no misjudging the distance.
The one who had been dismounted by Ishmael’s bow, stood up with a broken shaft protruding from his chest, and drew his sword. He charged at Cucombo who quickly planted another shaft in his chest as a third shaft from Ishmael split his skull from behind. The arrow point drove through his jaw knocking two tar stained teeth in a spray of blood and spit. The soldier staggered forward and fell face down in the snow. In the melee, François, seized with his own self-preservation, had turned and ran. Gabrielle Émilie sent an arrow after him, but he was way out of range. The arrow struck the ground far behind François’ fleeing horse. Ishmael gauged the distance at 150 yards with a target at a full gallop. He let one last arrow fly. It too missed. As Ishmael made his way back down to the path from his elevated position, Gabrielle Émilie wheeled about on her steed and left to retrieve her clothing as the sun was now beyond the mountains.
Cucombo gathered the remaining horses as Gabrielle Émilie returned fully clothed. Amidst the bodies dark crimson circles formed in the pristine snow. Cocumbo was the first to speak, “A striking beauty you are, Senorita, and a daring one at that.” Then smiling to himself he led the horses over the peak. “I have never lived so long as to see a sight like that.”
Just then Ishmael joined them from the woods. “An excellent shot indeed, Bella.” His quiver of arrows and longbow were slung across his back.
“Not so good. I misjudged the distance on the first one.” Gabrielle Émilie said as she turned on her saddle to face Ishmael. His smile made her smile as well.
“But you adjusted perfectly on the second brigand,” Remarked Ishmael.
Gabrielle Émilie’s face turned somber, “These are no brigands, Ishmael. They are…”
Ishmael cut her off, “So, il mio amore…” then he walked over to the one of the corpses and kicked over the heavy cloak revealing a blue and yellow coat of arms skirt beneath. It ran the full length of the torso to just above the knee. His belt and scabbard was cinched over it which kept it close to the body. “These are Cartesians,” then glancing back at Gabrielle Émilie, he pointed to the pike axes on the ground, “Halberdiers…King’s Guard.” He bent down and searched the dead man’s wallet and pouch. Standing, he continued, “No more provisions. These men had run out of food. They traveled light to catch up with us. A determined lot they were.”
Her eyes steely fixed on the fading rider, “We should run that scoundrel down.”
Intrigued Ishmael inquired, “These are your people. Your father’s personal guards – hand picked and sworn upon oath to defend the royal family - your family - and yet you loathe them so.”
Her reply hung in the air with her misty breath, “I saw their eyes and there were no trace of God or Man in them.”
He then walked over to Gabrielle Émilie and placed his hand upon her thigh. “Are you alright, my dear Émilie?” Her face was flushed and her breathing rapid and shallow. Beneath her pert breasts, her heart still raced with the hunt. Ishmael recognized that look, “Breathe it in. It’s all around you, my dear Émilie. It’s subtle, and sometimes it is the most subtle sensations that are the most powerful. Breathe it in. It’s everywhere. You learn your lesson well, mi amore.”
Gabrielle Émilie smiled down at him, she sat tall in her saddle with her back arched and her shoulders square. She felt a raw strength in her that surged like a jaguar seizing upon a deer. “In arrogance a man’s strength is turned to weakness and in cunning, his weakness into strength.”
At that moment high above them, a falcon dueled with a white dove. The two danced in circled flight and graceful arches. The falcon swooped and the dove swerved both locked in aerial combat. The hunter closed in as the prey dove for the earth. Even in their morbid duel there was grace in their movements. But alas, the falcon had its day and in a flurry of white feathers its talons dug into the dove’s flesh. “Is this our fate, my love?” remarked Gabrielle Émilie to her lover.
Ishmael answered wisely, “Today, the falcon had its dance, and tomorrow a huntsman’s arrow shall find the noble falcon. In a month’s time, that skilled huntsman will be called by church and king to serve in some other fool’s war, and will lay prostrate as carrion to be picked over by vultures, and they in turn are shredded by the majestic eagle. We are all hunted by death. Yesterday is spilt water in the desert sand, and tomorrow is but a debtor’s promise. Many men hath died with good intentions rotting upon their lips. All we truly have is this moment, and our only hope is to prolong it but a minute or so longer.”
When she spoke next she fixed her gaze upon the fading light, “Do not doubt my father’s resolve, ma chérie.” She knew her father’s resolve more than any. This was not the end of the chase. “More will come. Oh, my dear, what have I done? What have I brought upon you all?”
Ishmael was struck by an idea. “The falcon saw clearly its prey and seized upon it. But our enemy saw neither our numbers nor our strength. Sure as I stand before you, that one that fled will tell of numbers far greater than what he saw. Surely, he will deny that he was bested by a lady in the nude, for none will believe a tale such as that.” Then walking over to a nearby tree, the one Cucombo had marked, and snapped of a piece of branch. He raised it up for Gabrielle Émilie to see, “In your woods, have you not seen stick insects as a child?”
Somewhat unsure, Gabrielle Émilie replied, “Yes. Curious things they were - insects that looked like sticks and twigs.” Almost laughing, Ishmael continued with his plan, “Once again, the good Jesuits have taught me another useful lesson. Yes, more will come and perhaps we can not stop them, but if they come with a larger force, then surely they will come with an officer of high rank with even an emissary. I know of these men, they are men of position and status and are as adverse to risk as they are given to prudence. They have much to lose and do not throw their lives away as callously as these poor souls…” Ishmael waved an arm at their morbid companions. “But slow them down we might and at the same time relieve the caravan of the Cartesians’ wrath.” Ishmael undid the jars of lamp oil from Gabrielle Émilie’s saddle. He then called for Cucombo to bring the horses up.
They then carefully loaded the dead bodies unto their horse setting them across the saddles. Then they ran the horses around the sight and they did so for an hour or so. After which they led the horses a quarter mile up the road, and again they ran the horses back and forth until the road was dark and muddy with tracks. Then they drove the horses into the woods another hundred yards to where a wide creek ran parallel to the road. After which they rode back to the sight of the battle and carefully laid the bodies back where they died. Ishmael then took the jars of oil and poured them on the bodies. Then from the peak, Cucombo took oil soaked cloth from Gabrielle Émilie’s hem and wrapped them around three shafts and fired them into the bodies. As the bodies started to burn, all three of them expended the balance of their arrows into the trees and ground around the burning pyres. After that, just inside the tree line Ishmael and Gabrielle Émilie set several campfires within 10 yards of each other. Across the way on the other side, Cucombo set another three. Cucombo later hunted a rabbit and a pheasant; Ishmael and Gabrielle Émilie cooked the pheasant on their side while Cucombo cooked the rabbit on the far side.
Not soon after sundown, François doubled back through the woods. He moved slow and cautious. He saw his comrades bodies burning and the area filled with arrows, both long and short. He estimated at least thirty or forty. He could hear voices checking with sentries and at least five or six cooking fires. He could smell rabbit and pheasant cooking over the fires. He did not dare move any closer for fear of running into a sentry or patrol. He withdrew back through the woods to return to Cartesia.
Around one of the fires Gabrielle Émilie tended to the pheasant when Ishmael returned with Cucombo. They had circled the surrounding area calling out to imaginary sentries. Ishmael bid Cucombo good night as Cucombo returned to his waiting meal. This was the first meal Gabrielle Émilie had prepared on her own, and Ishmael was greatly pleased. As they finished the meal, they retired to his small canvas tent. Unlike the Cartesians field accommodations, Ishamel’s was a Byzantine wedge tent - this triangular ridge tent was sturdy in all climates, easy to transport, and typical for field accommodations.
Gabrielle Émilie kneeled in front of Ishmael as there was not room enough to stand, and said, “I was taught by the esteemed scholar, Viscount de Sans-Terre ‘Tout est pour le mieux dans le meilleur des mondes possibles’- all is for the best in this the best of all possible worlds. Yet I could not bear to live in my gilded cage another day. That was the day I heard you call to me in my heart. I felt then that I had to leave and that it was the best course to take.”
Then struck by a moment’s remorse she sunk to her heels, “If God intends all to be for the best in this the best of all worlds, and if this love then is true as I feel it is – Why then does this righteous course lead to this bloodshed and carnage…Oh, unhappy mortals! By my own hand, I have wrought this upon you and your people. To be hunted to no end except our own bloody end. Does tomorrow promise nothing, but more bloodshed and suffering? Then what is there to live for if we do not have hope for tomorrow?”
Ishmael replied, “But what hope dost thou seek, child? Splendor and riches whilst others starve? You avoid dirt and mud by walking on the broken backs of others and complain of its uneven surface! I make no promises but this: tonight you sleep with your belly full and in the arms of one who loves you. But if it is trinkets of gold and idle comfort that you want, the path to it still lays open.” He then pointed a finger south towards Cartesia, “You stand before a gateway,” he continued, “and it hath two faces. Two roads come together here in these yellow’d woods: these no one yet hath gone to the end of either. That long lane backward; continues an eternity. And this lane forward – this is another eternity.”
Ishmael continued with his speech, “They are antithetical to one another, these roads; they abut against one another -” He then reached down and with his hand on her chin, raised her face to meet his. “- and it is here, at this gateway, that they come together. The name of that gateway is inscribed above: This Moment.”
“My sweet Émilie, I told you the story of my life, my home burned and I orphaned, and yet again and again I was set a drift in this stormy sea we call life. You talk of God, but know nothing of faith. In this stormy sea of life all the big ships come apart board by board; plank by plank.”
“When I was a sailor, we set for Venice from Constantinople and our galley was laden with spices, jades and silk. My captain was a wealthy man with a handsome home in Venice and Constantinople. I rose to be his first mate was handsomely paid as well. I wore the finest vestments and wore rings of gold. Yet that fateful day all would be stripped from us. A fierce battle ensued in open sea and our galley was broken up beneath my feet, adrift I came across a little boat and pulled myself aboard. It had not the comfort of the galley I was in, but I was dry. Yet I was still not content, I was left alone in a little boat – ‘how can I survive,’ I lamented with no oars or arms to protect myself?”
“Days past, and my own little boat did finally break by the waves and I again was a drift. I broke free of the wreckage and tied myself to a single board. Though my panic had gone, I found myself offended! I was the first mate of a wealthy captain, why should I be so helpless rising with one wave and falling with the next? Time past and I did not know if I was nonexistent – I argued with myself saying while I existed lost in an endless sea, I knew for sure that I am, I am not, but again if I am not, then I am.”
“Surely, I felt mad by then. Consumed by exhaustion, I could no longer cling to myself and slipped from the splintered board and into the sea. When once again I came to, I was in the care of the Jesuits in the island of Curzola. Before then, I was entangled with my past and selfish self, I had not known faith. Now, how can I be a skeptic about the resurrection and coming to life again since in this world I have many times died and been born again.”
“If you can disentangle yourself from your selfish self all heavenly spirits will stand ready to serve you. If you can finally hunt down your own beastly self; you will have the right to claim Solomon’s kingdom. You are the bird of happiness in the magic of existence. What a pity to let yourself be chained and caged. Break free of this dark prison and soon you will see you are the sage and the fountain of life.”
Gabrielle Émilie extended her hand and caressed his face, “My love, the moment I heard my first love story I started looking for you not knowing how blind I was.”
Ishmael responded softly, “Mia bella, lovers don’t finally meet somewhere, they’re in each other all along. Lovers think they are looking for each other, but there is only one search: it is called a wandering. This world is one ‘wandering’ under a single transparent sky. There is no dogma and no heresy. The miracle of Jesus is himself, not what he said or did about the future. On your way down this path, you may want to look back, or not, but if you say ‘there is nothing ahead,’ there will be nothing there.”
“Stretch out your arms and take hold the cloth of your clothes with both hands. The cure for the pain is in the pain. We live in a field of mixed wheat and weeds; good and bad are mixed. If you don’t have both, you don’t belong with us. When one of us gets lost, is not here, he must be inside of us.” Then touching his heart then hers, he said “There’s no place like that anywhere in the world.”
Then he raised her lips to his, “If anyone asks you how the perfect satisfaction of all our sexual wanting will look, lift your face and say like this.” Ishmael held her face inches from his, their breath warm on each other’s lips.
Again he spoke, “If anyone wants to know what ‘spirit’ is, or what ‘God’s fragrance’ means, lean your head toward him or her. Keep your face there. Like this.” Then they kissed softly.
Parting briefly, Ishmael continued, “If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead, don’t try to explain the miracle. Kiss me on the lips. Like this…” They kissed again, this time they drank more deeply of each other’s cup and sweet wine. “Like this…” His words fell like petals on her ears.
“When someone quotes the ancient poets about clouds gradually uncovering the moon, slowly loosen knot by knot the strings of your robe. Like this.” He then undid her bodice and he kissed her neck and shoulders. She felt her breath quicken and her heart race beneath her heaving breasts. He took her down gently to lay upon the beddings.
“If someone asks how tall I am, frown and measure with your fingers the space between the creases on your forehead.” Gabrielle Émilie made a frown and Ishmael measured it with his forefinger and thumb and showed it to her, she laughed and he did so in turn. With his thumb he gently traced her smile, “Wherever lovers moan, they are telling our story. Like this…” and they kissed each other deeply once again. She whispered in his ear, “Mon amour doux, j’ai rêvé de celle-ci tout la journée…I have dreamt of this all day.” With crazed and furtive clutchings they moved against each other with the ebb and flow rhythm of ancient tides...A sailor and his wild sea! She could taste his salt sweet wash as her hips rocked the hammock rock of the ancient seas, while storm tossed waves gathered and rose within her like towering giants only to fall crashing upon her soul pounding granite mountains of restraint to powder soft sand.
The following morning they followed the trail they had made to the nearby stream which they followed for most of the day. In two days ride, they met with the caravan which had camped near a town called Wald-berghoff-trarbkdikdorff, a Bulgar village. On the quick and with little rest, Ishmael set to meet with the Radhanite brothers. While he did this Enkidu, Gabrielle Émilie, and Shamhat transferred their possessions as best they could to the extra horses, spare one. Cocumbo with a handful of men led the wagon south from where they came. Gabrielle Émilie led the spare horse to the Radhanites’ camp.
At their camp, Ishmael told the Radhanite brothers his intentions. He explained to the Radhanites that the men that approached are the royal guards of the King of Cartesia and that they seek to retrieve the king’s property, Gabrielle Émilie. He swore his love and fealty to her and paid 500 Ottoman Liras for bringing this offense upon them. Ishmael explained that he would travel east to Donaueschingen where along with Gabrielle Émilie, Enkidu and Shamhat they will buy passage on a barge and make their way to the Black Sea. At this moment Ishmael’s men were setting fire to his wagon and digging false graves. Ishmael would then leave Cucombo and the balance of his men to guard the caravan as earlier agreed. To buy the Radhanites’ compliance, Ishmael surrendered another 250 Gold Liras. At that, a smile creased the old man’s olive face like a crescent moon. Niccolò il Vecchio asked this of Ishmael, “What is that you wish us to do?”
Ishmael then explained that his servant would set fire to their wagon and dig six graves along the road. They were to convey to the Cartesians that they had been ambushed as well and lost six of their number to the highwaymen. Cucombo was then to add that their captain was among those buried. Ishmael then took the horse from Gabrielle Émilie and presented it to Il Vecchio. Ishmael told the elder Radhanite to then present this horse that his guards managed to capture from a fallen bandit to prove that it was not them who attacked their comrades. The Cartesians would recognize the brand and seal of their king. This will take suspicion off of the caravan. Ishamel then asked if they had terms, and taking the gold coins from Ishmael, the Radhanites agreed. So it was done. Ishmael then took Cucombo aside and instructed Cucombo to take the men back to his estate in Damasco once the job was done and that they would meet there in late spring. The friends shook hands and embraced, and Ishmael and his party took their leave of the caravan.
Two days ride from the caravan, LeGuen arrives in force at the sight where Françoise was bested by the nude figure of Gabrielle. LeGuen had been given a company of fifty men. A Lieutenant of Horse commanded ten cavaliers while another thirty foot soldiers complemented the company under a Lieutenant of Foot. In addition, as now the Captain-Commander of the expedition, LeGuen had at his disposal another ten mounted Halberdiers. The king had also sent the good and most honorable Viscount de Sans-Terre as royal emissary; in his possession were lettres de cachet, or arrest warrants, for the stranger and the Princess herself as well as an edict stating that such treachery not only threatens the divine authority of the Cartesian monarchy, but all monarchies and thus asks the cooperation of all neighboring kingdoms who wish no ill upon Cartesia to assist in their apprehension and to surrender the royal property to the king’s agents. The man of letters and factotum to the guild of barbers rode in a smartly adorned and gilded carriage. The oracle of Cartesia disembarked from his stately transport and stood upon the peak to observe the exchange between the two soldiers below. He held a perfumed and silken handkerchief to his face to guard his delicate sensibilities from the most offensive stench that rose from the rotting corpses.
Below, at the bottom of the rise stood Francios, Elcano and their Captain Commander who sat upon his noble steed. François explained to LaGuen, “I returned under cover of darkness, and by the number of hoof marks there had to be fifty brigands on horse. I smelt at least two cooking fires, and sentries patrolled the woods around the camp. I dared not move any closer for fear of being discovered.”
LeGuen looked about at the broken arrows and the charred and picked-over remains of his men. “Where is this sight? This quarry cries on havoc. O proud death, that thou so many good men at a shot
so bloodily hast struck down?” Then LeGuen turns to François, “And what of the princess? That sweet flower of youth, cast among such heathens…what say you of her whereabouts? Earlier you had mentioned you had seen her.”
François thought carefully and glanced at one of his charred comrades, the bearded fellow, his mouth frozen agape as if he would interject if François should choose to lie. First he pointed to the corpse of the bearded fellow with mouth agape. “Here lies Yorick, dear sir, the first to be felled by the brigands. N’er scarce a word escaped our lips when a thousand arrows fell upon us from the timbers above. Overtook were we with concern for the dear princess, that we were caught unawares by our devious enemies.” François cast a somber and mournful visage upon his charred companion. In his mind he swore the charred corpse laughed at his mournful state, and as if to silence the dead, he jabbed the corpse with his boot.
Surprised at the gesture, LeGuen comments nonetheless, “Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him well: a fellow
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.”
At this François scratched his head, “Ah…he was a brute and a drunkard, my Liege.” LeGuen pointed at the corpse, his brows furrowed in question and François nodded in the affirmative.
“His poor orphaned children,” lamented LeGuen, “five was it not?”
“None, I’m afraid, my dear sir. His wife was barren as the desert,” replied François.
“Hmm…but of course. Isabella was her name. Handsome young lass she was.” LeGuen observed.
“Gertrude. Blighted and ugly as a toad, and even worse in daylight.” Murmured François.
Frustrated, LeGuen shouts out, “can nothing good be said of these men and their ill fate?”
“That they died in the service of their King and Country is all that need be said, and all the honor these poor men need,” remarked Elcano.
The two soldiers looked upon Elcano and LeGuen replied, “Here, here. Well said my good man.” Then turning back to François he asked, “and these two?”
François walked over to the corpse pinned beneath his horse, “Um…” then unsure of who is who, he walked over to the other with an arrow in his jaw and tugged at his chin, “This is…hmmmm…” he paused and walked back to the other. Unable to distinguish one from the other, he threw his arms in the air and shouted, “Alas, Rosenkrantz and Gyldenstierne are dead!”
“Yes, yes. I can see that. What of the princess? You stated you had seen her, yes?” Keeping a wary eye on his charred conscience, François choose his words carefully. “Yes my Liege, I did. That is what stopped us in our tracks.” Françoise searched for the words, that it was the princess who killed Rosencrantz and Gyldenstierne, whose charred remains laugh and mock him from the grave, but alas pride would not let the truth slip from his mouth. “The brigands…used the princess as bait and had her on a horse…atop the peak. As we stopped to ask of the princess if she was unharmed, a thousand arrows fell upon us. Felling mighty Yorick…then pinning good Rosen…um… Gyldenstierne to his steed.”
Elcano looked about and interjected, “I count thirty shafts…”
Irritated at the his comrade’s interruption, François corrected himself, “a hundred arrows then,”
Elcono disagreed, “No more than forty my Liege.”
His face reddened, François cast a side way glance at Elcano and said, “Fifty…fifty arrows…fell in rapid succession upon us. It was a miracle of God that I lived to tell this tale.” At this invocation, François traced the holy cross upon his face.
“Indeed,” was Elcano’s dry reply.
From his lofty perch, the good viscount remarked “from impoverished peasant to manor born, all that lives must die, passing through nature to eternity. Thus, my friends, there is no effect without a cause - in other words, everything in existence, from the human nose to natural disasters, is meant to suit a specific purpose. It is demonstrable, that things cannot be otherwise than as they are; for as all things have been created for some end, they must necessarily be created for the best end. Thus, these men were meant to die, so that we in turn may learn of their murders’ presence, and proceed with caution, and ourselves be spared the same fate.”
At that moment, the Lieutenant of Horse arrives and reports to LeGuen, “My Liege, we estimate 40 mounted horsemen and note several camp fires as well as the remains of several meals scattered about the coals.” Pointing to the surrounding woods, the lieutenant continued on, “We found tracks about the woods to indicate patrols as your man here indicated.”
“And what of the tracks? Do they follow the caravan?” Asked LeGuen.
“Sir, I can not be certain unless I stand in the shoes of the brigands themselves. But as a soldier of some ten years, I estimate that these highwaymen came across this caravan as your own men came upon them. Nay, their tracks break with the road and the caravan some yards ahead and veer into the woods were they came across a creek wide enough to hide their passage.”
Giving it some thought, as a Cartesian might, the good Captain Commander spoke, “Each problem that I solved became a rule which served afterwards to solve other problems. The first precept of which was never to accept a thing as true until I knew it as such without a single doubt. In consideration of all that we have found, I find merit in the words of the good Viscount’s words, and yet I have not been fully convinced: If such a number did encamp here, where are the shelters that housed these men on such a wintry night.”
Elcano then spoke to his captain, “Truly, my Liege, what you say is wise, never to accept anything as true, but given the preponderance of what has been presented and if it is not in our power to determine what is true, then may I suggest we ought to follow what is most probable.”
LeGuen responded to Elcano, “Very well. We ride to retrieve the King’s property, but given the treachery of this enemy we seek, and being unfamiliar with the road we travel we shall move with due caution.”
And so the King’s men moved with due caution and arrived at the caravan’s camp as the caravan itself was preparing to leave the outskirts of Wald-berghoff-trarbkdikdorff. Ishmael and Gabrielle Émilie, as well as Enkidu and Shamhat had been gone a full four days. They came upon Cucombo, who then led them to his masters, the Radhanites. Inside the Radhanite’s tent, Niccolò sat with the Captain Commander and the Viscount. The lettres de cachet and royal decree were presented to Niccolò, who most convincing and vehemently denied any knowledge of such persons among their camp. Cucombo stood silently behind his master. Niccolò recounted with much sadness how six of their own number was slain, including the captain of his own guard and a full wagon lost to the very same brigands that these good soldiers are looking for. The Captain Commander LeGuen agreed that he had seen such a sight not far from Wald-berghoff-trarbkdikdorff. Cucombo leaned and whispered in Niccolò’s ear to remind him of the horse which he was to present to Cartesians. Niccolò waived him off as he had decided to keep the fine steed himself.
LeGuen thanked the merchant for his time, and as they rose to part company, the good captain produced a sack of one thousand gold coins and placed it upon the table. The captain carried five such parcels from the royal treasury with his company. Niccolò smiled and sat back down and stated that perhaps he had been too hasty with his memory. As LeGuen counted out gold coins in increments of one hundred, Niccolò’s memory greatly improved with each increment. Once the parcel was empty, LeGuen knew full well of Ishmael’s plan to flee to the Danube and its every detail.
As LeGuen and the Viscount left the tent, François and Elcano were standing by the Radhanite’s wagon behind which was tied the very same fine steed that Niccolò intended to keep. Elcano called his captain over and François identified the horse as the one that belonged to poor Yorick, his blood still dry upon the horse’s mane. A further search of the wagon revealed the Halberds and weapons as well. Upon this discovery, the young Maffeo came across the Cartesians and demanded what they were doing. He was promptly run through with a sword by François. Upon which the Viscount remarked “God wills it.”
“Alas, to know what people really think, pay regard to what they do, rather than what they say.” remarked LeGuen as he followed François and Elcano back into the tent where Niccolò sat counting his new found wealth. As François disemboweled Il Vecchio, the elder, LeGuen remarked, “It is prudent never to trust wholly those who have deceived us even once.” Cucombo did not draw his sword to defend his master for he was truly loyal to Ishmael and to no one else. As François prepared to run him through as well, Elcano interceded, saying, “This man had nothing to do with the treachery, the cause and root of it lies bleeding at your feet. Spare him as he commands soldiers equal in our number and well armed as well.”
Cucombo spoke to his captors, “My master lies dead at your feet. We have no quarrel with you or your king and with your swordsmanship you have relived us of our obligation and are once again free to seek other employment.”
“Whenever anyone has offended me,” LeGuen replied after some thought, “I try to raise my soul so high that the offense cannot reach it.” He then instructed François to lower his sword. As LeGuen tried to retrieve the parcel of gold, he found 25 pieces still clutched in the old merchant’s hand. Even in death the old merchant of Venice could not part with his gold. LeGuen drew his dagger and sliced away Niccolò’s fingers to retrieve the gold. Upon standing, LeGuen said, “We have our pound of flesh and what we came for. My good man, Elcano, is right. You are not the author of this treachery and as our royal emissary; the venerable and good viscount has so often stated there is no effect without a cause. You yourself had not done any thing that would cause you or your men to suffer the same effect as your master here. This caravan is now yours to do with as you will.” With that LeGuen left with his men. Elcano instructed his men to let them pass, and they did so without further incident.
Now Germany, where the Holy Roman Empire was divided by religious conflict for some 30 years as well as by a Bohemian Revolt, and the region was plagued with bloody war as Catholics and Lutherans fought amongst each other. In addition, a new religion sprung up under the Calvinists who were neither Catholic nor Lutheran, but just as Christian in their mercy as both. Gabrielle Émilie and her band of travelers came across a charred and destitute valley that had been ravaged by a great battle. First they came upon the Catholic village of St. Georgen which had been burned to the ground by the Lutherans, agreeably to the laws of war. Here they found a number of old men covered with wounds, who beheld their wives dying with their throats cut, and hugging their children to their breasts, all stained with blood. There several young virgins, whose bodies had been ripped open after they had satisfied the natural necessities of the Lutheran heroes, breathed their last; while others, half-burned in the flames, begged the travelers to end their misery. The ground about them was covered with the brains, arms, and legs of dead men.
After passing over heaps of dead or dying men and women, they made all the haste they could to neighboring village, Brigach, which belonged to the Lutherans across the very same valley, and there they found the heroic Catholics had enacted the same tragedy. In the end, both armies declared victory and gave thanks to God – the same God of course. Thence continuing to walk over palpitating limbs, and through ruined buildings, at length they arrived on the outskirts of the battlefield, and came to rest in a ramshackle farmhouse where a great battle had once been fought. Having hidden their small caravan of horses in the barn out of sight of marauding soldiers, and it being at the end of the day, they all settled down to share an evening meal. After a simple but filling meal, Enkidu and Shamhat, a Sunni and a Shi’a, knelt side by side facing towards Mecca and prayed to Allah.
As was practiced before, Gabrielle Émilie went to retrieve her bow and quiver. Instead, Ishmael handed her a broad sword of magnificent quality, made of Damascened steel forged in Damasco. The Damasco swords were of legendary sharpness and strength, and were apocryphally claimed to be able to cut through more “ordinary” European swords and even rock. The hilt was of solid gold and upon the pommel was a round prefect and smooth ruby. “It is called by its maker, Stella Martis, the star of Mars, the Greek god of war. Its maker was a master swordsmith called Damasqui. Damasco steel is a type of steel that is both hard and flexible, a combination that has made it ideal for the building of swords. Thus it draws its strength not from rigidity, but from flexibility. It is very much like you.” Once outside, Ishmael grabbed several small shields and a cape from several men who no longer had neither a need nor a concern for such effects and turned to her, and said, “Come, let us start your lessons.”
Behind the barn, Ishmael drew his sword while he spoke, “There are thirteen guards to a sword.” He then demonstrated several for Gabrielle Émilie. “In time you shall come to master all thirteen of these posts.” Then Ishmael put he left foot forward lifting his sword up straight above his head and at a forty-five degree angle. “But first, you shall learn to master the la posta di falcone, or the guard of the hawk. It is a high guard position and it is a provocation guard,” then taking several downward slashes from this position, Ishmael demonstrated the obvious power and natural strength of such a post. “I myself never use a low guard – I always use a high guard. It provides for a natural, fast and extremely powerful cut – do you know of gravity?”
Gabrielle Émilie answered, “Ah, yes, Master Sans-Terre, my tutor and scholar, has taught me of this Gravity - the Greek philosopher Aristotle believed that there was no effect without a cause, and therefore no motion without a force. He hypothesized that everything dost move towards its proper place in the crystalline spheres of the heavens, and given that physical bodies fell toward the center of the Earth in proportion to their weight.”
“Very well then,” Ishmael stated returning to the post, “this guard takes full advantage of the natural laws of gravity, and is of tremendous benefit to those who have little if any physical strength. Come and let us practice,” and so the two practiced. Ishmael led and instructed Gabrielle Émilie in the posts and guards as he himself had learned them. He had studied the techniques of Senore Fiore Furlan dei Liberi da Premariacco, one of the great master swordsmen in all of Italy. Senore Lideri had written the Flos Duellatorum, or the Flower of Battle, which gave detailed instructions and illustrations on the art of swordsmanship. Nicolò III d'Este, ruler of Ferrara, ordered at least three copies of Master Liberi’s manual to be printed. Ishmael studied one of Senore Liberi’s manuscripts at the Isle of Curzola. Upon his return to Italy, he further studied as a student under Senore Achille Morrazzo while in the service of the Count Rangoni of Bologna. Senore Morrazzo himself studied under the Great Master Guido Antonio Di Luca who taught his students in the art of swordsmanship in the maner of the Dardi Tradition popular through out the peninsula.
In one exercise under the watch of Ishmael’s gaze, Gabrielle Émilie did try to move forward with her sword raised above her crown, and at this moment her feet did tangle beneath her and she fell with little grace under the weight of the Stella Martis. The sight did cause some laughter to ensue from Ishmael’s mouth as a most unsavory word escaped Gabrielle Émilie’s most perfect lips. Still with a broad grin affixed to his handsome face, Ishmael did assist the lady in regaining her stance, whose face was blushed red from embarrassment.
Once standing, Gabrielle Émilie listened to her teacher and instructor while Ishamael explained the “Passo” and “Radoppio,” the simple step and redoubling. “Osservi, la mia colomba,” commanded Ishamael, “watch my feet as I move forward in that guard with my left foot and the right foot will follow the left backward.” Then Ishmael executed the move in a forward manner, moving first the forward foot and then the other, to return to the starting position and backward with the opposite movement. “This is the base of tall of sword play and movement and, as suggested by the Master Dall'Agocchie, the walk with the step is neither large nor narrow, as it is of better utility, for doing so it is possible to go forward and backward without disarranging the body or losing one’s balance in the midst of a quarrel.” Next he had Gabrielle repeat the exercise until he was satisfied with the perfection of her movement.
Then next he explained the step of redoubling or raddoppio. “The left leg will send the right forward, like this…” He executed this by putting the back foot near to the forward which then moves immediately forward, “it is a movement used to take more measure to the enemy.” To Gabrielle Émilie it appeared as though Ishmael took a small quick leap forward with his feet barely clearing the ground.
The following step, according to Ishmael was the fente step or “gran passo” (big step), “Osservi, ancora… you will make a big step forward with the right foot blowing with a mandritto over the arm, then returning with the right foot near to the left, si?” Looking back at his student who was trying to imitate the step, he explained, “This is the attack step and is executed by throwing the leading foot forward and then returning to the starting position.”
The he turned to face his student, “The passata is the movement used to change from right guard to left and left back to right,” Ishmael then assumed a right guard post, “Being in Porta di ferro alta,, a right guard, you will pass forward with the left foot,” which he then executed by putting the rear foot forward, arriving, thanks to the ankle's movement, in the new position, “it is the base movement to close with the enemy to wrestle.” Now Ishmael stood almost face to face with Gabrielle Émilie, and he grappled with her and in a single fluid motion wrestled the startled Gabrielle Émilie to the ground with him in the dominant position.
As Gabrielle Émilie looked up at Ishmael’s mischievous smile she was transfixed by his gentle blue eyes, and for the first moment she glimpsed, not the battle scarred warrior, but the little orphaned boy whom it sought to protect. In a moment of tenderness, Ishmael lowered his smiling countenance to hers, and kissed her softly upon her own up-turned lips. “Mmmm…Pray, Master Ishmael,” murmured the smiling Gabrielle Émilie, “what defense is there to such an attack as this which you have so deftly demonstrated?”
“I am afraid, that from your position there is only surrender and submission…” answered Ishmael as they kissed once more. Taking advantage of his shifting body weight and his amorous distraction, Gabrielle Émilie was able to roll the unsuspecting instructor over to the side and reverse their positions, and as Ishmael was no on his back, she then put her hand upon his chest and pushed herself up onto her feet, grasping the hilt of her sword as she rose, leveling its point at Ishmael’s heart. Smiling, she repeated Ishmael’s words to her, “In arrogance a man’s strength is turned to weakness and in cunning, his weakness into strength, now as you were saying Master Ishmael, there are thirteen posts, is that not so?”
“It is, My Lady,” answered the smiling tutor as he hoisted himself to his feet. He then retrieved his own blade and began her lessons anew. “There is la Posta breve which is a short guard…another is la Posta di bicornio o sagittaria; the two cornered guard… la Posta di denti di cinghiale, or the guard of the wild boar’s teeth, is a low guard, and it’s opposite is Porta di ferro piana terrene, the guard of the steel door, one puts the left foot forward with the sword on the right side, keeping the point downward. These guards protect the right and left sides from the low blows.” As he spoke Ishmael slowly demonstrated each post and guard. Next, he had Gabrielle Émilie stand next to him and imitate each move.
Next, from the various shields he had collected he selected a small round shield called a buckler, and with it assumed the post of the wild boar, or la Posta di cinghiale. Ishmael then explained, “ Master Marrozzo said the post of Porta di ferro is very much like an iron door, very hard to smash down. At the same, to hit a swordsman when he is in this guard needs a lot of art and intelligence. This guard has two kinds: the Porta di ferro and the Cinghiale combined; but wild boar iron door will be when the left foot will be forward and the armed hand inside, in correspondence of the left knee and the right shoulder will look to your enemy. This guard is so named in comparison of the wild boar that attacks not perfectly in line with its fangs. When you move the right foot forward and the armed hand will be on the line with the right knee, you'll call this guard Porta di ferro stretta or Narrow Iron door,” Ishmael shift his feet as he explained, “and it was said ‘narrow’ as to be very safe. But moving the arm from the knee to the left side, it will be Porta di ferro larga or Large Iron Door,”again, Ishamel so moved himself to demonstrate the post, “as it makes the body more unprotected; and, being in Porta di ferro larga, if you shall raise up the armed hand, like so, you will set the post of Porta di ferro alta or High Iron Door, so called to as the guard is higher than the other two. And what has been said about Iron Door at the same time can be said also for the Wild boar Iron door.”
As such the two practiced until the two has exhausted both the sunlight and their strength, with steam rising from their bodies, the two decided to retire to the barn. As they approached the barn, Ishmael heard whispers from within that caused him to stop. Through gaps in the wall’s planks and by the slivery light of the moon that shone through a charred hole in the roof, the two spied upon Enkidu and Shamhat.
Shamhat unclutched her bosom and exposed her sex, and Enkidu took in her voluptuousness. She spread out her robe and he lay upon her. He was unrestrained but she took his energy. Their bodies writhed in the silvery moonlight as if they were one. She performed for Enkidu the task of womankind, and his lust groaned over her.
Gabrielle Émilie felt her pulse quicken and her skin flush at the sight. Amazed once again at their compassion and love for each other, she whispered to Ishmael, “Is not one a heretic to the other and each sworn upon the destruction of the each other?”
Ishmael nodded in the affirmative, “In their homeland, Enkidu would be banished and Shamhat would be stoned to death.”
Struck by the unevenness of the punishment, Gabrielle Émilie looked away from the intertwined lovers. “Where is the justice in that? Does the punishment fit the crime? That one forfeits her life, while the other is merely banished? Is God’s will better served that these two be denied their love? Look upon this thrice cursed land where good Christians butcher each other in the name of God…we could use more honest lovers, than good Christians if you ask me!”
Ishmael spoke of his time in the Latin Kingdoms, “Once I traveled on a galley bound for Saint Jean d'Acre, capital of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. There in that holy land where turban’d anchorites answer the muezzin’s call and mourners cry at Herod’s wall; Church bells ring the call to prayer and the cross of Christ is there.”
Gabrielle Émilie asked of her lover, “Was not Abraham father to Ishmael, whose name you carry, and Isaac… to Jew and Muslim alike?” and Ishmael delivered this response, “True…true…and I say again, true. The lamp burns for us all; on tavern floors as on temple walls - all beseech in the Beloved’s name; we all see by the same inextinguishable flame. But even there, in the holiest of lands, men fall upon each other, eastern church against western Christians, Shi’a Fatimids war with Sunni Ayyubids, not for God’s will, but for the folly of man. Come, let us retire to the farmhouse, and take our leave. We can do nothing to end this cursed war or the plagues of men, but we can let these two lovers have their solitude.”
The following morning, the quartet made their way to the village of Donaueschingen on the banks of the Danube. There only being four of them, they managed to make their way with relative ease as their number and appearances were not threatening to either side. As it was late in the afternoon, they sought refuge in a local inn that also billeted some officers of the Imperial Army. At first the inn-keeper apologized as every room had been taken by the Imperial Army’s General Staff. Ishmael persisted, and convinced the inn-keeper to spare a room, and in exchange for the their night’s lodging, Ishmael arranged to have Shamhat dance for the cadre of officers in honor of his Imperial Highness while he and Gabrielle Émilie served the tavern patrons. Enkidu, being a fairly good cook, assisted in the kitchen. Shamhat having been a servant in the royal palace of Persia, was a very good dancer indeed.
As she danced the dance of the Seven Veils, the very dance that charmed John the Baptist’s head from his most pious body, Ishmael searched the crowd and found what he was looking for. There was an officer, who by his girth, was of well fed nobility. His uniform had the most gold braid of any in the room, and the number of medallions upon his chest was only surpassed by the number of his chins. Ishmael attended to this hero of the empire most diligently and filled his stein with lager and ale without fail. With each pass of the table, Ishmael would pronounce “Austriae est imperare orbi universo!” And dutifully, the well decorated officer and hero of the empire would rise and answer in his native tongue, “Alles Erdreich ist Österreich untertan!” - and promptly the table would rise and sing Te Deum in honor of his most Imperial Majesty. As quickly as the good officer would empty his stein, Ishmael then, just as promptly, would fill it from the flagon of ale he carried.
Soon enough, Ishmael noticed the good officer start to sway as he stood, like a young sapling caught in the wind. The noise and din of the tavern hall was lulled to silence as every man was entranced by the sway of Shamhat’s hips and shimmer of her almond hued breasts. At this point Ishmael, sat for a moment by the good officer, whose ruddy cheeks and reddened eyes were transfixed upon Shamhat’s pendulum hips. Ishmael queried of the good officer what were so many of the Imperial troops were doing in this good town. The good officer replied that they were to renew the offensive against the cursed Lutheran heretics and Bohemians who had rebelled against the His Holy Majesty, the Emperor. Ishmael came to know that sixty thousand men would march into the very valley from which the four of them had fled from. There they are to clash with the rebels and heretics who also numbered sixty thousand and were presently marching from the north.
Indeed, the very next morning, they were met with the most beautiful sunrise and the birds’ thrills floated on the morning breeze as the great army gathered in the streets below. Never was anything so gallant, so well accoutered, so brilliant, and so finely disposed as this sight. Young staunch men in ordered lines marched in tidy columns led by neatly pressed officers with fine feathered hats. There was no more noble a sight on God’s earth, than to see such an army march into battle. The trumpets, fifes, hautboys, drums, and cannon made such harmony as never was heard in Hell itself. Once the trumpets faded in the distance, the four travelers bought passage on the barge and hastily made their way to Vienna.
The heroic battle began by a discharge of cannon, which, in the twinkling of an eye, laid flat about 6,000 men on each side. A hail of arrows swept away, out of this, the best of all possible worlds, nine or ten thousand scoundrels that infested its surface. Another five thousand were trampled into the earth by the cavalry and lance. The sword and the mace were next the sufficient reason of the deaths of several thousands more. The whole might amount to thirty thousand souls. Amidst this plague of man’s madness, LeGuen and his men found themselves caught in the thick of it.
First, a volley of canon from the Imperial Army of the Holy Roman Empire cut LeGuen’s formation by a third, cutting down both man and horse. Then outside of St. Georgen, a company of Bohemian Luthers came across LeGuen’s formation, and since the Luthers did not speak French and the good Viscount, emissary from the king, did not speak German, what occurred next was a most troubling miscommunication that resulted in the subtraction of a dozen or so foot soldiers from LeGuen’s command. Having sufficiently survived that encounter, they next happened across a zealot Fähnlein, or company of Landsknechts, delightfully colorful German mercenaries with a redoubtable reputation, whose long pikes and beidhänder, a six foot sword, decimated LeGuen’s company of horse, leaving him with no more than ten. It was rumored that the Landsknechts were hired by one side, though it was not clear which, so as to deny the other side their use.
At the farmhouse, LeGuen decided to send his detachment of Horse, under the command of the lieutenant of Horse, by an alternative route, and that they would meet in Belgrade or Vienna and catch the fugitives in between. As it so would happen, with his cavalry barely out of sight, when the farmhouse was besieged by a superior number of Swiss Guard, hired mercenaries, who were employed as the Emperor’s personal guard. Of course an equal amount of Swiss also served on the other side as well. As LeGuen called out to the Swiss commander in French, the Swiss commander promptly mistook him for a French mercenary sent by the Catholic and most reverend Cardinal Richelieu to fight for the rebellious Lutherans against the Catholic League and the Habsberg Empire. All seemed desperate at the time, as the Swiss assembled in formations to prepare their assault. “O, affrighted souls! What misfortune is this, that we are locked in someone else’s war! Why do we press on? Surely the Saxons have sacked our beloved land by now, and our good king is a guest in his own dungeon,” cried François. Several of the men huddled around nodded their agreement with their fellow soldier. Spurred by this François continued on, “Have you seen such weapons of mass destruction in our fair Cartesia? Weapons that lay flat a hundred men a piece? Let us make peace with these men for we have no quarrel in this war, and make our way back home to swear our allegiance to our new king.”
LeGuen feeling his command slipping through his hands stood up and spoke as the Swiss sounded their advance. “Are we but children sent by our mothers to fetch bread from the baker or linen from the line? Are we not men, nay, fair better than men. We are Cartesian Halberdiers, and from this day to the ending of the world, none but we shall be remembered; we few, we happy few, we band of brothers; the King’s very own, entrusted not with a child’s errand or the safe keep of a handful of coins, but a noble mission to return to him, our king, the most precious of his belongings, the fair and beautiful Princess. What man among you had not looked upon her countenance whose very smile would the soul of suspicion disarm and whose tender heart could never deceive man or God.”
“Are not the virtues embodied in her form, the very virtues we seek in our wives and our daughters? Nay, in every woman? I see the doubt that clouds your eyes. Surely, I can not fix you to this spot of earth, for what the good Donatien has said is true – we have no quarrel here, but this: our sacred mission to fulfill. That he which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart. His passage shall be made and crowns for convoy put into his purse. We would not die in that man's company that fears his fellowship to die with us.”
“What we do here today, desecrates or makes hallow this very ground, for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; and gentlemen in fair Cartesia safe at home and hearth shall think themselves accursed they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon this very ground. This story shall the good man teach his son: of noble men who fought naught for the honor of a single maiden, but for all who call Cartesia home.”
The truth and shame, conspirators both, silenced François and sealed his lips. The drums and fife of the Swiss harkened closer. Emboldened by the Captain Commander’s speech, the lieutenant of foot stood up with sword drawn began to sound their charge, but his head was quickly crushed by an iron shot fired from an Arquebus, the precursor to the musket. Cartesia, was not a large kingdom by any means, and as such did not have such weapons in its arsenal. It was upon that signal that they charged upon the Swiss like wild geese. Courage swelled in their hearts, but could not swell their ranks and the Swiss quickly enfolded them.
Just as LeGuen’s tenuous position was about to collapse, an equally sizeable force of French Huguenots, watching from afar, mistook the Cartesians as one of their allies. The Huguenot Captain moved by the courage of such an act, attacked the Swiss from their flank. To the aid of the Swiss, a platoon of Flemish Free Lances charged the Huguenot line, breaking their advance, only to be stopped themselves by a pike square of Landsknechts augmented by a platoon of Doppelsöldners armed with Arquebus. Just then the Grand Army of the Holy Roman Empire, which by any record was neither Holy, nor Roman, nor empire, marched smartly upon the field fresh from having bloodied once again the poor hamlet of Brigach. In the noble butchery that ensued, LeGuen, now left with only a squadron of ten foot soldiers under Elcano, and the lot managed to carry themselves into the hamlet just before night fall. They tried one burned and ruined building after another, but could not find shelter that was not stacked high with the misery of men.
Twice they had to move as bands of mercenaries who roved the streets entered their building. At last, just outside of the hamlet they found refuge in the cemetery. It was the only location that was not affrighted with the carnage of war. As the men started cooking fires, and prepared their beddings for the night, they consoled themselves with song and mirth, survivors drunk on the sweet nectar of life.
“In youth, when I did love, did love,
Me thought it was very sweet,
To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my beloved,
O, me thought, there was nothing to meet
But age, with his stealing steps,
Hath claw'd me in his clutch,
And hath shipped me until the land,
As if I had never been such.”
As the men sang their tune, the good Viscount woefully lamented the vulgarity of his present condition. Elcano approached his commander who had set himself apart from the merriment. Elcano sat by the fire and asked of his good captain, “I pray, good sir, have we not served our king and country through the years, I by your side and you by mine?”
“Aye. We have soldiered many years, I by your side and you by mine.” Was LeGuen’s reply. “Speak, Sebastián, you have earned my confidence and I trust in your counsel.”
“Thank you, my Liege. If what our Donatien says is true, and our homes are sacked and our king and country are no more, why do you press on after this whelp?” Elcano asked.
“Is it the crowns you seek for your passage home?” LeGuen answered throwing a purse at Elcano’s feet.
Elcano picked up the purse and spoke as he studied it in his hand, “My Marie was taken from me by the cursed pox, and with her, my two sons and three daughters five years ago this night. A pallid moon such as this did hung over us that night when she breathed her last warm breath upon my cheek.” With that he walked over and replaced the purse at his captain’s feet. “Whatever Cartesia was to me I buried with them that night. All my life, service to the crown is all I’ve known, and these past five years, the company of these brave men is all I’ve known of home. So, Cartesia for me is not some patch of earth down some distant rocky path, beyond some yellow’d woods, but the patch of earth upon which you, my good captain, stand.”
“Well spoken, Sebastián. What is it then, do you seek of me?” Replied the Captain.
Elacano spoke softly to his Captain as he sat by his cooking fire, “If my life be forfeit for such a prize, all I seek is the reasons for this pursuit and why you should be so seized by this errant child that spurned you so long ago.”
LeGuen stared into the dancing flames, “She was all of seventeen years, two winters past - that day, there should have been a sign, a glorious sign, a rush of sparrows and popinjays falling upwards to the heavens, or rivers turning to crimson wine, some glorious sign to mark that day when I would see her for the first time. Our wise king seeking noble peace did in treat with our Saxon brethren, and as terms and sign of good faith did promise the hand of his daughter fair to the good Saxon Prince. A demand was placed to view the goods of such terms and as a trusted servant I was to escort our princess fair to visit with the Saxon Prince. As the Saxon king came upon the shore to greet our party, the royal prince took her hand and led her to his king, and the noble prince was seized by her beauty.”
“The prince led her with great pomp to his castle and as she entered the great hall, amid vassals, her beauty shone upon the walls and were lit as if they were lit by dawn’s early light. She had the king’s tenderness and barons’ honor; and the people they also adored her. She passed that day amid the frescoes on the walls and floors all strewn with flowers; good and noble jewels had she and purple cloth and tapestries from regal Hungary and Thessaly too.”
“Thus the Saxon king blessed a thousand swallows, by happy courtesy, had brought such a fair gift as this. The king blessed our princess, and his hundred knights who came on such an adventurous bark to see their liege pleased with joy of heart and sight. Thus was it decided that two years hence the two noble lovers shall be bound in holy matrimony – a date that has since passed and sealed all our fates.”
“Serenaded by minstrels and harpers, she walked in beauty like the night with heavenly bodies and starry climes with features that grace so soft, so calm and so eloquent. Her smile so sweet that tames the restless soul and reflects a heart that beats beneath her supple breast whose love is the purest innocence. Her chestnut colored hair, eyes of deepest blue, and fair and unpolluted flesh that carried the scent of violets in spring, seemed to glide on clouds of perfumed air. I loved the princess and love her still: forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.”
Then shifting his gaze to his trusted companion, “A soldier born, robbed of Lord and hearth, this…this banner boldly flung against all fears is all that’s left to spur my life onward bound.” Thus in silence the old soldiers having naught more to say contemplated all that had transpired and all that has yet to transpire, and the fate that awaits them at the far flung end of this path.
In the heady air hung the musky scent of their lovemaking; two lovers lay folded in each other’s arms. They had paid passage aboard a barge bound for the distant Black Sea. In the temporary repose from the cursed war, the two lovers sought comfort in each other’s arms. Now, stirred from sweet slumber, the two rose to find some morsels to satiate their hunger. They exited their small cloistered room, the coolness greeted them well and their breath hung heavy in the sweet early morning air, laying sight upon their companions they made way towards their company. Upon their arrival, Shamhat handed them both some bread and cheese and a few slices of an apple. Enkidu advised his friend Ishmael, that they were approaching Vienna.
They had agreed to travel the Danube in a barge from Donaueschingen to the town of Ismail in Bessarabia, on the coast of the Black Sea, where they shall seek shipping for Constantinople. The course of the Danube below Ingolstadt became much more picturesque. During this voyage they passed many willowy islands and saw several beautiful towns. The river descended rapidly and wound between hills, not high, but steep, and of beautiful forms. They saw many ruined castles standing on the edges of precipices, surrounded by black woods, high and inaccessible. This part of the Danube, indeed, presented a singularly variegated landscape. In one spot they viewed rugged hills and ruined castles sacked by Mongols, Bulgars and Avars, all in their own time, these sparse ruins overlooked tremendous precipices, with the blue Danube rushing beneath; and on the sudden turn of a promontory, such dark scenes would give way to flourishing vineyards with green sloping banks and the meandering river and populous towns occupied the scene.
Ishmael a seasoned warrior, noticed after some days spent in listless indolence, during which they traversed many leagues, how gloriously alive Gabrielle Émilie was to every new scene, joyful when she saw the beauties of the setting sun and all the more happier when she beheld it rise to start a new day. She would point out to Ishmael the shifting colors of the landscape and the appearances of the sky. She had an eye for such things as they were part of her studies. In the evenings, Shamhat taught her the dance of the veils that so enraptured the audience in the tavern, never neglecting her swordplay as well, her skills in both greatly improved with each passing day. “This is what it is to live,” she cried; “now I enjoy existence! I have seen the most beautiful scenes of this country.”
“The snowy mountains descend almost perpendicularly to the water, casting black and impenetrable shades, which would cause a gloomy and mournful appearance, were it not for the most verdant islands that relieve the eye with their gay appearance.”
They stayed a day at Regensburg to take on provisions and stores, and on the fifth day from their departure from Donaueschingen, they approached the city of Vienna.
They journeyed at the time and listened to the song of the other passengers as they glided down the river. Even Ishmael, depressed in mind and his spirits continually agitated by ill omens and gloomy feelings, was pleased this morning. He lay at the bottom of the boat, and as he gazed on the cloudless blue of the morning sky, he, as the others, seemed to drink in a tranquility to which had long been a stranger to these parts. Heavy rains had taken its toll and flooded many regions. However, today Ishmael felt as if he had been transported to a Fairy-land and enjoyed a happiness seldom tasted by men of his calling.
He was abruptly jolted out of his reverie by a spray of water from a canon ball that all but missed the bow of the boat. The singing and joyful mirth had given way to hurried steps and frightful screams as another volley sailed over the stern. At that moment, Enkidu came running up to him and all out of breath. “Good sir, I have just now spoken with the vessel’s captain and he said that Vienna is under siege by Calvinists from Transylvania. It is the Calvinist who fire upon us now.”
At that instant a volley of canon fire splintered the pilot house and the boat was now without a pilot or captain. Ishmael sprang to his feet and said, “We must abandon the vessel and swim for shore. Gather the women and make haste, my friend.”
For fear of the weight dragging them to the bottom, much had to be left behind. Each had a sword and bow and a little money in their purse and all else had to be left behind with their baggage train. No sooner had they swam free of the vessel that it was struck dead on by another volley of cannonade that splintered its hull and sent it to the river bottom. Once on shore they found themselves inside the fortified battlements of Vienna. Additional forces from Moldovia and Bohemia greatly added to the ranks of the Calvinists. Transylvania marched on the Habsburgs of Vienna. Transylvania’s armies were controlled by Prince Gabriel Bethlen, known to history as Bethlem Gabor. Gabor was a Calvinist as well as an opportunist, and his interests as both were greatly aroused by the Bohemian rebellion. To the south, the Ottoman Turks arrived in support of the Calvinists as they had earlier formed an alliance against the Catholics. The siege of the city had just begun in earnest.
Ishmael gathered his friends, and they made their way to a nearby inn, “The Prancing Stallion.” There they found the inn keeper, a good Christian and noble patriot, Monsieur Jacobin. Ishmael pleaded with him. “Charity, my good man, we are traveling merchants from Venice and our vessel was splintered right under our very feet by the Calvinists who assail your very city. We only seek a few nights rest to contemplate our fate and then we shall be on our way.”
With the utmost sincerity and Christian charity, Monsieur Jacobin replied, “Cursed fate! What misfortune! Do you have any money?”
For a night’s lodging and some dinner, the four spent a third of what money they were able to take with them, but a dry bed and a warm meal was well worth it. However; in three days time, they had exhausted all of their resources as well as the good Monsieur Jacobin’s charity, and the four found themselves out on the street. The city was not doing well under the siege, each passing day brought with it a thousand difficulties, disease and sicknesses, want of provisions, and great effusion of blood that followed after a million of Cannon shot, bombs, grenades, and all sorts of fire works, which changed the face of this the fairest and most flourishing city in the world; it disfigured and ruined most of the best Palaces of the same, and chiefly those of the Holy Emperor; and damaged in many places the beautiful tower and Church of St. Stephen, with many of its sumptuous buildings.
Our travelers huddled as best they could under awnings or abandoned doorways, and scrambled for what meager provisions they could find. On the fifth day of the siege, tired and sickened, with nothing but their wet clothes and weapons about them, Gabrielle Émilie once again questioned the wisdom of her decision and found herself in doubt. She thought to herself ‘tis true what Viscount Sans-Terre had said that there is no effect without a cause; and, that things cannot be otherwise than as they are; for as all things have been created for some end. That this miserable wretchedness had befallen them all because of her impudence, in her heart she pleaded with God to show her a sign or vision as to what possible divine ends such misery could lead to.
Having exhausted the good Christian charity of Monsieur Jacobin, they next came across a Lady Baroness, who weighed three hundred and fifty pounds, and consequently was a person of no small consideration or appetite; and who moved with a delicacy and dignity that commanded universal respect. She climbed upon her carriage with a basket of pastries and sweet breads dangling from her arm. The sight and smell of such fine breads made, at an instant, all four mouths salivate. Ishmael pleaded with the mistress, “Charity, my lady…” Upon which the Lady Baroness moved with such speed and efficacy that defied even the modern laws of physics. If such a mass could move so quickly in defiance of such laws of nature, then surely the possibility exists that the world is indeed round. For their troubles and offense, the four were beaten away by the good Baroness’ valet. At this, and seized by instant anger, Gabrielle Émilie gripped the hilt of her sword concealed beneath her tattered cloak. Ishmael stayed her hand with his, and said, “We are poor and hungry, but neither is a crime. Do not turn our misfortune into one.” Looking into his deep set eyes of blue that enchanted a princess and stole a kingdom, her anger was soothed by the kindness she saw in his eyes.
Next they chanced upon a stout Franciscan friar who supped in the open air outside a tavern, whose very purse was stuffed with the charity of the poor and hard working citizens of his parish. Before the good friar was a half a pheasant, a quail and a leg of lamb finely roasted. Fearing to offend once again, the foursome, decided to wait quietly and perhaps pick over the meager bones after the good friar was done. However, the friar took notice of this unsightly and most unwelcomed audience and summoned the tavern keep and complained thus, “How can a man of God, enjoy the heavenly fruits of His Majesty, in the presence of such a foul and wretched sight! Be gone with them or I fear I may lose my delicate appetite. ” With that admonishment, the tavern keep chased away the lot of them with a broom in hand. Again Gabrielle Émilie was seized by anger, and once again, Ishmael stayed her hand.
Hungry and destitute, they came across a family of five dining in a dank alley, such was the state of this family ravished by war and famine, their clothes in tatters and their feet and backs were bare to the elements. Yet so troublesome was the appearance of the four companions, which the patriarch of the family, greatly moved with pity and compassion, invited the four to sit and supp with them. They had none to offer but the finely cooked rat to share. Seeing that the flesh of rat was not pork nor grain or fruit, the patriarch offered a simple prayer of She-Hakol over the humble meal. After they had supped, a second prayer was said called Birkat Hamazon, and the four children excused themselves and thanked their parents for the meal as well as the strangers for their company. Gabrielle Émilie was moved to tears, commended the patriarch and his good wife on the fine young children they raised. To which the patriarch replied, “This cursed war has taken all from us that much is true, but we still retain our dignity and compassion which can only be surrendered and never taken.” With that the good patriarch gave them directions to the great cathedral at St. Stephen’s to seek help and shelter.
At this time the able Marshall of Austria Baron Selbst von Aufgesogen, assumed charge of the garrison with operational command entrusted to a German mercenary named Niklas Graffenburgh, who had earlier distinguished himself at the Battle of Pavia, but was now advanced in age. When Ishmael and his companions arrived at the cathedral, it had also shown the battered signs of the siege on its façade and many of its sumptuous buildings; and a great multitude of people gathered around it seeking protection and assistance. Marshall Aufgesogen had also established his headquarters at the cathedral, and set about shoring up the three-hundred-year-old walls surrounding St. Stephen's Cathedral. In addition, to ensure the city could withstand a lengthy siege, the Marshall blocked the four city gates and reinforced the walls, which in some places were no more than six feet thick, and erected earthen bastions and an inner earthen rampart, leveling buildings where necessary.
The Marshall was at the head of a regiment which included German Landsknecht mercenary pikemen and Spanish musketmen when the four travelers came upon the scene. The Marshall was looking for an able captain to command a column whose task it was to escort the Archduke safely out of the fortified city to his brother the Holy Roman Emperor to plead for reinforcements. There were many hot skirmishes that morning in the surrounding mountains; the Imperial Army lost near a hundred men, among who were the Sergeant Major of the Regiment, as well as the Captain of the Regiment, the Prince of Croy, and the Marshall of the Field himself was wounded there in his shoulder. The Imperial forces fired continually against the approaches and batteries of the Turks and Calvinists with the artillery from the city’s bastions and ramparts; the besiegers answered vigorously with theirs, and many great volleys of muskets were discharged from both sides, intermingled with great quantities of explosive ordinances.
Surely such a mission as this would be fraught with many dangers, and there was hesitation among the Marshall’s officer corps. Ishmael having found a freshly killed corpse of a lowly lieutenant, and finding that the heroic officer had no more use for his tunic, donned on the good lieutenant’s uniform. Having been in the military service, Ishmael performed the military exercises of that nation before the Marshall of this Imperial Army with so intrepid an air, and with such agility and expedition, that Ishmael received the command of a company of Landsknecht. Being now made a captain, he embarked on the most dangerous mission for which he was just newly commissioned. Before taking leave of the good Marshall, Ishmael pleaded with his commander, “My liege, I gladly take on this most dangerous mission, but I have but one humble request.”
The Marshall replied, “Your sacrifice and sense of duty is well appreciated by the empire, and all our fates lay in you capable hands. Name your request brave sir, and I shall see to it personally.”
Ishmael called forth Gabrielle Émilie and Shamhat as well. “Our humble dwellings were set afire this very morn and my most virtuous wife and her servant have no where to lay their head, but the wet ground. With myself gone on this most hazardous mission, which I proudly bare, I fear there shall be no one to care for their safety until my return.”
The Marshall, in part being a gentlemen and an officer, but mostly a man, looked upon the mud caked face of Gabrielle Émilie and saw the glimmer of her heavenly blue eyes beneath a flutter of eye lash, and with a flourish of his hand, declared “My brave sir, fear not for they shall habit with me in my own residence as if they were my own family. We all await your hasty return, Godspeed.”
“I am in your debt, my Liege.” Ishmael replied with a courteous bow and flourish of his finely feathered cap. “As we all are in yours, good Captain,” was the Marshall’s reply.
A most modest kiss Ishmael did lay on Gabrielle Émilie’s ruddy cheek as he took his leave accompanied by his valet, Enkidu. The Marshall true to his word, had his aide de camp escort Gabrielle Émilie, and Shamhat to his quarters.
The Marshall, being an officer and nobleman, carried himself with a haughtiness suitable to a person who bore so lofty a rank. His family crest held no less than sixty four quarterings A Quartering in one’s heraldry demonstrated the joining of several different coats of arms together in one shield by dividing the shield into equal parts and placing different coats of arms in each division. The majority of family crests displayed arms which were claimed by descent: in other words, the Marshall’s crest demonstrated his pedigree and fine breeding, and represented the most exquisite ancestry of the good Marshall. He hunted with his mastiffs and spaniels instead of greyhounds; his groom served him for huntsman; and the parson of the parish officiated as his grand almoner. He was called “My Liege” by all in his command, and he never told a story that no one laughed at it. He spoke with the most noble disdain to everyone, carried his nose so high, strained his voice to such a pitch, assumed so imperious an air, and stalked with so much loftiness and pride, that everyone who had the honor of conversing with him was violently tempted to bastinade His Excellency.
As the Marshall had to confer with the German Mercenary and his Chief General to prepare for the days defenses and campaigns, he gave strict instructions to his aide de camp to bathe and feed the women and to prepare one of the apartments in the royal palace for the two. It was a magnificent palace, The Marshall was one of the most powerful lords in the Empire, for his palace had not only a gate and a garden, but even windows, and his great hall was hung with the finest tapestry. A grand bath was prepared for the both, first in perfumed rose water, then in a bath of honeyed milk. They ate a sumptuous meal of fresh fruits, nuts, fine breads, and tender meats, in a most lavish hall that had no less than four busts of the Marshall adorning each wall, one in Granite, another in Ivory and Marble and the fourth was in solid Gold. That night they slept in a finely adorned apartment with Shamhat having her own chamber and the both drifted to sweet slumber wrapped in glorious linens and fine silks.
The next morning, the Marshall waited on his guests at the foot of his magnificent staircase. As Gabrielle Émilie appeared in a most sumptuous gown, she floated down the staircase as if she were carried on the wings of angels. He was a notorious womanizer who was immoderately fond of women, and Gabrielle Émilie appeared in his eyes a paragon of beauty. With the good captain away, the most noble Marshall was left alone with Gabrielle Émilie.
At breakfast, he observed her fine manners and etiquette and asked what noble house she came from, for no lieutenant’s wife held such bearing and composure. At this and reminded of those who pursued her, Gabrielle Émilie humbly told her gracious host that she came from a humble manor in the south of France, that could produce no more than threescore and eleven quarterings in her arms; the rest of the genealogical tree belonging to the family having been lost through the injuries of time. Though low in rank, she added, her good lieutenant, now a Captain, was indeed a kind and noble spirit. Not wishing to offend, the Marshall agreed and added compliments to the good Captain for his bravery.
After breakfast, the two strolled in the garden amid the fine statuaries and fountains. The Marshall took note of the fine Sunday morning and asked Gabrielle Émilie for the pleasure of her company that day. Not wanting to offend her most generous host, Gabrielle Émilie inclined the Marshall’s request. A gilded coach was summoned pulled by the handsomest of steeds. They traveled to a far off hill where a great number of people gathered to watch from a-far the descent and combat of the two grand armies. They had a very good seat, and refreshments of all kinds were offered the ladies between volley and repose.
Early in the morning, the Imperial troops marching down the neighboring mountains of Kalemberg, and under continually discharges of the Calvinist artillery, advanced against the Turks, who were fortified with parapets of earth and great stones, to hinder the descent of the Imperial Army from the mountains. The Vanguard of the Horse and Foot, seconded by the Polish Horse, had a long skirmish with the Turks; disputing every foot of ground. Afterwards four companies of foot, led by the Calvinist prince, entered into the fray supported by Swiss mercenaries. Above the fray, the Marshall picnicked with his lovely charge, and the two laughed with gaiety and mirth while the fortunes of men wrestled in the valley below.
After awhile, and the expiration of a great many lives, the good Marshall leapt to his feet as his forces moved to better his opponents. He excitedly explained to the good lady the cause of his excitement, “Ah, there goes the colors of the brave Prince Lewis of Baden and Colonel Heusler entering the trenches of our besiegers, at the same time Count Staremburgh sallied and seconded them, and has repulsed the Ottoman Janizaries,” Gabrielle Émilie, who in secret still practiced her skills in arms, listen aptly to her host, “At the same time there… a skirmish in the camp of the Janizaries, who had rushed out of the trenches, but they made no great resistance, and like cowards ran away before the good Count Staremburgh.”
At this Gabrielle Émilie repeated what she had learned over the course of her time with Ishmael, and of the writings and theories of war and the Firenze Prince Machiavelli. “A prince ought to have no other aim or thought, nor select anything else for his study, than war and its rules and discipline; for this is the sole art that belongs to him who rules, and it is of such force that it not only upholds those who are born princes, but it often enables men to rise from a private station to that rank. If not the empire, then the world has need of those who, by their own ability and not through fortune, have risen to be princes, I say that Moses, Cyrus, Romulus, Theseus, and such like are the most excellent examples. It is not with false flattery that I count you and your fine officers among these historic figures.”
After a slight pause, she continued, “As I was taught in my youth, that there is no effect that is without cause, thus it was necessary, therefore, to Moses that he should find the people of Israel in Egypt enslaved and oppressed by the Egyptians in order that they should be disposed to follow him so as to be delivered out of bondage. It was necessary that Romulus should not remain in Alba, and that he should be abandoned at his birth in order that he should become King of Rome and founder of the fatherland. These opportunities, therefore, made those men fortunate, and their high ability enabled them to recognize the opportunity whereby their country was ennobled and made famous.”
Greatly flattered by her compliment, the Marshall was intrigued and excited at his young charge’s profound comprehension of things. He in turn replied, “although one may not discuss Moses, he having been a mere executor of the will of God, yet he ought to be admired, if only for that favour which made him worthy to speak with God. But in considering Cyrus and others who have acquired or founded kingdoms, I agree all will be found admirable; and if their particular deeds and conduct shall be considered, they will not be found inferior to those of Moses, although he had so great a preceptor.”
Taking a pause to sip at his wine, the Marshal continued on, “And in examining their actions and lives, one cannot see that they owed anything to fortune beyond opportunity, which brought them the material to mould into the form which seemed best to them. Without that opportunity their powers of mind would have been extinguished, and without those powers the opportunity would have come in vain.”
Gabrielle Émilie answered, “Agreed, my Liege. Those who by valorous ways become princes, like yourself, acquire a principality with difficulty, but they keep it with ease. If Moses, Cyrus, Theseus, and Romulus had been unarmed they could not have enforced their constitutions for long — as happened in our time to Fra Girolamo Savonarola, who was ruined with his new order of things immediately the multitude believed in him no longer, and he had no means of keeping steadfast those who believed or of making the unbelievers to believe. Therefore such as these have great difficulties in consummating their enterprise, for all their dangers are in the ascent, yet with ability they will overcome them; but when these are overcome, and those who envied them their success are exterminated, they will begin to be respected, and they will continue afterwards powerful, secure, honoured, and happy.”
The good Marshall could not find fault in his youthful companion’s logic, “It is necessary, therefore, if we desire to discuss this matter thoroughly, to inquire whether these innovators can rely on themselves or have to depend on others: that is to say, whether, to consummate their enterprise, have they to use prayers or can they use force? In the first instance they always succeed badly, and never accomplish anything; but when they can rely on themselves and use force, then they are rarely endangered. Hence it is that all armed prophets have conquered, and the unarmed ones have been destroyed. Besides the reasons mentioned, the nature of the people is variable, and whilst it is easy to persuade them, it is difficult to fix them in that persuasion. And thus it is necessary to take such measures that, when they believe no longer, it may be possible to make them believe by force.” With that the good Marshall swept his hand across the valley before them shrouded in acid smoke and littered with those praying for death and those whose prayer had already been answered.
“If, my kind benefactor would allow, to these great examples I wish to add a lesser one; still it bears some resemblance to them, and I wish it to suffice me for all of a like kind: it is you, my brave Marshall. This most gallant man, whose kindness and generosity I enjoy, rose from a private station to be Baron of Vienna, nor did you, either, owe anything to fortune but opportunity; for the Austrians, being harassed, chose you for their Marshall, afterwards you were rewarded by being made a Baron. You were of so great ability, even as a private citizen, that one who writes of you says you wanted nothing but a kingdom to be a king. You abolished the old soldiery, organized the new, gave up old alliances, made new ones; and as you had your own soldiers and allies, on such foundations you were able to build any edifice: thus, whilst you surely had endured much trouble in acquiring, I see you had but little in keeping.” The Marshall having been greatly swelled by his young charges most august flattery, found him seized of her womanly charms. Yet, being a man of great fortitude and bearing stayed his lustful passions yet again. For the remainder of the afternoon, the two discussed matters of strategy and force of arms, at which the Marshall was taken by her deft grasp of such a subject as war.
As all that was left was the ambulances and stretcher bearers, the two decided to retire to the Marshall’s residence. There they once again feasted in the great hall of the Marshall upon such a sturdy and ornate table. As a matter of conversation, it was mentioned that upon this very table the Treaty of Milan and the peace of Augsberg were both forged and signed. The venerable Pope himself dined upon it as well. She was presented with a partridge in a pear sauce which was accompanied by more sweet wine. They conversed some more over dinner, punctuated by laughter and mirth, and the Marshall was enraptured by her presence and grace. He lost not one syllable she uttered, and seemed to devour her with his eyes all the time she was speaking. When Gabrielle Émilie took a sip of her wine, at which a most miniscule drop of crimson trailed from the corner of her coyly smiling lips, and from her delicate chin did it drop to her heaving bosoms. Which then ever so slowly continued its maddening journey until it was lost in the supple folds of her flesh.
At once, no longer able to bear it and seized by mad passions, the Marshall lost all composure and crossed the room in such a bound as to startle her. He took her in his arms and confessed that at any moment their lives could be made forfeit in this cursed war, and that he could not bear to go to grave without tasting the sweet kiss of her tender lips. He made her a strong declaration of love, protesting that he was ready to give her his hand in the face of the Church, or otherwise, as should appear most agreeable to a young lady of her prodigious beauty. Gabrielle Émilie, somewhat startled but flattered, begged to take her leave to consult her servant, Shamhat, to collect her own composure, and determine how she should proceed. Though he found this odd, he granted her desire as he could not bear to look into her sweet countenance and deny her anything.
In the kitchen, where she found Shamhat, she presented her dilemma. Shamhat gave the following counsel, “Miss, our men are sent away to war, we are encircled by our enemies and the city burns around us, but not one ash falls upon our cheek. You have threescore and eleven quarterings in your coat of arms, it is true, but you have not a penny to bless yourself with. It is your own fault if you do not become the wife of one of the greatest noblemen in the Holy Roman Empire, with an exceeding fine mustachio. What business have you to pride yourself upon an unshaken constancy? Was it not just the morning last when we dined on a skewered rat, and the next moment slumber in sumptuous sheets and silken gown at the sacrifice of your fine Ishmael and the generosity of the noble Marshall. Our future is at most uncertain. People take advantage of misfortunes. I must confess, were I in your place, I should, without the least scruple, give my hand to the Baron-Marshall, and thereby make the fortune of the brave Captain Ishmael.”
After a quarter of an hour, Gabrielle Émilie did return to the company of the good Marshall, she informed him of her consent and he, overcome with passion, gave chase and she obliged him the sport. After a short run, he heaved her upon the sturdy table, on which the Treaty of Milan was penned and the good Pope and Holy Father once took his meal, and lavished her with amorous kisses. Amidst the clatter of falling dishes, the Marshall cooed “Ah, mein liebling, you are a feisty vixen as I have suspected and well worth the sport, but you must know that I am a master huntsman accustomed to hunt with my mastiffs and spaniels.”
“Mercy, good sir,” Gabrielle Émilie coyly teased, “I fear your hounds have cornered my fox in her burrow.”
“Aye, they do give chase and prick thy sweet lair.” Murmured the passioned Marshall. At which she let loose such a vixen’s wail that trembled her thighs and quivered her breasts.
She let slip on last quivering sigh, “Oh, my liege, I am found and undone.”
The following day, at supper time she was then presented with two turtle doves, roasted, and a partridge in a pear sauce. A similar dalliance occurred as the night before in which sweet Gabrielle Émilie’s firm bottom buffed the surface of an equally prestigious desk, this time in the Marshall’s study where the Battle of Lipany was conceived.
On the second week of the siege, the good Marshall presented to Gabrielle Émilie three French hens, two turtle doves, roasted, and a partridge in a pear sauce. The week following as a continued profession of his undying love for her presented her at supper with four finely feathered calling birds in a gilded cage, three French hens, two turtle doves, roasted, and a partridge in a pear sauce. Their passioned embraces and aerobatic dalliances continued as there was no shortage of rooms in the magnificent palace. On the fourth week of the siege, the Marshall sent to her five splendid gold rings, four finely feathered calling birds in gilded cages, three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear sauce, which she promptly fed to the mastiffs when her master was not looking.
While the Marshall was away inspecting the troops and the lines, Gabrielle Émilie continued with her swordsmanship and her lessons with Shamhat in regard to the Dance of the Seven Veils. It is during these private lessons that Gabrielle Émilie decided to confide with Shamhat. The two stood face to face and breast to breast, and Shamhat’s hands were upon Gabrielle Émilie’s hips as she sought to teach her to swivel her hips more pronouncedly as to do the dance properly. Gabrielle Émilie confessed her true love for Ishmael had not diminished any, though she did admit that she was flattered that the Marshall was very fond of her, which was certain; neither could she deny that he was well made, and had a soft, white skin.
And Shamhat answered, saying: “My lady, pleasure is a freedom song, but it is not freedom. It is the blossoming of your desires, but it is not their fruit. It is a depth calling unto a height, but it is neither the deep nor the high. It is the caged taking wing, but it is not space encompassed. Ay, in very truth, pleasure is a freedom-song. And I would have you sing it with fullness of heart; yet I would not have you lose your heart in the singing. Thus, if the love you harbor for dear Ishmael be true indeed, guard that grain of truth deep within thine heart, and though your Marshall-Baron may enter into thine lush valley from countless approaches, defend that grain of truth from all advances and reproaches.”
Gabrielle Émilie admitted that though he was better than twenty years her senior and her only being nineteen years of age, he still possessed the vigor of a woodsman splitting wood. There was much to be satisfied and the good Baron, Marshall of Vienna, did much to satisfy her. But despite all of this, Gabrielle Émilie confessed she did not love the Marshall, though she took pleasure in his company.
Again, Shamhat spoke, having some years and experience in advance of the sweet Gabrielle Émilie, “Some of your youth seek pleasure as if it were all, and they are judged by others and rebuked. I would not judge nor rebuke them. I would have them seek. For they shall find pleasure, but not her alone: Seven are her sisters, and the least of them is more beautiful than pleasure. Have you not heard of the man who was digging in the earth for roots and found a treasure? And some of your elders remember pleasures with regret like wrongs committed in drunkenness. But regret is the beclouding of the mind and not its chastisement. They should remember their pleasures with gratitude, as they would the harvest of a summer. And there are among you those who are neither young to seek nor old to remember; and in their fear of seeking and remembering they shun all pleasures, lest they neglect the spirit or offend against it.”
Gabrielle Émilie listened aptly to her companion for she found many truths in her words. So Shamhat continued, “But tell me, who is he that can offend the spirit? Shall the nightingale offend the stillness of the night, or the firefly the stars? And shall your flame or your smoke burden the wind? Think you the spirit is a still pool which you can trouble with a staff? Oftentimes in denying yourself pleasure you do but store the desire in the recesses of your being. Who knows but that which seems omitted today, waits for tomorrow? Even your body knows its heritage and its rightful need and will not be deceived. Thus your body is the harp of your soul, and it is yours to bring forth sweet music from it or confused sounds. We are travelers in a vast desert and we drink of the pleasures of the moment, so that in time we may drink deeply from the Prophet’s Well, whereupon the prophet Musa, who you call Moses, found his true love.”
Her mind eased by her companion’s counsel, Gabrielle Émilie returned to her lover’s chambers where they were in amorous dalliance for two hours time. The good Baron-Marshall, being a master tactician and soldier did enter her valley from countless approaches and his advances were many and varied indeed. Her report and counter were just as equally vigorous, and ravished and exhausted, Gabrielle Émilie slipped into the folds of sweet slumber having held steadfast to her grain of truth locked away in her heart’s keep; a prize she championed earnestly and which she intended to keep for her most gallant Captain.
Upon the following week, the Marshall’s protestation of love continued. On the fifth week of the siege, she received seven magnificent swans swimming in the pond, six geese a-laying, five splendid gold rings, four finely feathered calling birds in gilded cages, three French hens, two turtle doves, roasted, and a partridge in a pear sauce, which she promptly fed to the mastiffs and spaniels for which she now grew weary of.
Still there was no word of relief, and the situation within the city became desperate indeed. After so many new retrenchments, pallizadoes, parapets, new ditches in the ravelins, bastions, courtins, and the loss of so many brave officers and soldiers, whose valour and bravery deserve immortal glory. After so many toils endured, so many watches and so many orders so prudently distributed by the brave Marshall, and so punctually executed by the other officers; the fairest and most flourishing city in the world, disfigured and ruined, was reduced almost to its last gasp. Despondent and depressed, the Marshall of Vienna, a man who normally had the vigor of a woodsman splitting wood, walked past the sumptuous meal prepared for him in the grand hall, nor was his sprits perked even by the serenade of the twelve finely feathered calling birds in their most exquisite gilded cages, and could but barely climb the two hundred and forty marble steps to his bed chamber. He bemoaned to Gabrielle his fear that all was lost in the city, and that her fair captain would not return in time to save their fates. With great production the Marshall fell upon his billowy sheets of satin and silk.
Several attempts were made by Gabrielle Émilie to restore his vigor, but all had failed. Fearing that if she could not restore the brave Marshall’s vigor, his own officers would be faint of heart and of weak resolve, and in short succession the troops themselves having no one to lead them would abandon their earnest defense of the city. Drawing upon her experience, she straddled the fine officer and said unto him, “Stretch out your arms and take hold the cloth of your clothes with both hands. The cure for the pain is in the pain. We live in a field of mixed wheat and weeds; good and bad are mixed. If you don’t have both, you don’t belong with us. When one of us gets lost, is not here, he must be inside of us.” Then touching her breast then his, she said “There’s no place like that anywhere in the world.”
Then she lowered her lips to his, “If anyone asks you how the perfect satisfaction of all our sexual wanting will look, lift your face and say like this.” Gabrielle Émilie held her face inches from his, their breath warm on each other’s lips.
Again she whispered, “If anyone wants to know what ‘spirit’ is, or what ‘God’s fragrance’ means, lean your head toward her. Keep your face there. Like this.” Then she lifted his face to her bosom where he took in her sweet fragrance.
Parting briefly, Gabrielle Émilie felt the subtle stirrings awakening in her lover’s loins. She continued, “If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead, don’t try to explain the miracle. Like this…” Applying the lessons she had learned from Shamhat she swiveled and rocked her hips is such a manner as to have raised Lazarus himself from his tomb. Twice. And twice did he rise, and twice again before the cock cried the next morning. The Marshall thus having renewed his vigor instilled upon his officer at the morning’s muster such a rallying cry as ever was heard, and the officers whose own resolve was renewed, inspired their men to such a strong defense as to have repulsed three gallant charges by their enemies before nightfall. There was much merriment and mirth around the cooking fires and many a rat was skewered and stewed in celebration of their victory that day!
On the sixth week of the siege, Gabrielle Émilie awoke to the company of eight maids in waiting, seven magnificent swans swimming in the pond, six geese a-laying, five splendid gold rings, four finely feathered calling birds in gilded cages, three French hens, two turtle doves, roasted, and a partridge in a pear sauce, which she having now developed a strong aversion to such, promptly sent into the city to feed the less fortunate. The seventh week, she awoke to nine fine ladies dancing, eight maids in waiting, seven magnificent swans swimming in the pond, six geese a-laying, five splendid gold rings, four finely feathered calling birds in gilded cages, three French hens, two turtle doves, roasted, and a partridge in a pear sauce, which she ordered to be served to the people for even the mastiffs and spaniels had developed an aversion to the fine meal.
Upon the eighth week of the siege, the Marshall himself delivered ten of the most handsome valets, nine fine ladies dancing, eight maids in waiting, seven magnificent swans swimming in the pond, six geese a-laying, five splendid gold rings, four finely feathered calling birds in gilded cages, three French hens, two turtle doves, roasted, and a partridge in a pear sauce, which the well mannered Gabrielle Émilie simply pushed away. Feeling sprightly and full of vigor, the Marshall was in the mood for a little bit of sport. In short order, the fox was unbridled and the hounds unmuzzled and the hunt was soon afoot. In quick succession, the fox was cornered and her lair about to be pricked when in walked the Baroness Hildegard Buergerkönig, the lawful wife, of the Marshall of Vienna and Baron Selbst von Aufgesogen. At each elbow was a plump and rosy cheeked child whose lips surely never tasted rain water drunk from gutter nor the flesh of a rat skewered over an open fire. The Baroness Buergerkönig had just freshly arrived along with the relief column upon which the brave Ishmael now led into the city walls, beheld such a sight as her bare bottomed husband caught in between the milky thighs of such a harlot, whose slender legs pointed straight up at the ceiling. With a shriek and a cry the Baroness retired from the scene swearing in her native German that her eyes had been blinded by a hot poker! The Marshall-Baron quickly pursued the Baroness with his hounds left whimpering in their kennel.
At the sound, Shamhat rushed into the room, to find the flushed Gabrielle Émilie composing herself, “My lady, we surely are undone! The mistress of the house has returned to all of our surprise and cries foul at what you have done!”
“If only the most learned Viscount de Sans-Terre were here!” replied Gabrielle Émilie, “he would have given us most excellent advice, in this emergency; for he was a profound philosopher and master of cause and effect. But, since he is not here, let us not dally and assist in our own undoing.”
But as they were to make their hasty exit, the good Marshall, having sedated his outraged wife, returned in better mood that when he left. Though their passions for each was strong, the Baroness Hildegard Buergerkönig held no less that ninety four quarterings upon her crest where the supple Gabrielle Émilie only had threescore and eleven quarterings in her coat of arms. Thus, having lost her status, Gabrielle Émilie and Shamhat were immediately evicted from their apartment and moved to a less ostensible, but no less comfortable cottage in the country. The noble Marshall thanked the kind Gabrielle Émilie for her indulgences and she in turn thanked him for his; as such was the courtesy accustomed to each. The Marshall assigned several valets to assist in their move and all that she was given she was allowed to keep.
After a siege of Sixty days, accompanied with a thousand difficulties, famine, sicknesses, death, and a great effusion of blood; after a vigorous defense and a resistance without parallel, Heaven favorably heard the prayers and tears of a cast-down and mournful people, and retorted the terror on a powerful enemy, and drove him from the walls of Vienna. No longer a Captain, Ishmael returned at the head of the relief column with the august rank of Major General which was bestowed upon him by the Emperor himself for having saved his most royal brother the Archduke.
After being resettled in their cottage and having freshly heard of the arrival of the relief column, the two women ventured forth to the place where the grand army camped. Amongst the officers and heraldry, Gabrielle Émilie found her Ishmael, and Shamhat found her Enkidu; and the four were once again rejoined with much celebration and joyful shouting. Having risen to his new rank, Ishmael, had on his staff a major, three captains, twice the number in lieutenants and a pay master and sergeant major. Additionally, he had a standard bearer, a bugler, and an aide de camp. He had two horses, one for parade and the other a war horse, as well as a page to care for the horses. He had his own baggage train that carried a great deal of fine furnishing and tapestries, an august salary, and three valets. Among his belongings was a bust of himself done by Herr Riemenschneider who at present did a similar relief of the church father—Saint Augustine, Bishop of Hippo. Having gazed upon his current rank, Gabrielle Émilie striken by sudden remorse at her tryst with the Marshall, confessed to her true love, “Ma cherie, I have done terrible things in your absence…”
Ishmael bent down and lifted her up on her feet. Then looking about the ruins of the city and bodies heaped upon rubble he said unto her, “The morning I left you, we supped upon the flesh of a rat and huddled in alleyways for lack of warmth. I have been gone away two long months while you remained captive in a besieged city with barbarians and heretics at the gate. Death lingers on the doorways and windowsills of this city. Years of rain shall not wash away the blood from this cobbled streets so easily. How can I stand in judgment of what you had to do in order to survive? My dear Émilie, comfort in the knowledge that I know what ever ill you did, you did so to survive and not to harm. I need not know the horrid detail, but only the result. That my fair Émilie is alive, and I am most joyously reacquainted with her.” And with that the two lovers once apart, now rejoined, kissed ever so softly. Enjoying their new fortune, the both resolved to settle in the small cottage in Vienna. While the good Major General attended to his troops with Enkidu at his side, Shamhat and Gabrielle Émilie tended to home and hearth until their men came home. Shamhat having taught Gabrielle Émilie the art of cooking and spices, and Gabrielle Émilie having mastered the Dance of the Seven Veils, Shamhat now sought to teach Gabrielle Émilie how to plant and tend a garden.
In nearby Regensburg, LeGuen’s party now lodged in an inn above a tavern. He had met with his company of horse, which now numbered eight, in Belgrade as agreed and attempted to enter Vienna, only to find the city under siege by a grand army of Turks and Calvinists. Fearing a repeat of the battle of St. Georgen they opted to lodge in Regensburg and await word of the lifting of the siege. Presently he found himself engaged in a conversation with the good sage and emissary, the Viscount de Sans-Terre. LeGuen lamented over the loss of several of their number at the battle of St. Georgen and the loss of the carriage and the treasury it carried. The viscount remarked that “Everything that moves is put into motion by something else as no effect is without cause. This, good captain, is the paramount law of nature to which all is subject. History bears my case and lends credence to my position as it was necessary to Moses that he should find the people of Israel in Egypt enslaved and oppressed by the Egyptians, in order that they should be disposed to follow him so as to be delivered out of bondage. It was necessary that Romulus should not remain in Alba, and that he should be abandoned at his birth, in order that he should become King of Rome and founder of the fatherland. It was necessary that Cyrus should find the Persians discontented with the government of the Medes, and the Medes soft and effeminate through their long peace. Theseus could not have shown his ability had he not found the Athenians dispersed. These opportunities, therefore, made those men fortunate, and their high ability enabled them to recognize the opportunity whereby their country was ennobled and made famous.”
To which LeGuen had this in reply, “’Tis true, you are a learned philosopher and master barber, but how do we gain, if any, from our misfortune? We are a third in number that when we first set out, our homes are forfeit, our King a pauper, our fortune squandered, and the object of our rescue, the good and fair princess, continues to lay beyond our grasp in Vienna?”
“It is a demonstrable thing,” said the viscount, “that things cannot be otherwise than as they are; for as all things have been created for some end, they must necessarily be created for the best end. We were delayed in St. Georgen, and our number lessened, so as not to fall into the same perilous trap which our quarry now finds themselves in. We sit in a tavern in fair Regensburg in relative comfort, while those we seek are trapped in the Vienna that now finds itself besieged by Turks and Heretics. Our treasury was lost at the onset of the battle that much is true as well, but as we lost those poor souls, we have fewer men to feed and quarter.”
At that moment, Elcano arrived at the table and bid the two greetings. “My Liege, I have just heard, the siege is lifted and the attackers repulsed. A barge prepares to sail in the morning and passage on it I have already secured.”
Elated, the good Captain-Commander turned to the Master Barber, “Perhaps, my good man, your logic shall prove true yet.” Then he rose to his feet and gave this order to Elcano, “Bring to me Donatien as I will send him forward with our cavaliers, while the main body of foot shall travel by barge.” At that Elcano disappeared and reappeared with François. LeGuen addressed his good man, “My good Donatien, you once had her within your grasp, so I am counting on you to find her again. Take our horsemen and travel over land to Vienna where the siege has been lifted and scout the city for our fair quarry, whilst our main body under my command follows suit in the barge. At St. Stephens Square we shall meet. I pray, good soldier, secure her whereabouts forthwith, but do not let your presence be known to her captors so that we may hold the advantage this time around.”
François then replied, “As you command, my Liege. We leave forthwith!”
The Cartesians arrived around mid-morning in wounded Vienna, and François started to question its fine citizenry, at least those who could reply, the whereabouts of the fair and lovely princess. At a tavern, he found a Tavern Keep who recalls a woman of like resemblance who had irritated a Fransican and directed them to the Abbot at St. Stephens. The Abbot then questioned the friars under his charge and one of portly measure stepped forward having recalled the encounter that lead to the loss of his appetite; he complained of his loss of stature, though none could discern such a loss. The friar then directed the Cartesian to the market place where such beggars can be found. Upon arriving there and questioning several individuals he then came across a valet, one of ten, employed by the Marshall of Vienna, who in his time served such a woman of similar countenance as the princess they sought. Indeed, he even assisted in the transfer of her belongings when the Marshall’s good wife happened upon the two in a most inconvenient way.
The valet after being convinced with a purse full of crowns, gold and silver alike, gladly directed the Cartesians to the cottage where Gabrielle now resided with her lover and friends. François then ordered his men to ride forthwith to the cottage to capture the errant princess. A discussion then ensued among the soldiers as a number of them remembered the captain’s orders to meet at St. Stephens Square and not let their presence be known. But François still seized of the humiliation he received at her hands, was determined to seek revenge upon her.
Unbeknownst to the group, nearby stood Shamhat, who that very morning traveled to the market to purchase goods for the household they now sought. While the soldiers argued amongst themselves, Shamhat traveled with speed and expedience, using a short cut only known to her, which brought her quickly to her mistress’ door.
When she arrived, Shamhat found Gabrielle Émilie in the bath. “My lady, the Cartesians are here in Vienna and they search for you as we speak! We must leave immediately as they have learned of our location.” At that moment the Cartesians traveling on horseback arrived outside their gate.
“Bring me my sword and I shall conceal it in the bath with me. Get you to our master with due haste as he still commands a regiment under the good Marshall!” Gabrielle Émilie commanded. Shamhat escaped through an open window as the Cartesians with force entered the cottage. Four were posted outside as sentries and François entered the cottage with the other four. The first to enter found the princess in the bath and in her natural state. As he approached she gave no alarm and slowly rose from the water. So transfixed was the soldier on the bare breasts of the fair princess that he did not see the glint of Damascene Steel that rose along with her that split him from belly to chin. A second did enter and found the princess fully nude in the guard of the falcon. He, too, took in her full measure, as well as her womanhood, and was blind to the broadsword she held above her chestnut tresses. Through gritted teeth, Gabrielle Émilie growled, “Give my love to the King!” With a quick and powerful slash cleaved the soldier’s head from crown to chin. His eyes seemed to cross as if to watch each half fall away from the other; his last thought was to wonder if he truly was dead or if it was all a dream.
As she entered her bed chamber to which the bath connected she found two more soldiers, one of which was the fellow who escaped the ambush on the road several months past. Recognizing him, Gabrielle Émilie taunted him, “Ah, you again. I see you have returned to claim your prize.” Then raising her sword to a high guard, she said to him, “If you best me and my sword, then you can claim your prize and sample my flesh.” The soldier lunged at Gabrielle Émilie, and as he did so his eyes were not on her sword, but on her rose pink breasts that quivered ever so lightly with the powerful downward slash of her sword. She snapped the soldier’s sword in two; then pivoting around she brought her sword level to her breast and perpendicular to her body, at which time, the soldier noticed for the first time that she was armed indeed. Putting her left foot forward, she then brought her blade over her right shoulder. Flatly she said, “This is called La Posta di Donna, the guard of the queen, and it is a guard of provocation.” Gabrielle Émilie then deftly separated the fool from his head.
Once again, François found himself alone and with just as many dead companions as before. Never in his life had he seen any woman, much less a princess, fight like a banshee with such skill; protected with no armor except her bare skin. Incredulously, he inquired, “A whelp of the house of Cartesia moves me! Wherefore have you learned such skill? Twice you have bested my men!”
Gabrielle Émilie answered, “To move, sir, is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if you are moved, then you turn and run as you have done so before.”
“A whelp of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid!” Was François’ retort. The two tangled, and his blows were met by her parries as were hers by his.
Gabrielle smiled and taunted the old soldier, “That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall.”
“True,” answers François, “and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will thrust you to the wall and pierce thee, as ‘tis known you are a pretty piece of flesh.” They fought and quarreled once again. François jabbed and lunged as Gabrielle Émilie stepped and parried; François’ blade was thus lodged immovably in the wall. With a swashing blow of her sword, Stella Martis, Francios’ blade was no more. Outside, the clamor of steel and shouts of men signaled her Ishmael’s arrival.
“Take this to your captain: I am neither yours nor his prize to take!” Was her parting reply as Francios impotent and broken fled once again through an open window.
As Ishmael entered the room and found his spirited lover disrobed and flushed, he commented with a sly smile, “Mia bella, you wield your beauty like a finely edged sword!”
With a mischievous smile herself, Gabrielle Émilie’s retort was, “It is my best weapon and sharpest tool in my arsenal!” Then with furrowed brow, she added, “We are discovered, my love. My father’s will stretches even farther than I ever thought possible.”
“Tis true, m’ Émilie, Enkidu secured from one of the men outside upon his dying breath that as we speak the main body lands at the pier in Vienna with lettres de cachet from your father demanding our arrest and the return of his royal property.”
“Then we must make haste from this place at once and put as much distance as we can between us and them. Surely they will have men posted at the pier; our only route is over land to Belgrade where we perhaps can secure shipping to Damasco where we shall be rejoined by your trusted Cucombo.” Gabrielle Émilie suggested as she dressed herself in the tunic and garb of one of the fallen soldiers, and fixed her sword and scabbard around her waist.
“I have sent a rider with my resignation to the Marshall-Baron at St. Stephens and ordered my troops to return to their barracks. Enkidu and Shamhat are now loading provisions and baggage upon the captured horses. Gather what precious stones and jewels that you may find so that we may use them to pay for our passage at Belgrade.” With that the two gathered what belongings they could carry, and along with their two friends made for the road once again.
Once at a safe distance and away from the walls of Vienna, under the cover of darkness, Shamhat cut fair Gabrielle Émilie’s hair in an attempt to conceal her sex and identity. With the morning’s light they proceeded to Belgrade and in two days journey they arrived in the city where they came upon an unholy sight in the fair city’s square.
A great crowd had gathered to witness the Holy Inquisition burn a woman and a heretic at the stake for claiming to be a prophet. All that was known of the woman to be burned was that her name was Maria and that her crime according to the Church’s holy fathers was that she claimed to speak with the authority of the Risen Christ, and that she was to be burned while her female followers were to be stoned. Her followers, all women, bemoaned their fate, “How shall we go to the Gentiles and preach the Gospel of the Kingdom of the Son of Man? If even you are not spared, how shall we be spared?”
From her platform, Maria bids them to take heart; she greeted them all, addressing her brothers and sisters, “Do not weep and be distressed nor let your hearts be irresolute. For His grace will be with you all and will shelter you. Rather we should praise His greatness, for He has prepared us and made us true human beings.”
Then looking upon the crowd, where many of her followers still hid, she said, “I saw the Lord in a vision and I said to him, ‘Lord, I saw you today in a vision.’ He answered me, ‘How wonderful you are for not wavering at seeing me! For where the mind is, there is the treasure.’ The Blessed One then said these things to me, ‘Be on your guard so that no one deceives you by saying, 'Look over here!' or 'Look over there!' For the child of true humanity exists within you. Follow it! Those who search for it will find it. Go then, preach the good news about the Realm. Do not lay down any rule beyond what I determined for you, nor promulgate law like the lawgiver, or else you might be dominated by it.”
Outraged, one of the holy fathers, a Bishop by the name of Petra, stepped forward and admonished her, “Heretic! Did He then speak secretly with a woman, in preference to us, and not openly? Are we to turn back and all listen to her? Did He prefer her to us?” The crowd answered in support and called for her to be burned.
A simple monk, a Brother named Thomas, stepped forward in her defense, “Reverend Father, you have always been a wrathful person. Now I see you contending against the woman like the Adversaries. For if the Savior made her worthy, who are you then for your part to reject her? Assuredly the Savior's knowledge of her is completely reliable. Rather we should be ashamed. We should clothe ourselves with perfect compassion, acquire it for ourselves as he commanded us, and announce the good news, not laying down any other rule or law that differs from what the Savior said.” Swayed by the pious monk, many nodded in favor at the words of Brother Thomas. A crowd of armed men then seized upon the good monk and carried him away.
Maria pleaded with her judges, “My brothers, what do you think? Do you think that I have thought this up myself in my heart, or that I am lying about the Savior?”
Another stepped forward to address the crowd, a Cardinal Andrew of the Holy Church of Infinite Mercy, bringing up similar concerns as the Bishop Petra, he questioned the crowd about the Savior: “Say what you will about the things she has said, but I do not believe that the Savior said these things, for indeed these teachings are heresy.” Then a great number of men called for her damnation, as an equal number of women silently turned their faces away for fear of speaking, and justice stood mute that day.
Gabrielle Émilie remembered the conversation in the kitchen so long ago with the cook, the widow and the young maid. Surely, Gabrielle Émilie thought this place was not the fantastic city soundly framed by reason that the three ladies of wisdom had spoken of. She then turned to Ishmael, “Has the wicked howl of madness drowned out the voice of reason?”
Ishmael replied, “Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.”
As their cruel punishment was metered out there was a great cry that rose to the heavens as a multitude watched with silent complicity. “Surely,” Gabrielle Émilie spoke out loud, “this day shall be noted and every man present is guilty of all the good he didn't do.” At this several among the crowd started to take note of the strangers among them, and they whispered amongst themselves. At their hurried glances, Gabrielle Émilie’s hand fell upon the hilt of her sword, and once again Ishmael stayed her hand as the Cardinal’s soldiers made their way through the crowd.
Ishmael gathered his companions and urged them to move along, “Come now. We must go quickly from this cursed place for it is dangerous to be right when the government is wrong.”
The four fugitives eluded the Cardinal’s men in an alley not far from the square. While hiding, Gabrielle Émilie heard whispered voices not far from where they hid. They soon came upon a window left ajar, there they spied upon a room full of women, amongst them were several men as well. At the head of the crowd, was a woman who preached to the crowd. They all saw plainly from their perch that the crowd in the room was greatly distressed and wept openly. “How are we going to go out to the rest of the world to announce the good news about the Realm of the Son of Man?” they said. “If they did not spare them, how will they spare us?”
At this the woman who acted as pastor greeted them all, addressing her brothers and sisters, “Do not weep and be distressed nor let your hearts be irresolute. For his grace will be with you all and will shelter you. Rather we should praise his greatness, for he has prepared us and made us true Human beings.”
Then a man rose among the crowd and addressed her, “Pape Jayne, we know that the Savior loved you more than all other women. Tell us the words of the Savior that you remember, the things which you know that we don't because we haven't heard them.”
Jayne responded, “I will teach you about what is hidden from you.” And she began to teach among them. At this the four travelers withdrew back into the alley. Gabrielle Émilie, asked of her fellows, “Were not their disciples burned and stoned no more than a few steps from here, yet still they protest?”
“If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent Him.” Was Ishmael’s reply. “’Tis His alone to illustrate His work, console the weary, and illume the wise. Without him man to doubt and error is doomed.”
Gabrielle Émilie said thus, “O, wondrous mingling of diversities! God came down to lift our stricken race: He visited the earth, and changed it not! One sophist says he had not power to change; ‘He had,’ argues another, ‘but willed it not: in time He will, no doubt.’ And whilst they prate amongst themselves in ornate lecture halls, the sum of man batters bloody each other in carnal contest flinging wide the cindered ruins of a hundred towns across the smiling face of this earth.”
“My dear Ishmael, why in all antiquity was there never a theological quarrel, and why were no people ever distinguished by the name of their sect? The Egyptians were never called Isiacs or Osiriacs; the ancient Latins were very attached to Saturn; yet there was not a village in Latium called Saturnian. On the contrary, the disciples of the God of Truth taking their master’s title, and calling themselves ‘anointed,’ have made war amongst themselves for fourteen hundred years, taking the names of Arians, Manicheans, Donatists, Hussites, Papists, Lutherans, and lastly, the Calvinists have had no more poignant mortification than that of not having been able to slaughter each other in pitched battle. Where does this come from?”
“I know not, m’Émilie. Unlike your learned master and tutor Sans-Terre, nothing do I know of for certain. This temporary blend of blood and dust, this frail construction of quick nerves and bones, was put together only to dissolve. And I a warrior born, know of this world’s destructiveness, was made for pain, and I a minister of death.”
“But once I knew a kind Jesuit and Abbot on the island where fate delivered me to his care. He, deserted at birth by his natural father, sentenced at the age of eleven to a waif's home in Orleans, the good abbot did not repine; instead, he returned love for hatred and sought salvation through work. In his care I learned of knowledge that otherwise would not have been of my purview given my rank and status. Thus I believe that at fitful moments in our pain-racked lives the hand of pleasure wipes away our tears,” at that Ishmael touched Gabrielle Émilie’s rose pink cheek, “but pleasure passes like a fleeting shade, and leaves a legacy of pain and loss. The past for us is but a fond regret, the present grim, unless the future is clear. If thought must end in darkened tomb, all will be well one day – so runs our hope.”
“To say all now is well, is but a dream. The wise, with mortal pride, deceives us: God alone is right. With humble sighing, and subject to my pain, I do not fling myself against providence. In my youth, I did sing in a more lugubrious tone, ah, the sunny ways of pleasure’s genial rule, but, alas, times have changed, and taught by growing age, and sharing the frailty of mankind, seeking a light amongst the deepening gloom, I opt for hope over despair. ‘Tis true, I can but suffer, and will never repine; for a thousand pleasures may come and go, but your love will always be mine.”
At that Enkidu added, “Of the good in man I can speak, but not of the evil. For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst? Verily when good is hungry it seeks food even in dark caves, and when it thirsts, it drinks even of dead waters. You are good when you are one with yourself. Yet when you are not one with yourself you are not evil. For a divided house is not a den of thieves; it is only a divided house. A wise caliph once said, when his last hour had come, this prayer addressed to the One he reverenced: To Thee, sole and all-powerful King, I bear what thou dost lack in Thy immensity-evil and ignorance, distress and sin. He might have added one thing further – hope.”
Shamhat then spoke, “Such talk has not cured the ills of man, nor his lot be the better for. If our feet do not move as quick as our tongues our fortune shall be lost. Come, let us make haste, the sun sets and darkness falls. Let us use it to cloak our passage from this place.” All were agreed and made their way to the pier. There they secured passage on a vessel bound for Bessarabia with two of Gabrielle Émilie’s golden rings.
A heavy rain now fell upon wounded Vienna where the tale once again sets its scene. The good Captain Commander LeGuen sat upon the luxurious table that did inhabit the Marshall-Baron’s great hall. There Elcano and LeGuen waited and sipped on Brandy, while the learned de Sans-Terre and the Marshall discussed the matters of the letters de cachet and the return of the fair princess. They had not located François, but upon their arrival at St. Stephens, learned of the Marshall’s kindness in sheltering the princess during the siege. Before parting with de Sans-Terre, the Marshall did comment that at this very table sat both the venerable Holy Father as well as the virtuous princess who they seek. LeGuen ran his fingers slowly across its smooth finish; he then spoke, as if almost to himself, “Imagine, my trusted friend, this very surface was graced with the caress of her sweet skin.”
Elcano who paced nervously behind his good captain, replied sarcastically, though his wit was lost on the brave captain. “Yes, my Liege, for it is a sturdy table indeed.”
“Our mission draws to a close and bound for sweet Cartesia we will be by this evening, my friend. Heroes shall we all be.” The captain pined as he caressed the oak as if it were her very flesh.
At that very instant, François soaked to the bone, burst through a set of doors, startling his companions. “My Liege, I have searched for thee and bring you troubling news.”
Elcano threw his arms in the air, “Dark and mourning earth! What miseries have you fetched for us this time!”
Out of breath, François with great difficulty spoke of the truth of the events of the previous day. “My Liege, I took great pains to enter this fortress to seek you out. I have found the princess as you have so charged…”
“Yes. Yes. So have we. The Royal Emissary, the Viscount de Sans-Terre meets with the Marshall of Vienna as we speak to secure her release. She has been a guest of the Marshall since the siege began. If you and your fellows were not drunk at some tavern, you would have heard the wondrous news. In a few hours time I shall once again gaze upon her smiling countenance.”
“Captain, my captain, the lady we seek is not the virginal flower of innocence you speak of! She wields a sword like a demon spawned banshee and bested all of my men. She, too, was the foul murderer of Rosenkrantz and Gyldenstierne. Alas, poor Yorick, too.” François confessed to his comrades.
“What feverish madness is this? You speak of the Royal Family, the House of Cartesia, this is treason, man! Talk sensibly, or I warn thee, I shall have thee drawn and quartered! No woman, much less one of noble stock, such as our fair princess has done such a thing as wield a sword. Are you sure it was not her captors returned?”
“I am sure of it! I swear upon pain of death it was her and her alone that struck these good men down! She did so bare as the day she was born! So consumed were the men by her flesh that none saw what manner caused their demise! Surely each stand before St. Peter himself, just as bewildered at their sudden arrival before such a holy sight as they were at their sudden departure from this mortal realm!”
“Enough I say!” LeGuen cried, “I can bear no more! My patience has been tried and broken! You blame your failures and foibles on the sweetest of innocence, the spring flower of our Royal House, whose gaze has never wondered upon a sword, nor felt its weight and girth in her frail hands! Yet, thou continues to assert that such innocence shall be the cause of the death of dozens of Cartesia’s best men!”
But François pressed on, “My Liege, if it is as you claim, that this woman enfolds in her being the very virtues of all of Cartesia’s women-folk, then our daughters and wives are the whores of Europe and our royal house a bordello!”
Moved to anger, LeGuen draws his sword upon his fellow, when at that moment, another set of doors burst open, thus revealing the Baroness. “Word has reached my good husband that your man tried to kill his tender little suckling! He is enraged and has placed your emissary under arrest for your treachery!”
Elcano wailed once more, “Unhappy mortals! Affrighted gathering of human kind! You miserable fool! Donatien what have you brought upon all our heads!”
Addressing, the Baroness, LeGuen spoke, “My Lady, who art thou?”
“I am the Baroness Hildegard Buergerkönig, rightful wife of the Baron Selbst von Aufgesogen, Marshall of Vienna. The harlot you seek was my husband’s mistress, and he is enraged that you seek his counsel, while your man here steals into her home to murder his concubine!”
“Eternal lingering of useless pain!” Cried the tortured LeGuen, “When will this endless volley of lies cease to batter my good senses!” At that he sunk upon a chair, sighed, and lowered his head upon the table.
“I myself, came upon the two coupling upon that very table!” Remarked the Baroness, at which LeGuen bolted upright lifting his throbbing head from the table. Then the Baroness crossed the room to a curtained window upon which she drew back. “Let thine eyes believe; what you fear your ears deceive.”
In the pouring rain, the three did cast sight of the poor Sans-Terre hung from a tree, and every man in the Captain’s command put to the sword.
Drawing up his sword, LeGuen screams, “If this be our fate then I shall take from him the same as he who took from me.” At this Elcano intervened and stayed the good Captain’s hand.
“We are undone! Our fate’s are sealed!” Cried François.
Elcano pleaded with all, “Has reason taken leave of us all? Has not this city drank its fill already of blood, that we must add our own to its overflowing cup that it may spill needless upon the unswept floor?” Then he turned to the Baroness, “My good lady, you did not come upon this chamber to toy with us in our final hour, why bring us warning so that we may make our escape before your husband’s men arrive?”
“My good sirs, I have no less that ninety four quarterings upon my coat of arms and do not suffer kindly the indignities that my husband has brought upon this house. I do so now grant your release that he may suffer as I have been made to suffer!” Was the Baroness’ answer.
“O, I die, my captain; many battles we two have fought, but never did we face such an enemy so seized and fierce as she that broke my sword and spirit both. I cannot live to bear such shame and guilt’s potent poison overshadows my spirit: Alas, my pride can bear no more this shame is too great a burden!” With that François flung himself out the window and fell upon the wet ground. But the ground had been softened by the torrent, and poor François only suffered two broken legs. Mercy was granted and his suffering did not last long, for the guards seized him immediately and he was put to the sword.
LeGuen cast one last turn towards the wise and learned Sans-Terre and said, “Now cracks a noble heart. Good night wise friend: may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!” With the assistance of the Baroness, LeGuen and Elcano safely alluded the guards who searched for them through out. Safely outside the city walls the two companions made their way to nearby Regensburg not knowing of any other option.
“All we have left of our treasury is a handful of crown in each of our purses. Where do we make for?” Elcano inquired of his sullen companion, both hungry and wet from the rain.
“I confess to you, my dear Sebastián, that I am infatuated with this charming Princess, but literally infatuated. She is precisely what one would have wished: the figure of a nymph, a lily and rose complexion, the loveliest skin in the world, tall and well built; she is grateful; sweetness, kindnesses and innocence are reflected in her face. You think me mad to cling to such hope despite all that has been revealed by the doomed Donatien and the jealous Baroness. Yet her sweet smelling visage stands like a ghost that refuses to unbind my tortured soul. Her innocence, her brilliance, I pray never leaves me. Come, my friend, let us make for home, and call ourselves by whatever name our new King calls us by.” With that the two started down back the long road home.
