Tales Of A Young Musketeer

[Esmond]

Andre Christian Valery Esmond paced like a caged bear cub around the luxuriously appointed room that he had been granted by Porthos in the Baron's grand estate. He untied the blue silk ribbon that held his dark hair back in a traditional Musketeer's ponytail and tossed the ribbon aside on the ornately carved chest of drawers. His hands raked through his shoulder length slightly wavy hair in a gesture of frustration.

Why am I here? To learn the art of the blade, to become a Musketeer.

And yet ….

Esmond studied his reflection in the gilt framed mirror on the wall. Dark eyes that held the shadows of too many nights drinking wine and too little sleep stared back at him.

And yet … I have learned the best lessons in the public rings of something called 'the duels' here. From a nine year old girl child no less!

His strides ate up the distance to the bed, where he sat upon its silken bedspread covered edge, and cradled his head in his shaking hands. His gaze fell upon the leather covered Bible on the near bedside table that he had been reading from earlier that day. The priestly Aramis had pressed the holy tome upon him before the young man's departure and subsequent journey into this strange, wild land.

Perhaps there is yet some guidance there to be found.

Esmond reached for the Bible and opened it at random. He read the first passage which caught his eye aloud, "'Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about seeking whom he may devour.'”¹ The young Musketeer in training stared in shock, for those very words described Porthos perfectly.

Frustrated, the young man tossed the holy tome beside him on the bed. He rose quickly and paced some more. His steps paused beside the writing desk, and the unfinished letter that rested upon it.

Maybe this will help instead.

Esmond seated himself in the chair, and read what he had written so far.

Dear Danièle,

I trust that this missive will find you well, along with our dear sainted Mère and Père. And yes, Rène, also.

I have arrived safely to this strange land, and am safely ensconced in the household of Baron Porthau, as was arranged between Père and Rène with the saintly Henry d'Aramitz, whose name I dare not mention in the Baron's presence, as it brings the Baron to a rage worthy of Père's.

I have learned much since my arrival, matters that would be best suited to discussion with our elder brother Rène rather than your tender ears, dear Dany. Yes, you are my sister and my dear confidante, but even so, there are things that a young, innocent girl such as yourself must not learn! Even hinting at them here, I feel ill at ease.

The young man sighed, dipped the quill in the ink bottle, and began to write where he had left off.

I have learned some very important lessons about the art of the sword, not from the Baron, but from a young girl of nine years! Yes! In this land, you would be able to fence or fight as you liked, dear sister, for it is not forbidden like it is at home. The young girl, Lady Harker--but she wishes me to address her as Just Maggie--she reminds me of you, Dany, when you were that age. Such courage and fire in her! She thrashed me soundly in the rings of duels that they have here. Ah! Such rings! One cannot be harmed in them, or so the Baron has informed me. I did not quite learn of this first hand, for the three opponents I faced in them did not use their weapons to draw blood upon me. Rène would have laughed at my fumbled efforts and failures in them. But Eden, she did not laugh. No, she smiled at me! And what a smile, it is like rays of sunshine when it breaks through the clouds after a rainstorm ….

Esmond's eyes widened at what he wrote. Blood rushing to his face from embarrassment, he pondered tearing up the parchment and starting the letter over, but without including the incriminating passages about Eden.

He sighed with resignation, and dipped the quill in the ink bottle to continue writing.

I am a fool, dear sister. I have just met Eden but a few days ago, and already, already I am sounding like those poor penniless fools that have been trying to propose marriage to you. You have not accepted any of them, have you? Forgive me, Dany, I am a fool to ask such of you. You are but sixteen, and still, you are wiser than I, especially in such matters of the heart. If you were not, Père would still forbid them the house, and Rène would dispatch the suitors at his command. Père wishes you to marry one day for position and status, after all.

Stay safe and happy, dear sister. I look forward to the day when I will see you and the little garden of roses that you tend so well again.

I am in good health, and will do my best to remain so while I am here.

As always, I am

Your foolish brother,

Andre


Esmond waited for the ink to dry before he carefully folded the parchment into thirds, and sealed it closed with candle wax. He pressed the signet ring he wore on his right little finger into the wax before it hardened, leaving the impression of an ornate E.

The missive was tucked into the Bible, which was then hidden under his shirts in the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers.

He strode over to the bed, and flopped down upon the silken bedspread to try to get some sleep before he would be summoned by Porthos for yet another lesson in life as a Musketeer.


¹Bible, 1 Peter v. 8.