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Taking a Dive

A story of M. de Jussac,
with apologies to Alexandre Dumas

By Elsa Frohman

     She saw him fall.

     Gabriella stood in the road watching the fight. She had a basket of bread under one arm -- her cargo on this errand for grand-mère.

     She was hurrying along, hoping to get back before the old woman woke from her nap -- grand-mère would be impossible to deal with if she woke and found Gabriella was not there -- when she noticed the men, fighting amongst the ruins of the old abbey.

     There were nine of them -- five in the red tunics of the Cardinal's guard, three in the blue of the Musketeers, one in dusty, brown civilian clothing -- thrusting and parrying among the broken stone and overgrown bushes of what had once been a religious retreat. The monks had long ago relocated, and now the old abbey was a favorite gathering spot for rowdy young duelers, and in the evenings, randy young lovers.

     So, to Gabriella's eye, the brawl wasn't unusual in itself -- she had seen many duels in progress on her daily trips to the market from grand-mère's cottage on the edge of town. However, the participants in this particular battle were puzzling to say the least. The Cardinal's guard, the Musketeers -- both in service to France. After all, Cardinal Richelieu was First Minister, the King's closest adviser. And the Musketeers were the royal bodyguard. To see representatives of these two arms of the king's government brawling surely was some portent of grave upheaval.

     Gabriella watched the progress of one of the skirmishes in particular. The young man in civilian clothing was fighting like a madman. He swung his rapier wide and furiously, in broad sweeps of his arm that often left his body open and unprotected. Yet, even as he fought as one who had perhaps watched a few fencing matches, but never actually participated in one, he was forcing his opponent, one of the Cardinal's guardsmen, back with each attack.

     The young man pressed forward and the guardsman moved back. The fight progressed up a rough stone staircase toward the top of the old abbey wall. At the top, the guardsman glanced back over his shoulder, clearly registering the danger he faced. The moment's distraction cost him his feathered hat, which the young man knocked from his head with a wide swipe of his sword. Then the youth attacked in earnest again, and the guardsman, seemingly stunned by the speed and aggressiveness of his opponent's sword arm, stumbled backward -- to windmill his arms and legs for a brief moment, then tumble off the high wall.

-- 1 --



     Gabriella wasn't sure why she suddenly had to know the fate of the fallen guardsman, but for some reason, she found herself hurrying down the half-hidden path that wound around to the far side of the wall. There, amongst the wild rosebushes, she found him, sprawled face down on the ground, unconscious.

     She set her basket aside and knelt beside him.

     "Monsieur," she said softly. "Can you hear me? Can I help you?"

     She took his shoulders and tried to turn him over. It was difficult. His legs were tangled in the thorny canes of a rosebush and he was dead weight in her arms. But as she struggled to help him, he started to stir, and finally, he turned himself over and sat up, letting out a small cry as the thorns tore into his woolen breeches and drew blood from his thighs.

     "Merde," he said, under his breath.

     Gabriella pretended she hadn't heard.

     "Monsieur, can you walk? Shall I go for help?"

     "Let's see. I seem to have twisted an ankle, but I think I can make it back to my horse, if you could just give me a hand up, mademoiselle?"

     Gabriella stood and extended her hand down to him. He pulled himself up, groaning a bit as he moved the injured ankle. He put an arm around her shoulders and supported himself there as he gathered his resolve to take a step.

     "My name is Gabriella."

     "Mlle. Gabriella, M. Rene de Jussac thanks you."

     He took a step and nearly collapsed from the pain. Gabriella put her arm around his waist to steady him.

     "I find I am less sturdy than I thought," Jussac said weakly. "Could you help me get to my horse?"

     "Absolument, monsieur."

-- 2 --



     He limped along beside her, supporting himself on her shoulders, his face a mask of pain each time he put his injured foot down.

     They rounded the end of the wall and came back to the area where the fight had raged a few minutes earlier. The combatants were gone now, but Jussac's face hardened when he caught sight of a red tunic half hidden in the bushes. The pain was forgotten, and he hobbled over to investigate.

     Jussac stifled a cry. "Cahusac," he said softly. "Farewell, old friend."

     Gabriella saw another bit of red near the base of the wall. She pointed it out to Jussac.

     He closed his eyes. "Bicarat," he whispered.

     "Why did this happen?" Gabriella asked. She spotted the other two men, sprawled through a stone arch, where they had fallen -- each on the other's sword.

     Jussac shook his head. "Senseless. Four good men. For what? The English bâtards must be laughing now. Four good soldiers lost in a foolish skirmish between loyal Frenchmen!"

     He looked around, then whistled softly for his horse. There was no response. He sighed. "Naturally, they ran the horses off before they went."

     "My grand-mère's cottage is nearby. You need to get off that ankle, Monsieur Jussac."

     He nodded. There seemed to be little fight left in him. He let her guide him away from the scene of the carnage. Their progress was slow, but the cottage wasn't far, and Gabriella helped him through the door and into a chair.

     "Gabriella!"

     Grand-mère was awake and standing in her bedroom door, clearly perturbed by her granddaughter's absence.

     "Where have you been? I have been calling and calling for you!"

     "Pardon," the girl said softly, knowing that once grand-mère got started, no excuse would placate her.

-- 3 --



     "Lazy girl! I give you a roof over your head and food to eat, and all that I ask is that you come when I call you. Where is my bread?"

     Gabriella realized she had left the basket at the ruined abbey.

     Jussac saw the girl wilt under her grandmother's brow beating.

     "Madame, please forgive your granddaughter. It's my fault. Gabriella came to my aid after I had ... been set upon by brigands. Without her help I would still be lying on the ground by the old abbey. Surely helping an injured man is reason enough to make her late."

     The old woman turned to Jussac in surprise.

     "Who are you? Why are you in my cottage? Gabriella! Gabriella! Go for help! Go for help! We are invaded!"

     "Grand-mère, it's all right. I brought him here."

     Grand-mère, as often happened these days, had already forgotten what was going on.

     "Young man," she said vaguely. "Have you come to patch the roof? You are very, very late."

     Jussac gave a weary smile. "Yes, Madame. Pardon, I'll get right on it."

     Grand-mère turned and wandered back into her room, mumbling about tardy workmen.

     "I'm sorry," Jussac said. "I seem to have brought you some trouble."

     Gabriella shook her head. "No more than I have every day. Grand-mère can be very difficult. Sometimes she wanders out into the road. Sometimes she thinks bandits are creeping up on us from the stream bed. I always try to get back before she wakes from her nap. She gets so confused.

     "But never mind her. We need to get your boot off. I think your ankle is swelling very badly."

     Jussac looked down at the boot, the soft leather now distorted by the swelling inside. He nodded.

     Gabriella knelt before him and took the sole of the boot in her hands as gently as she could. Jussac winced. She hesitated.

-- 4 --



     "Just pull it off now," he said, gripping the arms of the chair.

     She took the heel in one hand and the toe in the other and yanked as hard as she could. Jussac clenched his teeth, but a cry of pain still escaped him. Then the boot was off, limp in her hand. The ankle was an angry purple, and swollen as if there was a melon under the skin.

     Jussac was pale. He was trembling and breathing heavily.

     "Are you all right?"

     The guardsman nodded, but continued to shake. Gabriella got a small stool from the corner and folded a towel onto it for padding. She put it under his injured foot.

     "Your touch is the touch of a healer," Jussac breathed, as he was beginning to recover his composure.

     Gabriella went out to the stream behind the cottage and filled a basin with water. The stream was spring-fed and the water was very cold. She brought it back and wet a rag, draping the cold cloth over his ankle.

     "Thank you," he said softly.

     "There's no bread," Gabriella said with an ironic smile. "But there is some leek soup left from our midday meal."

     "You're too kind."

     Gabriella watched him as he sipped from the rough pottery bowl. He seem so weary, but even in his disheveled condition, his breeches torn and stained, his tunic all askew, his brown hair in a tangle, she couldn't help seeing what an attractive man he was. He was fit, in the way of professional soldiers -- tanned, spare of frame, with muscular arms, and strong, square shoulders. His face was smooth -- it's lack of dueling scars a testimony to his skill with a sword. His nose was elegant in its length and chiseled profile, and his mouth was generous. But most of all, Gabriella was taken by his eyes -- sad now, but beautifully almond shaped, turned down at the outer corners.

     "Do I have something stuck in my teeth?"

     Gabriella blushed -- caught staring. "No, Monsieur. Je suis dèsolè."

     Jussac smiled. It was a small smile, and sad, but a smile just the same.

-- 5 --



     "Don't apologize. Your attentiveness gives me such a nice view of your beautiful face, Mademoiselle."

     Her blush burned brighter.

     "Monsieur, teases me."

     "Call me Rene," Jussac said, his smile getting warmer. "We've faced renegade Musketeers and your grand-mère together. Surely we're comrades now."

     "Renegades?"

     "Don't trouble yourself, Gabriella. I could explain it all, but it wouldn't make any sense. It doesn't make any sense."

     "Monsieur ... Rene, there is something that I don't understand."

     "There is a great deal that I don't understand," Jussac said quietly. "But if I can enlighten you, I will."

     "My father was a soldier, and my brother," Gabriella said, looking for a way to frame her question without offending Jussac.

     "My father taught my brother to fence. I watched many lessons. And my brother was considered very skillful with a sword."

     Jussac nodded. "What is your brother's name? Perhaps I know him."

     "He was killed," Gabriella said, looking at the floor. "In a duel. He would have prevailed, but when he had the better of his opponent, his enemy's comrades set upon him suddenly and brought him down. His name was Luc -- Luc de Russeau."

     "I'm sorry. I know of this. The edicts against dueling were issued soon afterward. So many young men, good soldiers who could help defend France, have been lost in this senseless dueling."

     Gabriella nodded. "It wasn't fair."

     "I know. But once passions are inflamed, and swords drawn, honor is often forgotten."

     Gabriella felt a lump in her throat, but forced it down.

-- 6 --



     "I only mention Luc, because I want you to know that I have seen many fencing matches, and know a bit about the art," she said softly.

     Jussac's lip curled in a small crooked smile. "And you think the fencing you saw this afternoon was something less than... professional?"

     "Pardon, I don't mean to say that you don't fight well."

     "Of course, not. But the Gascon boy handled his sword as if it were a scythe cutting hay. You think a guardsman of average skill should have been able to make sort work of such a clumsy farm boy, eh?"

     Gabriella wished she hadn't brought it up.

     "You're absolutely right. Don't think I haven't been asking myself, if I'd run the boy through, might I have gone to the aid of Cahusac or Bircarat? They might not be lying on the hard ground back at the abbey now.

     "But, that wasn't what I was thinking at the time. My men are well practiced in the art of swordsmanship. I thought they would prevail against that drunken rabble.

     "All I could see was that young face in front of mine. I thought about his mother, hearing that her boy had been killed in a duel. I wondered if he had a sister..." An ironic smile spread across Jussac's face. "I wondered if a young sweetheart would weep for him.

     "These are not things to think of when you have a sword in your hand."

     "I shouldn't have said anything."

     "You know what else I thought? I thought, 'He probably has a sweetheart, and I have none.' For years, all I've done is follow the Cardinal's orders. I'm very good at fighting, you know. I didn't get to be captain of the Cardinal's guard because I use my sword for a doorstop.

     "But, as I stood before that clumsy young pup, I couldn't help but think that his life might be worth more than mine. He probably has people who care about him. People who would grieve if he were harmed."

     "Oh no! How can you say such a thing? Captain of Cardinal Richelieu's guard. What could be more important that protecting the king's First Minister?"

     "If you'd asked me that last week, I'd have said, 'Nothing!' But somewhere along the line, it just stopped making sense."

-- 7 --



     "At least you have a purpose," Gabriella said, choking back tears. "Me, all I do with my life is take care of a crazy old lady."

     "What could be more important than caring for your family?"

     "Protecting the king?"

     Jussac shook his head sadly.

     "The king is a foolish boy. The Cardinal manipulates him for his own gain. The Queen is in love with the Duke of Buckingham, who I might mention is planning an invasion. The Cardinal wants to expose the Queen. The King can't find his way out of his salle de bains without Richelieu's help, but he steadfastly won't believe the Cardinal when it comes to the Queen's indiscretions. And the Musketeers... don't get me started on that. They're a bunch of drunken louts. The King would be better protected by a flock of geese.

     "And the Cardinal. I used to think he was a strong man who would do good for France. But lately, I have had the strangest feelings about him. I had a dream. The Cardinal was in a woman's corset, and strange hose -- like fishnets. He was singing songs that made my head hurt. I woke up in a cold sweat. Ever since that night, I find it hard to look at the Cardinal and see anything but his self interest.

     "It's nonsense. All nonsense."

     "Poor Rene. What will you do now?"

     "I don't know. All I know is, that when I could have cut that silly Gascon boy's throat, I looked down from the wall and saw the wild roses growing and thought, 'They'll break my fall...' But, you know, I didn't count on the thorns."

     He shifted around in the chair and pulled his red tunic off over his head. He handed it to Gabriella.

     "I think this would make a very good cleaning rag."

     "You should rest," Gabriella said quietly. "You'll feel differently when you're not so tired."

     "No, I don't want to feel differently. It's all clear now. I know what I want."

-- 8 --



     "Yes?"

     "Let's let the silly Gascon boy and his Musketeer friends have Paris. Let's go to Gascony. There's good farm land there. I have a bit of gold stashed away. Enough to buy a small farm, I think. Come with me, Gabriella. Let's escape the nonsense. Come away with me!"

     "But, Monsieur ... Rene ... we only met a short time ago."

     "Does that matter? This is simple Gabriella. No intrigue. No intricate plans that come to nothing. Just you and me. We can go away and actually live."

     "But what about grand-mère?"

     "Bring her along. Every farmer should have a crazy grandmother back in his cottage!"

     "But what about France?"

     Jussac shrugged. "Let the Musketeers worry about that.

     "I've had enough."

THE END

-- 9 --



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