Novemberherausforderung 2004 von Silvia 

Dear all,

as I am accursed of beeing Teclador, by some in this archive, it is time for me to say farewell to you. I don’t think that you’ll miss me too much, as my contribution has never been very great. It is sad that I leave with the feeling that some people here do not like strangers very much on their site. But I won’t write down all I thought about this affair since august down here.

Ravenna

The musketeer was dead drunk when he began to tell the story, and his companion listening wasn’t better either. Even when he was less drunk, he was more than drunk to be good for him to listen to such a story. “One of my friends – one of my friends you understand – not myself.” Said Athos interrupting himself with a sombre smile – “one of the counts of my province, that is to say of Berri, as noble as a Dandolo or a Montmorency, becam enamoured, at twenty five years of age, of a young girl of sixteen who was as beautiful as love…” So absorbed were teller and listener of the horrific story that they did not realise another person was listening too, while Athos spoke of horrors past.

The man listening to the gruesome revelation was about twentyseven years old, blonde and very handsome. Clad like a travelling nobleman, his countenance and air could hardly deny that he was soldier. While he listened on to the ramblings, that carried towards the very core of horror, he ordered a hot chocolate for he had no wish to get drunk himself. So he heard the full confession of Athos, before both man collapsed.

Silently the man rose from his place an walked to the innkeeper. “Who are those two?” he inquired.

The pained man did not hesitate to tell all the story about the musketeers, Athos in the cellar and the damage he suffered. The blonde stranger listened patiently, placing a big coin in the innkeepers hand at the end. “See that they get on late and forget that you ever saw me.” He said. The Innkeeper bowed thrice and, seeing the value of the coin, called him “my Lord” as he ordered the stableboys to bring the strangers horse. And he never uttered a word of this man, while he convinced the englishman to dare a game of dice with Athos at the following morning.

***

The last day of octrobre had been wretched. Rain had not stopped alltogether over the city of Paris. Athos was sitting in his flat, drinking his favorite wine from Malaga and was waiting for d’Artagnan who wanted to come and tell him how his misfortunate adventure with this blonde Lady from England was going on. Athos tried to get drunk beforehand for he did nit really like listening to the young mans adventures with women.

Time was rushing by and midnight was fast aproaching when a movemnt caught Athos eye. When he looked to the window he froze in shock for one moment for he saw a vaguely known blonde Person standing right behind him. He jumped to his feet and turned around, but there was no one here. He was alone in the flat. He sat down again, gulping another glas of wine. Just illusions, but he kept an eye on the window. How did he jump when again the blonde shade appeared. Rashly he came to his feet and drew his blade. “Who are you? A shadow? A ghost? The devil himself?” he called loudly.

But silence was the only answer he got. Only moments later a loud knock was sounding on the door. His weapon at hand Athos rushed to the door and opened. There stood d’Artagnan, shaking and not very sober either. He was drunk. “Oh god… Athos… the sheer horror of….” His eyes went wide when he saw a blonde man approaching from behind the windows curtains, a naked blade in his hand, striking mercilessly into Athos back. The musketeer never had chance to defend himself fell at once, the same moment a small person stroke d’Artagnan from behind with a club over his head.

The blonde man nodded. “Thanks Olivier, give me the gascogns blade.” The boy obeyed at once and handed the blade to the blonde man who retrieved his own from the mortal wound it had cut and stuck d’Artagnans blade there. Than he dragged the unconcious Gascogn into another position, as if he had been the one who had landed the deadly strike on Athos.

From a pocked he produced the letters d’Artagnan hat written in his own name and the name of de Wardes to Mylady. Adding some letters a certain Count de la Fère once had written to the same lady, he left them falling on the floor, near the both man. “An argument of love can drive man to terrible things.” He said smiling. “Always remember Olivier: There is nothing more deadly than a love affair of this kind.” Without turning man and boy left the house and vanished into the night.