- An Outstanding Legend Hortense The Third Part Seven For One Is Worth

Tùy Chỉnh

"All right, Your Grace, how comes your arm is strained?", inquired Geneviève, bringing the medicine back.

"It seems I have pressed my arm too hard in that duel... with your grand uncle..."

"I thought not. This morning it was fine, wasn't it?"

"It has been sore then. I thought it would be fine later... So I ignored..."

"It's hard to deny your identity to your mentor, isn't it, Your Grace?", chuckled Geneviève.

"It seems to me it was more like 'Your Disgrace'..."

"My grand uncle told me you suddenly disappeared some day after your twenty-first birthday. Was it right, mistress? What happened?"

"I could not tell you, for it was a disgrace..."

"Sometimes I just cannot understand what is that 'grace' you aristocrats call", joked Geneviève.

"Essentially it is 'marrying a nobleman for political reasons, then bearing him a son or two to inherit the title and fortune', my little sister is longing for that day, the wedding which I denied... Being married to a decent lord is considered grace and good fortune for women of the high class, did you not know that?"

"I was born lowly, Your Grace. Suddenly I knew I had a grand uncle of musketeer's descent, and then— I'm here?"

"Oh Geneviève, being bound by marriage which I do not wish is my worst nightmare. If my lineage would continue long after, it would be better my female descendants be recognised by not who their husband was, but their skills and dignity. Maybe hundreds years later, there will be one child who accomplishes my wish to-day...", mused Annatoire.

"Do you... consider returning to Reims? I mean, Your Grace has a grand estate left unattended?"

"I will live my life as this Annatoire the Queen's courtière, until time calls. And my estate? I have my butler and nurse attend it, at least for the moment...", smirked Annatoire, glancing toward the stars. "Oh Geneviève, one last request: do not refer me as Your Grace in front of the Queen or Madame de Tréville and my name Hortense should not be revealed to anyone except you and I unless time calls!"

"Fine, then, I shall refer to Your Grace as a fellow commoner? In fact, if my grand uncle knows I 'disrespect' his mistress, there will be troubles. So... I will leave the medicine here?"

Annatoire just nodded. Geneviève took it as a thank-you, though her mistress did not explicitly express that gratitude. Aristocrats seemed always ignorant, she thought, and the mistress tried to live a commoner's way?

"If I would have a descendant, a young dame with outlandishly dreams and hopes... she shall be free of boundaries that had bound me... She shall be anything she wants— an artist, a swordswoman, an archer, a scholar or be a wife— my child, it will be your choices...", mused the young mistress, alone.

Little did Annatoire— or rather, Hortense— know, her wish would eventually come true, but the fate of her descendant that came with it would not be so pleasant.
___________________________
One morning of May 1625...

It had been four months in the Palais as the royal maid, Hélène started to get used to the duties and also the life of a courtière. She still wasn't allowed in important ceremonies by the Queen's side because Madame de Tréville considered the young maiden wasn't experienced enough; however, Madame promised would let her follow Her Majesty's court whenever she was ready. In the meanwhile, Hélène was trying to get along with her fellow courtière, the very person who had defeated her in a match other than her father, the aloof and rather arrogant yet unbelievably skilled Annatoire of Champagne. Annatoire had never revealed her surname, so no one knew whom she really was, beside seemingly her maid Geneviève. Some regarded her as some sorts of untrustworthy woman while the others treated her with a well-respected manner. Hélène, otherwise, saw Annatoire as a invaluable companion; though Annatoire acted indifferent toward most of the courtiers and even nobles, she regarded her superiors with high respect, and also the new maiden Hélène. Geneviève said it was that because her mistress had seen the worthiness inside Hélène, yet the truth was never admitted.

Since Hélène be accepted as the Queen's maid, suddenly Her Majesty no longer saw Annatoire frequented around the court, but instead the newly came Hélène d'Artenade. Sometimes the Queen would ask where had her favourite courtière gone, and Hélène would usually answer "Je ne connais pas, Votre Majesté", much to the Queen's disappointment. She had grown accustomed to the company of Annatoire and usually Annatoire was the only one allowed to be around Her Majesty without being permitted first, beside Madame de Tréville of course, for they said Annatoire had earned the Queen's trust, though many still doubted her intentions.

"Where is Mademoiselle Annatoire again, Hélène?", asked the Queen as Hélène was brushing her hair.

"I do not know, Your Majesty. Perhaps... she is strolling in the garden?", replied the maiden.

Glancing down the palace's courtyard, we could see Annatoire and her servant Geneviève, taking their free time as courtières to spar with each other. A descendant from a musketeer's line and a distant royal, albeit few knew the fact, were showing their exceptional skills with the practice swords.

"Well, Geneviève, it seems your skills are not those of an amateur, are they?", commented Annatoire.

"When I started picking up a sword, I have just known I had a grand uncle that was a swordsman— though he wasn't technically a musketeer, but a butler..."

"Monsieur d'Artois taught you sword-duelling, too?"

"Not exactly, it was my grandfather. He taught I and my young brothers...", chortled Geneviève.

"That men's art you would not be taught if you were born in a higher family...", remarked Annatoire.

"Oh, then why do you have such skills, Your— I mean, milady?"

"From your grand uncle, obviously!"

Before Geneviève could realise anything, her rapier had been knocked out from her hand by a blinding thrust. The tip of Annatoire's rapier had almost met Geneviève's throat by a strand of hair and the former concluded the match with a rather condescending smirk.

"Touché!"

Geneviève quickly glanced at the rapier of hers that was long impaling the ground behind and her mistress's rapier that was dangerously close to her throat. She nervously swallowed an invisible lump and looked at the smirk gracing the young mistress's lip. Clearly, she had never expected such speed that came from the frail hands of her mistress, and she had never witnessed a thrust with such force coming from said hands. Annatoire had long known to be the one possessing brains, not brawn; likewise, her swordplay was expected to be skilful and strategic rather that strong and offensive.

"H-How?"

"Just a little trick I enjoy to pull now and then...", smiled the young mistress, taking the sword out of her maid's throat.

"Just what one should expect from my grand uncle's protégée...", said the maid sarcastically.

"Frail roses still have thorns...", recited Annatoire her favourite line as she walked away.

It had been a quite long time since Hélène replaced her spot in the court, though as a rather lesser position. Recalling the days she became the Queen's courtière, Annatoire could not believe it happened. Being born of high quality, she had never touch any of lesser standing than hers, let alone labour; her hair was carefully tended for, all gowns were smooth, clean and fragrant, and she knew there was always the butler protecting her if troubles encountered. And now she was here, tending to the needs of a woman of even higher standing. Perhaps she wasn't worthy to be a noblewoman after all. Her decision, though thought to be valiant and noble, would be regarded as a disgrace no matter what. Clutching the scabbard, Annatoire, or rather, Hortense, silently wished she had been a man. Women those days hardly had any true values, even women of nobility. Their only purpose of living was to bear a son for their husbands and continue the bloodline. This era had seen many men, philosophers, artists, inventors of the stronger half of the world, yet not a sight of a rose could be found. She pitied her own self, and perhaps of her descendants, if she would have any.

By a window of the musketeer's quarter, a man was watching the whole match. His lips broke in to a proud smirk and later a gentle smile as he saw Geneviève losing to her mistress.

"I wonder if this kingdom would have a générale that of de Beaudelaire descent?"

"Perhaps, my friend. That child has the potential. If only this kingdom's army would ever favour a woman at the command", remarked another man in musketeer's attire.

"Let us keep those 'courtières' of Her Majesty a secret, shall we, Capitaine?"

The musketeer just nodded.