The Tales of an Ancient Scholar

The lights shining in from the sky’s light touched the ground with a gentle caress, and I wandered passed novels to the left and right. In my hand, I held my journal and a rather large book, La Biographie de Charlemagne- The Biography of Charlemagne. At the moment in which I began to curve my fingers around the brown and worn cover, a beautiful blonde woman entered, a servant peasant by her side. Lady Emilie Monsuard.

“Bonjour,” I said to the Lady Monsuard, a most highly respected woman of the court. She was but a mistress to a duke, but she was greatly appreciated- almost as much as the King’s mistress herself. A second mother to me, practically, since I had left home. “Comment a été votre journée?”

The woman smiled at me. “I see you have been working on your French,” she replied while equipped with a soft accent with a large grin. “You truly are a scholar, aren’t you?”

“England only has so much information to take in,” I jested.

It was 1785 last time I saw home, 3 years ago. Luckily, though, it was December, and the delicate snow reminded me of the many winters near my father’s manor. Not to mention, the tall heights and beauty of Versailles have always been intriguing to me. So many powerful people were here, more than I could count- and many more peasants had made their home in this gem of a city. Their lives weren’t as glamorous, and I would pity them if not for feeling poorly about doing so. Besides, I was within crowds of the Duke De Guislane, and I would not ruin my reputation with the family that held information I sorely needed.

I did not understand quite yet why I was narrowed to such inopportune options- after all, my father was a renowned scholar and had many friends across seas- but I did know the Duke De Guislane’s large library undoubtedly be of benefit to me. It was a beautiful rotunda, with dark oak bookshelves from the floor to the ceiling, with a light wooden floor and a large, round red carpet sitting itself in the center. The chairs were white, a lovely modern style. It was almost as beautiful as the gardens, where I made my daily walks with the dog that Lady Monsuard gifted me upon my first arrival, Gigi.

The days passed quickly in this beautiful home. For every second that had wisped itself away, I’d soon be able to gather my resources to research Charlemagne, which I had been researching extensively, in order to release the newest chapter of my books on ancient history. It seemed that time proved to bear little to no fruit for my struggles, but that would change during my excavation. Not only would the findings be newly published, but by a woman, something so many of my fellow Englishman would despise- which, one may say, I thrive for.

It was every evening I’d make my walks down to the bakery, and Gigi would follow me with the pride that she seemed to carry with herself everywhere. Every day it was the same. The baker would wave a hand in my direction, give a gleeful smile at my crested gown to warm me during the colder months, then I would take the bread back to the homestead. The streets were especially beautiful in the district I had been housed within. Some days, the charming Louis De Guislane would accompany me, which was always a delight. He was a charming man, and would often call my giddiness of being near him amusing. How could I help it? The way he would say my name… Anna… It was exciting. And his looks; his brunette curls tied back with a blue ribbon, his suit, often white or blue, well-kempt and dashing, his face, when powdered even, was wonderful, though, albeit, I had preferred it with no coverage- his natural complexion was unmatched by any other man I had ever met.

It was another day in which I was going about my daily activities, though, in the early days of February following the December that Lady Monsuard had complimented my French, that I became worried of what may befall my kind noble patrons. The peasants of France had not received the care they demanded from their royalty. I would have taken interest in the beginning, but I was not in France for political disputes. The third estate had been unsatisfied for some time, and they decided it would be proper for a demand of their ideas being seen. When I attempted to express my worries to my patron, however, the large, rotund man shrugged the thoughts away. “If they wished to have change, they’d have acted upon it by now.”

It wasn’t until I suffered from an attack within an alleyway one morning on my daily routine back to the homestead of the De Guislane’s manor that the Duke decided perhaps he should take this information as more than just a speck of dust. He began sending Louis with me, and since then we have been inseparable.

Many say that love and infatuation are barely able to be differed against, but if I know myself as much as a scholar should, then I would say I loved the man. He had the kindest blue eyes that would gaze at me gently. If he knew himself the way a nobleman should, then I would suppose he would know he loved me, too. Little of that mattered, unfortunately. I was there temporarily, so the idea of romance was not the most forefront idea in my mind. Many of the nobles began fleeing, and the Guislanes recommended I follow suit, which they would’ve known I would refuse, for my expedition was to set off in the June that would appear in what was a relatively short 6 years, and I would not squander the opportunities I had been given that my father worked so hard to give to a woman scholar.

The bells of church rang early one Sunday afternoon. The first Sunday of March, precisely. In the air, a crisp chill flooded in waves and spiraled down the spines of myself and others. Already, too many people had fled away from the beautiful Versailles of France. Those that stayed, including my patrons, only did to assure to the peasants that the pride of their status in life would not waver. Their pride only hid their fear, though. Every time I’d look into the Duke’s eyes, they were scared. His brave composure could only hide that from the criminal rebels.

The following day, the Bastille was stormed. A tragic event, indeed. “I knew this day would come,” Louis had told me, as that day was the first day I had broken routine.

Gigi sat her head atop my lap while I sat upon one of the many chairs of the grand library. “You say that like you had not denied it so many times before.”

“You know that my father is a prideful man, and would not have an army of offenders to dismantle the pure honor he appears to embody. It is only a day in, though. I am certain the King would not ignore such insistent demands from the peasants.”

“I know your father’s pride makes him an ignorant man, and I know that the ‘honor’ he so refuses to disband from himself will be what leads to his fall.”

“Anna,” He moved his body closer to mine, kneeling in front of the chair in which I sat, “I do not want us to befall this fate. We may leave for the excursion much quicker if you’d like.” He took my hand, and with his gentle, night-blue eyes on his pale skin, I could not help but have a smile flutter onto my face. “The date is a ways away. I will be ready to leave in a year, earliest. You cannot rush the will to gain knowledge, my dear Louis.”

“Then a year we shall spend preparing. You wear our crest, live in our house. The people will find you as much of an enemy as myself.”

“What do you suggest then, Louis?”

I took a second to focus in, and it was now that I noticed he seemed concerned for me. We sat in silence for a long time, or what seemed a long time from the perspective of a girl lost in the eyes of a tall, dashing man with no company in sight. It was night, and the room was lit merely by a few candles.

“S’il vous plaît,” he said to me, “Please, don’t make me lose you, too, mon chéri.”

“Louis, I’ll be safe.” His glance at me showed he had little reassurance from the statement, but he proceeded to nod. “Fine. We will leave at your own time.”

The following months were just the same as the day in which I had spent my time in the library. It was that way every day. Thanks to the Duke De Guislane’s paranoid nature, we would not leave the manor. No one was scared for their lives, though, except the pompous. I almost pitied the rebels. The French men only wanted to be treated well, to be paid, and to live. Yet still, most would call them ungrateful. There was nothing I could do, though, for a war that was not mine to fight. Louis was very ready to leave behind the beautiful capital, and I was not. I would miss it in its entirety, but by the end of the year, I had gathered all I needed. Lady Monsuard gave me a necklace upon my leaving, a golden chain with small jewels embedded along it’s refined exterior. The shape, a poodle, like my dearest Gigi. “Prends ça avec toi, my dear. Take this with you as a sign of friendship. I would not let any of the peasants gaze upon its shine for too long, though, dear- with how they’ve all been acting, they’d be entitled to take it. Tell your father that the Duke sends his greetings, and appreciates a scholar’s good word.”

“Of course, madame,” was all I could muster, which followed with a curtsey. As I walked away, to my back was a beautiful, breathtaking city on verge of destruction, and to my front, sitting on the old, dusted roadway, a wooden cart with precisely 5 other men and Louis, who had by now let his fancy for me be well-acquainted to anyone who could read the signs of his gazing eyes, and my eyes which often returned such looks. Gigi made her way onto the cart as well, her finely-groomed coat boasting itself from of the dust piles these men carried with them.

“So, my dear Louis, who are these… fellows that I’m staring at?”

“Anna, meet the best crew that my family’s money could afford you.”

“Do these men have names, Louis?”

He gestured to a pale man with a large, brunette mustache and a scrawny build, wearing a fine but scraped suit and a monocle. “Arthur Von Scoffard, a specialist in explosives and of the like.” While Arthur nodded at me with a smile, his teeth yellow and rotten (leading to a quick reaction of distaste if I recall, which I undoubtedly can), Louis went down the line, following up with a large, broad man, muscles on his muscles atop his tan skin. He had some markings, tribal in design, tattoos maybe, stretching down his neck to under his white, sweat-covered shirt.

“This is Vince. He doesn’t talk much. From the looks of it, he’s from across seas, but we aren’t sure where exactly, or how he got here. He’s gonna be able to handle the heavy lifting better than most the men here.”

“How did you know what to call him?”

“The crew was already together. It seems they’ve traveled together for some time doing all sorts of adventuring and such.”

From there, the next man was tall, though not nearly as tall as Vince, with a much thinner build. He held a case by his side, wearing overalls strapped to his shoulders loosely with no shirt underneath. The man was tan and had long, unkempt hair trailing down his back recklessly.

“This is Adam Hammington. A Spaniard who is renowned for his proficient but unorthodox trinkets and devices.”

“A man of science,” Adam replied with a smile. “I simply wish to add a bit of intellect to the adventure.”

The other two stood side-by-side, identical in appearance, both with blond curly locks and dirt smudges covering their pale skin. “The last two,” Louis began, “Raphael and Vinnici, both Italians that do whatever is necessary whenever it’s needed.”

“I am Raphael,” the first spoke with a cocky grin across his face, “and this is my useless brother, Vinicci.” The second of the two brothers seemed offended, as they began to bicker.

I had no quarrel with these men, for all were of different backgrounds than myself, which can be seen, and thus I had no way to gauge my respects. For Arthur was a strange and small and pale man, which was extremely contrasted against the tall Vince, who’s markings along his cheek and neck were of unknown orientation. Also gifted with us were all sorts of faces and sizes in between, in which Adam’s hand twiddled around a most peculiar device, ordained with cogs and other metal chunks against it’s rusted complexion, the twins Raphael and Vinicci both mercilessly antagonizing one another in an ongoing battle of wits, and my dear Louis, with the most obvious of expressions, disgusted with the grime and filth that these eccentric, foreign peasants had conducted themselves with. For me, though, It was meeting a team of new, unknown origin, and it would be of my greatest honor to work with them.

“This,” Louis gestured to me now, addressing the 5 men, “Is the leader of this excavation.”

The men began prodding and laughing, all seeming to be amused by the idea. “A woman?”

The men simply laughed at a woman leading them on a journey, but Louis shut down their objections or accusations. Vinicci sputtered behind his horrendous giggling what I could only assume as insults in Italian. The only one who sat with no expression was Vince. I wanted to let it happen, to be a lady, but I could not help but feel anger coursing through my veins. My face, I could feel, was reddening by the second. If there is one thing I have no tolerance for, it is the inability to appreciate someone who values discovery, no matter what they may appear like physically.

“Men,” I hollered, looking at them all, “you were gathered because of your skill. You did not choose who you would have to follow based on appearance or past, and you did not get placed onto this earth without the will of a woman.

“You, men, are to make a choice. I seek out knowledge that no one has obtained. I seek the commitment from you, men, who can appreciate one who is willing to risk life and limb for adventure.

“I ask you to join me, men, on an adventure. It could lead to fame and fortune, or be our absolute downfall. But that is one thing we all have in common- a willingness to risk everything to learn something new.

“Join me, and you will either feel accomplished or face death.

“Join me for one of the greatest adventures of your life.”

This is just the beginning of our adventure, though.

This mere fraction of the story predates current times by years, and is trivial to the overall picture.

These are my tales.

The tales of an ancient scholar.