Blood Angel-Book Two, The Prussian

This is chapter three of this section of Blood Angel. Léonidès has seen Franz and is infatuated with him, like a schoolyard crush. He's decided to do all he can to convince the young man he should join him as a Blood Angel.

I also did some shuffling of images I'm using to picture the characters, and I've modeled Franz after Derrick Davenport.

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THREE

A CASUAL MEETING

I jumped down to a curve in the road then casually strolled back towards Franz. Hands in pockets to show my contempt for convention. He saw me, forced himself to straighten up, and drew his sword. It was a beauty. Sharp and gleaming. Well-honed and laced with the blood of many Frenchmen, I was sure. I wanted to touch it. Caress it. Fondle it, if you will. You can learn so much about a man through his sword. 

He took a wary stance next to his horse, almost holding his breath. 

I smiled at him and said, in a perfect Hamburg dialect, "Hello, what a lovely day it has been." 

He gave me a vague shrug of confusion. "If you say. Are you German?" 

I laughed. "What else could I be?" 

"We are in France." 

I shrugged. "What are boundaries, today? You've been badly hurt. Were you part of the fighting, a couple leagues over?" 

He looked around, shocked. "Are we that far from it?" 

"Don't you know where you are?" 

He grew weak, again, and leaned against his horse. "I...no, I do not." 

"Your horse is also injured. There is a creek just the other side of these trees. Why don't we go there? Clean off the blood. See if I can find some yarrow root." 

"I...I must get back. To my regiment." 

"Night is falling, and you will not get very far in this condition. Come. Let's clean you up, first. I am Léonidès Taillis." 

He almost smiled. "From the Greek." 

"You know of the legend?" 

"Yes. My teachers. Greek. Latin. History." 

I switched to Latin. "So you know the classical tongues?" 

He responded in Latin that was better than mine. "It is part of my education. I am...I am Franz." 

No last name offered. Being cagey. I like that in a man. I switched back to German. "A pleasure to meet you, Franz. Now come, wouldn't fresh water make you feel better?" 

"I don't know. I suppose. But to leave the road. The brush is very thick. Will Grünnald would be able to make it." 

"Is that the name of your horse?" He nodded. "You're a cuirassier, aren't you?" 

He nodded. "The rest. The rest of my company is...is..." He pointed up the road. 

I chuckled to myself. The battlefield was at least four leagues away. And his regiment? I did not want him to be part of them, any longer, because I already knew that some had comported themselves in ways cruel, though not at all unusual. Women and girls raped. Villagers killed for daring to try and protect them. Stores of food looted. It was so typical of war. For a moment, I wondered if he had joined in their festivities. His sword would tell me. 

Then my ear caught the approach of a group of horsemen, from behind him. French chevaliers, to judge by their chatter. If they saw him, he would be the one put to the sword. So I grinned and said, "Come. I know of a path to the brook, and yarrow will help both you and Grünnald to heal." 

"You think so?" 

Concern for his horse overrode concern for himself. No, without question I could not allow him to rejoin his compatriots. He was of too fine a character, and they would corrupt him into their evil. Probably. I have to admit that while part of me thought he would never commit rape or murder, a little voice added that it would not be because they were wrong to do but only that it was ill-mannered. 

"Come," I said. "Keep your sword out, if it makes you feel better. I will lead." Then I backed into the woods. I caught a glimpse of Gregory across the road, smirking at me. And rubbing his groin. I cast him a quick sneer then turned to watch where I was going. 

Franz followed, carefully. Not fast, for Grünnald was limping, badly. I quickly found the trail, and had to admit the wood was thicker than I had expected. But that worked out well, for not two minutes later, he heard the soft clatter of horses galloping past on the road. He hesitated, listening. We couldn't see them, but he could tell. 

"Five -- no, six horse-men." 

"Probably French." 

"Did the battle go poorly, for us?" 

"Considering you were outnumbered six to one, I would not say that." 

"But you know the outcome?" 

"The fighting has only slowed. It's not over, yet." 

He looked around, close to frantic. "I should be with the rest of my men!" 

"Your men? That's not a commander's insignia on your jacket." 

He nodded. "I brought friends. From home. Men who worked our lands. I...I'm responsible for them." 

He was caught with worry and heartache. It took me a moment to speak, his face was so angelic in the soft light of dusk filtering between the thick trees. "I'm sure they're all right," I said. In response, he gave me a weak shrug that all but screamed, Maybe. Maybe not. So I had to ask, "Are your friends also of the aristocracy?" 

He cast me a sharp glare. "What makes you think I'm high-born?" 

"The way you speak, your education, and how you comport yourself. Tell me, have you read Cicero's De Re Publica? OR Ovid's Poetics? In Latin, of course." 

"Are you well-born?" 

"Would I have been given access to such an education were I not?" 

He huffed and held his sword tighter. "Who are you? What is going on here? Are you leading me into a trap? To hold me for ransom? My family will not pay." 

"No, no, no," I said. "I do not know who you are. I am only offering help. Don't you hear the brook, now? Cold clear water beckons you. It will refresh you." 

The splashing water was just audible and the shadows were growing deeper. Stars hinted at an appearance, to the east. He nodded and forced himself to stay alert, keeping his sword at the ready as I led him on.