Spain, Spring 1808
The three women were standing demurely near the ornately carved wall in the great hall. It was the society ball of the year and all of Salamanca’s richest and most prominent members were there. The oldest woman, was very handsome and clearly was a great beauty in her youth; she was looking for potential suitors for her daughters. The older daughter was strikingly beautiful, her raven hair cascading over her shoulders; the other young lady, Teresa, had inherited her features from her father, the Don Moreno. Her hawk-like features were very attractive, but did not match the glamour of her sister or mother. Teresa was uncomfortable. She was schooled in all the proper etiquette for young senioritis, but she was her father’s child in more than just appearance. She adored horseriding, pistol shooting, and fencing, when she managed to get the opportunity, which was not often anymore, now that she was of marriageable age.
From across the hall the ladies were oblivious to the fact they were being observed. The handsome man, in his late thirties, sat watching them, as a panther eyes its prey.
“Consone! Are you listening?” His companion brought the immortal out of his reverie. Neither man had come to the ball to dance, but to make plans for the imminent sacking of the historical city.
“Colonel, I heard every word.” Otavio Consone tore his eyes from the ladies and to the French Colonel. “You military types can be so...tiresome. We are here to discover which of Salamanca’s elite are with France or against her, and,” He added with a smile, “which are ripe to line her pockets.”
“But Senor, you are of the same class as these nobles, yet you desire your country to be invaded, why?”
“Simple Leroux. Spain was once a great nation, ruling land and ocean, but under Ferdinand it has become fat and lazy, like him. We need to seek greatness again, and under Bonaparte’s guidance we might just achieve that.” With another brief glance at the three ladies, the older daughter of which was being invited to dance, Consone returned his full attention to the French soldier. “The aim is, once you get into the city, no easy task in itself, is to find suitable billets. I’m sure your men, after a hard battle and weeks on the road would enjoy, shall we say, the comforts of home. I will help make sure they are welcomed with open arms, and open beds.” He finished with slick smile.
“But monsieur, my men can be rough, I cannot guarantee their behaviour after the sacking.”
“Leroux, you and I we are men of the world, here they have been coddled and protected by the great roman walls. It is time they learned war can be hell.” Consone held his hand out. The Imperial Colonel nodded and slipped the leather purse into the afrancsenados waiting palm.
Making his excuses from Leroux, Consone gallantly approached the Moreno’s. Taking the mother’s hand, then Teresa’s he kissed them gentlemanly. Antonia Moreno studied his face closely, Senor Consone, as he had introduced himself was very much like a man she had loved some twenty years ago. Though he was killed in a duel, she had shed tears over his dead body. Her father then forced her to marry the victor of the duel, the Don Moreno. The man was the image of Consone, so much that Antonia wondered if he had sired any bastard children before his death.
No matter of his heritage, he was a gentleman. In turn he danced with mother and daughters, and in turn charmed each of them, as he spun them all around the ballroom. He flattered and praised them all, as he watched the Don looking on jealously from the edge of the floor. He smiled at that fact as he guided Teresa around the floor one more time. By the time he returned her to her mother, Moreno had joined the small group. The immortal’s features startled him also. “Senor, I believe I had the pleasure of knowing your...father.”
Consone prickled at the man’s words, knowing what was implied. “Si Don Moreno, I am the son of Otavio Consone, and?”
“Well Senor, I do not believe it is proper for a bastard to court my daughters.” Consone just stared at him arrogantly. “If you do not leave my daughters alone, I will be forced to call you out.” With a contemptuous smile, Consone grabbed Isabella and to her shock kissed her fully. Outraged, Moreno grabbed a goblet of wine and tossed it in the immortal’s face. Consone slowly and deliberately licked the wine that was trickling near his mouth. “Pistols at dawn.”
“No Senor, swords, not pistols. It is only fair that I get to choose the weapon, as you chose when you murdered my father. And two days, at dusk, I cannot make it any sooner.” Which was the truth, he would be too busy observing the advances of Marshall Marmont’s army into the city.
********
Two days later, as the Grand Armee march victoriously through the ancient gates, Consone was in his landau carriage on his way to the Moreno’s villa. The pair of grey’s pulled up at the gates, and for ages the immortal sat and just watched Moreno’s daughters talking and laughing in the gardens. After a while, he ordered the carriage forward towards them. “My dear senoritas, you should not be out here. It is far too dangerous with the French coming into the city.”
“Senor Consone!” Isabella, the eldest girl seemed thrilled to see him, a feeling that was not shared by her sister, who cast her a black look. “They would not dare harm the daughters of Don Moreno. Especially now that you are here to offer us your protection.” The girl beamed at him.
Consone gracefully stepped down from his seat. He took Isabella’s hand and kissed it as he bowed. “You forget, dear Isabella that I have an appointment with your father in a short while.”
“The duel. Oh, I’m sure Papa has overcome his little outburst. He knows better than to challenge younger men.” Isabella was almost giggling she was so giddy in the presence of the man who just the other night kissed her so passionately.
Teresa did not look so convinced. “Papa is a proud man, and you insulted him Senor. If I were a man I would call you out myself and kill you.”
Consone raised an eyebrow, and then laughed at the bravado of the young woman. Her father’s daughter definitely. He held out both his arms, one of which Isabella took without hesitation. “Please Teresa, allow me to escort you to the house.” Reluctantly, and more from ingrained manners than any desire, Teresa took the proffered arm.
*****
The duel was short lived . Don Moreno had good reason for wanting to choose pistols, he possessed neither the agility nor the talent with a blade to match a man with even half Consone’s skill. He lay on the lawn, the immortal’s sword through his stomach, but Consone took care not to kill the mortal. He was not finished with his old rival.
“Senor, mercy I beg you.” Moreno managed to gasp.
“You will live, for now. I have plans for you and your noble family.” Consone gazed down contemptuously as he pulled the sword free. “Get up!”
The old Don struggled to his feet, holding his wound afraid his guts would fall out. Consone directed him back to the house. It was perfect timing, as they reached the door a company of French Hussars rode up, dirty, sweaty, and reeking of saddlerot. Moreno tried to shout an alarm, but Consone grabbed him before the house could be warned. “I didn’t think you’d mind billeting these fine soldiers, Roberto.” He turned to address the Hussar Captain. “Monsieur, please make you and your men at home here.” He laughed softly. “And help yourselves to anything.”
The Captain grinned as he dismounted. “Merci, monsieur.” He turned to order his men down and into the house, leaving one disconsolate Hussar to tend their horses. Consone opened the door for them, much to Moreno’s distress. The immortal Spaniard, laughed as he thrust the wounded mortal inside. Screams could be heard as soldiers chased the servants through the villa, killing the men and ravishing the women. Hiding in a corner of the room Consone and Moreno entered was his wife and daughters.
“You bastard Consone, how could you do this to us?” murmured the Don, growing ever weaker from his wound. His daughters rushed to his side.
“Because you deserve it, Senor. I have waited a long time for this revenge.”
“Because I killed your father?” Consone just smiled. “You would have had satisfaction by finishing me in the duel.”
“Si, but I want to see everything you hold dear crumble before you.” Consone turned to the door and called to some of the soldiers. They stood in the doorway looking at the women, the hunger clear in their eyes.
Antonia and Isabella looked at them in horror, but Teresa didn’t seem to see them as she tended to her dying father. She glared at the man her mother had once loved. “Have you no scruples, Senor?”
Consone laughed that soft, superior laugh again. He plied the sarcasm on thickly. “If I cried me a river of all my confessions, would I drown in my shallow regret? I think not Senorita Teresa.” Turning again to the three soldiers, eagerly waiting, he spoke in fluent French, indicating to Antonia and Isabella. “They are all yours.” He grabbed the fiery daughter, pulling her to his side. “This one’s mine.”
Teresa tried to push away, but Consone held her firmly. Her struggles were futile. As he held her in his strong arms, he withdrew a dagger and finished off Moreno before her eyes. She fought him harder and he threw her to the floor and sat astride her, laughing. As he began to cut away Teresa’s clothes, he heard Antonia call to him, above the women's screams and from under the French sergeant's considerable weight. “Consone, how could you? You are not the man your father was.”
Consone just laughed. “Oh, but Antonia, I am.”
The End
************
Black
by Sarah MacLachlan
(from her 'Solace' album)
As the walls are closing in
and the colors fade to black
and my eyes are falling fast and deep into me
and I follow the tracks that lead me down
and I never follow what's right
and they wonder sometimes when they see all the
sadness and pain the truth brings to light
Chorus:
'Cause I can't see no reason
What is blind cannot see
'Cause I want what is pleasin'
All I take should be free
What I rob from the innocent ones
What I'd steal from the womb
If I cried me a river of all my confessions
Would I drown in my shallow regret
As the walls are closing in
and the colors fade to black
and the night is falling fast and deep into the sea
and in the darkness all that I can see
The frightened and the weak are forced to cling to mistakes they know nothing of
at mercy are the meek
Chorus
Mail The Author
Main Page