29th June: A Spanish Dawn

"Captain, would you care to explain why this conversation could not have happened earlier?," muttered Cassel snippily, "Or is a conversation such a strenuous activity to these men, that you need a doctor present in case they hurt themselves?"

"The last attempt ended with the need for one ..."

Sourette smiled and coaxed:

"Come on, Doctor, don't be so grumpy. If they manage to put bullets into each other, they will be the meekest patients you will ever have, since they can hardly risk any set-back in their recovery if that affair should stay private. After all, superior officers have only a very limited amount of patience for things like this. And if anything else happens ... well, then they owe us breakfast for chasing us out of our beds at an ungodly hour without any reason, and I know that Prayon at least has spared no pains for his breakfast this morning."

"Do you not understand, Sourrette? I do not want new patients, no matter how meek. I have my hands quite full with patients who got their injuries through less egoistic means."

Sourette's humour seemed to improve in proportion with the doctor's testiness, and he grinned.

"In that case, Doctor, you should perhaps not complain too loudly when some of us are trying to induce them not to put holes into each other? Even if it is only now?"

"Very well, Captain," said the doctor huffily and watched the proceedings with an angry eye.

Jarreau stared at the sous-lieutenant with mounting incredulity. "I never said— Sod this," be broke off fiercely.

"If I gave insult your men," he said, speaking directly to Prayon, "I am sorry. As to the rest—" For a moment he looked as though he would say something combative, but he bit it back. "I have nothing to say."

"So... sir," Saint-Hilaire smiled pleasantly. "You offer apology for the insult you gave to our men and to my principal. Correct?" Waited patiently, his eyes calmly resting on Jarreau.

"That would indeed be brilliant news..." His voice was as sweet as honey. 'It would be the only sensible thing this man would ever do in his life, but here was to hoping for things that were impossible', Saint-Hilaire thought, but said nothing.

Bastien slightly bowed.

"On behalf of my men, I accept your apology to them."

Sourette groaned and dropped his head, and only Cassel, standing next to him, could hear his muttered: "Idiots! Both of them! And the third no better!"

"Perhaps, I could practice my trepanning skills on them," said Cassel rather loudly, while pushing his spectacles up his nose.

"Don't tempt fate, Doctor."

Sourette shifted his weight away from his injured leg, unobtrusively flexing it a bit.

Jarreau's hand balled into a fist, but he resisted the temptation to strike Saint-Hilaire a second time. Instead he stayed focused on Prayon. He nodded curtly. "You have the weapons?" He did not look at Leveque.

The other Line officer looked as though he had set foot on something solid only to have it collapse beneath him. There had been mistakes all around with the picquet lines. Jarreau knew that. Leveque knew that he did. That should have solved everything, but it had not, and he did not understand.

Saint-Hilaire straightened. "I repeat.." He had appeared as though he had not heard the demand for weapons just yet. "...Do you choose to be sensible and apologise to Lieutenant Prayon, and find the ability in yourself to admit when you are quite clearly wrong,.. or does your egocentric self, not allow you to think, nor see reason, and for this reason only, we must now start the duel?" While his words less than friendly, his voice remained with a tone to which the bees would gladly fly.

Even if captain Sourette would attempt to convince him that the second duel should not be, Saint-Hilaire would not accept. Certainly not against this man,whose sense and reason were completely foreign to him, yet whose opinion of his selfworth and brilliance seemed beyond the Empire of France, nay, the world and yet reality was cruely the opposite. Saint-Hilaire's opinion of Jarreau could only grow worse, and had.

Jarreau took a step towards Saint-Hilaire. "Christ, I will enjoy putting a bullet in you," he growled.

"That's enough," Leveque cut in sharply. His manner had gone quite cold. "You do your friend no favors, sous-lieutenant. If you cannot perform your duties as second objectively, I suggest you defer to Monsieur Sourette."

"Have you not already made that choice for me, monsieur Leveque?" Saint-Hilaire turned towards the man. "Referring earlier to him yourself, rather than me?"

His hand had balled into a fist, but then slowly let up, and with a few quiet breaths the pleasantry returned. "...Monsieur Jarreau. " He said, this time at the very least speaking more pleasantly and without the previous undertone. "...Since you have heard what discort is between you and Monsieur Prayon,.. my final question to you is,.. before we are to take to arms. Is there a chance that you should apologise to monsieur Prayon for the rest as well, or do you stand at what you have said?" He glanced at Prayon.

"And, do you accept the apology in full, or want that there be a duel never the less?"

Sourette had whispered sharply, "Let be! Don't pour any more oil into the fire!", but it had remained unheard. Now he limped up and took Etienne's elbow while Bastien stated clearly:

"I will not hide behind half an apology never meant to include me as if I was afraid. Either M. Jarreau cares to apologize in full, or we will fight."

His eyes went back and forth between Etienne and Jarreau as if he was trying to decide something.

"Best fetch the pistols then," Jarreau retorted.

Bastien nodded curtly and began to unbutton his overcoat. While most people took care to wear dark clothes and dull buttons to a duel, hoping to present not more of a target than necessary, Prayon had decided to fly in the face of this fashion and flaunt his dress uniform, the only piece of his clothing that was neat, faultless and shiny.

Sourette, who had moved to take the coat, sighed and muttered not quite inaudible: "Idiot!"

Prayon only shrugged.

Ignorant of sartorial tradition, Jarreau was nonetheless unpleasantly aware of how shabby he must look in his own threadbare uniform. "I'm fighting a damned peacock," he muttered to Leveque.

"Would you stop it, for God's sake?" Leveque's tone was defeated, almost plaintive.

Ah. There was a long pause.

"Look," Jarreau said finally, speaking low, and with an awkward sort of earnestness, "I am sorry. For all of it."

He half expected Leveque to tell him that if he was truly sorry, he should be apologizing to Prayon, but he didn't. "I know," was all he said. It was all he needed to say. And Jarreau was grateful for it.

"Oh, I almost forgot," If he was grateful, the gravity and sincerity of the moment made him also uneasy and he waxed abruptly careless. "In case anything, you know... One of the cantinieres -- Madame Benveniste -- is holding something for me. You might have to front a few coins to get it back, but it'll be worth a fair bit if you can pawn it. Buy Jeannette something nice, yeah?"

Without waiting for a response, Jarreau turned away and approached the captain whose case, he assumed, contained the weapons in question.

Saint-Hilaire opened the case. The weapons would be checked, but they would also be first chosen by the duelists. He straightened. If only the other had apologised for the slight. Since he had not this would be the end result and he hoped that Bastien would come out unharmed, as for Jarreau, he did not care. Should he come unharmed in the first duel, he would certainly be harmed in the second. Whether it would be a kill though, only the events themselves would tell.

He looked at Bastien and quietly murmured to him. "...take care.." He hesitated. "And please do dress in something you do not want sprayed with blood next time." He smiled faintly, somberly though.

Bastien smiled and slightly bowed.

"I will suck in my belly. But I really do not want to get blood on my usual jacket either - the Colonel is much more likely to see it there later, you know!"

-----------

Sourette sighed, took back the pistol case, opened it and held it so that the seconds could clearly see and make their selection.

"Right now I wish I didn't own such excellent pistols!", he murmured to the doctor. "They actually carry over that distance ..."

Before Jarreau could add yet another faux pas to his catalogue of offenses, Leveque caught his arm, drawing him back and quickly, but discreetly intimating that this was the Seconds' responsibility.

It was a measure of how desperately out of his depth Jarreau felt that he did not argue. He did not even comment, but simply drew back and waited.

Leveque approached, nodding to the captain and sous-lieutenant. "Monsieur Saint-Hilaire, will you make the first choice? Or shall I?" he asked softly.

"You may take the first choice." It was not that Etienne wished to back of, but he also did not want Jarreau to protest, after something went wrong, that this was because the same party which had brought the pistols has also chosen them and thus rigged the whole thing from the beginning. Of course if nothing went wrong, this accusation could not be made, but he doubted Jarreau would not jump at the first opportunity, if given it.

He nodded politely and waited for the choice to be made. He knew the pistols were equally fine. The 17th would not dishonour themselves for a duel or anything else.

Nodding his thanks, Leveque leaned forward to inspect the weapons. In truth, he was not looking for any flaw or advantage -- indeed, he would likely not have recognized one if it were present -- but the momentary charade bought him time to process what was happening. "Do you wish to watch me load?" he asked, choosing a pistol at random.

Saint-Hilaire shook his head. "I trust that you will load it as must be done." He took the second pistol. He had not imagined that there would be a fault or a flaw in either of the pistols. He checked the mechanism however, to be sure that the pistol was in working order, well oiled and clean. it was just standard procedure.

He nodded towards the gunpowder. It would be the same for both of them, It was done so, that neither could have the worse gunpowder. The duel would depend of the duelists, not , if it could be helped, of the variations in their weapons.

With the light getting brighter and the participants of the duel clearly unwilling to be sensible, Dr Cassel settled himself on the fallen tree trunk again, returning to the perusal of the slim book he had with him.