Para Bellum | Afternoon, Thursday 15th September

[Charles Audley]

Charles was, among other things, a committed admirer of excellence, a sporting gentleman who greatly enjoyed the company and friendship of other sporting gentlemen, and, on occasion, a lover of men.

The problem with being those three things simultaneously was that they sometimes intersected without any conscious input from him, and in decidedly awkward fashion.

Charles could not say exactly when it had happened, but there had been a moment when he had changed from admiring Kingston's fencing to admiring his movements, and another when he had changed from admiring those movements to simply admiring the blond's physique. He tried to tell himself that it was a purely platonic admiration, such as he might give a well-crafted statue, but gave up the attempt as a bad job before the thought was even half-formed. He found Kingston attractive, and would just have to live with that, as he would have to live with the fact that he could not entertain the thought of acting on that attraction. He was not about to jeopardise what he felt could well become a proper friendship, especially when he had no sense that Kingston's tastes might incline that way.

It would not be the first time that he had ignored and suppressed such feelings, and would doubtless not be the last.

Make a start then, and cease staring like a moonstruck fool.

Charles took a deep breath and focused, chasing down any hint of attraction and crushing it to dust between the jagged rocks of his will, removing any hint of eros and replacing it with a pure, acceptable admiration of the fencing on display. It took far more effort than he would care to admit but he had sufficiently mastered himself to feel able to approach and congratulate both combatants with a hearty "Well fought gentlemen!"

Naturally, Kingston chose that moment to flash his stomach.

Charles swallowed.

Perhaps just a little bit of eros, in the privacy of my own thoughts, as a treat.

[Charles Blount]

The action continued to and fro then either Kingston was too fast or Mountjoy was too slow and the Earl’s blade made it past the Marquis’ guard to score the winning point. “Ah! Touché!” Mountjoy conceded. “Very well done. An excellent thrust.” He added somewhat breathlessly as he came off guard and moved to where his coat lay and took out a pocket handkerchief with which to dab his moist brow. As with Audley his gaze also fell upon the lithe figure of his former opponent and when Kingston lifted his shirt up to wipe off his face, like his other companion, unbidden thoughts came into his mind yet, unlike Chatham, he was bold enough to act upon them. 

“Oh dear. My Lord, prey forgive me for compelling you to exert yourself so when you are obviously without a pocket-handkerchief. My Mother, the sagacious and sensible woman that she is, always impressed upon me during my youth the practicality of carrying a second pocket-handkerchief for, as she so practically put it, ‘One could never know when one might find themselves in a position where a second pocket-handkerchief might come in useful.’  Words that I live by to this day.” He said as he rummaged into his coat pocket and produced another pocket-handkerchief of fine cotton batiste with Flemish lace, the kind of kerchief Buckingham would use. Mountjoy approached Kingston and very prettily bowed and offered the handkerchief with a flourish. “I present tribute to the victor so you may sop away the fluids of your exertions.”

Turning to Chatam. “No doubt you are more proficient in the art of fencing than I but do you not think Kingston’s skill is commendable and his coup de gras masterful? Even with your own considerable skill I suspect that you can imagine the futility of preventing Kingston of thrusting into you so handsomely.”   

Mountjoy daubed himself again. “I must say that I have not been put to such a test for some time now and found the challenge quite enjoyable. I had once employed the services of an Italian fencing master but the professional obligations on my time prevented me from devoting the necessary commitment to truly master the art. I fear that the pursuit of Law does tend to impinge upon ones more physical pursuits and sometimes it is all that I can do to make time for hunting or a quick ride before I find myself trapped behind my desk exercising with the quill rather than the blade.”

[Francis Kirke]

As Mountjoy spoke, Francis blushed. He let the bottom of his shirt go. Using it was simply habit. One did not have copious pocket handkerchiefs on the deck of a ship and while he made use of fine linen towels when he had his servants with him when he and Tom practiced, he had not brought servants with him as he had been to see Cumberland before this. 

 

When Mountjoy offered him a fine handkerchief with a flourishy bow, Francis flushed even more deeply and internally cursed the scarlet blush that was likely on his cheeks. His eyes flittered over to his discarded waistcoat and justacorps where he had several handkerchiefs tucked away. His mother had not suggested it, but his first time attending the King on a walk, he had realized he needed to stuff handkerchiefs anywhere they would fit for a variety of purposes. Buckingham had him made dozens. 

 

Now he felt somewhat foolish in the face of the superiorly proper and polished Mountjoy. 

 

"Thank you, my lord," he replied, with a dip of his head. He blotted prettily at the exposed part of his neck and chest, especially under his hair at the back. "Quite honestly, I forgot that I had a number of them stashed, and I confess to being more used to sparring in relative privacy or on a ship where a shirt is a quick solution....or at the Duke's where a cadre of servants are waiting with fine linen towels and basins." His eyes moved back toward his clothes for a moment. He was still too warm to want to re-robe himself in all that fabric and finery. "I learned during one of my first days attending His Majesty that I ought be prepared with an arsenal of handkerchiefs at all times." Not only because of crying ladies, physical exertion, or His Majesty getting his hands or anything soiled, but because there were dogs everywhere and that meant dog shit one could step on. 

[Charles Audley]

If there was one thing Charles prized equally to his nerve, it was his ability to compartmentalise, to sever those thoughts and feelings that were unhelpful to the current situation and lock them away in boxes in the dark recesses and corners of his mind until and unless they became useful (or at least not actively detrimental) to act upon. Practice had refined his talent for shaping himself to best fit his ends to an art, and he was wholly confident that his mental vault could contain this schoolboyish attraction.

The fact that Kingston's blush and Mountjoy's own state of attractive dishevelment immediately had the metaphorical locks rattling was less than promising, but Charles had faith.

Mountjoy's words shook that faith a little, and provoked a mental frown. Had he been noticeably... distracted? No, Charles decided, just a coincidence of phrasing, and if Mountjoy was pricking at him with innuendo, well, it had been subtly and wittily done, and Charles could admire that.

"Kingston is an excellent blade," he agreed cheerily, for the only way out was through, "and even Alfieri or Fabris could do naught if caught thus, at that distance. But that is the game, no? To put the opponent in fork while never making oneself or allowing oneself to be made vulnerable." He shrugged. "I might or might not give Kingston an opportunity for that particular masterful coup de gras, my lord, but on the strength of these two bouts we can safely say he would likely engineer another." 

He inclined his head to the blond earl. There had been no lie or flattery in that. Kingston, even leaving inconvenient attraction aside, was superb. At every point the other man had made, if not perhaps the correct decision, then a correct decision, and executed it promptly, smoothly and well.

And is that not the acme of excellence?

Feeling the locks rattle again, he coughed to cover the moment he needed to force them back into quiescence. Thankfully the conversation had moved to the distinctly safer ground of handkerchiefs in the interim.

"It was Tangiers where I learned to carry a surplus," he offered as his own contribution, "between the heat, the dust, and the occasional but nowhere infrequent enough need for an impromptu tourniquet... well, a man could go through quite a weight of fabric."

Charles had not expected to find Mountjoy such a sporting gentleman (one of the highest ranks in his personal pantheon of compliments), but any man with that sort of athleticism who could converse like that and enjoyed a challenge was worth knowing.

"There is nothing quite like it, I find, for exercising mind and body simultaneously," he agreed with the Marquess, "but I think you somewhat overmodest my lord. You are in condition as much as myself, if perhaps less focused on the blade, and your practice with the quill enables you to accomplish things that Kingston and I and a score more like us could not with blades in hand."

[Charles Blount]

“Ah, so it is an old naval habit then.” He said of Kingston’s predilection of using his shirt. “You sailing men have such peculiar customs. I believe the correct term is to swab” He said lightly dismissing the action as trivial. He was merely bantering and not out to embarrass anyone. That would be the epitome of bad manners. “I have not your maritime experience so must avail myself of more landlubberly practices and Spain is the closest I have gotten to Tangiers. In fact, during the voyage to Spain I was so helpful to the sailors in recommending that they belay this or strike that and they were so appreciative that they gave me a book on nautical terms for me to study in my cabin.”  He also was in no hurry to redress as the cool air was refreshing after such a session.

“You will pardon me Lord Chatham if I am so unsportsmanlike as to not offer you a challenge to another bout but I fear it took all I had to keep Lord Kingston at bay for as long as I did. Perhaps at another time we could have at one another and I will be an a better position to offer you a challenge.” He would not mind if they sparred again for he had enjoyed himself and thought that he may have pick up a few new moves from Kingston which could only improve his ability.

“So you served in Tangiers Lord Chatham. I take it on land rather than sea?” He asked. “A dirty business I hear, with the local tribesmen not sporting enough to stand up and fight acting more like brigands than soldiers. I believe that have camels in those parts but, like the Maji of the bible, choose to ride them as beasts of burden rather than hunt them. I have heard tell that it is a sparce and desolate land with a paucity of game animals. If that is so whatever is there to do in such a place?” To Mountjoy a region without the opportunity for hunting would be a desolate and dreary place indeed.”            

[Francis Kirke]

Francis gave one of those jaunty, dramatic dips of his head as the pair continued to compliment him voraciously. 

 

He placed the sparring sword back from whence it had come to hide his chuckling at Mountjoy's use of naval terminology. Considering swabbing involved putting water on the decks rather than clearing it off! He barely covered a snort with a sneeze at the marquess spoke of being given a book of naval terminology. Sailor's humor at its most sedate.

 

"Saves one from ripping one's shirt as well. Damnable wounds in the most inconvenient of times," he joked along with Chatham's accessory uses of handkerchiefs. "Clearly, I have far too many uses for shirts than court shall allow." He reverted back to his old habit of poking fun at himself. In the past it had saved the sting of others doing it for him. Not that he expected this pair to do such a thing, but it was another of those tendencies he carried with him. 

 

"Indeed, you would put us both to shame with a quill, at least in conquering foes." Francis chuckled. 

 

He left Mountjoy's question at what there was to do in Tangiers to Chatham with a smile on his face! Likely busy not being killed would have been his own response but reading sonnets might have been another cheeky reply.

 

Then again, Francis had been known to read a sonnet or two on a ship, so perhaps Chatham actually had read some poetry!

[Charles Audley]

"Inconveniently timed wounds indeed," Charles agreed, laughing at the memories now that they were sufficiently distant. "I think it was the second time I came back from a patrol wearing a shirt with strips torn out of it that made me resolve to ensure I always had a surplus of handkerchiefs."

He inclined his head to Mountjoy and waved off the man's apologies.

"No pardon is necessary my lord – I'm starting to stiffen up a little myself, now that I've stopped moving. I would be delighted, though, to match blades with you should we have an opportunity when we are both fresh."

He stretched a little, for he had not lied about the stiffness.

A good soak due later, I think...

"I spent a few years in the garrison, yes. A sharp and thorough education, if a limited subject matter. You heard correctly, my lord. It is a very dirty business. The Moors' skill in ambush is exceeded only by their love of it." And their skill in torture, but one did not bring that up in casual conversation.

"As for recreation, well, we did not hunt camels, but there was the occasional Barbary lion to go after, which was a pleasant change from our usual prey." By which of course he meant the Moors. "Beyond that, well, mostly I read."

And drank, and swived, and gambled, like all the garrison, though he had avoided falling into the sort of paranoia and petty oppression that had afflicted many of his fellows. Life in the garrison, under the constant shadow of the Moorish raids and ambushes and so far from any law but themselves seemed to hollow most men out, the fear and the queer freedom from consequence grinding them down into dull beasts.

Tangiers, Charles had often thought, did not make a man a soldier. It made him a tyrant to those he could bully, a crawling slave to those he could not, and, before anything else, a killer.

But not a soldier.

Zounds, my thoughts are dark.

He willed his grin wider.

"I could almost declaim the Iliad from memory then, like a proper rhapsode."

[Charles Blount]

“I dare say that my handkerchiefs have led a remarkably less martial existence being more used to the blotting of ink than blood and my bladework more apt to sharpen a quill than used against a foe. Hunting and the chase is more my bent for physical pursuits. I tend to skewer more boar than Frenchmen.”

Audley’s description of Tangiers confirmed his impression. To be sure the mention of Barbary lions was appealing, he thought the skin of such a lion would make a great decoration for his library, but Tangiers was along ways away and there were many other beasts to hunt closer to hand. “You have hunted lions? That is very interesting. I should like to do likewise some day for I have yet to see such a creature. There is said to be a lion at the Royal Menagerie at the tower but I have never been for what would be the purpose as they do not even let you shoot them.”

Books were then mentioned which was another of Blount’s passions. “Reading is always a rewarding occupation for a gentleman.” He chuckled when Audley professed his understanding of Iliad. “A fine accomplishment. I struggled with the task when at school for Greek was the weakest of my languages. I can read it tolerably well but my spoken Greek was the bane of my professor who declared my pronunciation was akin to a drunken Athenian sailor.” He looked at Kingston and could not resist the opportunity so turning back to Audley he added. “You see, I went to Oxford where we study the classics in their native Greek but I believe there are many respectable translations available so those at Cambridge can study them as well.”

He thought about Audley’s offer of a match. “I am habitually an early riser and enjoy a brisk morning’s ride before the daily duties of Court and the Law must be attended to but a light match in the afternoon’s might be just the thing to stay active. I do not think I am yet at the point where ones girth increases to match ones responsibilities and a new avenue of activity would be welcome.” He though for a moment. “or at least I hope I will have the leisure to indulge in such activities for the arrival of the Prince may change things at Court.”

[Francis Kirke]

Francis snickered at Mountjoy's surreptitious jab at Cambridge. 

 

"Pah, I assure you at Trinity we were taught in the exact same languages of learning and heard many of the same censures about our mastery of our Greek. Indeed, it inspired me to become a sailor that I might more closely resemble the description. I informed our Housemaster that it was all good and well because my studies were for navigation purposes at sea," he chuckled. Friday, which was pretty much known as beating day with Pearson, had been very uncomfortable after that jibe. With a wry grin, he added, "Clearly since you spoke it so poorly, you Oxfordians were not required to only speak in languages of learning during learning hours which for us was from breaking of fast until after silent hours for studying following dinner. When you cannot say a word in English or French without getting birched, you learn to speak quickly."

 

With some sadness, Francis said, "Afternoons are difficult for me, for His Grace's patterns of waking mean when I am not attending the King, I am attending him. I am, in general, greeting the sunrise with my ward in fencing and baton*. I would like to try to join you when I am at liberty, though, and perhaps His Grace will join me. He does love a good excuse to exercise his swordsmanship. He would likely put us all on our arses, even with his bit of courtly girth."

 

Buckingham was still very lithe for his age, but he did have a bit of a stomach as was inevitable of a gentleman of his age.

 

(*Baton is a French martial practice. Francis learned it during exile in France bc wooden batons are far cheaper than swords

 

Shall we start wrapping this up, it's falling out of the timeframe!)

[Charles Audley]

Charles always felt a trifle awkward when the topic of the Oxford-Cambridge rivalry arose. A former Oxford man himself, his allegiance should have been clear, but he had spent relatively little time at the college and had taken no degree, which left him feeling rather neutral about the whole thing, unable to take much pleasure from the friendly repartee. No, the only institutional rivalry that stirred him was between the first and second regiments of the Foot Guards, for he was always ready to remind the Coldstreamers that they were, in fact, second to one, whatever their motto claimed. The far more partisan clash between England's two great universities left him comparatively cold.

And to be entirely fair, given the... controversial nature of my departure from its halls, Oxford is probably far from eager to claim me.

The potentially thorny question of scheduling then arose, for unlike him both Mountjoy and Kingston had duties that limited their opportunities for recreation.

"I too normally train in the morning, but as my time is more my own, relatively free of responsibility as I am, I have no objections to adjusting my schedule as required to accommodate," he offered, then grinned as Kingston mused on the possibility of Buckingham joining them.

"I do not doubt you, but it would be an honour and a pleasure to match blades with his Grace, at least for however long I might manage it."

It would be, too. Excess girth or no, Buckingham moved well, walking or dancing, and that spoke as much as his reputation or Kingston's opinion as to his skill.

[Charles Blount]

He could not resist an additional jab at Cambridge’s expense so he good naturedly added. ‘Ah yes. I have heard Cambridgeans needed to be birched to facilitate their learning. We at oxford are of course motivated by our love of learning thus have more gentle learning.”

It was disappointing that afternoons were not convenient. “As I said I am also a habitual early riser and do prefer a quiet morning ride, especially here in Windsor, it would be equally enjoyable if, say for one day a week, I forgo my morning ride for the diversion of fencing. I could even offer to bring some blunted hunting spears for although they are not a gentlemanly weapon they could prove an entertaining diversion and even useful if one is ever accosted by an unruly boar. Perhaps we could form an informal Poule, if not here in Windsor defiantly when we are back in Town.”

He had cooled off a bit so re-appareled himself of his waistcoat and jacket. He straightened and fluffed his cravat as best he could without his manservant. “As you Lord Kingston seem to be the Master in relation to skill at the sport and have the greater calls upon your time, may I prevail upon you to be the host for such a meeting?”

It was getting late and Blount was assembling himself in order to depart.

[Francis Kirke]

"As I told Lord Chatham, I practice almost every morning. As long as you do not mind a sixteen-year-old ginger taking part, you are welcomed to join us whenever you wish," he told Lord Mountjoy. "I am usually not in here, though, but rather outside on the grounds here or in the Park by the Mall outside the Duke's house in London. One is far more likely to need a sword outside, so it's advisable in my view to practice that way. Plus, fresh air is so much more rousing. As for afternoons, if I can get His Grace to agree to a day this week, I will let you both know, for he is a force of knowledge and ability."

 

He noticed Mountjoy putting his clothes back on and eyed his own pile. In honesty, he rather preferred to make the journey back to his rooms with clothes in hand so that he might enjoy the brisk air. Lord Mountjoy would probably find that too dishabile, for he was always so impeccable, but Francis also knew it was not considered inappropriate for a gentleman to be in his shirtsleeves, so he was at a juncture with a bizarrely difficult decision. 

 

At the least, he tied his shirt again so that it wasn't falling open and tucked it into his breeches once more. Deciding, in this instance, that he preferred to be as he was both in dress and in mannerisms, he picked up his waistcoat, justacorps, and inconvenient cravat, placing them over an arm. 

 

"Until next time," he said, with a dip of his head to both.

 

(OOC - sorry I lost track of wrapping this!)

[Charles Audley]

"Until next time, my lords," Charles agreed, gathering up his own garments. "I look forward to it."

(OOC: Fin?)

[Charles Blount]

“If by sixteen year old ginger you are referring to your ward and not a cat I have no objections at all. Until then I shall bid you adieu.” He responded to Kingston and turning to respond to Audley he bowed and spoke. “And to you as well Lord Chatham. I shall look forward to matching my blade to yours… in a friendly fashion of course.”

He finished making himself presentable. He was not happy with his cravat and his coat had picked up a smudge of dust from when he draped it over a stand but he could hope that no one would notice till he made it back to his rooms and had his man give his coat a good brush. He departed from the two in good cheer.

 

(OOC: Fin for me. And did you know Para Bellum is Latin for Two Bellums?)