True Measure of a Pirate {Béatrice De Bourbon}

[OLIVIER DELACROIX]

It was simply a magnificent sight to behold. Perhaps it was because he hadn't been on land for more than a couple weeks, but the palace gardens were some of the loveliest he had ever seen. As he traversed through the curved paths and ornately decorated fountains, he couldn't help but feel a little out of place with the nobles, who chatted up and down the road. No doubt discussing some new political intrigue. And here he was Olivier Delacroix, son of a merchant, among them. He could only assume that he looked ridiculous to his superiors, his hair cut unfashionably short--though he was glad that it was hidden under his tricorne--and his silk coat was rather simple, being a very light brown with a white floral pattern, and only matched his brown breeches in a very small way.

Yes, fashionably, Olivier's preferred simplicity made him stand out in Versailles, yet his gait was that of a gentlemen, detached and polite. He politely bowed and tipped his hat to those that passed and found this to be an enjoyable aftertoon. The sun was high and bathing the the grounds in its bright light and it was only when he ducked into a hidden gazebo that his eyes had some relief from the intensity of it. He was glad to have the time by himself and he relaxed a little, listening to the water flow from a nearby fountain. He had never witnessed such opulence in one place. The shaded gazebo had what he believed were Climbing Roses--a deep pink color--laced around its columns and to its roof. Even the fountain, one of the smaller ones he had seen, was sculpted with precious metals and marble statues.

Olivier had only come to the Palace of Versailles at the request of the king. He was not there to meet the king--Olivier was not important enough for that--but only to report to his chancellors about the situation in India and his recent defeat. "I would not be surprised if there was a decision made to let me hang for that miscalculation," he told himself. "Men have certainly died for far less." He exhaled sharply, noticing that his breath still held the faint scent of the absinthe he drank before he came. He was proud that he could keep his drunkenness in check when he absolutely needed to. But he found he still needed at least a small glasses of absinthe to get him through the day. Tonight, he promised himself, he he would go to the taverns.

With his morning report complete, Olivier awaited further instructions, not knowing whether guards would be coming to escort him to the palace dungeons or to inform him that his presence on the grounds was no longer required. Feeling the weight of his career fall upon his shoulders, Olivier leaned against the gazebo's fence, a most improper action that he was glad no noble was there to witness. With a sigh, he shut his eyes and attempted to ease his mind with the sound of the rushing fountain water, though all he wanted at the moment was tall glass of wine.

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[BÉATRICE DE BOURBON]

The warm weather caressed Béatrice as she sat hidden in the gazebo, a book propped up by her legs. It was common for her during the day to find a shady spot in the garden to read when the weather was nice, and today was a particularly nice day. The breeze was not too strong, but was also not nonexistent and the sound of the water fountain was a refreshing melody in her ears, helping her to transport herself into her novel.

It was an adventure novel with a sea captain and a princess. She was traveling to a far off country to marry the King, but falls in love with the captain instead. Béa had come to the passage where the captain professes his love for the princess and the princess faints in his arms. I would never faint, thought Béa, scrunching her nose a little, like a petit lapin. She shook her head slightly and her dark curls bounced around her head. She was wearing a light peach colored dress with a simple -simple relative to her whole wardrobe- lace trim. A strand of pearls adorned her pale neck and a light blue ribbon joined the strand in the back. Her dark eyes quickly scanned her surroundings as she was a little too annoyed with the heroine of her novel to continue readings at the moment.

As Béa looked up, she saw a tall and handsome figure approach her hiding place. Hidden enough that he would not notice her while lost in thought, she observed him. He look very much like the captain in her novel should look and she appreciated his even more simple attire. She found it provençal.

The man walked up to the gazebo and began to talk to himself and Béa listened intently, knowing that perhaps she should have announced herself. But books had ruined her and she found it a tad romantic to listen in on his private thoughts.

"And why should they let you hang?" Béa asked, standing up from her hiding place and smoothing out her skirts. She made sure to use the proper vous when addressing the man, though in her fancies she always used the familiar tu. Béa knew that she should probably not address him, but when she looked more closely at the man's features, she recognized him as the Captain Delacroix. She had heard a few stories about him, though she did not know if any of them were true. She understood that the people needed heroes in times of turmoil and war, and sometimes during peace as well. And looking at him, her first thought was that he made a good image of a hero, though perhaps he could have added more color to his attire.

[OLIVIER DELACROIX]

"And why should they let you hang?"

It was like violently being awakened by someone stabbing him through the chest, the voice of that woman. It wasn't that it was terrible, it was in fact quite the opposite. It was soft and delicate and seemed to have been molded with care and refinement. The lady's voice also seemed to have a hint of curiosity tinged to it. But it had been quite some time since he conversed with a woman, especially one of high birth and noble rank.

Olivier's deep blue eyes opened slowly as he tried to save face with the noble he had disturbed. She was certainly beautiful, as most well-bred women were, but that only made it quite significantly more difficult for Olivier. Judging solely by her attire, it was clear sh outranked him, and Olivier was not one to infuriate his superior. Luckily for him, he had dealt with male superiors for his entire life and knew some of the conventions of polite society.

With a smooth, practiced motion, Olivier removed his tricorne hat and pressed his arm across his chest, folding over in a rigid and rehearsed bow. "Forgive my intrusion, Madame," he said without meeting her face. "I hadn't noticed that this gazebo." He straightened up, his body rigid, and moved his hands, still holding onto his tricorne out of politeness, behind his back. He could feel his nervousness replacing the small amount of calm that had accumulated in the few second of peace he had.

"I hardly think a woman of your position should concern yourself with such a frivolous matter as the rope around my neck," he replied coldly. It was said in a manner far more aloof than he intended. But he didn't want her to be concerned with his problems, especially those dealing with king and country. Olivier was merely one of many corsairs in France's employ. He could easily be replaced with someone more competent. Besides, he had already interrupted this woman's study and did not want to bother her anymore.

The grip on his tricorne tightened as he felt an increasing unease around her. He maintained a mask of polite indifference with difficulty. He had very little interactions with women of any rank. Most of his experience had been with foreign prostitutes, but that had required very little conversation. But as he was back in France, he supposed that this interaction, much to to his dismay, was to become more commonplace. With time, he thought that he may be able to feel slightly more at ease around the opposite gender. However, as it stood, Olivier was not comfortable in the presence of these enigmatic creatures.

[BÉATRICE DE BOURBON]

Béa let the left corner of her mouth turn upward as the Captain began to talk. Her had not intruded on her more than she had intruded on him. But she was not going to deprive him of his good manners. After all, Béa understood how important good manners were to the lower class. Sometimes they thought good manners could disguise their poor upbringing. But Béa took his good manners to be genuine.

That is until he coldly told her that she should not be concerned with serious and important matters. Of course he called it frivolous, probably to placate and soothe her. From her novels, Béa knew how women could get. Her brow furrowed a little as her dark eyes looked up into his own. "A woman of my position?" she asked coldly, containing her anger. She had a quick temper and was trying hard to contain it. She wanted to inform him that she doubted the people of France would be thrilled to know that their princess should not allow these frivolous matters to worry her, though she knew her future imaginary husband probably would not mind.

Béa sighed. Her mother would be quite proud of her. It was then that Béa realized that she had dropped her novel. Her red ribbon bookmark contrasted nicely against the stone floor. "I suppose you know best monsieur. You have seen much more of the world than I, Captain Delacroix," Béa added, raising her left eyebrow slightly and looking up at him.

[OLIVIER DELACROIX]

Olivier found it quite interesting watching her expression change. It appeared as if she had wanted to be more personal, but had remembered the polite coldness of the court at the last moment before she spoke. Perhaps, Olivier thought, he was fitting in well with the nobility. The detached nature of their conversation was indicative of that sort of meaning. Yes, if he was doing something properly for once, he should relax a little. Though his mind was eased a little by this notion, his body language retained its stiff position.

"A woman of my position?"

"Yes," Olivier persisted, a little surprised that this seemed to be an issue with her. "A woman of noble birth should not be concerned with the politics surrounding a man of inferior birth. It is only within the power of the His Majesty the King and his chancellors to decide such a fate as mine." He felt quite justified in his explanation. What power did she have over his life? He supposed she could be the wife one of the higher ranking nobles or even a mistress to the king. That may give her some semblance of power over the men in the court, but other than whispering ideas into someone's ear, she couldn't hold much influence over his destiny.

"I suppose you know best monsieur. You have seen much more of the world than I, Captain Delacroix."

He titled his head, slightly confused as to how she seemed to know his name. Perhaps she was married to one of the high ranking officials at the palace and it was he who had spoken his name to this woman. Or it may have been his exploits against the British that had traveled to Versailles. He could only hope that India was not the topic of gossip among the nobles now. He had only delivered the news this very morning.

He slowly found his voice again. "Forgive me, Madame, but have we been introduced? I fear I have forgotten your name." Olivier could only hope that she would forgive his forgetfulness, but he could not seem to recall ever meeting her or her husband.

Before he could ponder this further, the bright red of a bookmark caught his eye. "Pardon," he said, quietly, as he made a fluid motion to retrieve the book. Standing back up, his thumb gently stroked the final flourish on the title. He had heard of this book and others of its kind. His eyes were transfixed trying to remember the plot. "I believe it is the one with the captain and the princess," he chuckled to himself. These stories had always amused him. He had seen this particular novel in a book shop in Calais along with several others. The captain, recalled, was so silly and frightfully unprofessional with his duties. Though the ending was a happy one, Olivier always imagined that the captain met his doom at the hands of the king. He held the book out for her. "It is seems you are seeing the world as well, Madame," he scoffed, raising a brow at the book. "I should warn you that captains and princesses would have much more difficulty in real life. I should think that there would be little for them to converse about."

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[BÉATRICE DE BOURBON]

"Monsieur le Capitaine, you have such decided opinions about the court," Béa responded, smiling, though it was a detached smile. She had been naive in thinking that Captain Delacroix would be a pleasure to talk to and an asset at court. She had imagined being able to ask him questions about his adventures as she longed to experience one herself. Of course, being a princess, she had accepted her fate long ago and contained her fantasies to novels. She knew her grandest adventure would be the day her future husband would take her to his country. She only hoped that it would be exotic and intriguing.

Béa did not respond as promptly to his question. She had seen him upon his first arrival at court, though he had not been presented to her father as of yet. Hearing about him through the gossip of the court had piqued her curiosity and led her to remember his face. Béa tried to hide a genuine smile as Captain Delacroix bent down and retrieved her book for her. She regained her composure as he revealed his intimate connection with the story. She wondered if he had read it for pleasure or if he had read it out of loneliness. She could imagine that living on a ship without the company of the opposite sex could drive a person to read such romances.

"I suppose you preferred the Odyssey where Odysseus bedded every woman in the tale, save his wife," Béa said, revealing that she did not reserve her reading pleasure for romances only. "I would think that a princess and a captain would have more to talk about that you realize," she added, taking the book from him.

"My name is Béatrice de Bourbon, Princess Royale de France." Béa paused. She knew that mentioning her title could kill her conversation with Captain Delacroix, and she had been enjoying his manner toward her. She knew that he would only become more formal and reserved if he knew she was the princess.

"Do you read much, captain?"

[OLIVIER DELACROIX]

"Monsieur le Capitaine, you have such decided opinions about the court."

She seemed, from he could see, pleased with Olivier's response. Apparently he knew more about court life than he imagined. Of course he did not have the experience and training she had. It was an odd position, being a corsair. He had met a few ennobled corsairs along his travels, but their interactions had been rather limited to the usual pleasantries. The few courtly maneuvers he did rehearse were disjointedly taught to him by various captains of various ships he had manned during his youth. "It is only what I have learned," he replied in an attempt to be humble, an equally detached grin set upon his lips.

"I suppose you preferred the Odyssey where Odysseus bedded every woman in the tale, save his wife. I would think that a princess and a captain would have more to talk about that you realize."

Olivier was quite quite surprised at her response. He quirked a brow and was quite unsure how to respond to something he thought would be the last thing a lady would utter. He looked away for a moment and covered his mouth with his fist as he politely coughed, trying buy some time so he could think of something polite to say. He had read the Odyssey only once as a boy on a particularly long and dreary journey. "Indeed I did enjoy the Odyssey quite a bit more, Madame," Olivier replied in an attempt to divert the conversation away from something he felt a lady should not be speaking of. "Though it was adventure that I preferred, not the protagonist's vulgar flaws."

"My name is Béatrice de Bourbon, Princess Royale de France."

He could feel his stomach sinking with dread and his face falling with dread as she recited her name. How could he not recognize the princess of his own country? Granted, he had been out of France for quite some time and this was his first time at the palace, but he had intruded into her gazebo and he could now feel the noose around his neck getting tighter. As was the custom, he knelt before her, his tricorne over his heart, and bent his head. His eyes gazed upon the stone floor as his voice caught in his throat. "Your Majesty, please forgive my insolence," he managed to squeak. He wondered if he should find an excuse for his stupidity, but that would like only prolong his suffering.

Instead, he rose rather unsteadily, wishing for a glass of anything to ease the stress of this highly volatile situation. Olivier let his gaze wander to the floor, not wanting to look upon his monarch.

"Do you read much, captain?"

He was unsure of how to reply. If Olivier said yes, she may think he eschewed his duties to France in favor of reading. Saying no would be equally dangerous. She could presume he was an uncultured brute that was not in touch with France. Olivier could only think of one response that could protect his career and appease her question.

"Yes," he replied, finding his polite aloofness once more, his eyes still not meeting hers. "Mostly I follow modern tactical naval advancements that the His Royal Highness the king issues regularly. Literature has rarely passed through my ship as it can, be at times, distracting. It is only when my crew enters port are my men and I inclined to partake in some light reading, in order to better ourselves culturally as to be sufficient representatives of France to foreign lands." He hoped this answer would please her enough to spare him.

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[BÉATRICE DE BOURBON]

I agree. The adventure was worth overlooking some flaws," Béa responded, still smiling. "Do excuse my shocking comment. The Greeks then did not share the same delicate refinements as we do in court." What was interesting to Béa was how the Greeks still did influence her culture ever so slightly in art and literature. She wondered what it would have been like to live during the time of the Iliad and the Odyssey. She did not think a woman's role had changed much from then till now. She still felt like a property of her father's to be married off to the highest bidder. Her only hope was to marry someone who would respect her opinions and her education. She had read some Rousseau and found Discours sur les sciences et les arts to be quite interesting, though she did not agree that the arts and sciences corrupt human morality. She did hope that he would continue to write his controversial opinions as she found his writing amusing.

As Captain Delacroix knelt down in front of her and apologized, Béa could not help but quietly sigh. She was used to men bowing and scraping, showing their loyalty and devotion. When she was younger she enjoyed the power, but now she saw how it was a barrier. She wondered how he would have treated her if she were a barmaid or the daughter of a merchant. Would he be just as cold and distant, or would her be warm like the captain in her novel. She was quickly becoming disillusioned and decided she would choose philosophy next to temper her emotions.

"Please stand. It is quite alright and it was an honest mistake. We noblewomen all look the same at first glance." Béa had a warmer smile as her compassionate side was activated. She could imagine how overwhelming court could be for the first time and if a person did not grow up with the gossip and the names, it would be hard for a person to understand the intricacies of court.

The captain rose and began to answer Béa's question, which pleased her. But she noticed his formality and aloofness and she wondered if it had become more of a duty to continue talking to her, or if he found any enjoyment whatsoever. "It is nice to know that are captains take their posts seriously." She knew that the statement could possible put him more at ease. She could tell that his answer was what he thought she wanted to hear, even if it was more or less the truth.

"And do you have a book to read while you are here at court?" Béa asked. She knew that the chateau had a wonderful library, which she visited regularly.

[OLIVIER DELACROIX]

Olivier felt like a small child in her presence and his stupidity in her presence did not quell the feeling. He could, out of the corner of his eye, see a much less distant smile on her lips. Perhaps she was bemused at his incompetence. It was at least a small comfort that she found him amusing. Returning his arms to their position behind his back, he gripped his tricorne tightly, using this to ease his mind. Unfortunately it did little besides bend the corner of his hat. He blindly used his thumb to try and straighten it to little avail. Perhaps she was a benevolent royal; she had not called the guards when he so callously stumbled into her gazebo.

It was situations like these that he had taught himself to avoid. He hadn't had much conversation with a woman since his youth, but even then he kept the girl at a distance. Olivier would have liked to blame his many years at sea with only male companionship for his inability to hold a conversation with a woman, but he had passion for what he did. He never had felt a strong desire to converse with women and even now, stranded on land, his desire to fulfill his obligation as a first-born son was not his priority.

Yet here he was, conversing with Her Highness the Princes Royal of France. Or at least he was attempting to.

"It is nice to know that are captains take their posts seriously."

"Quite so, Your Highness," he said, softly, punctuating his remark with a deep bow of his head. "I know not of any corsair who would represent France with anything less than the utmost refinement." Of course, his crew had an odd habit of telling him his attempts at diplomacy came off more as threats than a manner with which someone could negotiate. But to Olivier, it did not matter; he got the job done.

"And do you have a book to read while you are here at court?"

Her Highness certainly had a fascination with books. He had assumed that many of the ladies at court were not interested in the written word. Olivier, himself, did not spend much time reading. He did recall that the last book he read was quite some time before he left for India. L'Histoire du chevalier des Grieux et de Manon Lescaut by Abbé Prévost was the name of the book. The tragic tale, though enjoyable, had been banned in France. Olivier had found a pirated copy of the book and stowed it in his quarters, away from prying eyes. He couldn't rightly admit this to the king's daughter, so he produced the most politically correct answer he could think up.

"I have found myself enjoying classical French plays as of late. Jean Racine's work is quite exceptional," he said. "Though I admit I have not seen it performed and have only read the scripts." He hoped that his answer would please her and serve to quench her curiosity.

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[BÉATRICE DE BOURBON]

"I had enjoyed Racine when I first saw his play Phedre. But I have come to prefer the work of Molière. Though his portrayal of the aristocracy is not always the most flattering, I find his use of the language quite delightful. I have heard it said that the French language is not as expressive and is lacking compared to Italian or English, but Molière knew how to paint a scene with French words." Béa had disagreed with this idea that French was not as expressive as English or Italian. In fact, she found it more difficult to express herself in English, but she could not help but remember these facts that her tutor had taught her when she was younger.

"It is always my belief that a play should be seen first before it should be studied. Perhaps during your stay here you will be lucky enough to watch a performance. Perhaps something about pirates." There was a gleam in her eye as she said this. She was finding his politeness interesting, though she did not know if she preferred it to his more biting comments earlier, before he realized who she was. She had to admit she had gotten a little thrill out of having her temper ruffled.

"Alors, now that we have established our reading preferences, do you think now I am qualified to know why you might be hanged?" Béa did not want to upset the captain, nor did she not want him to regret conversing with her, but she was curious.

[OLIVIER DELACROIX]

"It is always my belief that a play should be seen first before it should be studied. Perhaps during your stay here you will be lucky enough to watch a performance. Perhaps something about pirates."

Olivier eyes continued to cower away from her, hoping that she wouldn't see the utter contempt that flared up as she spoke the word pirate. He did not see himself as a pirate, in fact he loathed the romanticism that surrounded them these days. What was so appealing to these women about sweaty, smelly men stuck on a boat together, falling to disease and battle? Even under the employ of France, Olivier found it difficult keeping his ship sanitary and well stocked. He could not imagine why this image of bravery and romance persisted.

"I can only hope,Your Highness," he replied evenly.

"Alors, now that we have established our reading preferences, do you think now I am qualified to know why you might be hanged?"

And there it was: A question he hoped she would not ask. It appeared that the conversation had not diverted far enough that she would forget his insane mumbling. Olivier felt his body tense and his jaw tightly clench itself so hard that the spot in his mouth where his tooth had fallen from stung with pain. His fight or flight instinct was weighing in his mind. But he could find no way to respond other than the truth.

"I lost, Your Highness," he confessed, his brow furrowing as if he was confused by his own words. Alas, lost was the correct phrase. He lost his ship, his crew and a tooth to the British East India Company and now he was about to lose more. He could only think that in his final moments he would ask for mercy upon his family and the remaining members of his crew.

But just as soon as his mask of indifference fell, it rose up anew. Olivier was annoyed with himself and, as much as he hated to admit it, with her. Her Highness was not letting him dance around such a delicate subject as his defeat and instead seemed to be intent on asserting herself as someone who could possibly save him.

After all those moments of avoiding her gaze, Olivier's eyes caught hers rather sharply. "Which is why it should be a concern only to His Majesy the King or His Royal Highness the Dauphin or their chancellors. The political arena in not a place for Your Highness to dirty her hands." He was glad he had regained his distant, even tone once more. Olivier did not want the princess to be involved with his affairs, especially after he had so fully embarrassed himself in her presence.

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