"The Glorious Fight"

In this year of grace seventeen hundred and ninety-four, the city of Paris wrung the very life out of her citizens. Day after day, numerous heads fell under the blade of Madame la Guillotine and there was a constant sense of fear in the people as they wondered who would be her next victim. Of course the leaders of this republic weren't afraid, for they held the nation in the hollow of their hand. They had dethroned a monarchy and taken matters into their own control. All the rest, were left to question whether at the end of the day, their heads would still be on their shoulders, or not. Would their neighbor finally succumb to the need for money and betray them to the Revolutionary Tribunal? So many lives did not last in the terror-ridden capital.

In the Rue de la Croix Blanche a group of men was trying their best to save one such victim. A woman who had been denounced only the night before and was, already, under arrest. Within hours, she would be condemned to the guillotine and used as a bloody hors d'oeuvre to assuage the appetite of the "Red Widow." But, as with others before her, hope had come at the last moment! A hastily scrawled note on a filthy scrap of paper. This, on it's own, was nothing. It was the signature of this humble missive that really caught her attention. The only sign was a simple, five-petalled flower drawn in red chalk. It told her that soon she would be in England and safe from the tyranny of France. The group of "English spies" had come today and as they escaped with her through one door, the Revolutionary guards were attempting to break down the other.

"Please, Countess, we must hurry." Sir Andrew Ffoulkes urged the Countess Marcotte and proceeded to gently hustle her out the back door. He heard the banging on the front door change in sound and knew he hadn't much time left. The door splintered and broke under the guards' heavy blows. Andrew never hesitated. He knew what had to be done. He shoved the Countess out the back door to Hastings' waiting arms and slammed the door behind her. Then, he turned to confront the multitude of guards coming toward him. Even as skilled as he was, Andrew only managed to incapacitate half of them and was, eventually, caught by both arms and bound. He was maneuvered to face a little man dressed all in black and his blood ran cold as he recognized who it was.

"Chauvelin."

"Exactly, Sir Andrew. I admit that I was hoping to catch your chief in this little escapade, but I am sure he will come to save one of his men . . . and then I'll have you both."

He gestured to the guards and they carried Andrew off to the carriage and the Temple Prison. The only thought that ran through Andrew's mind was that the Countess was safe and he had done his duty to the League and to his chief.

~*~

Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart. sat in his lavish study working out ingenious ways to save innocent aristocrats in Paris. All the world thought him the largest idiot they had the pleasure to know. Only a select few knew him to be the daring hero known only as the Scarlet Pimpernel - a man that threatened the very core of the bloody revolution in France. A master of disguise, he continuously spirited away men and women and children from under the very blade of the "national razor" and then, seemingly vanished to all those who might capture him. He always appeared to be in more than one place at a time and the few who saw him could only describe him as "supernaturally tall." He and his loyal band of followers, known as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, were admired and revered by all of England and hated and cursed by all of France. Every detail and circumstance of his plans must be thought through with the greatest of care, if he was to succeed. And he always did.

Percy heard two sets of footsteps fast approaching his sanctum.

"No, Jessup! It's not all right! I need to talk to Percy now!" He heard Tony's voice upraised at Jessup, his personal valet, through the door and called to him.

"It's all right, Jessup. Let him in." And the study door opened to permit Lord Antony Dewhurst dressed finely from head to toe in traveling gear. He had a look in his eyes, though, that said he brought bad news. Percy took a deep breath and braced himself.

"All right, Tony, what is it?"

"They've got Andrew," was all he said, but Percy's jaw went tight and every muscle in his strong body screamed at the thought. Ffoulkes was his best lieutenant and dedicated heart and soul to their noble cause. He was also the Scarlet Pimpernel's best friend.

"How?" he asked, trying to subdue the panic he felt rising inside him.

"He was getting the Countess Marcotte out of Paris. Chauvelin knew about it and had his guards wait there. Andrew distracted Chauvelin's men while the Countess got away, but was caught himself. And now, she has vanished. Completely. Since then, we've done a little digging and bribed a few of the men who guard Chauvelin's office in the Palais de Justice and we discovered that the Countess was in Chauvelin's pay all the time and gave our plan to him. At one time, she was in danger from the Tribunal, but instead of being rescued by the Scarlet Pimpernel, she decided to betray him. That's why Chauvelin was ready for Andrew. He knew it all."

All through Tony's story, Percy had thought as he had never thought before. His quick mind was doing its best to work out a way to save his friend. They must get Andrew back! But how? He had no fear that Andrew would do anything to endanger the rest of them and he would be expecting Percy to rescue him. And, unless Chauvelin did something really evil, which Percy wouldn't put past him, Andrew could work from within while the League whittled away from without. After that, the only thing was to get out of Paris without having any of the rest of them caught!

Percy said, "I'm sure Chauvelin wanted me, but will use Andrew as bait to draw me in." He sighed. "Call in the others, Tony. We're going to need all our strength to get him back to England and avoid the trap ourselves."

Percy unfolded himself from his chair, stretched to his full six feet and three inches in height, and said, "Meanwhile, I'll tell Marguerite and . . . Suzanne."

~*~

Marguerite was in the garden, picking some roses and admiring the beautiful country around her. It was a warm, sunny afternoon with just a few clouds in the sky. The light glinted off her fair hair and almost made it glow. She felt Percy standing behind her, but didn't turn - just to see what he'd do. She missed him so, when he was on his missions of mercy, but she knew, deep in her soul, that nothing could stop him from this. Nothing, short of death, would see him cease his continuous effort to save the helpless innocents of the awful revolution. After a minute, the faithful wife heard him sigh and finally turned to see her husband. His strong face was content, but the set of his broad shoulders betrayed the worry he felt.

She took his hands and said, "Percy, what's wrong?"

He looked into Marguerite's caring blue eyes and wanted to fall into them and stay there forever. But, he couldn't. Not while Andrew was held captive by a group of demmed murderers! At long last, he gave in and spoke, softly.

"Chauvelin has captured Andrew. Tony's calling the League together even as we speak, so we can plan how to rescue him."

Marguerite gasped and threw her arms around him and, with tears in her eyes, said, "Oh, Percy! I'm so sorry! Suzanne will be worried enough about him, but she'll fret about you too. And poor Andrew! It's a good thing that he trusts you so much! Oh, and stuck in one of those horrid prisons," a shiver ran up her spine and Percy held her closer to him for comfort. He wondered whom, exactly, he was comforting more. Marguerite or himself. ". . . but, look at it this way! If anyone can get him back, it's you and the League! Lady Chance has always been on your side and you haven't failed yet!"

Percy reveled, as he held his wife in his arms, that she always knew what to say to give him strength and courage - and he didn't lose them very often. How in the world had he been lucky enough to capture this beautiful and charming angel for a wife? Lady Chance had indeed been with him that fine day! He pulled back and caressed her blushed cheek with his long, slender hand.

"Thank you, m'dear. I needed that."

She smiled. "A wife's duty . . . to her own elusive Pimpernel."

Percy chuckled and kissed her heartily.

~*~

Amidst all the terror and suffering, there was one man in Paris who was not afraid. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes trusted his chief completely and knew Percy would think of something. He always did. His cell was small, but quite comfortable for a man used to sleeping in strange quarters. At least while in Paris, he was used to it. At home, in England, he was a confirmed sybarite and surrounded by as much luxury as possible.

He was sitting on the solitary stool and trying to imagine Percy's lightning quick thoughts when a knock on the door was followed closely by Chauvelin himself.

"Good day, Sir Andrew. I hope you are doing well?" said Chauvelin amiably.

"As well as can be expected." Andrew said in reply, his face a mask.

"Indeed." Chauvelin smirked. "Well, hopefully you won't be here very long. I'm sure Sir Percy is planning already! All you need do is wait."

"Chauvelin, what makes you think that this time will be any different from all the rest? Percy will rescue me and we'll be back in England before you even know I'm gone."

Chauvelin shrugged, turned to the door, and said over his shoulder, "Not this time, Sir Andrew. Not this time!"

Once in his office, Chauvelin was faced by a heavily cloaked young woman.

"Ah, Citizeness Marcotte, I was expecting you. You have been a great help to me and the Republic and we both thank you."

He waved her to a seat and she sat and removed her hood. Revealed was a woman of regal stature with fine bones and a fair complexion. Her hair stood around her like an aureole of light and her blue eyes shone with fire and determination. Chauvelin could tell that this was a woman to be reckoned with. Someone who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. Because of this, he knew they would work perfectly together. For he too, would stop at nothing for his cause.

She said, "It is merely my duty to my country, Citizen. Now, I expect you have another job for me?"

One corner of Chauvelin's thin mouth twitched. "Indeed, I do. I want you to go to England . . . "

~*~

Marguerite watched the Day Dream fade over the horizon with a lump in her throat. Each time Percy sailed away, she worried that it was the last. That she would never feel his kiss upon her lips or his loving arms around her again, and she wished he would stop this crazy adventuring and simply enjoy their new found happiness. But now, of course, he was off to save Sir Andrew.

Poor Suzanne, Andrew's faithful wife, had been hysterical, but she trusted Percy implicitly and knew he would bring her beloved husband home. After all, Sir Percy Blakeney had saved her entire family from death; the Comte and Comtesse de Tournay, the Vicomte, her brother, and she herself all owed their lives to the Scarlet Pimpernel.

Marguerite sighed and started back to the small cottage that she and her husband kept just outside of Dover for the occasions when time didn't warrant a return to Richmond, or when Marguerite came to see him off, and she always did. The only thing to do now, was to return home and wait for Percy's letters and, eventually, the man himself.

Perhaps, she would visit Suzanne and help console her until her husband did return, she was sure!

But, on Marguerite's arrival at the Ffoulkes household in London, she found nothing but an empty domicile. After a discrete search, Marguerite came to the horrible conclusion that her little Suzanne had followed her husband across the Channel to France, in one of those vain attempts that Marguerite, herself, had tried in the past! She must get a message to Percy . . . and quickly!

~*~

The waves crashed against the wooden hull of the ship as Lady Suzanne Ffoulkes stood on deck, leaning on the rail, and watching the fast-approaching French coastline. She realized that what she was doing was madness, but he had to be warned! She recalled the visitor that had called at her house only

yesterday . . .

"Forgive me for calling unannounced, Lady Ffoulkes, but the matter is rather urgent." She was sitting on the settee in her fashionable clothes and drinking tea, but Suzanne felt that there was something not quite right about her and was determined to find out what it was.

"It's perfectly all right, Comtesse Marcotte. I haven't seen you since that little soiree in the Rue St. Jacques, last summer. Tell me, what is so urgent?"

"It's about your husband. You know he has been captured, yes?"

"Yes, I know," said Suzanne, around the lump in her throat.

"Well, I have heard that the Committee is trying to get some kind of information from him and that, if he gives it, they will set him free. It seems likely that if you were to go see him and add your persuasion to theirs, you could have your husband back in your arms before you know it."

Suzanne eyed the Countess, unsure. "Comtesse, I have found myself in the clutches of these fiends before and I do not relish the idea of returning to France. I, also, have other reasons for believing that outside forces are working to rescue him. Therefore, I see no need to burden them with my presence, as well."

"If you are speaking of the Scarlet Pimpernel, Madame, I have heard from the most excellent of sources that he too is part of Chauvelin's plan and that a trap is being set to catch not only the League, but additionally the Pimpernel himself."

And so, Suzanne had come. She didn't know what kind of information the Committee wanted, but she was willing to do a great deal to get Andrew back! And if the Pimpernel was out of commission, then the odds that her husband would be saved were very small indeed! If luck was with her, she could warn him too! The Countess Marcotte had sailed on ahead to prepare things for her coming and Suzanne was very glad to have the time alone to prepare herself. She knew that Andrew had been in prison for a week now, so she needed to be ready for the weak state he might be in. Hopefully, they were letting him sleep. Percy had been imprisoned before and the guards hadn't let him sleep for seventeen days, so he would not have his normally supernatural strength to help in an escape. Andrew did not have nearly the constitution that Percy had, nobody did, but with any luck, he was in a much better situation than his leader had been.

After landing at Calais, she arranged a room for herself at a nearby inn and got some much needed sleep, even if it was a little troubled with her worry for her husband. And the next morning, in a coach and four, she rode for Paris.

~*~

In a dank and rundown building in the worst corner of Paris, three men were climbing the creaking stairs to the third floor. They were of the filthiest sort and were covered from head to foot with coal dust and soot. No shoes covered their feet and the rags on their backs hardly counted as clothing at all. Once the door had closed behind them and been bolted, a strange thing happened. The one with the limp, walked straight as an arrow. The one with the cough, rang free with a hearty laugh. And the one slouched over with a hump, pulled the padding out of his shirt and straightened out to his full six feet and three inches in height. The last, also threw back his head and let out a merry laugh that echoed against the walls of their wretched lodging.

"Sink me! What a glorious day! If it were not for Andrew sitting in that demmed hole, this whole thing would be quite enjoyable. Wouldn't you say so, Tony?"

"Begad, yes, Blakeney. I swear this is the best sport in the world! I believe I shall give up hunting this fall. It's nothing to compare with this." And he gestured to the dismal walls around him.

"Indeed. What a life!" exclaimed the last. All three were like school boys out on holiday, despite the task they had at hand.

"Well said, Hastings! Well said. Now, boys, let's get down to business."

And suddenly the lazy look was gone from Blakeney's blue eyes. Now, they could have pierced to the soul of anyone who happened to catch their gaze. This man's presence could command the mob as if they were children, his soul reached out to the innocent people in this blood-filled country, and his pluck and ingenuity went to work to get them to safety. All of these things filled the room now and he held the two men riveted. They waited anxiously to hear what their parts would be in their chief's latest scheme and their eyes didn't leave his impassioned face for a second. Lord Antony Dewhurst and Lord Timothy Hastings were two of the League's three best lieutenants. But, they all knew that it was Andrew who was the most loyal and dedicated member ever known to the League.

"All right, men. I'm using a different technique for rescuing Andrew, because the situation is so delicate. We must get him out and not be caught ourselves in the process, so here's what's going to happen . . ."

~*~

In his dark prison cell, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes sat and stared at the desolate walls. The only person he had seen, since his visit from Chauvelin six days ago, was one of his guards who brought him thin soup, bread, and a vile wine three times a day. Apparently, they weren't ready to kill him yet, so all he could do was wait. Either, wait for instructions from his chief that would, hopefully, lead to freedom, or wait for the guide to the tumbril and, hence, to the guillotine. Andrew did his best to keep up his optimism and his trust in his chief, but after a week of hearing nothing, he was beginning to slip. Andrew was hearing other things, though, there was one time about three days ago when he had thought he'd heard a familiar merry laugh ringing outside his prison door, but he had brushed it off as nothing more than a dream.

He gave a start as the wooden door was opened and in came none other than Chauvelin. Again. Now what? Thought Andrew and braced himself for the worst.

"Good day, Sir Andrew. I hope you are well. My men have just found a delightful companion for you. She was apprehended on the road to Paris," Chauvelin said with that nasty grin of his. He stepped aside as two guards brought forward a frail figure who was close to tears.

"Suzanne!" Andrew rushed forward to support his wife, who looked only half-conscious. He led her to the solitary stool and turned on Chauvelin with a voice full of hatred. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"It's quite simple, Sir Andrew," Chauvelin said calmly, "we have a small proposal to make to you. You will give us a little piece of information, but if you do not . . . your wife will be sent to the guillotine."

Andrew leapt forward, ready to kill this evil man if he could, but the soldiers stopped him roughly before he had gone two feet. "By God . . . you are the worst . . . kind of human. You are not even . . . human. . . . You . . . are the very devil." He managed to gasp out.

"You, sir, are in a very precarious position. I would be extremely cautious for the next little while, at least until your wife is safe." He said significantly, with a wave of his hand in Suzanne's direction. "Now, you have not asked what the information is that will save your wife's life. Shall I tell you?" Now, closely guarded, Andrew simply gave a small nod. "Very well, I will enlighten you. We are going to allow a communication from your leader to pass into your hands. You will then tell us every detail of his plans for your rescue. After we have the Pimpernel and all of his men under our care, then only will we put your lovely wife on a ship back to England. What say you, sir?"

Sir Andrew, whose face had grown very pale during Chauvelin's speech, said slowly, "And if I refuse?"

"My dear, Sir Andrew, then your beautiful Lady Ffoulkes will be sent to meet Madame la Guillotine and she will not return."

Andrew's thoughts were making rapid maneuvers in his head. Could he really betray his beloved chief and his loyal comrades? But, then if he didn't, the woman he worshiped more than anything in the world would die, at his hands. He finally made the tortured decision to trust completely in Percy's excellent ingenuity and timing. He hoped to God that his friend's acute awareness would save his wife's life before it was too late. He knew that afterward, his own life would be forfeit, but he would deal with that in due course.

After taking a deep breath, Andrew said, "I will not betray the Scarlet Pimpernel." And he faced Chauvelin and looked directly into those beady eyes with no fear. Andrew's face was full of his trust and loyalty to the Prince of Dandies, Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart.

Chauvelin, with no expression whatsoever, said, "She dies the day after tomorrow, at dawn." He then turned and left them alone with their last hours together.

~*~

Once more, the Countess Marcotte was awaiting him in his office. She looked even more commanding and beautiful this afternoon than she had before. Clad from head to toe in a traveling cloak of a reddish hue, this femme fatale could have been the Scarlet Pimpernel herself! How ironic, thought Chauvelin.

"My dear, Citizeness, I'm very glad to see you. Now, you are to take the prisoners north to Rouen, there to have Lady Ffoulkes guillotined. Hopefully, the further they are from Paris the less the likelihood that the Pimpernel will interfere. Take Sir Andrew with you in case he yields at the last and agrees to give us his chief's plans."

"Very well, Citizen, I shall take them at once. What is to be done about guards?" she asked competently. If this plan failed, it would be no fault of hers!

Chauvelin rang his little bell and a great, hulking man entered the room. His lank hair hung across his face and his rags were covered in filth and grime. The tricolor cockade rested on his Phrygian cap that was once red, but now resembled a dustman's rag. His huge arms looked as if they could yank a tree right from the ground and his right sleeve hung down to cover his hand. Chauvelin introduced him as Citizen Grappin.

"Citizen Grappin will ride with you, Citizeness. As well as two guards to keep the prisoners in line. The Citizen is a faithful republican and has helped us before, so I know he can be trusted."

As Grappin and the Countess Marcotte left, with him coughing and wheezing all the way, Chauvelin felt a contented smile cross his face. So sure, he was, of success this time. Certainly, Sir Percy had beat him before, but this time was different! With both Sir Andrew and Lady Ffoulkes in his grasp, it was virtually impossible for them to be rescued without him knowing something was up, before hand. He whispered to himself, "I've got you this time, my elusive Scarlet Pimpernel!"

~*~

The carriage carried them ever closer to their doom. Sir Andrew and Suzanne felt almost content just holding each other for their last few hours together. Of course, they still hoped that someone or something would appear to rescue them from death. At one point during the long journey, the carriage stopped and a brief scuffle was heard from atop the box. The couple looked at each other's faces with trepidation in their hearts, but the moment they thought of stepping out to see what was happening, their conveyance started moving once more. About a league later, the same odd event repeated itself exactly as before. Suzanne and Andrew shrugged it off, after a while, and went back to praying for deliverance.

After a seemingly never-ending ride (Much longer than the ride should be, thought Sir Andrew), the carriage pulled up and they braced themselves for the end. But instead, came a familiar face at the door and a laugh that echoed through the air and made their hearts light with joy!

"Sink me, milady! Don't look so distressed, I pray you! And Andrew! Begad, your face is as long as a winter's night! Come, everything is all right now and we must be away before the tide turns." With this, Blakeney offered Lady Ffoulkes a still grimy hand and helped her down. "Zounds! I must apologize for all the dirt, but I felt that Grappin needed to make an appearance to help your cause. He seemed a worthy guard for a member of the League and Chauvelin still trusts him, so all the better! Grappin also happened to slip a small note into my friend's pocket. Just a short missive . . . and in rhyme. Odd's life, I'd go back if only to see his face when he finds it!"

As Sir Andrew disembarked, he exclaimed, "But how, Percy? What about the guards?"

"Odd's fish! They were the easiest to be rid of! Gagged and tied to trees, each a league from the other. And as for Madame le Comtesse . . . well, she is a soul after my own heart!" he said with that dashing smile of his. Andrew gave him a horrified look that he could even think of such a thing! But, he got his answer soon enough, when, from around the corner of the carriage, came none other than Lady Marguerite Blakeney, formerly Marguerite St. Just, the famed actress of the Comedie Francaise.

"I wrote to Marguerite when I heard about the Countess. Her physical description was so exactly that of my dear Margot, that I couldn't resist setting her in front of my amiable friend, Monsieur Chambertin! I must say that you played it very well, m'dear! Shovelin' never expected a thing!" He said this aside to Marguerite, who was removing the last of her make-up, for she had needed a little to alter her face just enough to be unrecognizable to Chauvelin's quick eyes.

"Why, thank you, Percy. I must say that it was fun to don a role again, although I do feel a bit sorry for the real Countess . . . locked in her cellar and all. I suppose it does serve her right, for luring my dear Suzanne into this horrid country! Percy, as Grappin, of course, witnessed her with Chauvelin and remembered what she had done to Andrew, and he knew that no good could come of it. He intercepted the Countess, tied her up, and locked her in the cellar of her own home! After which, I assumed the part and took custody of my 'prisoners' with my fellow 'republican,' the large Citizen Grappin. . . . Oh dear, here I am chattering away, while you, my poor dear child, are standing in the cold. Come, Suzanne, and we will get you some food and a comfortable bed." She took Suzanne's arm and started leading her toward the Day Dream, that lay anchored in the nearby cove. Over her shoulder, she said, "Follow as soon as you can, Andrew, and we'll have the same for you."

Watching them board the graceful yacht, Andrew said, "I've never been so scared in all my life. The thought of losing her . . ." He could go no further.

Percy laid his long, slender hand across his best friend's shoulder and said, "I know what you mean. You realize that life would be pointless without her and that nothing would ever be the same. You imagine how lonely life would become and you see yourself sitting alone and remembering all that you used to have and wondering how on earth you could have let it go."

Silence prevailed for a moment and, finally, Andrew turned to his beloved chief and all he could say was, "Thank you, Percy. For everything. For the life you have taken on and for your unconditional devotion to it. You are the man everyone should aspire to be and I'm proud and honored to follow you."

"Pish tosh, man!" Percy answered, with a wave of his filthy hand. "I couldn't just leave you in the lurch and besides," he said, flippantly, "you know what they say, 'Don't give in, don't give up, but give thanks for the glorious fight!' Sink me! if that's not the way to live life, then I don't know what is!" And with that, the Scarlet Pimpernel, the man whose every move on French soil was dogged by the Committee of National Security and the revolutionary guard, carelessly stepped on board his sleek yacht to return to England, where he was celebrated as the most inane fop and flippant dandy ever to grace the drawing rooms. But, he would head back into the fire soon. He always did.

Sir Andrew just smiled and went to follow his chief and his beloved wife to a warm bed, good food, fine clothes, and eventually, to England. He knew he would return to France soon, but he would be under the guard of the most courageous man ever to live and he would once again give thanks for the glorious fight!

The End

~*~

"Into darkness, into danger, into storms that rip the night! Don't give in, don't give up, but give thanks for the glorious fight! You can tremble you can fear it, but keep your fighting spirit alive, boys! Let the shiver of it sting you! Fling into battle! Spring to your feet, boys! Never hold back your step for a moment!

Never doubt that your courage will grow! Hold your head even higher and into the fire we go!"

- Nan Knighton - "Into the Fire" - The Scarlet Pimpernel

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