itinere | Open | Action: What is a sally if not another word for adventure? (literally)

Open | Action: What is a sally if not another word for adventure? (literally)

While there had been no flower-borne sickness for Don Quixote, nor another kind of sickness (which really, might have been the death of the old man, what with his missing teeth and chinked ear). So, today, the weather only finds the Knight Errant on the back of his fair, sway-backed steed, Rocinante, the hooves clip-clopping along the streets, in search of adventure.

That there can be no true monsters, or dragons, doesn't occur to him. After all, what is a Knight without adventure? (Besides a crazy old man?)

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"Well!" Isn't that exciting?

Don Quixote ponders such a thing. How they can come from such different places to end up here.

"I have a good many stories of romance that I can share," he offers, smiling up at her with no few missing teeth. "Would you wish to hear one?"

It is a curiosity, so many differing types from faraway places and different worlds entirely, all in one place. Such magic is beyond her understanding. But she's pleased by it, nonetheless. It brought her to d'Artagnan, after all.

She dips her head, excitedly. It might seem ridiculous to tell someone a story. But one must not forget that she is still very young. Marriages were made, especially by nobility, at such young ages in her time. To her it is of no mind that she is only just fifteen years old.

"I would like that very much, yes." She says.

"Well!" With great relish, Don Quixote prepares himself for the telling of such a tale.

A great and noble tale of Romance!

What a shame it is, then, in that moment, that they all escape him! A terrible shame! He stammers about as he walks, racking what wits he has in an attempt to recall even one such story.

At last he settles on Francesca and Paolo, a very old story indeed (and a very poor story for impressing the ladies, it's true).

"A beautiful Italian woman with the most noble name of Francesca," he begins, "was wedded to the brave, yet crippled Giovanni. It was not," he adds, "a marriage based on love. But on position! And the quest for power."

"After all! Guido had been at war with the Malatesta family, and the marriage of his daughter to Giovanni was a way to solidify the peace that had been negotiated between the Malatesta and the Polenta families!"

A sad reason for marriage, in the Knight's view. For he had never been married, you see and did not know the trials that came, even with good marriages.

"While in Rimini, the beautiful, and now lonely Francesca fell in love with Giovanni’s younger (and still hale) brother, Paolo. For love follows not the matters of the mind, but the matters of the heart!"

"Paolo too was married, but that stopped them not, as they managed to seek and share their love for over ten years!"

"But," he finally says, looking up at Lucrezia with rheumy eyes. "Giovanni, a wise man of his own right, ultimately surprised them in Francesca’s bedroom, finding them there in flagrante!, and killing them both!"

Lucrezia's head dips. The Malatesta and Polenta families sounded very much like the Borgia and the Sforza families. Her marriage had been to form an alliance, thrown to Giovanni the wolf who knew nothing of love or kindness. She had been stripped bare, but had yet to be full hardened against such notions of love.

Her sweet Paolo had saved her from growing cold.

And how parallel to her own life the tale of Francesca and Paolo. "Isn't it strange, Sir Knight, that love cannot survive without pain? In all the stories of old it warns us of this. And yet, we dream of love so pure, infallible and innocent in spite of ourselves."

She pauses. "It seems a futile effort at best. And yet we dream and dream..."

"Oh, fair Lucrezia!" Don Quixote rears to a stop to face her, his own countenance most serious, despite being without his wits.

"True love will always exist! It merely needs to be found! Love with pain is no love at all."

At his complimentary exclamation, a small smile graces her lips again She looks up to him again, wishing so badly that what he says is right.

"I met a man here that I could love so truly and completely, as in the old romantic tales. Thus far, there seems to be no pain." Although, her tone is clear that she is tentative in believing it will remain that way.

"Well, if this man is a knight, good and true, then it shall be!"

Not that Don Quixote has any way of testing that or even proving it, but still!

"And you then shall have a story of Romance of your own."

"He is what he calls a Musketeer. A soldier of France." She explains it to the best of her ability, which, granted, is very minimal. She knows little of soldiers and knights and war aside from what she has read before.

"Is that similar to you, Sir Knight?" She asks.

"If he fights for the tenets of chivalry?" The hildago attempts a shrug that does little more than rattle his armor, "then he is a Knight! If he fights, too, for your honor, then he is worthy of being a knight."

So, in that way, that is settled. "I shall, though," he adds, "have to meet this man, to be sure."

"I do believe him to be chivalrous, yes. And true." Lucrezia is quick to assure Don Quixote.

The smile she gives him is gentle but playful. "You will see to my interests, good Sir?" For some reason, this is a welcome thing. Lucrezia is from a time when she is a piece on a chess board. No one to see to her better interests but Cesare. But her brother isn't here.

And Don Quixote is arguably old enough to be her grandfather and shall treat her just like that.

"I shall," he proposes. "After all! It is part of my attention to the tenets of Chivalry!"

Turning in a slow circle, he accomplishes two things. 1) he ties himself in the reins, and 2) he doesn't locate this knight.

Oh, dear.

"Then I do hope you meet my d'Artagnan someday, Don Quixote de la Mancha. For surely you can tell the depth of his chivalry, and perhaps of his love for me." She encourages good-naturedly.

"Sir Knight!" She exclaims around a laugh as she reaches down to help to untangle him. "Perhaps it is you who should ride and I who leads."

"Never!" With a creak of rusty armor, the hildago unwinds himself, reins still in hand with a kind of triumph. "I will guide you where you wish to go, fair Lucrezia. Then I can meet your knight and declare him sound."

Because in the books, these things are always clear and straightforward. How will life not be the same way?

"Well then, to the apartments we go." She says with a nod, already wondering how the Knight and her d'Artagnan might interact with one another, and what the Knight might have to say about her love. For some reason, it seems to her that his judgement will be sound.

Oh, Lucrezia. What a pair these two make. Sancho Panza's very eyes might roll from their sockets were he to witness this.

"To the apartments!"

Of course, Don Quixote must look around, figure out where he is, after all, in relation to those boxes in which they reside.

Right! He begins to lead Rocinante again.

In the completely opposite direction of where they need to be going.

Lucrezia looks in the direction they're going and then backward before laughter bubbles up from inside her. Surely he did this just to make her laugh, right?

"Don Quixote! We are steered in the wrong direction." She points back to the tallest building in the city behind them. "The apartments are just there."

She smiles at him, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Alas, he did not.

"Ah," Don Quixote notes, turning himself in the reins again. "Ah! Yes! That is where we are going, is it not? Yes! Rocinante!"

The horse cannot move, though, having no give to the reins to even turn. He yanks his head with a soft huff. "Ah! Yes," exclaims the knight, unwinding himself again, staggering only a bit in the process.

"To the apartments!"

Really, this knight is quite the character. He's eccentric to the point of being absurd, different from anything Lucrezia has ever known. Her life has always been so serious, so planned ahead, so dictated. She finds she likes him quite a bit.

"To the apartments." She says with a dip of her head and a smile cast in his direction once he's situated himself from the reigns.

In the time it takes for them to get to the apartments for there to be nearly two incomplete stories of Valor. Then Quixote is reaching to help Lucrezia down. Of course that was also enough time for the hildago to forget why they came. "Fair Lucrezia! It has been my great honor to escorts you."

Incomplete or not, Lucrezia enjoys the tales all the same. Tales of chivalry and valor, braveness and fortitude. Any unfinished tales, her imagination can complete for her. On the way, she withdraws the small magical device everyone is given upon arrival. She sends a message to d'Artagnan to meet her out in front of the apartments.

And so, when the get there, Lucrezia reaches down to rest her hands on Don Quixote's shoulders as he helps her down from the great steed (in her opinion) Rocinante. "It has been my pleasure to be in your company, Sir Knight. My love should be here at any moment."

"Lucrezia?" d'Artagnan appears, hand on his sword, ready to defend her. He takes in the old man (and the God-forsaken old horse, good God). "Are you all right?" he asks, confused.

"Ah! Are you the man who holds the fair Lucrezia's heart?" asks the hildago.

Well ... d'Artagnan looks to her to see if he does indeed fit that description.

Lucrezia places a hand gently on Don Quixote's shoulder to nod at him as she steps up beside him. Her eyes linger excitedly upon d'Artagnan. "He is, Sir Knight, the one who holds my heart."

And to said keeper of her heart: "d'Artagnan, this is Don Quixote de la Mancha. He has escorted me from my prayers this day and has promised me his devotion in the matter of my safety. I wished for the two of you to meet."

She extends her other hand to d'Artagnan, hoping to bring him closer without his hand upon his sword.

The name sounds vaguely familiar, but d'Artagnan is hardly well-read. But a knight? The man hardly seems able to stand upright. He is not a threat; he takes Lucrezia's hand, smiling just a little. "My thanks. She is safe, though, I can assure you." It's a matter of pride, after all.

Lucrezia is too trusting, clearly.

"It is my honor, then," Don Quixote tells him, "to meet you, fair knight, so highly has the fair Lucrezia spoken of you!"

Lucrezia gives her d'Artagnan a full smile. Yes, Don Quixote had just called him fair, it seems. It's obvious that she's grown fond of the old knight and his even older horse.

"d'Artagnan is a great swordsman, Sir Knight. He is a soldier." She explains, moving to stand next to her love with his hand in hers.

"A soldier." Don Quixote nodded sagely. "As valuable to the society as a pimp!"

... what? d'Artagnan exchanges a look with Lucrezia. "... I beg your pardon?" he asks.

"Pimps! They are necessary," the knight tells them. "They bring a kind of order to society, and need to be smart and agile men. If there are no pimps, our society is lesser."

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