Lucio, a Musketeer

The tall dark man’s boots clocked a merry rhythm as he strode with purpose towards the town square where the harpsichord’s high wavering notes had begun wafting through the sweltering heat of late afternoon just a few seconds before. The beats from the zambomba kicked in and a smile curled the handsome man’s lips. It was an upbeat tune, and he pictured Lola’s lovely ankles flashing daringly from the twirling cascades of her flamenco dress as her castanets clacked out punctuation marks as if her hands were magical brown birds clapping wooden wings together.

The boots were so dusty that the ridges of the desert dragon skin were all but obscured though the pointed silver tips winked at the corners of his crow’s-feeted eyes. His father hated the boots. He hated the fact that his son had foolishly wrestled the dangerous ornery beast for its skin. And he hated the three-inch Cuban heels and prissy silver adornments, stating in his loud and belligerent way, “sissy feet! Pah!” most of all, he hated that Lucio wore them because he hated them so.

Lucio’s two swords jutted from his back, the blood on them barely dried after his last mission. Father called him a rebel, with lips curled in disgust. An outlaw, a paid assassin…an embarrassment.

The town square was literally a square. It resembled an American military-built fort, of whose purpose had been to keep out savages and pirates and hurricanes alike, the townsfolk kept safe by stone and wood walls. This safe haven was protected by the prince’s soldiers. At the entrance resembling a covered bridge, beached on the earth whose river had dried up a millennia before, two of the soldiers stood, their hands flexing over their swords instinctively. The pale gloved hands relaxed as the men recognized Lucio as he walked under the raised portcullis. As always, a shiver traced his neck hairs as he glanced at the heavy iron upside-down gate with its posts sharpened to points like cruel black teeth. He felt that he was walking beneath a guillotine, one that had a heartbeat and spiritual eyes that read your soul…and should you be judged unworthy…he shivered again. Irrational, he knew. A phobia with no place in a rational mind.

The guards stepped aside, Cornstata nodded a silent greeting. Perhaps there’d be cards to be dealt later in the evening when the men were off duty, replaced by two fresh soldiers eager to lay hands upon their swords as the townsfolk grew drunker and louder and bolder.

There were two cantinas at the west and east ends of the square, each two stories, with rooms to let hourly or weekly or whatever, and each sported a curved portico from which soldiers sat on duty, the west scanned the plains to the sea, the east the foothills to the forest. Facing the square, in a large balcony on the eastern cantina sat Prince Zalabar. His father spotted him immediately. He need not look up to know this, for he felt the large man’s piercing black eyes drill the back of his skull like crossbow quarrels released at close range.

The rest of the square consisted of shops and vendors with carts, many with colorful tents to keep the sellers from frying in the dry Spanish heat. The cantinas were packed this time of day the townsfolk called happy hour- the time of day when shadow grew long, the cooling tang of the sea gently caressed the dust-filled nostrils to a second wind and, most importantly, the dark rum and sweet red wines flowed to those with coinage jangling in their pockets. Just before sunset the music would start and Lola would dance sometimes with a companion or two, sometimes with her goats.

Lucio entered the East Cantina under his father’s nose and out of his sight, picturing the large man with the reddish face suppressing a growl in his thick throat. Lucio ordered two drinks, paid the bartender, downed one in a single tossed-back head tilt and carried the second rum towards  the low wooden stage laid down at the north side of the square. The three businesses on that side closed at sunset, the band set up on the sidewalk and as Lucio strolled up the wooden sidewalk, same height as the stage, he passed a soldier walking the opposite direction. The soldier was tall like he was, handsome and naturally tanned as he was though the soldier was clean shaven. Lucio had what he liked to call cultivated scruffy, his thick mustache the only thing about him his father approved of. Lucio ignored the man that strongly resembled him, and the man did likewise as if it were a contest where the loser was the first to acknowledge the other. A tie again.

As he rounded the corner the band came into view. The crowd parted before him and …’Whoa. Who the hell is that?’ The woman dancing in the yellow satin flamenco dress twirled and her ruffled skirts flew up like waves swooshing up steep rocks, showing off muscular tanned legs that were not Lola’s.

Lucio stood mesmerized. She was a beautiful as Lola but not garish like the whore. Hers was a beauty that glowed from within a virtuous soul. While Lola could be somewhat vulgar in her blatant writhing moves, this creature was demure, silk ivory fans beat the air about her like butterfly wings. She was part alley cat and part snake as she moved, bending to bone-cracking curves…though all the while encased in an ethereal sweet innocence. Perhaps it was her golden locks, wavy and long and silken about her shoulders and catching the reds and oranges of the last of the Spanish sunset. The song was of neck-breaking tempo, signaling that she would be taking a break afterwards. Lucio rushed to the East Cantina, not caring if his father saw him.

As the music ended in a whoop of high notes, Lucio made it back to the stage, stood boldly in front of the dancer who was not Lola, and held out a tall red drink with red flower set atop it. He bowed but did not feel bold at all. His insides were quivering like flan set down too hard on a table, about to splat to the floor. He said, “For you, you must be thirsty.”

The blond dancer’s eyes narrowed, and she hesitated before she accepted the glass. Then she curtsied and said, “Yes, how thoughtful of you. Thank-you.” She sipped the rum punch and sighed, “That hits the spot.”

“You are not Lola,” he started then realized that was dumb. “I mean, I’ve not had the pleasure of your dance before tonight.”

She giggled at his fumble then intently looked his features over.

“What? What is it? Do I have a noodle on my chin? Some green in my teeth?”

She laughed musically and he felt his face flush- a new sensation for him, then she said, “at first, I thought you were someone else I had met just this morning. But I now know we have never met before.”

“Let me guess, this other someone you saw here just a few minutes ago.” Not a question.

“Yes---”

“My brother.”

“Almost like twins but you are…somewhat scruffier.”

Lucio laughed. He’d heard this before. “I’ve not seen you here. Lola is the regular entertainment---”

“She’s taking care of her son. He’s very sick and so little, just two. I just happened to have come at the right time to fill in.”

Lucio felt humbled. He’s only ever known Lola to be a dancing whore. He’d had no idea she had a young son. “I’m Lucio.”

“I know. When I realized you weren’t- couldn’t be- Joachin because---”

“---because he was just here.”

“Yes.”

Lucio braced himself then asked, “Are you interested in my brother?”

“A soldier of the regime? Please sir, do not insult me.”

Lucio hid his sigh of relief and said, “I apologize.”

The music started up again. The vision in yellow turned her head and then looked back. “I’m on.”

Lucio watched as she swirled onto the stage, the words, “but I didn’t catch your name…” on his lips. He turned and left. He would not damage his ego and stay and wait like a predator for her to be done her next set. He chose to remain a man of mystery, instinctively feeling this was the way to go.

As he lay in his rag mattress in the loft of the barn he rented, he thought of the mysterious woman and how to find her. When he realized that she didn’t know his name either, he smiled and slept.

The next morning, after pondering for hours, he set out towards the sea where there were vast farmsteads, and he knew of two that had been vacant the last two months- abandoned, the farmers moving on to escape the heavy hand of the regime. At the first, he found that it had burnt to the ground. Almost at the mesa before the sea, a luscious green field came into view. He’d been this way to the sea before but couldn’t recall it being so green, so healthy. Across the green field the white fences shone like freshly painted ones. A white horse of amazing beauty grazed in the field, clean and brushed and well-tended and well fed. A small but immaculate stone house sat at the far end; a faint wisp of smoke issued from it’s chimney. Lucio smiled. This had to be her new home, it was recently vacated after sickness had taken the family. If the woman knew his brother, and she was permitted to dance in the square meant she also knew his father. He felt surely, she was here.

As Lucio made his way down the dirt trail alongside the fenced green field a high-pitched scream emitted over the calm spring day. It was her! He kicked his mare into action, and she took off like the wind, loving to run and leap over the shining white fences! Within minutes he arrived at the house. There were no more screams, and he was filled with icy cold dread. But then he heard the unmistakable sound of steel ringing against steel and galloped that direction towards the rear of the house.

He rounded the corner and was shocked into stillness.

The blond was fighting three soldiers. Their swords clanged and slashed and echoed in his ears. Though outnumbered, she was holding her own, and Lucio noted the three soldiers on the ground, their blood gushes slowing to trickles as there hearts stopped pumping. Lucio could see she was exhausted, her thrusts just missing their marks by inches. He knew the feeling and felt he was in her mind as he jumped to relieve her of the most vicious of the three.

They were tired, he was fresh and angry, no time to be amazed by the woman’s strength. The soldier was good. He ducked and parried and feinted well…but after ten minutes, Lucio saw the pattern and dove under the attacker with sword raised to pierce his belly. He shrugged the corpse off and whirled to face the second man. The woman was left to fight the last.

Lucio attacked with force so great the man’s head was fallen in minutes. He turned and confronted the woman’s attacker. She was down but as the soldier raised his sword, she pierced his throat with her dirk. His blood rained down over her face and she turned away from it and locked eyes with Lucio’s.

He pulled the dead soldier off her and pulled her up though she brushed his hands away and said, “I had this!”

Lucio hugged her to him. They held each other until their heartbeats calmed. When they pulled apart, she had shimmering eyes. “I didn’t have this. There were too many. Thank you.”

Lucio understood her humility and loved her for it. “I don’t even know your name, but I can’t lose you.”

“Janelle at birth, I go by Jane.”

“Lucio, swordsman for hire.”

The tall dark man on his dark mare glanced at the amazing woman on her white stallion as they rode out of town. On to new adventures, perhaps to fall in love…but maybe not. They were too much alike.