A Noble Man's Death

The Coachman

The infant smiles up at his mother, at her tear stricken eyes and dark circles that hide her unspeakable beauty. She smiles sadly at him and brush's his already long hair out of his face.

The boy laughs trying to grab her retreating finger that disappears into her deep blue cloak.

" I know you don't understand this now but know that I'm doing this for you - " Her voice breaks and sobs overtake her. The boy laughs not understanding for he is only an infant.

The carriage stops and the coachman gets out and opens the door. He stands statue letting the rain attack him, he glances at the Queen with his cold eyes.

But when he speaks his voice is gentle and caring compared to his cold and stiff composure.

" Why do you weep my Queen? " He asks. He reaches into his coat pocket and retrieves a handkerchief. She takes it and wipes away her tears.

" There is no shame in tears dear, but it would be wise to find comfort in the privacy of your husbands arms, not in the public eye my Queen. " His voice is firm enough but yet gentle, and informal but yet formal.

She sniffles, " But aren't we out of the public's eye? "

" No, we are never out of the public's eye, my Queen. " He says looking around.

" Then why do you call me ' my Queen ' ? If the revolutionists are listening surely they will shot you for your loyalty. "

" You are clever dear, " He smiles at her. " Yes, they will shot me, but if you stand for nothing then what's the point? "

" You'd die for me? "

" Yes, my Queen I'd do anything for you. Come dear, hold the Prince close and stay near me. " She grads the laughing baby and holds him close planting a kiss on his head. The man offers her a hand and she takes it as she steps out into the rain.

He walks with a hand on his pistol and the Queen a foot away.

He leads her across the neatly trimmed courtyard past the cipped fountain in the middle, then up the grand marble staircase to the dark oak door.

He opens the door and she slips trough the crack and turns to look at him the end of her cape tricking out.

" Thank you. " She says.

" Tis my duty, dear. "

He draws his pistol that shines in the moonlight like the stars. The ocean of his coat crashes and turns not all the same color, foaming up at his hands and undershirt by lace. His fingers are delicate and underworked. The blue stone with a steal frame shines as he moves his hand.

" Farewell my Queen, I shall not say that we shall meet again. Death awaits me and death is not very patient, dear. I shall hope you stay the night on earth but, if you don't, die in a flame die so people will remember you for a century. Goodbye, for I must disappear under the cloak of night. "

There he went riding, riding, riding. 

His black as night ponytail bouncing, bouncing, bouncing, under the horse whose hooves went click, clack, click, clack, click, clack.

A tear trickles down his cheek away from his Queen, for even the bravest of men fear death.