Ghost Writer

Authors Note:

Dear readers. I began this chapter last year and due to one thing and another, I have only just got around to finishing it off. So, to recap, in Ghost Writer chapter 3, our two main characters Janneke and Kachina, in an effort to complete their mission for Odin, fell into a gap between worlds, tumbling through time and space. We know that they meet again in present day as Jan and Kasper, drawn together through the blood bond that was cast by Kachina. We will now see how the pair have been drawn to each other all the way through history as the lost souls freefall through time and space.

I have tried to keep this as close as possible to known historical characters, apart from Vivant and her family, alas she is fictional. Philippe, Louis, and the other named nobles did exist, and I have attempted to weave my tale around them.

Versailles

The year is 1676, Louis XIV resides in Versailles and France, together with its English and German allies has been at war with the Dutch Republic since 1672. France had been locking antlers with the Netherlands ever since the War of Devolution 1667, where they had been pressurised to return the lands gained, by the Triple Alliance of the Republic, England and Sweden. Louis XIV, angered by losing his claim to the Country of Burgundy, managed to break apart the alliance and forge one of his own to ravage the Dutch Republic.

While Louis was a charismatic leader, he was sadly, not a brilliant soldier and had relied heavily on his younger brother Philippe to lead his army. Philippe was a natural leader and soldier, and it was because of his success as a military commander in the War of Devolution, in which Philippe I, Duke of Orleans led the French armies against the Spanish Netherlands, he came to lead the French army against the Dutch forces of William III of Orange.

Our story begins here, in a field littered with the detritus of war, where a chance happening can bring two lost souls together. Philippe is about to lead the final charge against a beaten and demoralised force. His horse, an elegant white stallion, paws at the turf as it eagers for the run. If only it knew what lay ahead, it may not be so eager.

The accumulated reserves of cavalry pause, awaiting the order, as Phillippe signals for one last barrage.

A thunder clap of cannon chases across the scarred medow towards the cowering soldiers, who must know that defeat and death are imminent.

"For France."

Phillippe calls. His sabre glinting in the afternoon sunlight.

"For King Louis."

The sabre drops and three hundred men and horse launch towards victory, and in some cases, death.

The horse's hooves conjure further rumbles of thunder as they race down the hillside towards the cluster of foot soldiers gathered about an orange banner.

From the remaining handful of Ditch troops, puffs of smoke rise from muskets as a volley is hurled towards the charge.

The cavalry isn't heavily armoured. Their purpose is to run across the flanks of a troop and remove slices of a defensive force, as anyone else may remove the peel from an orange.

The rider to Philippe's left vanishes from his mount as he is struck by a heavy lead shot. The now rider less horse spooks sideways, cutting across the front of Phillippe's stallion. For a brief second the commander's horse is wrong footed and it swerves. A heartbeat later and instead of running across the Dutch flank, Phillippe and a small handful of his honour guard, crash headlong into the Dutch formation.

With the French commander in their midst the Dutch rally, knowing that if Phillippe falls then the day could be regained. Completely surrounded, Phillippe is dangerously vulnerable. He tries to stay mobile, urging his mount in to circles whilst he and his retinue fight for their lives.

Of the French cavalry that managed to ride on, a young chevalière riding a steel grey mare,

realizes the troop is without its commander and glances back.

A knot of Dutch troops surround a cluster of horses, their forward progress impeded by the defensive lines. In the middle of the cluster a tall white stallion, its hide stained pink. Atop the horse Phillippe lays about him, his blade no longer reflecting sunlight, but shedding drops of red rain, desperation etched on his face.

The chevalière circles across the front of the remaining French cavalry and leads a one-horse charge. Its rider screaming insults and obscenities as a sabre cuts across the rear of the Dutch footmen.

As I have already mentioned, the role of light cavalry isn't to make holes. It plays hit and run. Which is exactly what the chevalière did, cutting back and forth each pass in a different place, creating havoc and death.

With the Dutch hurled in to a state of confusion, Phillippe breaks free, the remaining handful of his guard following, and they join with the chevalière.

With the Duke once again leading the cavalry the Dutch force collapses and the battle is over barring the screams of the dying and bleeding of the yet to die.

***

Vivant Manco of Orleans was from a minor noble family. The rank that was only bestowed upon them from the fact that a forefather had served Marie De Medici. He had been a member of her escort from Italy to France when she married Henry IV, binding France and Italy as closely as the families of the House of Bourbon and Vivant's family, the Manco's of Tuscany.

Vivant's farther, Alessiandro, had served Louis XIII, and now Vivant served another Louis.

Through the years the Manco family had survived. They were richer than the poor, but a lot poorer than the rich. Vivant's fellow soldiers all had better armour, better horses. Some even had their own banners carried by their Retainers.

Vivant Manco had the armour and sword that had belonged to Alessiandro, and a horse that had been self-trained for battle. What Vivant did have that most others didn't, was skill in abundance. Alessiandro had been a natural swordsman, and that skill had been nurtured and had blossomed in Vivant.

Vivant also carried a secret. He was in reality, a she.

Alessiandro and his wife, Marie, had only one child, a sturdy dark haired girl. Marie had passed while Vivant was still a child, and was raised by her father in the only way he knew how. By the way of the blade.

When Vivant's father died, she had been left with a farm that was in ruin and no funds with which to repair it. Her mother's brother had tried to force her in to marriage with his son, a drunken good-for-nothing man she despised. So faced with that proposal, she had run away dressed in her father's armour and joined Phillippe's army. That in itself had been easy, she had caught up with the marching force and simply introduced herself to one of the cavalry officers as Chevalière Manco and shown her father's signet that she now wore. The ring in itself wasn't full proof of her nobility, but she had chosen carefully, and approached an officer who had served with her father. Safely invisible amongst the troops, Vivant hide her true nature by using linin wrapping to flatten her small breasts and keeping to herself.

Now with the Battle of Cassel over, and Vivant being heralded as a hero, the chevalière was trying to stay inconspicuous by tending to her horse, Sleet.

"Rest easy girl." Vivant muttered as she smoothed the coat of her horse down. "You did well today."

Her first task after returning to the camp was to ensure her steed was tended to. Of course the richer nobles had grooms to do that for them, but even if Vivant had a groom, she would still have made sure her horse was settled and any wounds cleaned and bound.

"Chevalière." A voice hailed.

Looking up from washing down a small cut on Sleet's flank, Vivant saw the Duke stirring purposely towards her, his honor guard spread out like a wake, and blood still spattered on his finery. Her heart lept to her throat. This sort of attention was not what she needed.

"Your name chevalière?" The noble asked, his manner easy.

"Vivant Manco of Orleans." Vivant informed as she inclined in a bow. "My father served in your father's honor guard, your Grace."

"Well Vivant Manco of Orleans. You fought braver than any of us today. I may well have fallen if it hadn't been for your actions."

A slight surge of pride rose in Vivant's breast, vying for space with her fears of discovery.

"I only did my duty, your Grace."

Phillippe I, Duke of Orleans reached out and clasped Vivant in a brotherly embrace.

"You say your father was in my father's honour guard. Then you shall be in mine. I will have my Steward draw up papers, and you shall ride with me to Versailles."

Vivant's heart pounded. Retaining her secret in the field was one thing, maintaining the façade at the palace of the King was a different thing entirely, but to refuse would be even more risk.

"I thank you, your Grace." She managed to say with a respectful bow, whilst wondering what the punishment was for pretending to be a male, the story of

Jeanne d'Arc

was still retold amongst the French nobles and commoners alike, and Vivant had no wish to end in a similar fashion. Unfortunately, her options were limited, for if she failed to attend the young Duke, she could be heralded as a deserter and outlaw and end up in the same boat. With no home and no funds, she would be better off trying to maintain the charade, she just needed to try and keep her distance from Phillippe.

Vivant's plan of keeping her distance from the Duke had not gone as smoothly as she would have liked. For one, Phillippe insisted she ride by his side during the journey to Versailles, and often invited her to dine with him when the evening forced a halt to travelling. This evening was no different, they honour guard had halted on the outskirts of Paris, and the Duke had secured lodgings at a comfortable looking inn. As this would be their last evening on the road, Phillippe had asked for a celebratory meal to be prepared for his closest officers. Vivant was requested to attend.

The food had been better than any Vivant had feasted on before, although she imagined it would be simple in comparison to the feasts at the royal palace. As normal she had allowed herself one goblet of wine, which she then watered down to retain sobriety, but even so, she still felt a little light headed by the time the gathering began to break up. She was just about to leave and seek her own bed when the Duke called for her to wait.

"Vivant." Phillippe addressed her. "A moment before you leave."

A brief spark of panic flared, then subsided. If the Duke knew anything about her identity, he would have done something long before now.

Vivant turned, smiling courteously. "How may I ..." She began to say, but was interrupted when Phillippe's arms encircled her waist, drawing her in towards his body, their lips crushed together.

Now real panic flared in her heart. The Duke had obviously discovered her secret and was going to take advantage of her. With the initial surprise ebbing away, Vivant managed to force her hands in between them trying to push the young Duke away.

"Vivant." Phillippe addressed her. "You are a very handsome young man, and I find you very irresistible."

Vivant stiffened. He did say

young man

. The Duke was attracted to the persona she had adapted, not her real self. She had heard stories that Phillippe was more interested in men than women, but she had paid them no heed, as there were always stories about the aristos. Her secret was still safe, although at the speed Phillippe's hand was covering her body, that wouldn't last for long.

"I can tell there is something different about you, and I hope you feel the same way I do." Phillippe continued.

If the situation had been less threatening, Vivant would have laughed, she was fairly sure there was indeed something different about her, and she was fairly certain that the Duke wouldn't feel the same shortly.

Indecision stalled Vivant's actions, not knowing if she should stop the Prince and confess, or just refute his attentions. As it was the Prince's wandering hands paused as one of them slipped inside Vivant's shirt and touched upon the bindings around her chest. Confusion played across his face, and he took a step backwards.

Vivant closed her eyes, knowing full well that she was a heartbeat away from a death sentence for passing herself off as a Chevalière, even if it was a rank she would have been entitled to carry if she had been a he.

"Well that's unexpected." Phillippe managed to say after a moment. "I assume there is an explanation."

Faced with no choice, but to tell her story and hope for mercy, Vivant faced the Duke and began her story. "My name is Vivant de Manco. Only daughter of Alessiandro and Marie de Manco. Following the death of my parents, I was left with the option of marrying my cousin, who is a drunken, uncouth pig, or running away. So I joined your army. I beg forgiveness for my deception."

The Duke held her gaze with a stern eye, then a slow smile creased his face. "Vivant. If I had an army of young women like you, I could run the Dutch all the way back to the sea in a matter of weeks." He clapped her on the shoulder. "Not only do I still owe you my life, and therefore the battle, but I have to admit, you are one of the most capable soldiers I have ever seen."

Vivant breathed a sigh of relief. She could only hope that Phillippe wouldn't force her to return to her previous life.

The young Duke fell in to his chair and raised a glass of wine to his lips. "Come Vivant. Sit with me. We need to discuss where our friendship will run from here."

With a shrug, Vivant took the seat by the Duke's side. At least she didn't have to worry about him forcing himself upon her, she mused. Quietly she sipped at the offered glass, savoring the smooth taste of the neat wine.

"I am going to be honest with you Vivant." Phillippe told her after a moment. "I like you, I trust you, and I admire your skill with a blade. Because of that, I want to confide in you." He took a sip from his goblet before continuing. "Versailles isn't the palace of dreams everyone makes it out to be. There are fractions within that seek to disrupt my brothers rule. There are more spies than I can count, for us and against us. I would like to know my wife and children are safe."

The revelation was indeed news to Vivant. Everyone assumed that Versailles was a place of order in the chaos of war torn lands that surrounded France. "Don't the palace guard keep them safe?" Vivant asked.

Phillippe shrugged draining his glass. "Guards are people. They have families who have needs. As with all people, they can be brought if the price is right. If I had someone to act as a personal guard for them. Someone I trusted with my own life. Then I would be a lot happier."

The statement hung in the air between them. The words were not lost on Vivant. In fact, it made perfect sense. She could act as a personal guard for the Duke's family, without the worry that she would be bribed, as she would have more to lose by betraying him. Plus, there would be no additional worries of his wife being attracted to her personal guard.

"We would of course inform my wife of your secret, she would appreciate that fact, and I am sure, feel much happier."

The possibilities of a secure future appealed to Vivant, in return for doing something she was capable of, she would be looked after financially, and while in private, she wouldn't have to worry about her secret.

"It would be my honour to serve your family." Vivant announced, feeling a large weight lift from her mind.

***

"So even though we are arriving from the South, we have to ride all the way to the Avenue de Paris to approach along the widest route?" Vivant asked, a little bemused by the wide detour.

Phillippe laughed, slightly too loud for someone who had consumed enough wine to bathe in the previous night. "This is Versailles my dear Vivant. Everything is done for appearance. My brother wants a grand parade marching down the main approach, so he gets one."

Vivant twisted in her saddle to view the column stretching out behind them. She had to agree, it did look very spectacular. She had spent a fair amount of time brushing Sleet's coat until it gleamed, although next to the Duke's pristine white mount, Sleet looked a little dull.

"Why do you ride a mare?" Phillippe asked out of curiosity.

Leaning forward to pat the thick neck of her horse, Vivant flashed a cheeky smile. "Because females are more intelligent." She answered. Then added slightly more seriously. "My father always said that you have to tell a stallion where to go, but you ask a mare. When a mare is bound to you she will stay more faithful."

"It sounds like your father was a very wise man. I am sorry I never got to meet him."

Vivant flushed slightly at the words, and replied. "You had best mind your mount your Grace, if he gets any closer to Sleet, she will bite him. She has a bit of a temper."

Phillippe laughed again as he shortened the reins of his own horse. The last thing they needed was to arrive in front of the palace with the two lead horses trying to take bites out of each other.

The front of the palace was taken up by row upon row of amassed nobility, at the center, the slight figure of Louis XIV stood, his face a beam with pride at the arrayed formation of steel and horseflesh.

As Phillippe and Vivant drew level with the King they halted and dismounted, passing the reins of their horses over to waiting grooms.

"My brother." The King greeted. "You do me honour with your victory."

The two brothers embraced warmly.

"My King." Phillippe announced. "May I present, Vivant de Manco. This young man risked life and limb to save my life and turn the battle to our favour."

Bowing, as Phillippe had instructed, Vivant took her first close look at the King of France, the self-proclaimed Sun king. He was shorter and slighter than Phillippe, and while they shared the same intelligent eyes, Phillippe's were edged with laughter, whereas Louis's seemed harder, and almost cold.

"Vivant de Manco?" Louis said aloud, pondering the name. "Alessiandro de Manco was your father?"

"Yes you Majesty." Vivant replied. "He served your father."

"Then Vivant, we welcome you to Versailles. France and I thank you for saving my brother from his own bravery." King Louis announced, placing his hands on Vivant's shoulders. "We will be having a banquet tonight, to honour our victory, we trust you will attend."

It wasn't lost on Vivant, that refusing to attend wasn't an option.

As the formal greeting dispersed, Phillippe guided Vivant towards a small knot of women, one of which he introduced as his wife, Elizabeth Charlotte.

"Your Grace." Vivant greeted, with a slight bow.

"Vivant." Elizabeth welcomed. "I suppose I should thank you for your duty to my Husband, but I think it may have been better if you hadn't bothered."

Unsure of how to reply, Vivant stared open mouthed, as Phillippe gave a short laugh.

Elizabeth's eyes glistened with mirth. "Come Vivant, Phillippe has informed me you are to be my personal guardian. So we should get to know one another. You can start by calling me Lieselotte, that is what my close friends call me."

By the time they had arrived at the Duke's rooms, Vivant had learned a lot about how the odd relationship between 'Lieselotte' and Phillippe worked.

Life at Versailles was certainly different to what Vivant had expected.

Asides Phillippe and Lieselotte, two other people shared the apartments and Vivant was introduced to them. The first was Phillippe's lover, Chevalier de Lorraine, a dashing looking man with flowing fair hair that cascaded over his shoulders in waves. Vivant wasn't sure if he had been told about her true identity, but he treated her with the air of someone who thought she was far beneath his station.