Michel Le Morne

By Eric Baysinger

If a life can be measured in blows and parries, papal agent Michel le Morne has filled his first twenty-eight years to the brim. Over the course of a night with his latest target, he recounts the path he took from innocent child through crusader to villainous deceiver, all in service to the Holy See. He must somehow win the sympathy of the younger man he has entrapped in the Vatican’s mission to keep Interdict England a part of Saint Peter’s Church or risk dying outside Christ’s grace!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665539500

Eric Baysinger

Eric Baysinger is an Iowan transplanted to Pittsburgh. He is the author of five previous novels: “Nine Attempts” (2007), “brother-out-law” (2018), “Beck & Caul” (2019), “Your Middle Finger’s Sense of I” (March 2020), and “Mage in Motion” (October 2020). This is his first novella.

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MICHEL LE MORNE

ERIC BAYSINGER

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© 2021 Eric Baysinger. All rights reserved.

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Published by AuthorHouse   09/25/2021

ISBN: 978-1-6655-3949-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-3950-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021919806

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For Michael and Randal,

The Duelists

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MICHEL LE MORNE

I thought you were a friend, but you’re a fiend. Patch tugged on the silver ring around his finger. It hurt him more the harder he pulled on it, as if the clasping hands it depicted were digging their fingernails into his flesh. His smooth, rosy face reflected the fire before him. Hairs falling over his brow were white, but those tucked behind his left ear were red and the ones behind his right ear were as black as the forest the two men camped in. How’d you come to be so evil?

Step by step, as villains do. Michel threw more branches into the blaze. It was the 21st of Gemini, still chilly at night in the southeast of England. He guessed it was just ten marks above freezing.

Your birth wasn’t ill-starred?

My birth, as my mother recounted it, was an act of leisure and I a miraculous child.

Maybe it was the month you were born. My mam said folks born in Serpentarius are more likely to wind up bad.

I was born the 14th day of Libra. No serpent I.

Some witch put her eye on you then. She bent you to evil.

So declares Patch the Sage, whose very hairs are evidence of sorcery.

I was born thus. The younger man touched his hair and examined what he could. Not only its color varied, but also its length. Red hairs, some of which had been used to start their fire, were in shortest supply. Now I’m reborn a slave.

It is ecclesiastical power that enslaves you, not Michel le Morne. I am equally in servitude to the Mother Church.

"But there’s no ring upon your finger. How did you lose your freedom?"

"It is a long story, mon ami, approximately twenty-eight years in the making."

Patch looked around at the darkness beyond the fire and drew his arms tightly around his knees. I didn’t know you were so old. You still have all your teeth.

Not true. Two, Michel touched his left cheek, were punched out by a Greek years ago.

Had you tried to enthrall him as well? Maybe I should knock two more out on the other side. Patch made a fist.

His was a lucky blow with the pommel of his sword. The teeth I spat out now rest below waters off the coast of Judea. You would not surprise me as he did, I warrant.

Tell me more of how he did it and maybe I’ll have good speed.

In order to tell that story with any sense, I would have to recount my entire life. Michel threw more wood on the fire.

You might as well. It’s unlikely I’ll sleep tonight.

Hah! It would bruise your adolescent heart to hear it.

"If it’s sad enough, it might ease the ache my heart feels from your betrayal."

Yeshua the Christ was himself betrayed. You’re in good company.

I’ve heard that and also that his follower Yehudah got thirty silver coins for it. Well, here they are, Patch lifted his ring finger, still bringing evil.

Michel smirked. That ring I found in Venetia. Its value is not remotely thirty. He mocked Patch with a kiss of the air.

Come on. Tell your tale so I might understand how you went bad.

Michel gathered his thoughts. Such revelations were uncharacteristic of him, but his mission was accomplished, at least the Patch Alisson part of it. Why not tell him? What harm could it do? He may conceive a sympathy for me that will be of use in the mission that lies before us. As much as possible, I should make him see us as cohorts in misery. As you wish. A bedtime story. I will recount my life, but do not expect the entire truth. I won’t disclose everything and I’ll obscure what I choose. Agreed?

So be it. I can’t hope for much truth now when you’ve been lying to me for the last three months.

Do not complain so. Much that I told you during our encounters was absolutely sincere.

And the rest? Patch snapped his own bundle of sticks in two and threw them into the flame. Lies?

"The rest, oui, I said in service to His Holiness. Shall I commence or not?"

Go ahead.

Michel took a deep breath. "The date of my birth I have mentioned. The year was 6181 and the location of this momentous event was Albi, a city on the river Tarn in the Languedoc, some seventy-five kil-measures from Toulouse. Is it familiar?"

I’ve never been beyond Canterbury until now.

"That’s a pity. Well, we’re the Albigeois, conquered by Rome in 5051 and enriched by both commerce and a levy for use of the bridge. My father is Viscount Onfroid. My mother is the Lady Mathilde. I have two older brothers, Guiscard and Estienne, and one sister, Claire. As the babe of the family, I passed a joyous infancy during which my parents indulged me disgracefully. My brothers were sometimes vicious, but instructive. I had greyhounds to amuse me and hunt with. The forest was abundant with rabbit and deer. I studied archery, music, and letters. Our table was well provisioned and my garments fine, if not opulent.

My mother had conceived between Estienne and me, but the infant did not survive. This was a source of enormous grief for her and my father. When she then was expecting me, they engaged an adept of Sitamun who became my nanny. She called herself Annette, but she confided in me once that her actual name was Azat. She came from Parthia and had journeyed during the course of her long life from east to west across Hattusa, Greece, Macedonia and Dalmatia, Pannonia and Italy, all while studying contraception, pregnancy, labor, infant care, and the like. She no longer lactated, naturally, but she could aid new mothers in that regard and was a sage of curing childhood diseases. My mother would not release her, such was her fear for my health, so Annette remained with our family and became famous for her skill. When she reached the limit of her mortality, at age seventy-five, I cried like a baby. Tell me, Patch, was I already evil at ten?

No. You were still a child. Still sinless.

"We’ll see at what point I became a villain then, yes? A ‘fiend’, as you called me. Possibly it will be like the sunset. Each first minute part of an hour passes by, each second minute part, until we reach the decisive moment when day becomes night. You will recognize it, since you’re so perceptive."

You’re making fun of me, but I bet I’ll hit the mark of your downfall right enough.

"Listen on