B R U T U S

If the tailors rule the land, then there will be no one to make the clothes. So much for French fashion. -Sir Percy Blakeney (the Scarlet Pimpernel)


Part One

To say the least, the house was large. Compared to it, the small carriage which pulled up next to it seemed like a fly. A servant quickly jumped off the back and opened the door, through which stepped a flamboyantly dressed man. Dressed in all gold, he traipsed to the door of the house and knocked.

Who is it? the doorman said in his coarse voice.

I think you know, replied the man in gold.

Oh, Sir Brutus, of course. . . come right in, the doorman said. He quickly opened the door and bowed as Brutus sauntered through with his pretentious gait. He handed his hat to the doorman and strolled into the parlor.

It was filled elegant men and women, all dressed in expensive clothing, but none nearly as extravagant as Brutus. The women wore tight corsets and large, shining dresses and tip-toed around in tight high-heels. The men wore suits for the most part. In general, they stayed to the side and discussed business matters and sipped wine. The air was filled with the sound of small talk and violins (there was a string quartet playing quietly in the corner). It was, in Brutus's opinion, a perfect party.

Slipping amongst the people, Brutus searched for the hostess – a beautiful young woman named Catherine. She was not difficult to find, as she wore a silver dress that almost sparkled in the lamplight. Upon finding her, he spoke.

Madame, the party is fabulous. I absolutely love it, Brutus said, kissing her hand.

Oh, thank you Brutus. I was worried you wouldn't make it. It must be such a long trip from the desert, responded Catherine.

My dear, no party is too far away for me, Brutus replied, raising one eyebrow and grinning.

Catherine laughed, slightly giddy from the champagne. You are too much, Brutus. I don't know how I put up with you, Catherine said.

My dear, you are not the one who puts up with me. In fact, I am constantly forced to put up with you. Always throwing parties and lavishing us with elegant suppers. I don't know how I do it, Brutus said wryly. As he finished (and Catherine burst into giggles), a servant tapped Brutus on the shoulder.

Sir, there is someone here to see you, he said quietly.

Yes, of course. Tell him I will meet them in the main hall, Brutus replied. He turned back to the women. Excuse me, my dears, but I must be going. I've not been gone for an hour and I'm already missed! He walked out of the room as the women laughed yet again.

Brutus walked into the main hall and started. Sitting in a chair breathing heavily, a girl sat drenched in blood. The servant was attending to her, washing her face and bringing her water.

Excuse me, madame, but do I know you? Brutus asked, trying to make out the girl's face through the thick coat of blood and grime.

Is that really you, father? asked the girl.

Jesse? My dear, what are you doing here? And in such a sorry state! My dear, who did this to you?

Father, the girl paused, breathing heavily. Brother's dead.

Brutus's face hardened into a grave look. Who did this?

Jesse paused for a moment, catching her breath. Dantes. She sputtered. It was Edmund Dantes. She began to cry.

Brutus gasped before he spoke. But Edmund Dantes is dead.


Part Two

The weather outside was beautiful. The sun shone brilliantly down upon the man strolling through his lavish garden. A cool breeze whistled through the trees, the leaves playing in the wind. The man smiled as he watched his daughter run and play in the freshly fallen leaves of autumn. All is right with the world, the man thought. Jesse! Come on inside, Jesse. It's time for lunch he called out. The girl turned around to face her father and screamed. Dantes stood puzzled for a moment before a sharp hit to the back of his head sent him sprawling to the ground.

Dantes flipped over and looked for Jesse. She stood screaming several meters away, cowering from the cloaked men who were walking toward her with drawn swords. A clear voice broke through.

Come now, don't hurt the poor little girl. Just quiet her down and take her around front.

Dantes turned and faced his attacker. Brutus? he exclaimed. What are you – where – what . . . Dantes struggled for words.

Yes, Edmund. It is I. Sink me! I would have thought you'd be harder to get to, but, alas, the challenge was nonexistent. I was rather looking forward to a struggle to get to you. Brutus said, calmly, brushing a few leaves off his cloak while keeping the sword to Dantes' neck.

To the side, Jesse struggled with the men who had taken hold of her. Father! Father, please! Help me! Jesse called out.

Brutus, please, don't hurt the girl. Dantes pleaded.

Why should your daughter receive mercy when mine did not? Brutus replied harshly.

Brutus, you know I had to. I had no choice! Dantes replied.

You had every choice! Brutus cried out. You are not some machine! You are a man! You can make choices! You cannot blame this on your blasted republic!

Brutus, brother, please. Show her mercy. What would father have think of you now? Dantes begged.

Brutus ran the sword through Dantes' stomach. Dantes gasped in pain and Jesse screamed as the men gagged her. Brutus leaned in to Dantes and whispered into his ear. You are no brother of mine.

To be continued.