The novel length story of Debaucherous.
It begins in the end.
We find ourselves watching a "half-assed attempt at proper dress" gentleman sitting on a beach in Marseille, France,
just before sunset. It's early renaissance times. His bottle of spirits was long ago warm from resting in the hot sand
& sunlight. In his lap lie a drawing board & paper like those you'd use to write a letter upon with fine parchment, his quill
pen in hand, and bottle of ink resting beside him. The gentleman is Lord James Levesque, the Marquis
de Ceas'd. Despite his opulent attire & courtly mannerisms, he bears many old scars & injuries acquired from a life of hardship,
labor, misfortune, overindulgence, misdeeds and the long road to perdition thereafter. Many years have passed behind him
& his heart hangs heavy in his chest. His appetite for adventure having given way to a longing for pleasantly uneventful days.
The letter he writes is addressed to his remaining family in Dijon, France. A settling of affairs before his expiry, and a last chance to
tell his tale before old age & dementia take them from him.
"Oh, have oceans of time passed since those early days of peril. And now nearly all that remains of the memories are the
old, shrunken scars I carry with me to this day. Once in a while… perhaps as long as a generation, an old acquaintance
will cross paths with me & open the doorway to that long lost recollection I’ve journeyed so far to forget. But I am old
now, much the wiser, and no longer of a mind to follow the whims of youth’s dreams. I was lucky to have survived them
then as it was. Such an irony that the joyous days of yesteryear leave no mark or evidence of their passing. But the
dark days, they leave so deep an aching wound that they forever become a part of you. An ever present reminder of where,
what & who you shouldn’t have been. So here we are, at the last long voyage of life, and no better time to tell the
tales of those younger days. For the better, for worse, and for the sheer legend of it, while I still have my wits about
me. May the gods forgive me & the lady of the sea forget me not. ~ Your Royal Majesty, lord James Levesque -
The Marquis de Ceas'd."
Disclaimer:
Be Warned. This is purely a fictional set of work. Any resemblance to real persons (living or dead), places or events, is purely coincidental. There
will be plenty of suggestive adult content, sexual situation portrayals, and brutal violence. It's not for children or those who are easily
offended. If you are under 18, disturbed or squeamish about such things, go visit somebody else's site. This isn't for you. If you're
an open minded fan of the theater & music we believe you'll be sufficiently entertained. We're not to be taken seriously
and these are just a stories for a particular scope of audience's entertainment. If you were a fan of "Game of Thrones", "the Libertine",
or Geoffrey Rush's portrayal of the "Marquis de Sade", you may find this story to your liking. We "are" artists & actors
and find a fair amount of the story's content disturbing, if not otherwise detestable. But it's the movies & some stories must be
told.
The preface...
Our tale begins in the Norman region of France close to Bayeux, far removed from the cold, tumultuous waters of the channel. Europeans had
already begun immigration to the New World of the Americas, but little was ever made known of what happened to settlers upon arrival.
The seas were ever the source of conflict as pirates were pillaging merchant ships of all nationalities. And many countries
had sanctioned their own legalized Privateers to steal goods from their competitors. England & Spain led in the conflict,
with France trying their best to catch up. The "local" controversy began with the illegitimate child of one Monsieur Poulet.
Monsieur was once a prominent member of the French military, turned royalty at the conclusion of his service. His bastard son's
arrival at the estate was not a welcome one & events would transpire that had the lad exiled in most controversial fashion.
This troublesome extension of the family was Monsieur James Levesque, who's ill fated path in life would later have him
dubbed the Marquis de Ceas'd. The lord of a barren, inhospitable, and unpopulated region of Quebec. The same that Jacques
Cartier once proclaimed at first sight "Heavens, but this must be the land God gave to Cain." He was essentially a lord in
title only & devoid of any subjects. But it had been said, his coming was like the pebble that starts an avalanche down a
great mountainside & changed the surrounding landscape forever. He was but a small member of a much greater host whose common
goals had wide spread impact throughout the world & changed the Maritime landscape forever.
An excerpt from later in the novel "Debaucherous".
the search continues...
And so it was that his lordship left instructions with his caretaker & scullery maid "Keep the Manor as though I were here but
otherwise predisposed. No one is to know I've gone abroad, lest some prying eye mischief unfold unabated. Bring in a decoy
if you must, but keep it quiet." With nothing more than a pair of horses, a sell-sword security detail & an appreciable
advance of jewels & silver coin, he left for the sketchy districts of several major cities. His sole purpose was to find a
mature, self made brothel madame who'd made an admirable fortune plying her trade but had grown weary of the business.
For even in those days, the cities bred unsavory gentlemen who's predilections delved into such lascivious things as shit
eating, necrophylia, or brutality far exceeding the imagination of Rome's Gladiator Collesium. And the brothel had to cater
to their fancies, lest they lose business or anonymity. His hopes were that he could sway her into a mariner's life & use
her mangerial skills at sea. Albeit a different business model altogether.
First was Amsterdam. Monsieur relaxed the first few days & savored the beer, cuisine, local folk & above all the gentle
flicker of the whale oil lamps outside the cafes. But as he began inquiring about the local madames, he was gravely
disappointed to learn that there was no central venue for such affinities. A whore house was to be found on almost every
block, save for those abreast of a school or mission. And the proprietors more often than not were men savvy enough to employ
a charming hostess instead of an expensive brothel keep. It took nigh unto a month of searching in vain before his majesty
gave up on Amsterdam.
Next was Dublin, Ireland. His lordship heard news within a week of them making port of a brothel in town, but was sternly
warned by the harbor master "Don't be settin foot near those doors, lad. Not if you've got more sense than the stones be
thrown at ye." Apothecaries in Dublin were few & far between, and as a result diseases among the poor were devastatingly
abundant. But there were still those hardy folk driven by a waterskin full of Irish whiskey, brazen enough to risk contagion
& sow their oats. It was on such an unfortunate evening that the Marquis & his hired hand paid a visit to the brothel keep.
She was a haggard old crone. Skittish & unsettling in her paranoid hypervigilance against outsiders. His lordship hardly
began his introduction when a boisterous fight broke out upstairs. The madame scuttled from behind her desk with a pistol
in hand & rapped loudly on the door of the next room. A short, squat fellow with broad shoulders & a face akin to a pot of
dumplings shot out & up the stairs with a knotted billy club. Within seconds, hollering & screaming could be heard from every
corner of the upstairs. And before long, the clothed & unclothed tumult made its way into the lobby. Men were beating one
another with a fervor not seen since the Viking days. If there were another way out of the brothel, madame was not of a mind
to escort them. They were forced to have to retreat through the front door on their own. But before either man could make
the dash, a bloodied & frenzied brutish fellow came careening at the bodyguard. He was about to draw his dirk to fend him off when the
Marquis warned "NO!!! You kill one & the whole clan will be upon us!" So the bodyguard set about smashing the bloke about the
face with his gauntlets. His blows simply glanced off the angry man's jaws until he was picked up off the floor & thrown into
the wall above the fireplace mantlepiece. The brute then ran to his wrecked body & started stomping him about the ribcage.
The Marquis grabbed a spindled chair & bashed it into the back of the brute's head in a sideways swiping motion. It had the
effect of disrupting the attack on his bodyguard, but as soon as the brute gained his bearings he set eyes on the Marquis &
threw him into the hollow beneath the stairs along with the broken chair remnants. Everything went black after that. His
majesty woke the next day in the harbormaster's house, bandaged up & eyesight a good deal blurred. Next to him lay his
bodyguard, bloodied & doning a huge dressing about his upper torso. The harbormaster spoke from the nearby dinner table
"Can't say I didn't warn ye. Whatever your business at the druthlann, you won't be talking to anyone until the Constaple
has had his piece first. I daresay he might want a sit-down with ye as well. Three men died last night afore the commotion
was over. Your man there got himself more than a few broken ribs, but thank the gods he doesn't look as though his lungs or
guts were pierced. Either way, he couldn't guard a turtle now. Ye'd best go back home." The Marquis wearily sat up & told
the Harbor Master "I'll be leaving you a handful of pounds sterling to tell the constaple we were simply here to negotiate a
purchase agreement for a shipment of Loire Valley red. Not cross Claymores with your countrymen. My man bore no pistol,
nor does he wield a mace in the commission of his duties. And I a man of position & wouldn't dream of lifting a weapon.
Your culprit walks amongst you, if he isn't dead already." His lordship made his way back to the boarding house where they
made port, returned to pay the Harbor Master & then proceeded to book passage back to France before any further inquiries
bubbled up. He wasn't about to bring light to the real reason they were there, as I'm sure more than one drunken Irishman
would have issue with their brothel closing up shop.
Whether by stupidity or dedication, tenacity led him on.
Once home he paid his security detail a handsome sum to compensate for bodily injury, hazardous duty and a friendly
non-disclosure agreement. He asked his caretaker to check in on them from time to time & ensure he mended well. Next on his
itenerary was Stuttgart, Germany. The Marquis had traveled through a bit of southern France as a child, but seldom ever went
further east than Zurich. He underestimated how arduous a journey it was, and how sparsely populated the area. The city had
it's share of medieval castles, a noble house or two of marginal familiarity, and plenty of fine craftsmen. But it wasn't the
debased, sketchy underbelly Paris's shadier districts were. Wholesome by most accounts. He was somehow able to gain audience
with a few interested candidates, but it was clear they only agreed out of passing fancy, the tip & a free dinner. And none
were what you'd call famous or keenly accustomed to large scale brothel management. Totally dejected at this point, his
lordship made the long & arduous trek to the coast in Calais, France. Then booked passage to Great Britain. After a long
carriage ride from the coast to London, he took up short term residence at a flat in Brixton. Long journeys with little
semblance of hope can wear down even the most accomplished traveler, and where you wind up is a state of mind know as "the
Doldrums". Despair & disappointment pulled him into a cyclic procession of drinking himself into a stupor & getting tossed
out into the street with the dish water and other vagrants. He became a blur of semi-conscious babbling, soiling oneself
& abandoning all regard for the putrid, atrocious condition he was in. It wasn't until late summer that his caretaker showed
up at his flat to bring him home. No word had come to the Manor in almost a year, and his attention was needed to address
some local concerns. His lordship had spent so much on his travels abroad that the coffers were uncomfortably below the point
of concern. His ship had been tied up for more than 4 years, and berthing fees were growing exorbitant. An empty ship bears
no payload, nor profits. And this ship must have a captain! Not his majesty, but a real captain. Wherever she may be.
That winter, his majesty bid his maids to barre any visitors until he returns. And then brought his caretaker with him to
Paris. The caretaker having served in many royal houses before his tenure with the Marquis was adamantly opposed to
participating in such an unscrupulous affair. The Marquis rationalized with him "Listen to me... when have my ideas ever
steered us wrong? Oui, I often fall short in the delivery when the dream becomes reality & self-doubt poisons the well.
Left to my own devices, they will often fail. But with a friend at my side to push me past the doldrums, I deliver like a
battle hardened warrior. The momentum is enough to bolster my courage. Do not look upon me as another over-privileged
employer who made his fortune atop the backs of the poor. See me as a troubled friend who wishes to enrich the lives of
all in his house with clever business endeavors. I am a lord of nothing by myself." The caretaker shook his head & strolled
around the parlor floor for a few moments. Then stood up straight with his jaw set "Alright then. But it's going to take
more than a purse of silver & jewels to compensate me for the shame I'll suffer compromising my values. I'm a righteous,
honest man with a family & my own responsibilities. I'll not stand idly by & indulge your sinking into taudry depravity.
I for one do not see the logic in employing a whore as your general manager. Surely there are better options." His lordship
smiled "My friend... you've clearly never had candid conversation with a whore, nor a madame. Or you'd know there's no harder
working, non-judgemental, business focused and charismatic entrepreneur in the realm. I've had the slave driving, whip
wielding disciplinarian & wound up being mutinied upon. And then a captain who tried to be best friends to his crew turned
the campaign into a holiday retreat for dandies. Everything about her business acumen makes her a perfect fit for Captain,
you mark my words. We're not going to fuck her, we're putting her skills to work in a more worthwhile profession.
Just trust me..."
And on the following Monday morning his lordship's carriage rolled up to the caretaker's front door. The man's wife &
children still had wet cheeks & smokey eyes from crying, but they chinned up & did their best to supress their grief as the
man of the house departed. With each passing day, each arm of mountain & every open meadow put countless miles between them
and home. And then slowly, like a burning ember caught in the curtain of night, the lamplight of Paris began spreading wide
before them. The caretaker's heart hung heavy in his chest as he watched the denizens milling about in the midnight air.
The Marquis told him in a feint attempt to cheer him up "Toil not, my friend. We'll be staying on the more comely side of
Paris. No back alley flats this time, and our lodging didn't cost a king's ransom." The two men spent the better part of a
month attending cottillions, frequenting theatre playhouses or the burlesque shows, sniffing out any trace of a brothel. An
absinthe peddler told them of a finely dressed woman who would visit the local orphanage once every couple of months & leave
a with child of 12 or so in hand. She was a gifted procuress for an immensely successful brothel, and we'd have to catch her
unawares. They were able to set up surveillance by purchasing the cooperation of a few beggars. And not a moment too soon,
as the woman was once again leaving with a spirited little thing of maybe 14. Her clothes were poor, stained & beyond mend.
But she had pretty, curly red hair & green eyes. The Marquis & his caretaker quickly snatched them both from the alley the
procuress was escaping to & into the storehouse of a nearby boulangerie. The procuress was furious & panicked at the thought
of being robbed of her catch, or being killed herself. And the girl was being clutched tenaciously by the caretaker, standing
petrified & overwhelmed by what transpired. His lordship calmly told the procuress "I'm not a thief, nor am I a policier.
I simply want to know who the brothel keep is at your place of employment. And I'd dearly appreciate an audience with her.
Can you arrange it for me?" The procuress reluctantly replied "Only a fool & a dead man would be crazy enough to
inconvenience me. But of course. It would do me good to witness a good flogging or two. Who might I ask begs audience?"
His lordship smiled "Monsieur Levesque. That's all you need to know." He then loosed his grip on the woman & motioned for
her to leave. She quickly grabbed the girl from the caretaker's arms & rushed down the alley into the darkness. The
caretaker vehemently protested "Aren't you going to save that girl from her?!?! She was hardly older than my own daughter &
you know what awaits her. Damn you!" His majesty solemnly replied "We can't save them all. Had I purchased her & set her
free, where would she be next winter? You'll learn the hard way that true charity isn't something you throw money at & move
on with your life. You have to go the distance & guide them to self sufficiency. And we don't have the luxury of money or
time. If it spares your conscience the better, I let her go. Not you. We need that meeting or this is all for nothing."
The following evening the lady emerged from the alley with two ominously large lackeys & a facetious smirk grin on her face
"So, are you ready to show a lady a good time?" ... to be continued...
Closing notes on the storyline.
This is hardly more than a glimpse of the story we have to share with you. The Marquis's journey meandered through treacherous waters, falling into self defiling devastation, finding a shining beacon of love for a time, seeking perdition from his misdeeds, and eventually finding some semblance of peace before his death. He didn't do it alone, nor was he the most remarkable soul in the tale. But oh my gunwales is there ever a story... You'll have to come see us to hear it all.
