What is a hero I ask you? Is it only someone who performs deeds of glory, or only a figure that people love and admire? That all may be so, but I assure you, my friends, it was not my intention to become one. To me, taking on the life of the Scarlet Pimpernel was all in not only fun, but also the need to help my fellow men from the clutches of those who hated them. Sink me if there was a better life than that, I pray that you find it for me!
To be honest, however, I know for certain that you never will since that was the life I had always wanted to live. Although it was my native country, England and the aristocratic life I was born into was more of a prison than a home, and it had not always held the best of times for me. The only good things I had there were my friends, for if it were not for them, I would have been all alone in my adventurous views as the Pimpernel, which was the only other good thing about England.
The madness had all started in the library of my home, Blakeney Manor on a lovely spring day in April of 1792. The French Revolution had began its bloody Reign of Terror as the time period was called, and heads were rolling constantly under the blade of France's inanimate ruler, Madame Guillotine. I had not really been all too interested in it to begin with, for as far as I was concerned the demmed Frenchies could do as they pleased, no matter how insane it was. It was not until I had received a letter from my close friend Lord Antony Dewhurst, who had been visiting the country across the channel, that the war had my full attention.
Percy,
The revolution is worse than before, and now matters have become more horrible than we could have ever imagined. Our dear friend the Marquis de St Cyr and his entire family fell to Madame Guillotine on the morning I first began to pen this small letter. I tell you everything has become entirely out of hand, and I only hope it will end as soon as possible.
I shall inform you of any more losses upon my return to England, which I believe may be sooner than I expected.
Yours truly,
Tony
Damn madmen! I thought enraged as I slammed the small scrap of paper onto the arm of my chair. How could the marquis have died like this? He was a good man whom I had known for quite some time with a charming wife and small infant child born only months ago. And what was their crime? It was that, like myself, they had been born into aristocratic families! It was just not right!
"I take it that you have received your own letter?" I heard a familiar voice ask behind me. Without even turning around, I knew for sure that it was Sir Andrew Ffoulkes; who else could have known me so well?
"Yes indeed I did," I replied solemnly as he took a seat across from me. Having been a man that was more of a brother than a friend, Andrew and I had known each other since our schoolboy days at Harrow, and like comrades should be, we knew each other from the inside on out, including how the other was feeling or thinking.
"Now tell me, my dear Andrew, the complete truth. What was the exact charge for St Cyr's death? Tony did not explain all the details while writing this death notice, and there must have been some reason other than the usual 'sacre aristo' sentence," I asked again, slightly quieter this time.
Andrew gave me a look of complete sarcasm with a tone of voice to match it. "What else would he be charged with? He was claimed to have committed treason by plotting with Austria. Like every other country in Europe, that one is an enemy of the Republic, thus what else would the government do but execute him and his family to boot?"
"Blasted Frenchies do not know the difference between innocent and guilty anymore; their blood lust has blockaded their common sense," I commented frustrated. "But really Andrew, is there nothing that anyone can do about this? It really has to stop!"
"Percy, who could make an attempt to stop this without starting a whole new war?" Andrew said sounding annoyed himself.
Standing up and angrily throwing my arms up into the air, I continued. "Why would that matter? England and France have been fighting and arguing since the dawn of time! What difference would it make to start another?"
He was about to reply when the clock rang the hour.
"I fear I have to get home, Percy; I shall return tomorrow," he said as he stood up to leave. Then right before he did, I sat back down in my chair as he comfortingly covered my shoulder with his hand. "Do not trouble yourself like this, my friend. St Cyr's death could not have been neither predicted nor prevented, just like all the ones to come. There is nothing we can do. Now get some rest and I shall see you tomorrow. Good night."
I looked up for only a second to shake his hand, and then he left, leaving me with only my thoughts for company. Not be prevented he said? Well why couldn't they be? As far as I was concerned, the Good Lord above gave all of us our lives, and He alone had a set time for them to end. Therefore, who did those Republican lunatics think they were? Someone had to put an end to all of this, and while I knew that someone had to be me, I still did not know how. Thus as the night grew older, I began to ponder so many ideas that would eventually lead to the birth of my alter ego. A man who would stand up against the odds stacked before him, the Scarlet Pimpernel.