"The Left Hand of Darkness Affair"~ Section VII HOWDOWE International left-handers day challenge

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Summary: Out of 'left' field, Napoleon and Illya are tasked with guarding a bride-to-be before her wedding in the Netherlands to a German aristocrat.

Rating: Gen.

At a 16th century estate outside of Amsterdam, the preparations for a stately wedding of sorts were rising to a near fevered pitch as the event loomed closer.  The deep, resonating chime of the clock tower sounded;  telling all the moment to depart had arrived. It was not a royal wedding but still, many royals would be attendance.



Hans Ludwig Peter Rudolph Adalbrecht Leonhard Lippe-Biesterfeld, a very distant cousin of the Prince consort to Queen Juliana was getting married.  Hans was of royal lineage, in spite of the Lippe- Biestervalds having lost their Principality of Lippe long ago. It disappeared and the revenue that had accompanied it, during World War I...still they remained a well to do European family.

Illya Kuryakin stood beside the gleaming black limousine parked in front of the house, wearing a chauffeurs black hat and suit. His hands, crossed at rest in front of him were sheathed in tight  black leather gloves. His eyes, shaded by a pair of dark aviator style sunglasses scanned the area, watching for anyone or anything that looked out of place.

As the great arched wooden doors that were the entrance to the  Renaissance style house opened slowly; Napoleon Solo stepped outside dressed in a charcoal grey morning suit, replete with tails, waistcoat, pin-striped trousers, and a grey top hat to match.  Always the one for fashion, but even Solo looked uncomfortable as he tugged at his collar.

They’d been sent to guard the fiancé of Hans Biestervald, and given the fact the royal family of the Netherlands would be in attendance; there was a sense of more than usual tension attached to the assignment,  but at the moment Napoleon and Illya were both a little bored. It wouldn’t be until they arrived at the church for the ceremony that things would finally ramp up and would have to really be on their game.

So far their assignment had been a week of endless shopping trips, gossip and tolerance on the part of the two U.N.C.L.E. agents, but between the two of them; Illya’s patience was nearly at its end.

Solo preceded the exit of the fiancé, Marie Therese le Claire-St Johns from the chateau. A  classy sounding name, for a not so classy dame as Napoleon pointed out to his partner after meeting the woman for the first time a week ago.  “I’ve met a lot of women in my day, and she has got to be one of the dizziest, low class blondes I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen quite a few myself.”

“Yes no doubt you have.” Illya snickered.” But seriously, what do you care if she is bright or not my friend.  She must have done something right to make Hans Biestewald want to marry her. We are here to do a job and I for one will be glad to see and end of it.  What business of ours is it if this is a morganatic marriage?”

“I’m sure she must be spectacular in bed then, or maybe he is, if you get my drift?” Solo elbowed his partner..

“Oh yes, no doubt that is the surefire answer to your dilemma. Why must you always reduce things to sex?”

He ignored Illya’s retort. “And what may I ask is that morgan-thingy you mentioned?” Napoleon bit his lip, instantly regretting having asked the question, as he anticipated one of his partners long-winded explanations.

“It is a marriage between people of unequal social rank. Though it seems that such a distinction is fading as there are few choices for someone of aristocratic birth to find a spouse of equal rank nowadays...the gene pool has become quite limited and a morganatic marriage does avoid the possible consequence of intermarriage with a blood relation. Case in point, with the royal families of England and Russia having intermarried with blood relations, resulting in hemophilia and other health issues.”

“Good Lord, you mean incest?”

Illya laughed, “No not quite like that, it was the ancient Egyptians who practiced that, wherein the Pharaoh and his Queen were brother and sister. There are many people of both royal and noble birth who are choosing to marry commoners, as it were, following the Lex Canuleia of ancient Rome. I believe it was passed  as a law of the Roman Republic in the year 445 BC. It abolished a prohibition of marriage between patricians and plebeians, with children inheriting the father's social status and is also referred to in Latin as the Lex de conubio patrum et plebis.”

“As I recall my Latin,” Napoleon interjected proudly. “That translates to the law of the intermarriage of patricians and the plebeians." He hoped that was the end of the lecture, but his partner continued on, obviously enjoying himself.

“Precisely,” Illya agreed. “Another term for this connubial joining is a left-handed marriage because in the wedding ceremony, where the groom traditionally holds his bride's right hand with his left hand instead of his right.”

“Where do you come up with this stuff?” Napoleon was again amazed at his partner’s mind for trivia.

“When we were given this assignment, I brushed up on the Lippe-Biesterfelds as well as the current monarchy of the Netherlands.  It just so happens the Queen and the Prince’s marriage is considered a morganatic one as well.”

“You mean Juliana’s husband is of lower status?”

“Yes, but he was deemed by the Queen mother, Wilhelmina, as a suitable husband for her daughter Princess Juliana. He was of royal rank as the Lippe-Biesterfelsds were once a sovereign house in the German Empire, though the Principality no longer existed.”

“ Hans’ name isn't Biestervald, so does that make him not a royal?”

“No, he is a very distant cousin to the Prince, and the spelling of his name is merely a variant one. He is far down the pecking order in the Biestervald family.” Illya continued lecturing his partner.

“The Prince consort here is held in rather high regard in this country, as he was a genuine war hero in the eyes of most of the Dutch and has even kept cordial relations with the communists who fought against the Nazis. Though he is of German birth and had once belonged to the Nazi party; he adopted all things Dutch and proved his loyalty to his new homeland. The Prince consort took a very real and important role in the leadership of the Dutch Armed forces. He’s been, in part, responsible for the country’s great economic growth after the war.

“So you did your homework about the Prince, and what does that have to do with his cousins marriage?” Napoleon asked, just slightly bewildered by all this seemingly useless information.

“I am getting to the point that even the Prince consort himself comes from a left-handed marriage, as his parents did not properly conform to the marriage laws of the House of Lippe and their nuptials too were deemed morganatic.”

“So if the Lippe- Biestervald family no longer have their principality and are of lower status, why the royal treatment here with a distant cousin who’s really of no consequence?” Napoleon asked.

“Hans is still a member of a wealthy family as well the bloodline, and connections to the royal family of the Netherlands, if just by having his marriage hosted by them, will help raise his status in the upper echelons of the royals throughout Europe.  There is still the loyalty to the house of Lippe-Biestervalds on the part of the Prince, and anything to bolster the position of one of its legitimate members is acceptable. The wedding is all about show, and the Queen and her husbands acknowledgement of the marriage could only benefit Hans Biesterfeld and the Biestervald family name.”

“Are there that many aristocrats still floating around Europe? I only know of a few.”

“Oh yes more than you realize. It is for occasions such as this they come crawling out of the woodwork, when they are not at Monte Carlo.  Did you know there are even surviving members of the Romanov family living in England? Though their rank as lesser royals and nobility no longer carries the status and power that it used to before the turn of the century.  As you recall, I am technically a Count, and a distant relation to the Romanovs on my mother’s side, given after all, that I am the only surviving descendant and heir to my grandfather, Count Alexander Sergeivich Kuryakin.” Illya stuck out his chin with mock pride. “Though the title has absolutely no meaning what so ever, especially to me.”

“Yes your royal-ness!” Napoleon saluted and clicked his heels, doffing his hat as well.

“Napoleon are you that ignorant of such things? A Count is considered nobility and not one of royal birth. My grandfather was granted the title by the Tsar for his loyal service to the Romanov family, and our family in Kyiv before the revolution would have been considered well to do ,but certainly not of royal lineage.”

“Well, exuuuse, me...your nobleness.” Napoleon continued to tease his partner.

“Stoi.” Illya snapped at him. “I never should have told you. This is just one of the reasons why I keep things to myself...you only use what I tell you as fodder for your joking and...”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“Thank you, apology accepted.”

A moment later the stunning blonde bride to be exited through the door, making her way slowly towards the limo. She was dressed in a bejewelled white wedding gown, with an obscenely long train, looking very much like she had stepped out of a fairy tale.  Her face was covered by the layers of her large veil, yet her presence brought instant attention to those in the courtyard. The dress made her seem like she was bathed in a spotlight amidst everyone else dressed in black and grey.

Several attendants helped her to the car where she stopped, glaring at Illya with a rather condescending look. “Well aren’t you going to open the fucking door for me you idiot.” She snapped a wad of chewing gum in her mouth.

Illya looked like he was ready to say something regrettable, as her uncouth behavior had rubbed him the wrong way too many times this past week. It was time to tell her off, as the assignment was drawing to a close; anticipating this by the telltale look on his partner’s face, Napoleon stepped in.

“Now now, no need to abuse the help. Allow me.”

She huffed as he opened the door and Napoleon paused to wink at his partner. Illya took his cue from that and spun on his heels, heading immediately to the drivers door, getting in and starting the engine with a roar. He kept his mouth shut for once.

“Miss St. Johns, you might want to lose the gum before we arrive at the church?” Napoleon took a delicate tone with her.

“Oh yeah right.” She looked around the back of the limo for a tissue and finding none, she stared at Solo.

He sighed, grimacing as he held out his gloved hand, while she spit the gum into it.

Illya watched with amusement in the rearview mirror as Napoleon slipped off his grey glove and shoved it and the offending masticated mess into the door pocket.
.


The bells of St. Nicholas Church in the Old Center district of the city rang out as the limo approached.

The facade of the Neo-Baroque church was crowned by two towers with a rose window in between. The centre of this window was formed by a bas relief depicting Christ and the four Evangelists, and a sculpture of the patron saint of both the church and the city of Amsterdam stood in a niche in the upper section of the gable top. The crossing was articulated by a large octagonal tower with a Baroque dome and lantern crowned by a cross. It seemed incongruous and that the dome could be seen reflected in the Oudezijds Voorburgwal canal alongside the nearby Red Light District.

Soldiers were stading in front of the church, dressed in the black and gold uniforms of the Garderegiment Grenadiers en Jagers, the ceremonial guards to the royal family. They stood straight at attention, much like the guards at Buckingham Palace as they lined the steps leading up to the entranceway of the cathedral. Their presence indicated the royal family was already there inside.


Marie Therese le Claire St. Johns exited the limo without a word as her entourage and attendants circled around her, fussing over straightening the gown and train, and passing a different floral bouquet to her, consisting of many brightly colored flowers rather than the one of white lilies and baby’s breath she first carried into the limo with her.

Napoleon quickly slipped from the car as did Illya;  their job wasn’t done until she entered the church and the ceremony was complete. They preceded her, walking up the steps, with Napoleon stepping to the side in the rear of the church, giving himself a good view of everyone and everything.

The layout  of the basilica consisted of a nave, two aisles and a single transept. The choir was located, at the end of the nave. In the corners formed by the transept and the nave, were located two chapels.  The church had a collection of religious murals located above the high altar along with the crown of Maximillian I, a symbol seen throughout Amsterdam.

A 19th century Sauer Organ rang out, announcing the arrival of the bride with seven long notes, but the music that followed was surprisingly unfamiliar to Illya as he discreetly walked up along one of the aisles, positioning himself at a good vantage point to side of the high altar that he positioned himself. This enabled him to watch the ceremony and the participants more closely, as well as to keep an eye on the guests nearest the royal family.

Illya took a good look at Hans Biesterfeld as he waited by the altar, dressed in a garish red-jacketed military-style uniform with gold epaulettes. He was a middle-aged balding man with a bit of a paunch and Illya wondered how he did indeed manage to hook up with the likes of Maria St. John. Perhaps Napoleon was right, if Hans was well endowed and gifted in bed, he supposed a beautiful airhead like her could be attracted to him...and his money of course. Kuryakin tried not to laugh.

He continued gazing out across the church filled with people of varying ranks, with the Queen and her husband sitting in the front pews. There were, of course, members of De Binnenlandse Veiligheidsdienst present, the Dutch secret service, in charge of internal security. It was their task to guard the Queen and her family.  Still if anything happened, the U.N.C.L.E. agents had been authorized to step in if needed.

The organist began the overture, something Illya recognized this time...an exquisite rendering of Motets and cantatas by Johann Pachelbel, to the choir singing Johann Sebastian Bach.

The Netherlands being a secular country, would mean there would be a private civil ceremony to take place after the church ceremony, as technically the civil service would be the one acknowledged and not the religious one, it was to be held in the nave and would take only a few minutes.  Following that, the U.N.C.L.E. agents would be released from any further obligation as Marie Therese and her husband would become the sole responsibility of the De Binnenlandse Veiligheidsdienst, until they left the Netherlands.

All heads turned, as a dark-haired child, the flower girl, scattered white rose petals as she walked up the aisle with a look of innocent delight in her eyes. Several bridesmaids followed, clothed in long gowns of dark evergreen. Yet all eyes became transfixed as the bride began her trip to the altar.

As she took her place opposite her husband to be, Illya noticed something strange.  There was a dark object seemingly hidden in her bouquet of bright wildflowers.

He gazed across the church, locating Napoleon, signaling to him that he had a concern, and whispered into a micro-transmitter clipped to his wristwatch.

Napoleon was wearing an earpiece and momentarily cupped his ear to hear. “What’s wrong?”

“Maybe nothing, but I am seeing a dark object hidden in Marie’s bouquet.”

“Really? I didn’t see anything in the car...wait, one of the attendants handed her different flowers once she got out of the limo.”

There was a shrill scream, and Illya dove to the altar, tackling Marie  St.Johns as she held a pistol in her left hand, aiming it directly at the Queen. His momentum knocked her off balance with the pistol letting off a single shot into the air. She let out a blood curdling howl, wrestling for the weapon with the Russian as they toppled down the marble steps to the aisle.

Napoleon ran towards them, aiming his Special and shooting the woman with a sleep dart but not before her pistol went off a second time.  She and Illya were immediately surrounded by the Dutch secret service, while more of them whisked the royal family to safety. Solo pushed his way through, finding his partner face spattered with blood.

He refrained from cursing as he knelt  beside his friend; Illya had been winged in his right shoulder, but was conscious.

“I am all right Napoleon...”

The Russian was helped to his feet, and brought to one of the side chapels to await transport to the nearest hospital. Security and the royal guards saw to the orderly evacuation of the church. disbursing the small crowd gathered there in hopes of catching a glimpse of the Queen.



Le Claire -St. Johns was taken off by the De Binnenlandse Veiligheidsdienst to be questioned and of course an inquiry made as to who she really might be.  Apparently no background check of any significance had been done on her.

.

Illya lay restless in his hospital bed, with his right arm strapped securely in a sling. The bullet from Marie’s weapon had gone deep enough that it would prevent him from using his arm sooner than he had hoped. He would be released to return to New York along with Napoleon in one more day, and had been told that the Prime Minister wished to bestow a medal of heroism for his bravery and quick thinking, but Alexander Waverly had, thankfully, declined on his behalf.

Napoleon walked in with a surprise for his moody friend; carrying a Vlaai, better known as Limburgse vlaai, a fruit filled tart. Available in many varieties of fillings, this one was cherry and sprinkled with shavings of dark Dutch chocolate.

“So you didn’t get your medal, but here’s a little reward for a job well done, and for not getting yourself killed.”

Illya reached out with his left hand, gratefully accepting the confection and immediately biting into it. “Fank you. Mmm, better van a medal any day,” he said with his mouth full before he swallowed. “So any word as to who Marie le Claire -St. John really is?”

“A little bird.” Napoleon smiled.

“T.H.R.U.S.H.?”

“Her real name is Rebekka Duisternis, she’s an expatriate and a member of our feathered friends femme fatale assassin squad, though like Hans, she too was a quite a bit lower on the pecking order. Successfully completing this assignment would have gained her quite a bit of pointed with Central.”

“Mmm, Rebekka translates to... a woman whose beauty ensnares men and Duisternis in Dutch means darkness...interesting name.” Illya mused.  Though she does not strike me as being of the same caliber as Angelique and Serena. Perhaps our feathered friends are lowering their standards?”

“I don’t know, she had you and me pretty well fooled. With Angelique and Serena, you knew who they were and how they operated from the get go,” Napoleon answered. “But this one...  she might  actually have been a tad more dangerous.”

“Well she is in custody now, so we have no more worries there, do we?”

Napoleon screwed up his face before replying. “Not exactly, seems she’s escaped.”

Illya rolled his eyes, but continued to eat his tart, not missing a beat.

Napoleon watched the Russian using his left hand with the same dexterity as he did with his right. For some reason he recalled Marie...or more correctly, Rebekka was left handed.

He suddenly had this ethereal image of Illya being at the right hand of light and good, while Rebekka was at the left hand of … evil and darkness, given her last name.  Napoleon smiled at himself, thinking that was pretty neat play on words.  She was, however, one little lefty they'd have to be more careful with in the future.
.


Finis

Note: there is no real Hans Biesterfeld, though the late Prince Bernhard of the Netherlands was a member of the Lippe-Biestervald family.