‘Is there anything more to add?’
Lucien straightens up from the leaning over the map table, one finger still resting on the open map. The men ranged around the table are silent, each thinking of the task ahead of them, the length of the journey, the routes they have scouted – at least on the map. They know well that the reality on the ground can be very different – not only in the conditions of the roads and the weather, but also in who waits for them hidden in the trees, around the next curve in the road or behind the outcroppings.
‘Where do you expect trouble? Athos has asked this question before. In the depths of his deep quiet voice, Lucien hears the notes of worry, the persistent feeling Athos has that he should go with him and take the same risks he does for all their families. They have discussed it several times and always end up at the same impasse. Athos will travel with the men disguised as monastery workers with the wagons that transport the children the long distance from Royaumont to Glénay. ‘You are needed with them Athos, far more than with me.’
Lucien traces along the western coastline and interior, ‘here I expect Rochefort. My men and trading partners along the coast have sent messages for some time now that men have been trying to disrupt the trade from the Wrecks inland to Paris and other markets. We know they are somewhere in this area.’ He moves his finger east toward Blois, ‘and here I would expect Marchal or whomever he uses. We have seen Comminges’ men.’ He raises his eyes to his brother. ‘We know their tactics in ambush.’
‘Six men is not sounding like enough’ Porthos says and d’ Artagnan grunts in agreement. Lucien raises a skeptical brow at Gasparo. ‘Care to address the General’s concern?’
‘Take a few more,’ Porthos insists, not waiting for Gasparo’s opinion. ‘We will still have enough to travel with the carriages and wagon. The more of them you kill the better for us.’
Lucien lets the discussion continue and then he says, ‘we have a few hours to get some sleep. I advise we take it. From here on, we are spread across the country, our communications limited, and sleep may become elusive.’ The men slowly leave the room, Athos is the last. He pauses saying, ‘I will see you in the morning.’
‘It is already morning,’ Lucien quips, but Athos does not smile, his jaw working. He shakes his head, ‘I do wish…’
‘As do I,’ Lucien says quietly, his hand resting on Athos shoulder. ‘You will remember I know how you fight,’ an impish gleam flashes in Lucien’s eyes. He quickly sobers, ‘that is precisely why you must be with our children.’
‘Will Marie be there for your departure?’ Athos asks. Lucien nods,’ she usually is, although I do not encourage it. But as you know, Marie does as she wishes.’ Lucien watches Athos walk to the staircase. He closes the door and turns back to face the room. From a deep chair set in the shadows of the fireplace, a figure stirs. ‘Which do you fear most?’ Yusuf rephrases Athos’ question.
‘All of it.’ Lucien walks back into the room and throws himself into the chair opposite Yusuf. He rakes a hand through his hair, leaning forward, his hands clasped between his knees. The lines of his face are deepened. He looks intently at Yusuf.
‘You will remember what I ask of you. If it all goes to shit, you take my boys and get to Jacky. Porthos and d ‘Artagnan must decide for their sons, but the Aigle will be as close as possible. Loup has his orders, and Jacky will take you to Constantinople. Rochefort has reach there, but not as much as you and Roberval.’
‘The girls?’
‘Marie insists she can protect all the girls. I leave that to your judgement at the time. But I believe Rochefort does not care as much for the girls. You must get the boys away. Hide them from that man. Yusuf, you must promise me.’
‘Kardes, I have taken an oath to do so. Roberval would never let any harm come to your sons’
‘Obi and Afira will help you …’ Lucien’s voice trails off. ‘I cannot foresee…’ Yusuf shakes his head, ‘you cannot foresee the future kardes … do not make yourself miserable with what is to come or not to come…’
Lucien chuckles, ‘I remember the prophet’s wise counsel. I have said it often to my wife, who worries excessively about too many things.’
‘Yes,’ Yusuf replies in his deep quiet voice, ‘focus on what is in front of you now.’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
‘I will see you downstairs.’ Sophia kisses him and opens the bed drapes. He sits up, grumbling, ‘how is it you are awake before me?’ But she is already at the door, her answer lost as she leaves the room.
He swings his feet to the floor and reaches for his traveling clothes, neatly folded on the chair, his travel bag set beside it. Sophia had already packed the extra clothes he will need and a few personal items. As his habit, he checks the travel bag himself, noting the warm woolen shirts and extra scarf and gloves she has included. He swings the bag to his back and leaves their bedchamber.
A cold blast of winter air greets him as he opens the rear door and walks out into the dark dawn. Overhead, the sky is an iron ceiling of heavy gray clouds. There is a light streaming out from the stable door and several groups of people are assembled in the yard, stamping their feet against the cold, breathing out small pale puffs of air curling up in the gloomy light. He can see Martin, Athos, Porthos, d’Artagnan and Afonso talking quietly with each other as they watch Gasparo walk slowly among his men. The yard is filled with mercenary soldiers, thick gloves tucked into their belts as they check their saddles, tightening girth straps and adjusting bridles. They wear heavy winter cloaks and thick woolen scarves, speaking in low tones to each other, guffawing at a shared joke. A footman moves among them passing out food packets to store in their traveling bags. Like soldiers everywhere, they may not like the weather but there is nothing they can do about it, so they ignore it, tending to their horses, checking weapons and waiting for their commander to order them into the saddle and onto the road.
Inside the stable, Marie is bundled into a heavy cloak. She and Father Massey talk quietly to M Eduin, while Sophia stands with Jaaden, stroking his neck as Yusuf sets the saddle on his broad back. The big stallion lifts his nose, scenting Lucien’s arrival, neighing loudly. Lucien takes an apple from his pocket and holds it for Jaaden who bares his big yellow teeth and plucks the apple delicately from his palm.
‘Quite a sendoff we have,’ Lucien murmurs as Jaaden rubs his nose against Lucien’s chest and blows a breath against his hair. ‘You have been lazing long enough my friend, it is time for us to go to work.’
Outside, Athos hears a door slam shut. Young Samyar is hurrying towards the stable, his twin sister’s hand firmly in his grasp. Rayya and Cousin Francois following. ‘You are up early,’ Athos frowns slightly at Rosie whose cheeks are already reddened from the cold air. ‘We want to bid our father farewell,’ Rosie says tugging on Samy’s hand to keep moving into the stable. Inside, her father looks surprised but smiles at her and embraces each of his children, murmuring a few private words to each one. Rosie holds up the book of paper cut out designs. ‘I am already making one for you Papa.’
‘Hmm,’ Lucien crouches down, one arm encircling his youngest daughter. Rosie only calls him Papa when she is unsettled. ‘Which one are you making for me love?’
‘It is a surprise Papa,’ she protests hugging the book to her small chest. ‘Well then,’ he pulls her into his embrace, ‘I look forward to that surprise.’ He holds her for a moment perhaps too long, and Rosie rests her head on his shoulder and sniffs. ‘Safe journey Papa.’
‘You will have an adventure with your cousins and friends. Listen carefully to Yusuf and your uncle’s instructions. I will see you at Glénay love,’ he hugs her tightly and then releases her and bids her to stand with Samy and Rayya. ‘Godspeed,’ Cousin Francois clasps him firmly, ‘we will soon be with you in Glénay.’
Lucien bows his head to accept the blessing Father Massey bestows. He holds his mother’s hand, and she kisses his cheek. He addresses M Edin, ‘you know what you must do.’ The stablemaster nods, ‘it will be done as you ordered Your Grace.’
Lucien leads Jaaden into the yard. M Levesque, the estate manager has joined the group of men. Lucien takes Sophia’s hand and leads her to the other side of Jaaden, for a private moment.
‘Marie and Suzanne will depart tomorrow and then Constance and Elodie with the children,’ he says. ‘I want you to give this to Constance.’ Lucien pulls out a small pistol, ‘there must be a pocket somewhere in that nun’s habit. She will complain it is too small. Remind her even a small pistol can kill a man who gets too close. You keep your pistol on you.’
‘I will,’ Sophia promises. ‘Everything else is already underway.’
‘As soon as everyone is where they should be, you and Cousin Francois are to leave for Glénay. Remember, you are following the same route as Suzanne and Marie. Traveling by horseback will shorten your journey. You will almost certainly catch up with the carriages,’ Lucien insists.
‘I remember,’ she says patiently as Lucien has drilled her in the roads they are to travel, villages and estates they will pass and where they are to stay. She is careful not to show her impatience. Lucien has enough to worry about.
‘If for some reason we cannot travel on that route, we will move east and …’ She recites the villages they would pass through, the estates where they can expect to find lodging. When she is finished, he nods and holds her firmly against him. ‘Be assured I remember every detail,’ but she does not feel any release of the tension in his body. She rests her cheek against his chest. He lifts her chin and looks down at her, his eyes search her face, his finger tracing the line of her jaw, up her cheek and down her nose. For a moment the gray world is blotted out by her iridescent blue eyes. He cups her cheeks and kisses her deeply.
‘We do not say our farewells,’ he murmurs and feels her lips curving into a smile. He mounts Jaaden and waits as Gasparo, and his men ride from the yard. Lucien is the last to leave. Athos steps closer to him and grasps Lucien’s hand.
‘Look for us in a fortnight. Godspeed Lucien.’ Lucien grips Athos’ hand, ‘to you also.’ For a moment their eyes meet … brother… but it remains unsaid.
Sophia steps closer and rises on her toes as Lucien leans from the saddle. ‘Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes…’ she whispers, as his lips brush hers. He finishes the quotation.
‘…because for those who love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation…’
And then, he is gone.
For a moment, every man, woman and child in the yard stares at the empty path where an armed group of men had once been, the steady drum beat of horse’s hooves fading. Dead leaves and bits of straw swirl at their feet, driven by a cold morning wind, under a threatening dark sky. Athos appears next to her, ‘now we begin,’ he says.
She tilts her head at his stern expression, his eyes still looking where Lucien had once been.
‘Yes,’ she says and despite her winter cloak, she shivers. Marie and Father Massey are already on their way back to the house with Afonso. Marie beckons Sophia to join them. She quickly squeezes Athos’ arm.
‘I will come to the dower house to help Elodie and Constance later this morning.’ She walks quickly to catch up with Marie and Father Massey. ‘We must finish the packing,’ Marie says. ‘Tomorrow is almost here.’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
The door to the dower house is partially open. Sophia walks in, shifting the two small boxes she carries to one arm and shuts the door firmly. Inside the noise is considerable – boys running and shouting, musical instruments clashing with each other as practice is underway, a baby is crying and maids rushing up and down the stair and in the corridor that leads to the kitchen and storerooms.
‘Madame!’ a young maid cries out. Sophia recognizes her from the village as the girl runs across the entryway and skids to a stop in front of her. She bobs her curtsey, one hand going automatically to her cap to straighten it. ‘Madame,’ she says again in a slightly less frantic voice.
‘It is Delia, yes?’ Sophia inquires. ‘Yes Madame! The girl nods energetically, her cap once again askew. ‘Do not let me keep you,’ Sophia says kindly, ‘point me in the direction of Madame d’ Artagnan and Madame du Vallon.’ Delia points in the general direction of the stairs, bobs another curtsey and sets off toward the kitchen. Sophia goes up the stairs in the direction of the noise and running feet.
‘Alexandre! Boys!’ Constance’s stern voice rings down the corridor. Sophia turns in that direction. Inside one of the bedchambers, Olivier, Samy and Alexandre and sitting on the edge of the bed, their heads down under Constance’s glare. ‘Take these clothes,’ she points to three stacks assembled on a table, ‘to your bedchamber. You will put them on in the morning. You are to take yours too Samy.’
To Sophia’s relief, her son nods politely, ‘yes Madame, I will do so. Should I go now?’ Constance shakes her head, ‘you do not need to go now. But do not leave them here.’ Samy nods again and then he sees Sophia. ‘Mother!’ he cries. Olivier and Alexandre slid from the bed to their feet bowing, ‘Madame,’ they chorus.
‘How are you getting on?’ Sophia asks Constance, trying not to chuckle at the three boys verging on misbehavior. At that moment a cry from a frustrated child, the crashing sound of keys on the harpsichord and the calm voice of an experienced music tutor. The two mothers exchange a glance.
‘I do not know who that was, but may I suggest something?’ Sophia murmurs to Constance, ‘M Eduin has not yet taken Atlas to the Abbey. Perhaps some fresh air and a ride around the paddock would use up some of this restlessness?’
‘I am afraid that was my Charlotte.’ Elodie comes into the room, ‘I heard your voice Sophia and wanted to thank you for the tonics.’
Sophia sets down the two small boxes she carries. ‘I brought the supplies you might need in case of coughs or sniffles. I included bandages…’ she identifies each vial and pouch, and a piece of paper tucked into the box. ‘I wrote out a few instructions too. ‘Is Renee better?’ she asks hopefully.
Elodie nods, ‘Yes, at least we will not start this journey with a sick child. Although what choice would we have?’ Elodie almost wails but this is a question on the minds of all the mothers.
‘I have thought about it, not for Renee,’ Sophia hurries to assure Elodie, ‘but as a matter we might face. I sent a message to Sister Crespine at the Abbey, and she assured me they would help us. But it will not come to that dear Elodie. As you say, Renee is fine.’ None of them want to think of leaving a child behind.
‘We have been allowed one trunk for our clothes,’ Elodie says, ‘one would think that would make packing easier, but everything I pull out Charlotte or Renee put back in.’
‘I need a trunk just for Juliette’s couches I must bring with us!’ Constance declares.
‘I need a wagonful of trunks for the couches for twin boys!’ Sophia trumps them all and they laugh.
‘Pack another trunk or two ,’ Sophia advises the two women, ‘we may be able to send for them later.’
‘Lovely idea,’ Elodie says and for a few moments, the three women distract themselves and each other with the ordinary domestic tasks and decisions that are part of their daily life. At least as their lives used to be.
The boys cough noticeably. They heard the name ‘Atlas’ and are dancing from one foot to another, waiting for their fate to be determined. Constance mocks an assessing look over them, slides her eyes to Sophia and makes a short nod. The boys leap up whooping with excitement. Sophia shakes her head in disbelief at Samy. He has ridden Atlas countless times, often alone to a farm or on a task for her. There can be little novelty in it for her son. But Samy has friends to whom it is a novelty, and he delights in their enthusiasm.
‘May Bianca come with us?’ Samy asks his mother. ‘You must find your uncle and get his permission.’ The boys dash off to look for Athos. Constance is looking out a window to watch the boys emerge from the house and approach Athos. Father Massey is talking with Martin, Porthos, Aramis and d’ Artagnan.
‘Even in that robe, Father Massey does not look particularly priestly,’ Constance comments. Sophia stands next to her looking at what Constance sees. ‘I understand he had a different life before God found him,’ she says, ‘Lucien considers him a fighting man, one he would want with him should trouble arise.’
‘Trouble being not unfamiliar to Lucien,’ Constance quips, but in a kind tone. Sophia chuckles, ‘I cannot disagree. I have something for you from Lucien.’ She pulls out the small pistol.
‘Is there a pocket in that habit?’ Constance nods and takes the pistol, weighing it in her hand. ‘Small,’ she comments.
‘Lucien said it will still kill a man who gets too close,’ Sophia says. Constance sights down the barrel. ‘I shall simply point and shoot.’
‘That should do the trick,’ Sophia says.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
‘Madame! Madame!’
The dovecote keeper, M Joust is hurrying towards her, waving his hand. Sophia glimpses a gray cylinder between his fingers. A messenger bird has arrived. It must be from Paris, she thinks, intended for Lucien, who is already gone. She walks quickly to meet M Joust.
‘Madame!’ M Joust is gasping for breath. ‘The bird is in poor condition. It must have encountered bad weather, or someone tried to shoot it down. I can only hope this was intended to be received today, but it might have been yesterday.’
‘No matter, M Joust. Attend to your bird,’ Sophia takes the message and continues to the house, unscrolling the tiny message as she walks. She scans it and stops walking to read it again. If the message was intended for yesterday …she breaks into a run for the house. She must remove the family’s legacies immediately.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
‘Rider approaching Your Grace,’ M Goux says in his dry toneless voice as he pokes his head through the open door of the mausoleum. ‘I am almost finished,’ Sophia replies, her voice echoing in the dim light and stale air of the mausoleum. It occurs to her that M Goux would announce the Pope, the King or the barbarian hordes with same smooth noncommittal tone.
She closes the top of the stone bench surrounding the sarcophagus of her twin brother, Samyar. He had died when they were five years old, succumbing to a fever she shook off in a day. Their mother had commissioned a stone statue, not of a boy lying in repose as was customary, but a boy sitting up in a chair, holding a book as though waiting for someone to come and read to him. Sophia pats the statue, ‘keep it all safe for us love.’
‘Just one man? Are you sure?’ she asks anxiously as she climbs the stairs out of the musty chamber, closing and locking the mausoleum door.
‘I believe Madame, it is Lieutenant Maillard.’
‘Olivain! She exclaims and then sobers. But it cannot be good if Layla and Raoul sent Olivain to them. She brushes the dust from her skirt and smooths her hair. ‘Find M Athos and tell him we need him in the master’s library.’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
‘Plans must change,’ Athos says with authority, ‘he is already on his way, and you cannot remain here. I know Lucien agreed but now, you must come with us.’
‘I agree with Athos on this,’ Porthos says and d’ Artagnan nods. Afonso has a pained expression, ‘Madame, I think that is what Lucien would want.’ Only Aramis and Yusuf are quiet, Yusuf’s dark eyes unreadable as he watches her.
‘Marchal riding out with his men does not mean he is coming here directly,’ Sophia argues, ‘he could also be riding to intercept Lucien. He could think all of you are in that group and to sweep you up in one effort.’ The men shake their heads, muttering in disagreement
‘It is prudent to move up the schedule of departures. Marie and Suzanne must leave before dawn tomorrow. The children too,’ Sophia says looking at Athos. She nods to the young lieutenant. ‘Olivain should go with whomever you decide.’ Athos slants a disbelieving look at her, knowing she has attempted to placate him by appearing obedient to his decisions.
‘We shall send the wagons with the children and guards as we planned,’ Porthos says to Sophia, ‘and we will stay.’
‘No!’ Sophia cries frustrated with what the men do not seem to realize. ‘If it is only me and Cousin Francois, there is no reason to fight. If you or guards stay, there is too much reason to fight! It could go much worse for us,’ she appeals to Aramis who is frowning but listening to her.
‘They may ransack the house,’ d’ Artagnan argues.
‘If that is what Marchal intends, it will be done anyway,’ Sophia counters. ‘He will want to frighten me. Marchal and his musketeers…’
‘No!’ Olivain interrupts her. Up until now, he has remained silent, but he steps forward. ‘The musketeers with him are two recruits, Beroul and Chenart.’
‘He is not coming all this way to arrest us with two men,’ d’ Artagnan scoffs. ‘I agree Captain d’ Artagnan. He will bring others, but not musketeers.’
‘Who are these men?’
Olivain shrugs, ‘the same men he used in the streets.’
‘It changes everything,’ Athos declares. ‘Musketeers would not harm you.’ Sophia shakes her head, frustrated at this turn in the discussion.
‘You are worried about the maids, but what about your person too?’ Aramis says, ‘you believe Marchal would not abuse you? At the very least he is likely to arrest you and take you to prison. Does this not concern you?’
Sophia draws herself up and levels a look at the men. ‘I do not fear it. Let him put me in prison. It will only delay him further in his search for Lucien and you. Father de Paul, Cardinal de Belloy and every priest in Marie’s house would descend on the King to raise objections to the
daughter-in-law of the Duchess d’ Aiguillon being imprisoned.’
She points a finger at Athos.
‘You forget who you are Athos. Marchal is a brute but to allow himself or his men to lay hands on me would be a serious offense, one that Louis would find difficult to justify. I am of the house of de la Croix, daughter-in-law to the Duchesse d’ Aiguillon who is friend to Queen Anne. I am the wife to the Duc de Plessis, son of the Duchess d’ Aiguillon and sister-in-law to her eldest son, the Duc de Richelieu who counts among his family the Doge of Venice. Assaulting me will separate his head from his shoulders.’
The men are silent for a moment. Sophia rises from his chair. ‘M Goux and I will get the servants away. Cousin Francois and I will be prepared to leave as soon as we can – after the wagons depart.’
‘Sophia, if Lucien knew…’ Athos starts to object. She straightens her shoulders, hands clasped at her waist. ‘I know exactly what my husband thinks. I also know my duties to the people who live and work on this estate. I would be grateful if you would allow me to get to work so we can all leave as we intend.’
She turns and strides for the door, M Goux opens it, bowing slightly as she passes through and follows her. The door closes with a soft click.
‘I thought Layla was like her father,’ Porthos gripes, ‘ but I see she is also her mother.’
Too much so…Athos thinks staring at the door, remembering the days when a younger Sophia de la Croix stubbornly refused to give up the man she loved. The consequences had been … he swallows his own words and turns to the others.
‘We leave before dawn,’ he says instead.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Tomorrow Sophia thinks as she walks swiftly through the house. Just get that far. First, to the kitchen to inform Cook so she can prepare food packets. Then to M Eduin to move the horses and then to Alban and Gilo to get the sheep to the high pasture and the huts where they will find shelter. The maids are busy with the endless need for laundry and packing. She hears Madame Perle’s voice coming from the music room. She checks her stride and turns in that direction.
‘Ah!’ she says as she enters the music room. Madame Perle is supervising two burly footmen carrying Rayya’s harp across the room where a hidden panel has been opened to reveal the passage behind the wall. ‘Perfect fit,’ Sophia says as the two men carefully manage the large instrument through the opening. Bianca’s smaller harp is already in the passage. Madame Perle slides the panel back into place.
‘I wish we could hide the harpsichord too,’ Madame Perle says sadly. ‘Easier to replace that Rayya and Bianca’s harps.’ She looks around the room.
‘Already hidden Madame,’ Madame Perle anticipates her mistress’ questions. ‘The plate, candlesticks, the books you indicated from your father’s library are also tucked away.’
‘Rascal?’
‘Madame Levesque took him to her house.’
‘Thank you, Madame Perle. Ten steps ahead, as usual. As soon as the wagon with the children departs, you must gather the maids, M Goux will instruct the footmen, and all go to the Abbey or the village. M Eduin will have two wagons ready to take everyone.’
‘Yes Madame, but…’ Madame Perle twists her handkerchief, distressed at leaving her mistress .
‘That is my instruction,’ Sophia says firmly. She steps closer to her unhappy housekeeper, ‘Inès, I depend on you to get the maids safely away. When we are all gone, and the danger passes, M Levesque will tell you when you may return.’ Her tone softens, ‘for now, will you see that the maids finish the packing and trunks get loaded tonight. The wagons need more blankets. Cook must prepare additional food packets and give a footman the task to heat the bricks for the morning.’
‘Yes Madame.’
Sophia watches Madame Perle walk away. Tomorrow at dawn she will send off her children on a long journey. Her heart squeezes painfully. Do not think about it … she commands herself. She closes her eyes, thinks of Lucien …his hands caressing her, his voice deep and soft ‘…do not make yourself miserable with what is to come or not to come…’
Very well, she will concentrate on what she must do next. She squares her shoulders and walks with determined strides to the stables and M Eduin.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
The yard is filled with men mounted on their horses, dust swirling under another gray winter sky, waiting for the order to start. Sophia waits too, shivering under her heavy cloak, but it is not from the cold.
She said her goodbyes, embracing Constance and Elodie, assuring them they would soon be together in Glénay. She hid her tears when Samy assured her he would look after his sisters, kissing and hugging her children. She bowed her head at Marie’ prayer and spoke encouraging words to her daughter Suzanne, tucked another blanket over her and kissed her cheek one final time.
The carriages are lined up, traces rattling as horses shake their heads restively. Marie and Suzanne ride in the first carriage, modified to soften the journey for Suzanne, whose confinement has been precarious. The second carriage is for Suzanne’s child, Nella, her nurse and the midwife Madame Bourgeois and her assistant Madame Vreni. Her twin boys, Kayvahn and Asim are with their nurses in the third carriage driven by Yusuf, Christian next to him, an armed mercenary on the roof of the carriage and another in the rear seat. The route will take them to country estates and monasteries where Suzanne can be accommodated. Afonso, Martin, his brothers and a few men from Gasparo’s mercenaries ride guard.
Across the yard is the big wagon for the children. It is covered with a heavy canvas for protection from the elements. Samy, Rosie, Rayya, Bianca, Olivier, Alexandre, Charlotte and Renee will ride inside, disguised in shabby clothing as orphans. They are accompanied by a true Jesuit priest and a Benedictine brother, their mothers disguised as nuns. Baby Juliette is tucked in close to her mother. Father Massey walks around the four-horse team, checking the traces, while Brother Ignazio perches on the bench, holding a woven basket with a mewing Persephone bundled under a blanket. Rayya is at the rear of the wagon watching Olivain secure two horses. He finishes and exchanges a private smile with Rayya. Athos, Porthos, d’Artagnan and Aramis and Garsparo’s mercenaries mount their horses
Athos rides slowly to her and she can see the indecision in his worried expression. She reaches up a hand to his, ‘go,’ she murmurs. ‘Duval will be in the woods. Keep them all safe.’ He covers her hand with his. ‘I will see you in Glénay.’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Sophia stands at the window staring at the empty road. The sun is well past its zenith since the last wagon with maids, footmen, Cook and her kitchen servants, stableboys, gardeners and yard boys disappeared over the crest of the road. Everyone is gone, her children, family, friends and the last of the servants. She turns from the window and walks through the empty rooms, the silence so complete, she can hear her own footfalls. She climbs the stairs to the second floor into her children’s bedchambers, picking up random objects left behind, putting a book back on a shelf, folding a shift, a dress, Samy’s shirt. She smooths the bedcovers.
‘Madame.’
Sophia whirls with a shocked expression, ‘Alban! You were to leave with Gilo!’
The boy hangs his head, wool cap in his hands. ‘I know Madame, but everyone is gone, and I thought you might still need me.’
‘I do not…’ she sputters angrily.
Gilo runs into the room breathless, ‘not you too!’ Sophia cries.
‘Men!’ the boy gasps for air. ‘Men coming down the road Madame!’
Twelve Years After 