The art of living…is more like wrestling than dancing, Marcus Aurelius “Lastly Madame, the Comte de la Fere has reviewed the wine list ….” Marie listens with distracted attention to M Mael, faithful boutellier at the Château de Glénay, as was his father before him, serving her father, René de Vignerot de Pontcourlay, and her … Continue reading Chapter Seventy-Three, Ars vivendi…by Corso
Chapter Seventy-Two, The Medallion, by Mordaunt
There are good moments when hope is not fleeting. Athos is not pessimistic by nature, and a life lived by the sword, on battlefields, teaches not to waste precious time in anticipation of a future that is unpredictable. Alessandra cannot be convinced that the world around her is not a dream to shield her from … Continue reading Chapter Seventy-Two, The Medallion, by Mordaunt
Chapter Seventy-One, Scribe of the Soul, by Corso
Memory is the scribe of the soul…Aristotle She cannot sleep. Sophia lays awake, staring at the drape surrounding the bed. Days of snatching minutes of sleep from the passing hours, or an hour from a passing night. Athos had insisted and Lucien tapped his foot impatiently, and she thought that once she lay down, sleep … Continue reading Chapter Seventy-One, Scribe of the Soul, by Corso
Chapter Seventy, Veiled Child, by Mordaunt
Outside the door of Alessandra’s chamber the only sounds are the shuffling of the people coming and going and their careful whispering. It was not the same when Sylvie gave birth. It was not the same when Petite was born. It was never this quiet. Seated next to Athos at the bench outside Alessandra’s room, … Continue reading Chapter Seventy, Veiled Child, by Mordaunt
Chapter Sixty-Nine, …Viam invenire vel facere… (find a way, or make one), by Corso
A ceiling of gray clouds flattens across the sky, a wall of fog hugging the coastline. Reefs lurk below the dark surface of the ocean, ready to thrust their rocky spires deep into the heart of a ship. In the cold air, the Galician pilot on the Belladona, Manoel, shivers as sweat trickles down his … Continue reading Chapter Sixty-Nine, …Viam invenire vel facere… (find a way, or make one), by Corso
Chapter Sixty-eight, Ne m’oublie pas (Forget me not), by Mordaunt
Athos has been here before and remembers every painful moment. At Bragelonne when Sylvie died. At Saint Denis before Petite was born. After Rouen, when he followed Alessandra to Venice. He has been here before, and yet, remembering offers him no solace. Before, he was a different man. Sophia, his sister, lays a gentle hand … Continue reading Chapter Sixty-eight, Ne m’oublie pas (Forget me not), by Mordaunt
Chapter Sixty-seven, Festina Lente (Make Haste Slowly), by Corso
…find a balance between speed and caution, move with purpose but without recklessness Benito d’ Soto never believed in coincidence. Before he opens the salon door, Lucien is certain that the arrival of Constance’s mother Lucille Demare and her brother Benoit is not a social visit. Whatever the trouble is at the Wrecks, he is … Continue reading Chapter Sixty-seven, Festina Lente (Make Haste Slowly), by Corso
Chapter Sixty-Six, Bitter, Painful, Necessary Truths, by Mordaunt
Constance knows she is not needed. Milady–Constance cannot think of her by any other name–is in the care of two doctors, two midwives, a nurse and those closest to her: Sophia, Elodie and their daughters, Marie Cessette who is her daughter-in-law, even the duchess d’ Aiguillon who holds masses for her twice every day in … Continue reading Chapter Sixty-Six, Bitter, Painful, Necessary Truths, by Mordaunt
Chapter Sixty-Five, Invisible Hand, by Corso
“What is that racket?” Lucien snaps open his spyglass and peers down the road. Yusuf looks through a more powerful telescope, mounted on a tripod and pointed in the same direction where a great cloud of dust is rising. “Kardes, I do believe our cannon is arriving,” “Father, are they here?” Samy, Olivier and Alexandre … Continue reading Chapter Sixty-Five, Invisible Hand, by Corso
Chapter Sixty-Four, When the Devil Whispers Sweetly, by Mordaunt
Aramis will step no further than the threshold of the cell at Val de Grâce, where they meet in secret. He raises his hand: “Anne, please, you must keep away. This is as close as I dare come.” “I will do no such thing,” Queen Anne reaches for his hands. “I survived this infernal plague … Continue reading Chapter Sixty-Four, When the Devil Whispers Sweetly, by Mordaunt
Twelve Years After 