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
Chapter Fifty-One: Vanishing Act in Seven (Easy) Steps, by Mordaunt
Step One: Learn from the best “I assume that you know all,” Aramis begins. “Enough to be abhorred that an innocent man finds himself imprisoned,” Layla replies. “Some might say that he is not an innocent man,” Aramis pushes, although it has been a losing argument; although even he no longer agrees. “He is my … Continue reading Chapter Fifty-One: Vanishing Act in Seven (Easy) Steps, by Mordaunt
Chapter Fifty, The Price of Clarity, by Mordaunt
Faites votre devoir, et laissez faire aux dieux.(Do your duty and leave the rest to Heaven) Pierre Corneille, Horace, Act II, Scene III (1639 Aramis does not stay at Noisy-le-rois as he planned. He rides back to Paris with Louis. “Not to Versailles, no I will not make it easy for you,” Louis pushed, “I … Continue reading Chapter Fifty, The Price of Clarity, by Mordaunt
Chapter Forty-Eight, Fatherhood, by Mordaunt
At the Sign of L’ Espee, the inn at Tours used by officers on royal duty, M. Morant and his three comrades returning with the royal correspondence from Rennes, La Rochelle, and Bordeaux are ready to depart for Paris. “Are you certain, Your Grace?” M. Morant knows not to insist when faced with opposition by … Continue reading Chapter Forty-Eight, Fatherhood, by Mordaunt
Chapter Thirty-Seven, Home, by Mordaunt
“My love, I no longer fear writing these words. My most precious love, There is no suffering worse than being separated from you, but what you have suffered I cannot fathom; what you may be suffering still. Louis–it is his pride that drives him, my love, and you know his pride well, for we instilled … Continue reading Chapter Thirty-Seven, Home, by Mordaunt
Chapter Thirty-Five, Harsh Recountings, by Mordaunt
Some men say an army of horses and some men say an army on foot and some men say an army of ships is the most beautiful thing on the black earth. But I say it is what you love. (Sappho, 16 transl. by Anne Carson) The journey returning from Saintonge to Glénay takes longer. They … Continue reading Chapter Thirty-Five, Harsh Recountings, by Mordaunt
Chapter Thirty-Three, Revenge and Retribution, by Mordaunt
“Coward! You hide behind the skirts of a murdering whore. Following her around like a dog on a leash. What hold does she have over you?” “Where is Alessandra?” “I forget that’s her name now. The vile murdering whore who killed your brother!” “Not my brother. The brute who attacked her. Where is she?” “You … Continue reading Chapter Thirty-Three, Revenge and Retribution, by Mordaunt
Chapter Thirty-The Battle at Saintonge, by Corso
Lucien cannot feel his feet anymore. He moves woodenly, arms aching from the hours held over his head, fingers frozen and gripping his sword wrapped in burlap. The freezing cold has penetrated deep through skin and muscle to the very marrow of his bones, moving up through his body to his chest. He pushes through … Continue reading Chapter Thirty-The Battle at Saintonge, by Corso
Chapter Twenty Nine-Stand to face me beloved, by Mordaunt
Stand to face me beloved… …and open out the grace of your eyes (Sappho 138, transl. Anne Carson) “Where is Raoul?” Athos storms into the hall of Glénay. If there is a footman at the door or servants in the hall he does not see them. What Lucien and Aramis are saying as they walk … Continue reading Chapter Twenty Nine-Stand to face me beloved, by Mordaunt
Chapter Twenty-Eight, Bourbon les eaux, by Corso
Lucien lays awake, unable to sleep and somewhere in the hours past midnight he gives up. He dresses quickly, throwing his heavy winter cape over him and walks through the quiet inn. Outside, the air is still, a deep cold stings his face. The road in front of the inn is barely illuminated in dim … Continue reading Chapter Twenty-Eight, Bourbon les eaux, by Corso
Twelve Years After 