“Madame!” “What do you want?” Sylvine knows not to disturb her mistress when she is in such a temper, which everyone in the household can hear even though Madame de Chevreuse keeps the door of her chamber locked. The crashing sounds of glass and porcelain, shattered in fury, leaves little room for doubt. Two days … Continue reading Chapter One hundred two, The Confessor of Saint-Lazare, by Mordaunt
Chapter Ninety-Eight, House of Bourbon, by Mordaunt
At Fontainebleau, the King is irritable and quick to take offense. Everything displeases him, beginning with the weather. Too many summer storms have been interrupting the garden fêtes, and spoiling the riding parties. The hunts have been disappointing and unrewarding. Even the ballet inspired by French proverbs, ardently promoted by Monsieur de Saint-Aignan, has turned … Continue reading Chapter Ninety-Eight, House of Bourbon, by Mordaunt
Chapter Ninety-Four, House of Richelieu, by Mordaunt
Messages and letters have been piling on Raoul’s desk throughout the night and continue as dawn breaks over the Faubourg Saint-Germain. He is used to being thus inundated despite the fact that to sort his office’s regular vast correspondence he employs a few competent and trusted secretaries. But this morning he is neither at his … Continue reading Chapter Ninety-Four, House of Richelieu, by Mordaunt
Chapter Seventy-Seven, Gilded Lilly, by Mordaunt
To gild refined gold, to paint the lilyTo throw a perfume on the violetTo smooth the ice, or add another hueUnto the rainbow, or with taper-lightTo seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.(William Shakespeare, King John, Act 4- Scene 2) It has been more than a fortnight since Layla’s encounter … Continue reading Chapter Seventy-Seven, Gilded Lilly, by Mordaunt
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
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
Twelve Years After 