The stable is in shadows, they have only one lantern set on a pile of crates. ‘Can you saddle a horse in the dark?’ Lucien asks. ‘I am happy to saddle yours if you find it difficult,’ Athos replies. Lucien smiles. His brother is tense, anxious to get on the road, but not without humor. … Continue reading Chapter Fifty-Seven, The House that Richelieu Built, by Corso
Chapter Fifty-Six, The Brothers d’ Aiguillon, by Mordaunt
Swords drawn, they turn to face each other, surrounded by their hapless attackers now dead or wounded. Even in the darkness, Athos knows the man. He fought against him and almost killed him. He fought against him and was almost killed. He has fought beside him more times than he ever expected. Athos lowers his … Continue reading Chapter Fifty-Six, The Brothers d’ Aiguillon, by Mordaunt
Chapter Fifty-Four, Le Sourcier, by Mordaunt
It bothers him. In the mornings, long before Petite wakes, Athos rides with Balignant down to the sandy cove. Even after a week he refuses to walk there using the shortcut through the back of the garden. From the old pier he watches the dawn, every dawn a different array of colors, and the low … Continue reading Chapter Fifty-Four, Le Sourcier, by Mordaunt
La fille au rois Louis (Anon. 15th or 16th c.)
La fille au rois Louis (Anon. 15th or 16th c.) Chapter 40 (Phantasms of Love) uses the song “La fille au rois Louis” (The daughter of King Louis; Anonymous.) The song is dated sometime in the 15th or 16th c. Click here to listen to a version of the song by Le poème harmonique (Vincent Dumestre … Continue reading La fille au rois Louis (Anon. 15th or 16th c.)
Chapter Forty, Phantasms of Love, by Mordaunt
The country road crests to a rocky ridge and slopes sharply downward. Riding ahead of the carriage once more, the first thing Athos sees right below him, upon reaching the top, is the tiled roof of the pretty cottage that was visible from the cove, where the tide is beginning to flood the shore, as … Continue reading Chapter Forty, Phantasms of Love, by Mordaunt
Chapter Thirty-Eight, Ghosts of La Rochelle, by Corso
At the thin border between night and dawn, bird song is tentative, the full chorus to a new day wait for light. Marie de Combalet lays quietly in her bed, dark behind bed drapes closed against a chilly morning. The intermittent singing notes tell her the hour is late enough for Lucien to be already … Continue reading Chapter Thirty-Eight, Ghosts of La Rochelle, by Corso
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-Six, The Past is Prologue, by Corso
"What's past is prologue" William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act 2-Scene 1 ‘Do not attack the Belladona,’ Raoul repeats in clipped tones. Lucien turns to him, brows raised. He crosses his arms over his chest. ‘Are you …telling me to not attack the Belladona?’ Lucien eyes narrow speculatively, ‘who is asking this of me?’ ‘I am,’ … Continue reading Chapter Thirty-Six, The Past is Prologue, by Corso
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-four, Bitter Victory, by Corso
‘Where is Alessandra?’, ‘… in hell where she belongs.. your whore … tossed over a cliff… rotting… food for the crows and vultures…you all failed...she laughs victorious, vindictive in his face ……black, cold rage surges, Lucien grips her neck tighter… a tiny increment of pressure and he will crush her neck, her eyes are swiveling … Continue reading Chapter Thirty-four, Bitter Victory, by Corso
Twelve Years After 