“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
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-Two The Whip of Justice, by Corso
Tremble, thou wretch,That hast within thee undivulged crimesUnwhipped of justice. (Shakespeare, King Lear) Athos aims his boot at the heavy oak door, it flies open, and he rushes into a chaotic scene, Lucien hard on his heels. Bullets ricochet, the harsh bite of exploding gunpowder stings his nose. He gulps air coughing and choking on … Continue reading Chapter Thirty-Two The Whip of Justice, by Corso
Chapter Thirty One-Wrath Unleashed, by Mordaunt
“Come not within the measure of my wrath”— Shakespeare, Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act 5 Scene 4, line 125 Athos fires his last bullet and the iron latch cracks. He kicks open the front door, and they ram into a dim hall. He remembers it wider, brighter, not crowded. Comminges' fiends are lined up expecting … Continue reading Chapter Thirty One-Wrath Unleashed, 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 