First, a little bit from the Canon, for inspiration. Alexandre Dumas, The Man in the Iron Mask, chapter 83, ‘Porthos’s Will’: “As to my personal or movable property, so called because it can be moved, as is so well explained by my learned friend, the Bishop of Vannes—” (d’ Artagnan shuddered at the dismal remembrance attached … Continue reading Chapter Ninety-One, Mistress of Normanville, by Mordaunt
Chapter Eighty-One, Lèon, by Mordaunt
In the heat of midday the stonewall feels pleasantly cool against Athos’ back. He exhales loudly as he sits at the bench, reaching for his flask of water. “Was that too much for you, Old Man?” Seated next to Athos, Lucien sounds equally out of breath. Just like Athos, he is covered in mud and … Continue reading Chapter Eighty-One, Lèon, by Mordaunt
Chapter Seventy-Eight, Enemies All Around, by Corso
…on the Santissima San Pedro de Arbues… A well-dressed man stands on the deck watching the Belladonna lower her sails and speaks to the man standing next to him. “You have your orders Tenientet. Keep your men armed. These,” he curls his lip at the Belldonna, “are Piratas astutos.” He walks to the cabin, knocks … Continue reading Chapter Seventy-Eight, Enemies All Around, by Corso
Chapter Seventy-Five, Le Mat d’ Escalier (Two-Rook Checkmate), by Mordaunt
Leaving Glénay is not easy. There is too much uncertainty for those Raoul and Marie Cessette leave behind. There is too much uncertainty for the two of them also, even though neither has revealed the true extent of their concerns to their loved ones. At the courtyard of Glénay they say their last farewells, full … Continue reading Chapter Seventy-Five, Le Mat d’ Escalier (Two-Rook Checkmate), by Mordaunt
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 Fifty-Eight, Light that Remains, by Mordaunt
“Agreed. You drive the carriage. But I will be riding right beside you.” Lucien’s patronizing tone should have annoyed Athos once, but he is no longer bothered about such things. There is planning involved in their escape, but besides insisting he drives the carriage, Athos is content that Lucien has taken charge. All Athos cares … Continue reading Chapter Fifty-Eight, Light that Remains, 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
Twelve Years After 