M. de Ronan wakes up with a jolt. For a moment he stares at the canopy above his head, confused, trying to remember where he is or what might have stirred him, and realizes that Layla is not lying next to him. Alarmed, he sits up quickly against the headboard, everything returning all at once. … Continue reading Chapter Forty-One, A Prisoner of Many Names, None His Own, 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-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 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 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 Seven-Secret Sins, by Mordaunt
He is accosted by children the moment he walks inside, even before the footman closes the door. Rowdy children, breathlessly speaking over each, and dancing around him with excitement. “Raoul you are here too!” “ It was snowing and we travelled all together in the wagon!” “Then the bad men came!” “Samy, Alexandre, and I … Continue reading Chapter Twenty Seven-Secret Sins, by Mordaunt
Chapter Twenty Six-Intentions Unmasked, by Mordaunt
In the crowded, luminous hall outside, the undulating din of laughter, chatter, and tinkling glasses subsides. A melodious voice is singing: Dove ne vai, crudele,E non fuggire,O di mio beneL’aspre mie pene,Che se fai vaga,De la mia pega,Volge tuo squardiCh’al cor son dardi.Torna, torna crudele,E non fuggire. The handsome masked foreigner seated across from Raoul … Continue reading Chapter Twenty Six-Intentions Unmasked, by Mordaunt
Twelve Years After 