Morning dawned gray and dreary. Cassel climbed from his carriage and stared in horror and disbelief. His ancestral home, his chateau, which had sat so long upon the hill amid the trees, was burned to the ground, leaving only a hulking, smoking shell. And hanging from the gatepost was the body of Tomas, a swarm of flies around his head, his red, empty eye sockets gazing accusingly at Cassel. A few servants and peasants had gathered near the gate, watching in stunned silence.

Ruins. All was ruins.

There was the sound of hoof beats. Cassel spun about to see a messenger on horseback coming his way. The messenger reined in his horse and pointed an accusing finger at Cassel.

“The King requires your papers! Your noble papers, sir. Your lineage.”

Cassel shook his head. “They are ashes.”

“Then you are without proof?” The messenger pulled a scroll from his sack and handed it to Cassel. It was closed with the royal seal. “Only true nobles are exempt from tax. Arrears are to be repaid in full.”

“I have nothing. It is…all gone.”

“Then,” said the messenger, standing in his stirrups and waving his arm, “you are in the King’s debt!” A small cadre of uniformed police rode up and circled Cassel. “Place this man under arrest!”

As two police dismounted to take hold of him, Cassel looked once more in despair and fury at the smoke and the devastation. And from a nearby hill, Montcourt watched it all.

The new line of young police recruits stood at attention along the royal road, listening intently, ready to swear their allegiance to their King and their new positions. Among the recruits stood a tall, thuggish man who had once made his home at Chateau Cassel.

Mike.

With Bontemps at his side, Fabien lifted the paper with the oath and began to read, “I hereby swear to protect this road and the lands that surround it with my life. To police it, in the King’s name….”

Philippe lay on his bed, his hair disheveled, his head on the pillow, asleep at last. Louis sat on one side of him and Henriette sat on the other, each holding one of his hands and watching his face. So peaceful now, lifted in slumber from the hellish torments of war. Then Henriette looked at Louis and he looked at her. Both felt the desire for one another, the longing and the despair at the impossibility of their love. When Henriette reached out for Louis he did not take her hand. Tears filled her eyes and she let her hand drop.

6 Autumn 1670

6

AUTUMN 1670