Michael Stolle's Blog, page 9
December 30, 2013
A new Year - A new Book
Wish all of you a Happy New Year!
Time to look back - and to be looking forward!
I'll be finishing soon my new book 'A Cruise of a Lifetime' - no history this time....a bit of crime and alot of humour in the best tradition of Agatha Chrsitie (Agatha, please forgive me :)
cheers,
Time to look back - and to be looking forward!
I'll be finishing soon my new book 'A Cruise of a Lifetime' - no history this time....a bit of crime and alot of humour in the best tradition of Agatha Chrsitie (Agatha, please forgive me :)
cheers,
December 20, 2013
I wonder how....
...people in the 17th century must have experienced Christmas. Golden gates of heaven opening during the church service? Christ descending on earth?
Living in a world where illness, starvation and death were daily dangers that could strike at any given moment of time, Christmas was the key to salvation and must have been a profound experience far beyond the shallow festivities we have in mind nowadays.
Nobody wants to move back to the old times, but I wish all of you a good dose of this old-time experience.... and make it last into the next year, whatever religion or belief may be yours.
cheers!
Living in a world where illness, starvation and death were daily dangers that could strike at any given moment of time, Christmas was the key to salvation and must have been a profound experience far beyond the shallow festivities we have in mind nowadays.
Nobody wants to move back to the old times, but I wish all of you a good dose of this old-time experience.... and make it last into the next year, whatever religion or belief may be yours.
cheers!
December 14, 2013
The French Orphan for free
Party time :) 'Under the Spell of the Serenissima' has been published
the first book will be for free download today
cheers,
The French Orphan
the first book will be for free download today
cheers,
The French Orphan
November 23, 2013
Sneak preview (II) ....
The lady of the house suddenly seemed to realize that they were surrounded by her gawking servants. Regally she turned around and admonished them sharply. “Stop staring at us, you silly idiots, can’t you see that we have noble guests here? Take care of their horses, get cook to prepare a decent lunch, and if I say decent, I mean decent!”
Smiling coquettishly at Pierre and Armand, a totally altered hostess ushered them inside while whipping her servants into a frenzy of action. Minutes later they found themselves sitting at a large table laden with all kinds of regional delicacies, the best wine of the house gleamed in expensive glasses from the famous Murano glass factory and toasts were raised to the King and the Queens of France.
The master of the house was dragged reluctantly from his study where he had been hiding and brooding as usual over the estate records – but if he was astonished to find three strange guests at his table his manners were polished enough to hide his true feelings behind a façade of faultless politeness. In the meantime their hostess had undergone a complete transformation; gone were the deep lines of misery and ennui. Sparkling with joy, laughing and joking like the young maid of honour she had once been, she sat in the middle of the merry party, listing enraptured to Armand’s ever so slightly but delightfully indecent stories from the French court.
Only when the servants started to light the first candles did the party become aware that dusk was falling, and indeed quite early, as they were approaching Christmas.
“I must apologize,” cried Armand. “I had completely forgotten the time. We must leave quickly now as night will be falling soon and we want to reach the next post station. It has been the most delightful afternoon – rarely have we encountered such a charming hostess – and host,” he added dutifully.
He had not even managed to finish his sentence when the lady of the house intervened. “There can be no question of your leaving tonight!” she cried. “You must stay as our honoured guests! It’s far too dangerous to ride in the darkness – and…” She paused.
“And?” repeated Armand.
“And you absolutely must finish the story about Queen Anne and this insidious Duke of Buckingham, I mean did they really….?” She giggled. “I’m burning with curiosity! Queen Marie never liked her, by the way, she always used to say, ‘You can’t trust the Spanish’!”
Which didn't stop Queen Marie from taking their gold, mused Pierre, but preferred to refrain from echoing his thoughts aloud. Clearly the lady of the house still held a very sentimental opinion of Marie de Medici.
Armand made a good show of refusing their kind invitation to stay, on the grounds of not wanting to disturb their noble hosts any further – but relented soon enough as the lady of the house wouldn’t hear any more talk of them leaving. Thus they spent an agreeable evening topped off with a sumptuous dinner and sank into their beds well nourished and slightly tipsy from too much wine.
Armand was soon to discover that there is no such thing as a free meal, as not even an hour later the mistress of the house visited his room, clad in an almost transparent nightgown and explaining that she needed to be reassured that his room was to his liking. Armand kept masterful control of his expression and it didn’t really come as a surprise to him when all of a sudden she pretended to feel dizzy and sank down on his bed. As a true gentleman, Armand knew what was expected of him and fulfilled the duties that her bookish husband had apparently neglected for some considerable time.
The next morning a worn-out Armand mounted his horse along with the rest of the party and waved good-bye to the whole family. Pierre looked surprised at his friend’s apparent fatigue but when he saw their hostess radiant with happiness he immediately drew his own conclusion.
“Busy night?” he asked his friend with a wink.
“Exhausting,” Armand whispered back. “She wouldn’t stop until I was almost dead, never had a woman craving it like that before!”
“Maybe she was afraid that it might be the last time,” Pierre commented, looking at her aging, pallid husband.
The ensuing journey towards Lake Garda slowed down, as the weather had reserved a nasty surprise for them and was on the turn. The pale but bright sun that had made them almost forget that it was the height of the winter season disappeared timidly behind a thick veil of clouds. The more they rode north towards the steep slopes of the mountains, the more the clouds seemed to descend, piling thick and menacing above their heads.
The next day the light drizzle was replaced progressively by a thick curtain of rain that poured down relentlessly upon the hapless voyagers. Dripping wet, they continued their journey, freezing and miserable, as even the thickest coats and blankets made of leather and woollen felt couldn’t withstand this deluge.
“Didn’t you promise us that this would be one of the most beautiful sights on earth?” Armand challenged Edo when they finally set eyes on Lake Garda for the first time.
“It usually is,” Edo answered, prevented from going into a more lengthy comment by a vigorous sneeze.
The friends looked incredulously at the brooding lake that stretched out below them, a vast greyish mass of water reaching to the horizon that blended seamlessly into the clouds of darkest grey. The lake that had been described to them as a blue gem in a lush setting of green certainly did not live up to their expectations – cold and grey, it held no invitation for them to stay and enjoy the scenery.
“We’ll reach our friends’ castle before sunset; it’s about three to four hours’ ride from here,” said Edo, trying to inject a more optimistic note into their discussion.
“Let’s hope that our welcome there will be warmer than the one Mother Nature has reserved for us,” Pierre sighed. Secretly he still felt highly uncomfortable visiting strangers uninvited.
The path Edo had chosen continued steeply uphill and soon their conversation died down as they had to concentrate all of their attention on the slippery path that was the only access to the castle perched like an eagle’s nest on top of the mountain.
After many hours of this difficult terrain Edo started to crane his neck and look hard into the distance. “We’re close now!” he shouted excitedly, hoping to cheer up his fellow travellers.
“Close to what?” muttered Armand. “I can only see clouds, nothing but clouds!”
Edo was spared the effort of an answer as the dark veil was torn apart and the silhouette of a tower and high walls of quarried stone shimmered in the distance.
Invigorated by the expectation of dry clothes and the lovely thought of hot mulled wine the friends spurred on their horses and tackled the last steep slope.
“The gate keeper is a bit special,” Edo cried good-humouredly. “I’ve known him since I was a kid, so don’t be surprised if he cracks a joke or two, he’s got a weird sense of humour!”
“I don’t mind,” answered Pierre. “As long as he opens the gate quickly, I’m fine with all kinds of jokes!” Pierre shuddered; he felt miserable. It was not only wet and cold, but they must be approaching late afternoon as the daylight was already dimming quickly. The trees and shrubs along the path seemed to be dissolving into indistinguishable shadows of grey, and the whole world seemed misty and unreal.
As they approached the castle, the horses kept puffing along, leaving behind clouds of steamy breath. The heavy breathing of the horses and the noise of their hooves were the only sounds that could be heard, a monotonous rhythm accompanying their slow and tiring ascent to the castle. When the gate of the castle was finally towering above them, their mood brightened considerably. Even though Edo had put on a cheerful face, he had been worried to death that the dense clouds might descend even more and make any further progress impossible.
With relief he rang the bell at the gate, happy to hear the clanging sound echoing through the castle walls. Seconds turned into endless minutes of waiting – but nothing happened. Angry and frustrated, Edo pulled at the bell rope several times, but this time the clanging noise wasn’t cheerful any more, the bell faithfully conveying the message that an angry visitor was expecting immediate attention. It took some more minutes until the shuffle of dragging feet could be heard and a shutter in the solid oak door was slowly opened.
“What d’you want?” a voice growled through the iron grille. “We ain’t giving nothing out.”
These inviting words came with a hiccup and the penetrating smell of alcohol. Edo could only discern the lips and a red scarf – yet he didn’t need to see anything else to understand that this could not possibly be the gate keeper he had been expecting. He frowned and whispered to Armand, “That’s strange, there’s something wrong here.”
The French Orphan
Smiling coquettishly at Pierre and Armand, a totally altered hostess ushered them inside while whipping her servants into a frenzy of action. Minutes later they found themselves sitting at a large table laden with all kinds of regional delicacies, the best wine of the house gleamed in expensive glasses from the famous Murano glass factory and toasts were raised to the King and the Queens of France.
The master of the house was dragged reluctantly from his study where he had been hiding and brooding as usual over the estate records – but if he was astonished to find three strange guests at his table his manners were polished enough to hide his true feelings behind a façade of faultless politeness. In the meantime their hostess had undergone a complete transformation; gone were the deep lines of misery and ennui. Sparkling with joy, laughing and joking like the young maid of honour she had once been, she sat in the middle of the merry party, listing enraptured to Armand’s ever so slightly but delightfully indecent stories from the French court.
Only when the servants started to light the first candles did the party become aware that dusk was falling, and indeed quite early, as they were approaching Christmas.
“I must apologize,” cried Armand. “I had completely forgotten the time. We must leave quickly now as night will be falling soon and we want to reach the next post station. It has been the most delightful afternoon – rarely have we encountered such a charming hostess – and host,” he added dutifully.
He had not even managed to finish his sentence when the lady of the house intervened. “There can be no question of your leaving tonight!” she cried. “You must stay as our honoured guests! It’s far too dangerous to ride in the darkness – and…” She paused.
“And?” repeated Armand.
“And you absolutely must finish the story about Queen Anne and this insidious Duke of Buckingham, I mean did they really….?” She giggled. “I’m burning with curiosity! Queen Marie never liked her, by the way, she always used to say, ‘You can’t trust the Spanish’!”
Which didn't stop Queen Marie from taking their gold, mused Pierre, but preferred to refrain from echoing his thoughts aloud. Clearly the lady of the house still held a very sentimental opinion of Marie de Medici.
Armand made a good show of refusing their kind invitation to stay, on the grounds of not wanting to disturb their noble hosts any further – but relented soon enough as the lady of the house wouldn’t hear any more talk of them leaving. Thus they spent an agreeable evening topped off with a sumptuous dinner and sank into their beds well nourished and slightly tipsy from too much wine.
Armand was soon to discover that there is no such thing as a free meal, as not even an hour later the mistress of the house visited his room, clad in an almost transparent nightgown and explaining that she needed to be reassured that his room was to his liking. Armand kept masterful control of his expression and it didn’t really come as a surprise to him when all of a sudden she pretended to feel dizzy and sank down on his bed. As a true gentleman, Armand knew what was expected of him and fulfilled the duties that her bookish husband had apparently neglected for some considerable time.
The next morning a worn-out Armand mounted his horse along with the rest of the party and waved good-bye to the whole family. Pierre looked surprised at his friend’s apparent fatigue but when he saw their hostess radiant with happiness he immediately drew his own conclusion.
“Busy night?” he asked his friend with a wink.
“Exhausting,” Armand whispered back. “She wouldn’t stop until I was almost dead, never had a woman craving it like that before!”
“Maybe she was afraid that it might be the last time,” Pierre commented, looking at her aging, pallid husband.
The ensuing journey towards Lake Garda slowed down, as the weather had reserved a nasty surprise for them and was on the turn. The pale but bright sun that had made them almost forget that it was the height of the winter season disappeared timidly behind a thick veil of clouds. The more they rode north towards the steep slopes of the mountains, the more the clouds seemed to descend, piling thick and menacing above their heads.
The next day the light drizzle was replaced progressively by a thick curtain of rain that poured down relentlessly upon the hapless voyagers. Dripping wet, they continued their journey, freezing and miserable, as even the thickest coats and blankets made of leather and woollen felt couldn’t withstand this deluge.
“Didn’t you promise us that this would be one of the most beautiful sights on earth?” Armand challenged Edo when they finally set eyes on Lake Garda for the first time.
“It usually is,” Edo answered, prevented from going into a more lengthy comment by a vigorous sneeze.
The friends looked incredulously at the brooding lake that stretched out below them, a vast greyish mass of water reaching to the horizon that blended seamlessly into the clouds of darkest grey. The lake that had been described to them as a blue gem in a lush setting of green certainly did not live up to their expectations – cold and grey, it held no invitation for them to stay and enjoy the scenery.
“We’ll reach our friends’ castle before sunset; it’s about three to four hours’ ride from here,” said Edo, trying to inject a more optimistic note into their discussion.
“Let’s hope that our welcome there will be warmer than the one Mother Nature has reserved for us,” Pierre sighed. Secretly he still felt highly uncomfortable visiting strangers uninvited.
The path Edo had chosen continued steeply uphill and soon their conversation died down as they had to concentrate all of their attention on the slippery path that was the only access to the castle perched like an eagle’s nest on top of the mountain.
After many hours of this difficult terrain Edo started to crane his neck and look hard into the distance. “We’re close now!” he shouted excitedly, hoping to cheer up his fellow travellers.
“Close to what?” muttered Armand. “I can only see clouds, nothing but clouds!”
Edo was spared the effort of an answer as the dark veil was torn apart and the silhouette of a tower and high walls of quarried stone shimmered in the distance.
Invigorated by the expectation of dry clothes and the lovely thought of hot mulled wine the friends spurred on their horses and tackled the last steep slope.
“The gate keeper is a bit special,” Edo cried good-humouredly. “I’ve known him since I was a kid, so don’t be surprised if he cracks a joke or two, he’s got a weird sense of humour!”
“I don’t mind,” answered Pierre. “As long as he opens the gate quickly, I’m fine with all kinds of jokes!” Pierre shuddered; he felt miserable. It was not only wet and cold, but they must be approaching late afternoon as the daylight was already dimming quickly. The trees and shrubs along the path seemed to be dissolving into indistinguishable shadows of grey, and the whole world seemed misty and unreal.
As they approached the castle, the horses kept puffing along, leaving behind clouds of steamy breath. The heavy breathing of the horses and the noise of their hooves were the only sounds that could be heard, a monotonous rhythm accompanying their slow and tiring ascent to the castle. When the gate of the castle was finally towering above them, their mood brightened considerably. Even though Edo had put on a cheerful face, he had been worried to death that the dense clouds might descend even more and make any further progress impossible.
With relief he rang the bell at the gate, happy to hear the clanging sound echoing through the castle walls. Seconds turned into endless minutes of waiting – but nothing happened. Angry and frustrated, Edo pulled at the bell rope several times, but this time the clanging noise wasn’t cheerful any more, the bell faithfully conveying the message that an angry visitor was expecting immediate attention. It took some more minutes until the shuffle of dragging feet could be heard and a shutter in the solid oak door was slowly opened.
“What d’you want?” a voice growled through the iron grille. “We ain’t giving nothing out.”
These inviting words came with a hiccup and the penetrating smell of alcohol. Edo could only discern the lips and a red scarf – yet he didn’t need to see anything else to understand that this could not possibly be the gate keeper he had been expecting. He frowned and whispered to Armand, “That’s strange, there’s something wrong here.”
The French Orphan
October 24, 2013
a sneak preview of the 3rd book
On the road again
“Why the hell is Edo still talking to that stupid peasant?” Pierre was not only extremely irritated, but his stomach was rumbling and he was exceedingly tired. “I mean, how complicated can it be to ask for directions to Verona?”
“Seems that they have a lot to discuss… With them both being Italian, I guess they simply can’t help talking. They’ll probably take ages to get to the point, better be patient,” answered Armand, scratching his head reflectively.
Pierre watched his friend suspiciously and moved a step further away from him. “You’ve got lice!” he accused his friend.
“Could be,” Armand answered, unperturbed. “I’ll ask Jean tonight to have a look. Don’t look at me as if I’m a leper, it’s almost impossible not to catch them when you’re travelling. Come on, stop pulling faces at me!”
Pierre suddenly felt a strong urge to start scratching himself; he could almost feel an army of blood-thirsty lice crawling all over his own body. He shuddered but secretly he had to admit it. Armand was right, there was no realistic hope of escaping any of those beasts – from lice to fleas or bedbugs – as long as they were travelling and had no choice but to stay in all sorts of dubious post stations along their way.
At last Edo seemed to have finished his discussion as he was waving his hat towards his friends, gesturing them to come and join him.
“In the name of all the blessed saints, what took you so long with this peasant?” Pierre exclaimed, irritated. “Did he at least tell you the quickest way to Verona?”
Edo smiled. “Actually I didn’t ask him that particular question,” he answered calmly.
“You didn’t ask?” repeated Armand, almost mechanically.
“So why did you keep us waiting so long?” Pierre cried in frustration.
“There is the possibility that I asked him to recommend a hospitable farm or post station close by – somehow I had the inkling that my travelling companions might otherwise turn into cannibals and have me for lunch,” Edo answered with a glint of laughter in his eyes.
Pierre looked guilty. “I’m sorry, Edo, I guess I’m behaving like a spoilt child!”
“Since he’s been named a duke and kissed by King Charles, he’s become extremely difficult to deal with,” Armand commented, ignoring Pierre’s furious glances. “His lackeys usually serve a full picnic at this time of day – and he becomes really nasty if everything isn’t served exactly as he likes it.”
Edo saw Pierre kick Armand and laughed. “Sorry, I can’t offer such a treat, but the peasant did tell me that there is a noble estate nearby, so let’s spur on the horses and hope they’ll offer us a late lunch. I’m so hungry that I could devour a whole pig!”
“That sounds fabulous, I’m really hungry too. But what about Verona, then?” interrogated Pierre. “Do you know how to get there, your discussion with this man seemed to go on forever!”
“Oh, we’re not going to Verona,” Edo said casually. “We’re riding north instead.”
“But you told the innkeeper in Bergamo that we were heading to Verona in order to meet some of your relatives there.”
“Yeah, I was pretty convincing,” Edo answered smugly. “Maybe it’s about time to confess that I had a long discussion with my brother last night when you had already gone to bed.”
His glance met two curious pairs of eyes. “I must admit that my brother may be stuffy and thrifty, but indisputably he’s got the brains of the family. He made me recount our adventures in the tavern in Milan and looking calmly at the facts he came to the conclusion that Richelieu’s involvement seemed rather unlikely – which leads…”
“…which leads us directly to my murderous cousin, Henri,” Pierre groaned.
“Exactly.” Edo beamed at Pierre like a teacher encouraging a dim pupil who had – finally – understood a difficult point. “Therefore my brother instructed me to be careful and cover our tracks and suggested we ride to a remote castle in the north close to Lake Garda and stay there over Christmas. The owner of the castle is not only a close friend of the family but he also has good connections with the Venetian aristocracy and could help you to find the ring you seem to be looking for.”
“I don’t feel very comfortable imposing myself on your friends,” Pierre interjected. “Just imagine the reverse, four total strangers knocking at my door in Montrésor to spend a surprise Christmas with us!”
Edo waved nonchalantly. “Don’t worry, the owner is not only a close friend, he owes us a favour. You’ll see, he’s really very nice. We’ll have a great time – some peace and quiet will do us good after our last adventure.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying for the past two years,” Armand commented gloomily, “but somehow peace and quiet never seem to happen.”
“So tell me, what were you discussing at such length with this peasant?” Now Pierre was openly curious.
Edo laughed. “He was telling me a long, long story about all the misfortunes that have befallen members of his family lately. I think he had it all from miscarriage to the untimely death of his wife and of several of his numerous children. Oh yes, I forgot to mention the perfidious witch who put a spell on his goat.”
Pierre was shocked. “But that’s no laughing matter!”
Edo made a face. “It was so obvious, he saw our expensive clothes and thought he could cream some money off us. I don’t believe a fraction of what he told me, he sounded far too cheerful, although he tried hard to shed some tears to make the story more credible!”
“Pierre always believes in the goodness of mankind,” Armand commented drily. “It’s become quite a bad habit. So what did you answer?”
“Oh, I retaliated and I told him about our own terrible misfortunes, that we’re on our way to Verona but were robbed in Milano by gangsters who almost took our lives and haven’t a penny left for our journey – he shouldn’t even think about us being able to dispense any charity.”
“Good!” Armand beamed at Edo. “You know how to deal with this kind of bloodsucker.”
“Of course I do,” Edo answered. “Lesson number one I learned from my brother: A banker never opens his purse unless it’s to receive something!”
While they had been chatting animatedly the four riders approached at a leisurely pace a stately home, a solid old square estate built from local stone and bricks. Plaster and paint looked worn by age but strangely this only added to the dignified aspect of the building. A hysterical dog could be heard barking inside the courtyard, the only noise that seemed to disturb the peaceful winter day.
“This should be the estate the peasant described to me.” Edo looked around, appraising the building. “It certainly looks wealthy enough to offer us a decent lunch!”
As they entered the courtyard several curious servants started to gather around them, gawking at them as if they had arrived from the moon. Apparently visitors, especially strangers, were a rare occurrence – not to be missed on any account.
Jean had dismounted first and was shouting at the grooms to stir themselves and wait on his masters when the scene was interrupted by the arrival of the lady of the house. Traces of long-gone beauty were still apparent in her face but deep lines of grumpiness were matched by blazing eyes and a shrill voice as she addressed the strangers. “We have nothing to give and the master of the house is busy, he cannot receive anybody today!”
“What a witch,” Edo murmured to Armand. “I wonder how she managed to get here so fast. She must spend all her time supervising and whipping her servants into action.”
Pierre looked at her in disbelief. He had imagined himself already seated at a table loaded with delicacies – never had he expected such a bold and impolite rejection. While he was still wrestling with his disappointment and this sudden turn of events, Armand dismounted from his horse and nonchalantly approached the lady of the house. He ignored her apparent displeasure and waved his hat while bowing low as if they were at the royal court. He greeted the lady and addressed her in his charming mix of French of Italian.
“My lady, please accept my most profound apologies for our untimely intrusion. My friend, the noble Comte de Reims, and I are come from France on our way to visit friends in Verona and all we wanted to ask was a cup of water and a piece of bread. Never had we intended to disturb the lady of the house – but please let me add that I’m pleased that we did so all the same. I’m enchanted to meet a lady of timeless beauty and elegance.”
He finished his introduction with the famous smile that rarely failed to impress his female victims and – once again – Pierre could witness the immediate effect of the shameless charms of his friend. The lady of the house turned scarlet and instinctively she tried to arrange the curls of her hair while clearing her throat.
“Oh, you’re from France!” she exclaimed in a slightly croaky voice. “I love France, I spent my youth at the court of Queen Maria de Medici. I will never forget the beauty and refinement of her courts. Do you know Her Majesty, by any chance?”
I’m too young by far, thought Armand, but quickly bit his tongue and answered, “I regret that I never had the chance to meet Her Majesty, as you probably know, His Majesty and his mother are not on the best of terms… but it’s a pity that we won’t have the opportunity to exchange some words about the royal court – by chance we happen to know the present King quite well – and his mother’s sudden exile was such a scandal…”
The French Orphan
“Why the hell is Edo still talking to that stupid peasant?” Pierre was not only extremely irritated, but his stomach was rumbling and he was exceedingly tired. “I mean, how complicated can it be to ask for directions to Verona?”
“Seems that they have a lot to discuss… With them both being Italian, I guess they simply can’t help talking. They’ll probably take ages to get to the point, better be patient,” answered Armand, scratching his head reflectively.
Pierre watched his friend suspiciously and moved a step further away from him. “You’ve got lice!” he accused his friend.
“Could be,” Armand answered, unperturbed. “I’ll ask Jean tonight to have a look. Don’t look at me as if I’m a leper, it’s almost impossible not to catch them when you’re travelling. Come on, stop pulling faces at me!”
Pierre suddenly felt a strong urge to start scratching himself; he could almost feel an army of blood-thirsty lice crawling all over his own body. He shuddered but secretly he had to admit it. Armand was right, there was no realistic hope of escaping any of those beasts – from lice to fleas or bedbugs – as long as they were travelling and had no choice but to stay in all sorts of dubious post stations along their way.
At last Edo seemed to have finished his discussion as he was waving his hat towards his friends, gesturing them to come and join him.
“In the name of all the blessed saints, what took you so long with this peasant?” Pierre exclaimed, irritated. “Did he at least tell you the quickest way to Verona?”
Edo smiled. “Actually I didn’t ask him that particular question,” he answered calmly.
“You didn’t ask?” repeated Armand, almost mechanically.
“So why did you keep us waiting so long?” Pierre cried in frustration.
“There is the possibility that I asked him to recommend a hospitable farm or post station close by – somehow I had the inkling that my travelling companions might otherwise turn into cannibals and have me for lunch,” Edo answered with a glint of laughter in his eyes.
Pierre looked guilty. “I’m sorry, Edo, I guess I’m behaving like a spoilt child!”
“Since he’s been named a duke and kissed by King Charles, he’s become extremely difficult to deal with,” Armand commented, ignoring Pierre’s furious glances. “His lackeys usually serve a full picnic at this time of day – and he becomes really nasty if everything isn’t served exactly as he likes it.”
Edo saw Pierre kick Armand and laughed. “Sorry, I can’t offer such a treat, but the peasant did tell me that there is a noble estate nearby, so let’s spur on the horses and hope they’ll offer us a late lunch. I’m so hungry that I could devour a whole pig!”
“That sounds fabulous, I’m really hungry too. But what about Verona, then?” interrogated Pierre. “Do you know how to get there, your discussion with this man seemed to go on forever!”
“Oh, we’re not going to Verona,” Edo said casually. “We’re riding north instead.”
“But you told the innkeeper in Bergamo that we were heading to Verona in order to meet some of your relatives there.”
“Yeah, I was pretty convincing,” Edo answered smugly. “Maybe it’s about time to confess that I had a long discussion with my brother last night when you had already gone to bed.”
His glance met two curious pairs of eyes. “I must admit that my brother may be stuffy and thrifty, but indisputably he’s got the brains of the family. He made me recount our adventures in the tavern in Milan and looking calmly at the facts he came to the conclusion that Richelieu’s involvement seemed rather unlikely – which leads…”
“…which leads us directly to my murderous cousin, Henri,” Pierre groaned.
“Exactly.” Edo beamed at Pierre like a teacher encouraging a dim pupil who had – finally – understood a difficult point. “Therefore my brother instructed me to be careful and cover our tracks and suggested we ride to a remote castle in the north close to Lake Garda and stay there over Christmas. The owner of the castle is not only a close friend of the family but he also has good connections with the Venetian aristocracy and could help you to find the ring you seem to be looking for.”
“I don’t feel very comfortable imposing myself on your friends,” Pierre interjected. “Just imagine the reverse, four total strangers knocking at my door in Montrésor to spend a surprise Christmas with us!”
Edo waved nonchalantly. “Don’t worry, the owner is not only a close friend, he owes us a favour. You’ll see, he’s really very nice. We’ll have a great time – some peace and quiet will do us good after our last adventure.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying for the past two years,” Armand commented gloomily, “but somehow peace and quiet never seem to happen.”
“So tell me, what were you discussing at such length with this peasant?” Now Pierre was openly curious.
Edo laughed. “He was telling me a long, long story about all the misfortunes that have befallen members of his family lately. I think he had it all from miscarriage to the untimely death of his wife and of several of his numerous children. Oh yes, I forgot to mention the perfidious witch who put a spell on his goat.”
Pierre was shocked. “But that’s no laughing matter!”
Edo made a face. “It was so obvious, he saw our expensive clothes and thought he could cream some money off us. I don’t believe a fraction of what he told me, he sounded far too cheerful, although he tried hard to shed some tears to make the story more credible!”
“Pierre always believes in the goodness of mankind,” Armand commented drily. “It’s become quite a bad habit. So what did you answer?”
“Oh, I retaliated and I told him about our own terrible misfortunes, that we’re on our way to Verona but were robbed in Milano by gangsters who almost took our lives and haven’t a penny left for our journey – he shouldn’t even think about us being able to dispense any charity.”
“Good!” Armand beamed at Edo. “You know how to deal with this kind of bloodsucker.”
“Of course I do,” Edo answered. “Lesson number one I learned from my brother: A banker never opens his purse unless it’s to receive something!”
While they had been chatting animatedly the four riders approached at a leisurely pace a stately home, a solid old square estate built from local stone and bricks. Plaster and paint looked worn by age but strangely this only added to the dignified aspect of the building. A hysterical dog could be heard barking inside the courtyard, the only noise that seemed to disturb the peaceful winter day.
“This should be the estate the peasant described to me.” Edo looked around, appraising the building. “It certainly looks wealthy enough to offer us a decent lunch!”
As they entered the courtyard several curious servants started to gather around them, gawking at them as if they had arrived from the moon. Apparently visitors, especially strangers, were a rare occurrence – not to be missed on any account.
Jean had dismounted first and was shouting at the grooms to stir themselves and wait on his masters when the scene was interrupted by the arrival of the lady of the house. Traces of long-gone beauty were still apparent in her face but deep lines of grumpiness were matched by blazing eyes and a shrill voice as she addressed the strangers. “We have nothing to give and the master of the house is busy, he cannot receive anybody today!”
“What a witch,” Edo murmured to Armand. “I wonder how she managed to get here so fast. She must spend all her time supervising and whipping her servants into action.”
Pierre looked at her in disbelief. He had imagined himself already seated at a table loaded with delicacies – never had he expected such a bold and impolite rejection. While he was still wrestling with his disappointment and this sudden turn of events, Armand dismounted from his horse and nonchalantly approached the lady of the house. He ignored her apparent displeasure and waved his hat while bowing low as if they were at the royal court. He greeted the lady and addressed her in his charming mix of French of Italian.
“My lady, please accept my most profound apologies for our untimely intrusion. My friend, the noble Comte de Reims, and I are come from France on our way to visit friends in Verona and all we wanted to ask was a cup of water and a piece of bread. Never had we intended to disturb the lady of the house – but please let me add that I’m pleased that we did so all the same. I’m enchanted to meet a lady of timeless beauty and elegance.”
He finished his introduction with the famous smile that rarely failed to impress his female victims and – once again – Pierre could witness the immediate effect of the shameless charms of his friend. The lady of the house turned scarlet and instinctively she tried to arrange the curls of her hair while clearing her throat.
“Oh, you’re from France!” she exclaimed in a slightly croaky voice. “I love France, I spent my youth at the court of Queen Maria de Medici. I will never forget the beauty and refinement of her courts. Do you know Her Majesty, by any chance?”
I’m too young by far, thought Armand, but quickly bit his tongue and answered, “I regret that I never had the chance to meet Her Majesty, as you probably know, His Majesty and his mother are not on the best of terms… but it’s a pity that we won’t have the opportunity to exchange some words about the royal court – by chance we happen to know the present King quite well – and his mother’s sudden exile was such a scandal…”
The French Orphan
August 26, 2013
Finished! Hurrah!
I did it!
"Under the Spell of the Serenissima" will be published in October and will finish the trilogy of the French Orphan.
Yesterday was the great day, I sent the file to my copy-editor (she's doing a great job by the way!) now my fate is sealed and in her hand :)
The story will take place mostly in Venice, called the Serenissima 'the serene city', I promise lots of suspense and some nice twists to the plot.
Hope you'll like it!
The French Orphan
"Under the Spell of the Serenissima" will be published in October and will finish the trilogy of the French Orphan.
Yesterday was the great day, I sent the file to my copy-editor (she's doing a great job by the way!) now my fate is sealed and in her hand :)
The story will take place mostly in Venice, called the Serenissima 'the serene city', I promise lots of suspense and some nice twists to the plot.
Hope you'll like it!
The French Orphan
August 24, 2013
back to work, almost done - and a freebie
Work in progress on the last sequel: the last 67 pages waiting to be edited....
almost finished....
It will be difficult to say good-bye to Pierre and Armand!
The French Orphan
The Secrets of Montrésor
for those who don't know the story: This Saturday and Sunday the first part of the Secrets of Montrésor can be downloaded on Amazon for free!
almost finished....
It will be difficult to say good-bye to Pierre and Armand!
The French Orphan
The Secrets of Montrésor
for those who don't know the story: This Saturday and Sunday the first part of the Secrets of Montrésor can be downloaded on Amazon for free!
August 13, 2013
every writer's dream come true...
Finally on holidays....
I'm sitting on a balcony, below I can watch the ripples of the endless blue sea. For a touch of perfection, I'm adding into this picture some Arecaceae (vulgo: palm trees), waving their leaves at their leisure in the light breeze .
Life can be so good...
This beautiful setting doesn't stop me from sending one of my protagonists to paradise (or hell?) today.
soon you may know for whom the bell was tolling in the second sequel of
The French Orphan
I'm sitting on a balcony, below I can watch the ripples of the endless blue sea. For a touch of perfection, I'm adding into this picture some Arecaceae (vulgo: palm trees), waving their leaves at their leisure in the light breeze .
Life can be so good...
This beautiful setting doesn't stop me from sending one of my protagonists to paradise (or hell?) today.
soon you may know for whom the bell was tolling in the second sequel of
The French Orphan
July 30, 2013
greetings from Spain
Today I'm in Spain. 'Hace mucho calor' sighed my taxi driver - not really a surprise when you live in Spain, after all it's summer....it's supposed to be hot here!
I'm trying to find time (and the opportunity) to start a last edit of the next sequel - but.... it's hot :)
Soon I'll be on holidays - best time to delve back into the 17th century and meet my heroes again - looking very much forward to it!
hope you look forward to reading the next book too!
cheers
The French Orphan
The Secrets of Montrésor
I'm trying to find time (and the opportunity) to start a last edit of the next sequel - but.... it's hot :)
Soon I'll be on holidays - best time to delve back into the 17th century and meet my heroes again - looking very much forward to it!
hope you look forward to reading the next book too!
cheers
The French Orphan
The Secrets of Montrésor
July 9, 2013
experience the feeling of history
today in the Capital of Poland, had a beautiful day!
soaked up the evening sun and the atmosphere of the city; history - painful and glorious - everywhere, it creeps under your skin.
a pity that my last book is almost finished - would have loved to write a sequel in this setting.
now back to work...
The French Orphan
The Secrets of Montrésor
soaked up the evening sun and the atmosphere of the city; history - painful and glorious - everywhere, it creeps under your skin.
a pity that my last book is almost finished - would have loved to write a sequel in this setting.
now back to work...
The French Orphan
The Secrets of Montrésor
