Work Text:
August 18th, 1635
Claire,
We crossed the river at dawn. The bridge had been burned, so Porthos carried three men through the shallows and has complained ever since. Aramis pointed out that no one asked him to carry all three at once.
You would have agreed with Aramis and laughed.
***
October 2nd, 1635
Claire,
The rain has not stopped in six days. D’Artagnan says this is impossible and therefore must soon end. His understanding of weather remains as sound as his understanding of caution.
Porthos claims his left boot has developed a separate climate. Aramis, too, says this is impossible, and has nevertheless refused to stand near it.
***
November 5th, 1635
Claire,
Porthos has acquired a dog. The dog has acquired Porthos. Neither will admit which of them made the decision.
***
December 12th, 1635
Claire,
Snow began before dawn. By noon, the trenches had disappeared beneath it. For a few hours, the field looked untouched. It was a convincing lie, but a lie nonetheless.
January 1st, 1636
Claire,
The year ended without celebration. We were under fire at midnight.
Happy birthday.
***
March 11th, 1636
Claire,
A woman at the market wore a green cloak just like yours. I followed her for half a street before I understood what I was doing.
She was sixty, furious, and carrying a dead goose.
***
April 27th, 1636
Claire,
The weather has turned. There are wildflowers growing along the ridge above the camp, which seems in poor taste given the circumstances.
I found myself wondering whether you would have had something to say about them. You usually do.
***
June 17th, 1636
Claire,
There is a house beyond the eastern trench with a pear tree in the yard. Half the roof is gone, yet someone still leaves a bowl of milk outside each morning for a cat I have only seen once.
You would notice such a thing, I imagine.
***
November 22nd, 1636
Claire,
Aramis said something today that reminded me of you. I don’t remember what it was now. Only that I thought of you immediately, and then couldn’t stop.
January 1st, 1637
Claire,
Happy birthday.
Porthos found a bottle of brandy that may once have been respectable. We drank to you. D’Artagnan asked if anyone knows how old you are. Aramis told him that surviving the question would be less likely than surviving the war.
You would be twenty-seven.
***
March 31st, 1637
Claire,
I caught myself composing this before anything had happened worth telling you.
That seems a poor sign.
***
May 9th, 1637
Claire,
D’Artagnan has been promoted. He pretended not to care for nearly four minutes.
We held the line at Perpignan. We lost twenty men.
***
July 2nd, 1637
Claire,
There was honeysuckle growing over the wall of a ruined chapel. Nothing else had survived.
I considered it an impertinence.
***
October 16th, 1637
Claire,
One of the officers misquoted Tacitus over supper. You would have corrected him. I did it for you.
He did not appreciate the service.
***
November 29th, 1637
Claire,
There was a dispatch about Madrid today. It concerned politics, and I still read every name on the page. Disappointing.
January 1st, 1638
Claire,
It is the first day of the year. You would be twenty-eight. I dislike that I know how many birthdays I have missed.
***
February 7th, 1638
Claire,
We captured a Spanish courier today. He was young, frightened, and determined not to speak.
I thought of you. I treated him kindly.
***
April 16th, 1638
Claire,
I found a book you would have liked to critique. The argument is sound, the translation poor, and the author insufferably pleased with himself.
I have kept it. Who knows.
Another battle yesterday. We lost eighteen men.
***
June 23rd, 1638
Claire,
Last night, I dreamt you were angry with me. It was the happiest I have been in weeks.
***
September 15th, 1638
Claire,
I wonder whether Spain has changed the way you speak. Perhaps there are words you now reach for in another language first.
***
October 30th, 1638
Claire,
Aramis has taken to praying for you. He does not know I know; I have not asked him to stop.
***
December 31st, 1638
Claire,
I hope you are safe. I also hope you are miserable enough to remember me. Neither thought reflects well on me.
January 1st, 1639
Claire,
Happy birthday.
I hope you had wine. I hope someone found you something sweet. I hope, at the very least, that no one required anything of you for one evening.
***
March 18th, 1639
Claire,
I dreamt of your house last night. The fire had gone out, but the rooms were warm. You were in the study with your back to me, reading a letter.
I woke before you turned around.
***
July 4th, 1639
Claire,
The men sang tonight. Badly. They chose a song you once hummed while attempting to repair a torn sleeve.
I remembered the sleeve. I remembered your mouth singing.
Still, the song did not improve.
***
August 12th, 1639
Claire,
I was angry with you today. It was a relief. Grief is exhausting in its sameness.
***
August 13th, 1639
Claire,
In retrospect, a farewell would have been nice.
***
September 30th, 1639
Claire,
I was wounded again last week. Nothing serious.
I woke while Aramis was stitching me and called your name. We have agreed never to discuss it.
***
November 23rd, 1639
Claire,
Perhaps you remember me only as I was. I would not expect otherwise, but I am no longer certain I would recognise that man.
***
December 25th, 1639
Claire,
The war has lasted so long that peace now feels like a rumour from another country. You feel the same sometimes.
January 1st, 1640
Claire,
If you are alive, then somewhere beneath the same sky you have aged another year. You would be thirty today.
I remember the only birthday we spent together more clearly than I remember yesterday. I find this both comforting and unbearable.
***
March 14th, 1640
Claire,
You used to leave pins everywhere. On the table. Beside the washbasin. Once in bed, though you denied responsibility. I remember being annoyed.
I would give much to be annoyed again.
***
May 18th, 1640
Claire,
I have begun to recognise the moment before I dream of you. There is always a door I cannot open.
***
July 30th, 1640
Claire,
I do not remember when missing you ceased to be an interruption and became the shape of the day.
***
October 9th, 1640
Claire,
If you have forgotten me, I hope it was gentle.
***
November 27th, 1640
Claire,
There has not been a day
***
December 12th, 1640
Claire,
We have orders to cross into Spain. We are departing tomorrow at dawn. It appears dangerous. I should not be glad of it.
And yet.