In partnership with Rocambole, the app for reading differently, we are offering a new episode of Tina Bartoli's literary soap L'Ancre Noire every day at 5 p.m.
Summary of season II (the summary of the first season is here):
The eldest son of Jean De Saint Geores took refuge in the Czech Republic after a life of search for treasure which led him, in particular, to assist on August 8, 2008 to the sinking of L'Espérance second of the name, with on board Abel and his class. For years afterwards, he searched in vain for the trace of the wreckage of this ship, until, under investigation for an investigation of wreckage, he took refuge far from the sea. While he was walking in a village, an old man gives him a bible. Inside the binding, he discovers part of the encrypted correspondence of Estienne Lebel, first owner of his father's manor, in the 18th century. By deciphering it, he understands that Lebel had made believe in the sinking of the first Hope to touch a gold mine of 500 kilos of gold with the help of Captain Dupasquier to whom he promises his daughter's hand. Unfortunately, the captain seems to have been shipwrecked on the way back, August 8, 1788, with his nest egg. Son De Saint Geores returns to his father's manor, where he sees Clémence then captive, and searches in vain for additional details on L'Espérance. He is helplessly witnessing the conflagration of the manor that ended season I.
Months later, in Corsica, Clémence was spotted by Octave, the other son of Jean De Saint Geores, accompanied by a man with a disturbing appearance. She manages to escape them and take a flight to the mainland. Direction Hyères, where she finds her ex-stepfather and her ex-stepmother, Daphne, suffering from Alzheimer's disease. While searching the archives of her missing husband, Clémence comes across correspondence from Estienne Lebel, shipowner of Espérance and first owner of the De Saint Geores manor. In the middle of the night, Daphne, caught in a dementia crisis, tries to assassinate her before fleeing by setting fire to the surrounding forest.
SEASON II, EPISODE 8 - At the top of the princes' door
The wait at the hospital seemed endless. Poor André, gnawed by worry, moped in silence in the corner of a decrepit and overheated room. He flatly refused to leave his seat when I offered to go for some fresh air. Each time the door that gave access to the care services was opened, he straightened up and stared at the white blouse that appeared, in the hope that at last someone would come to give him news of his wife.
For my part, I was suffocating in this crowded room. I went out regularly on the small esplanade in the middle of which stood a huge sign which read "Admissions Urgences". From there, I could monitor the progress of the fire, and the news was not good: the castle hill was in flames. The canadairs were turning, I saw them dropping the water contained in their big yellow bellies behind the castle, on the slope opposite to the start of the fire. Fanned by strong gusts of wind, it had grown, voracious, monstrous. He ran tirelessly and devastated everything in his path. The sky had become ink, the gloomy atmosphere. Only the gloomy crown of the burning hill continued to glow.
A whiff of anxiety squeezed my chest. I made the bitter observation that I had lost my comfortable life for an inaccessible dream; I had been dislodged from my refuge in Corsica by two men whose intentions I did not know, and, wanting to stir up the past, I had started a fire. Slowly, I went back to the waiting room, my head bowed and my heart tight, but at the corner of a corridor, I met the gaze of a man with a streaked face who did not seem unknown to me. And who was this pregnant woman, with sad eyes underlined by large dark circles, whom I caught observing in the corner? And this other with a tuft of hair as black as that of Octave? I hurried on down the long, dreary corridor. I felt myself being watched, chased by all these ghosts who relentlessly returned to haunt me. Suddenly, a small figure rushed in my direction: she ran, pale and frail, and wore on her head a colored scarf. Suddenly she stopped running and stood in front of me, handing me an object that I did not immediately identify:
- Did you see it is beautiful, my boat!
Frozen with dread, I recognized, in her little hands, the replica of an eighteenth-century frigate.
I believe that at this moment, my brain blocked the mechanisms, locking each of my nerves to put the slightest sensation to sleep, to destroy the slightest thought. But instead of collapsing, my legs started moving, until running like a damned in the endless corridors of the establishment, looking for an exit, an emergency exit, looking of…. about what ? No I was not looking for anything, I was running away, I was running away again! Conflicting information was confusedly telescoping in my head: here a car honking, there a pedestrian crossing, a child on his bike, the long wall of a property, a fountain with gushing water, palm trees, the sounds of the city, suffocating heat, ink sky, acrid smoke, pedestrian street. The steps behind me, the cries, the deep and approximate voice that calls "mom!" mom ! " I did not want to turn around, I rejected the vision of Octave after me. I had to flee, and my legs were my only weapon for that. Lighter, I ran faster than him and I plunged into the lassis of the narrow alleys of the old city that I knew perfectly, with the hope of sowing it. The effort was tough, the drop important. I could sense Octave's heavy, short breath behind me, he had stopped calling, he would soon tire, abandon the race. I too was struggling, my lungs were on fire, my mouth was dry, my heartbeats were panicking, but I was resisting. Already, in the rue du vieux cimetière, I felt Octave's breath fade away, but I continued without faltering and slipped into the rue du Repos, taking care not to twist my ankles in the interstices of the poorly joined paving stones. I walked along the washhouse and finally I came out on Place Saint-Paul.
The wind was still blowing, while the collegiate bell behind my back rang three times. The light obscured by the incendiary smoke resembled that of the dying day, the sky was black as before the storm, the air became unbreathable. An oppressive atmosphere reigned in the deserted square.
From there, I saw my pursuer, two streets below: he had given up, leaning against a wall, he was panting, I saw his chest rise and his mouth wide open. A burst of pity invades me: poor Octave with an unhappy and upset destiny. But when I was on the point of faltering, my attention was drawn to the rapid steps which went up the rue Barbacane. Turning my head, I recognized the man in the hat, Octave's accomplice. During my flight from Corsica, the idea that it could be Jean De Saint Geores crossed my mind. This time, I had the assurance, it couldn't be him: the man who was heading towards me was young, athletic and he ran very fast, much faster than Octave.
My instincts ordered me to flee. Immediately, I resumed my race and passed under the porch which spanned the rue Saint-Paul, then I turned to the left, hoping to reach as soon as possible the oldest part of the old city. It was riddled with secret sleepers that meandered between walls hiding tiny gardens. If I reached this part of the city, it was won, I could disappear in the meanders of the tortuous alleys by sowing the individual launched after me. Finally, the hanging arch of the old princes' door was in sight. But when I had just passed it, my heart stopped: a few meters away, a barrage of firefighters prohibited access to the winding neighborhood in which I had placed all my hopes. The man in the hat was already approaching. Quick, I had to find a solution! So, behind the firefighters, I climbed the small gate of the adjoining house. At full speed, I crossed the deserted garden and climbed the few stones of the old rampart which gave me access to the hanging arch. From the imposing door of the princes, there remained only the pointed lintel: nothing to lean on, nothing to hold back, just the void and the alley ten meters below. Like a balancing act, in gusts of wind, I stretched out my arms on each side of my body to control my stability and I launched myself. Concentrated on my perilous trajectory, I guessed the roaring ball of the canadairs in the sky, I perceived the dismal song of the wind which blew a fatal warning in the hollow of my ear. I saw the man in the hat stop just under my trembling steps, perched on top of the old door in ruins.
Slowly, I passed the ridge of the warhead and began the descent with concentration and precision. When finally I reached the roof tiles of the opposite house, I saw the man in the hat resume his race and jump the gate of the garden opposite. But as he was about to cross the suspended vault, he was spotted by the firefighters who summoned him to turn back. Finally luck was on my side; I was going to be able to get rid of it! Unfortunately, ignoring the injunctions, the man continued quietly and crossed the ark with the agility of a cat.
Perched on the pink tiled roofs, in the chaos of the threatening sky, I ran between the flaming hill and the bay of the Golden Islands. My progress was laborious on the inclined planes of old rugged roofs: sometimes under my hurried steps some tiles gave way and I slipped. The difference in level between the houses pressed against each other forced me to jump, climb a low wall or sometimes even gain momentum to jump from one roof to another and thus span a lane. But I was getting tired, and the man in the hat was inexorably getting closer; I could now hear his powerful breath behind my back. I had to find a way to get back to mainland, this rooftop chase was a trap, I was not efficient. I knew exactly where we were: we had passed the bell tower of the collegiate church and we were going back down to Rue Paradis. This ended at the Porte Barruc which formed an angle with the beginning of the Saint Bernard garden. I had to find a way to reach the park in terraces which went up to the villa Noailles. There, I can hide in a corner to escape my attacker and catch my breath. I was at the end, I had reached my limit, I knew it. The particular topography of the roofs of the city, however, gave me an opportunity to reach the safe asphalt well before reaching the Barruc gate: a shed allowed me to descend into a small garden on the wall of which was backed a small ladder. I knew it overlooked a tiny square at the entrance to Rue Paradis. At full speed, I climbed the ladder; arrived at the top, I seemed high, but the man in the hat was already crossing the vegetable patch. So, without thinking, I jumped. As I started to get up, a load fell on my shoulders. We rolled in the dust and I finished immobilized on my back, under the vigorous embrace of my assailant. He was lying with his full weight on me and holding my wrists above my head, I had no possibility of making the slightest movement; I was defeated. I couldn't see his face, he was deep in the crook of my neck. Like me, the man was breathing heavily to catch his breath. Under his effort-drenched shirt, I could tell his heart was beating as hard as mine. Finally, he looked up and I recognized the blue eyes crossed in the dining room of the manor of Saint Geores. Too breathless to speak, he stared at me without a word.
I was the first to find the use of speech:
- Let me go !
But he will not loosen his grip:
- What do you know about Hope ?
- Nothing ! I know nothing ! Let me go !
He increased the pressure on my wrists, which made me cry out in pain.
Suddenly a murmur arose, a sad and monotonous litany. Turning our heads at the same time, we saw Octave, standing above us. He swung from one foot to the other, wringing his hands. Shaken with sobs, big tears rolled down his cheeks and he kept repeating:
- No harm to mom, don't hurt mom.
My assailant finally let go of his grip and let me get up to take poor upset Octave in my arms.
(…)
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