For almost four hundred years, I’ve witnessed miracles of technology and the political wars that reshaped the world’s destiny. I’ve seen much to hate and a great deal worthy of forgiveness. I was born May 29, 1632, the only son of the Earl of St. Averil and his Lady Ilsabeth de Gueraint D’Arcy. He died at the Battle of Naseby fighting with Charles I. My mother died alone in 1685. By that time, an unnaturally long youth had forced me to fake my own death for the first time. I watched from afar, unable to attend her funeral.
Yesterday, I was a celebrated pianist. I learned my art on the harpsichord from an Austrian genius named Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Later, I studied with Liszt, Ravel and Debussy. From the Duke of Newcastle then the Frenchman de la Gueriniere, I learned classical horsemanship.
Tonight, I am a wanted man. Mortal justice would hang me for a crime I did not commit. My brethren wish to destroy me for a crime I committed with willful intent.
It all began in December, a brief six months ago. Actually, my saga began in 1659 before the restoration of Charles II, but that’s another story…
This is our story—Isabeau’s and mine—our Folie à deux.