France, 1669

Edmond Dantès was tired and thirsty. Hunger twisted his stomach into a hard knot.

He paused, slinging the knapsack from his shoulder and opening it. There was nothing left inside but a small wedge of cheese, gone hard at the edges, and his stomach groaned at the sight of it. Maybe he could just break off a little corner . . .

No.

Edmond sighed and closed the knapsack.

He didn't know how far he was from the nearest town or village – or even where he was – or if he'd be able to buy any food when he got there.

The money that he'd made from selling Ysanne's diamond necklace was long gone, and fear of the plague returning still had him sticking to the countryside rather than trying to find a job where other people might be. But he couldn't avoid civilisation forever.

His hand crept to his pocket, and he pulled out the brooch that Ysanne had left in their bed on the day that she disappeared. If it was worth even half as much as her necklace, then it would buy supplies to last him months.

For months he'd stayed in her house, hoping every day that she would return, but she never did, and in the end Edmond couldn't stay. There were too many desperate people who wouldn't hesitate to kill to get what they wanted, and Edmond couldn't defend the whole house by himself.

He'd hated leaving it, feeling like he was betraying Ysanne in some way.

Sometimes he was so angry with her for leaving without a word, for abandoning him after everything they'd shared. In his mind he'd gone over and over their time together, wondering what he'd done wrong.

Other times he just missed her.

He stared down at the brooch as it lay in his palm, a small heart set with diamonds that caught the sunlight.

Sooner or later he'd have to sell it. If he was smart he'd do it now – he needed food – but it was his last link to Ysanne and he couldn't bear to part with it just yet.

"That's a nice bauble you've got there," said a voice, and Edmond's head jerked up.

A man had stepped out of a cluster of trees nearby; Edmond hadn't realised he wasn't alone. The man's face was pinched and thin, his clothes ragged, his eyes greedily fixed on the brooch in Edmond's hands.

Edmond slid it back into his pocket, but it was too late.

The man approached him, and though he moved casually, there was a tense energy about him that Edmond didn't like.

His hand dropped to the knife he carried at his belt.

The man stopped, and his face hardened. "There's no need for that," he said.

"Isn't there?"

The man smiled thinly, and Edmond's instincts flared. He turned. Four men stood on the path behind him, fanning out and blocking his retreat. They'd crept up so silently that he briefly wondered if they were vampires. He'd never met another one – at least not that he knew of.

But their faces were too ruddy, and they moved like humans, unlike Ysanne's fluid grace.

Edmond looked back at the first man, his heart starting to pound.

The air was charged with building violence.

"You want to hand it over and save us the trouble of taking it from you?" the man said.

For a moment Edmond considered it.

He'd grown strong over that winter he'd spent with Ysanne, and in the years since they'd parted ways, he'd learned to defend himself against men like these.

But they vastly outnumbered him.

He could just hand the brooch over and try to avoid the fight but . . . it was the only thing that meant anything to him, and even if he gave it up, there was no guarantee the men wouldn't attack him anyway, in case he was hiding any other valuables.

That meant he only had one choice. He had to strike first.

He lunged at the first man, landing a crushing punch to his jaw, and as he fell, Edmond spun and kicked another man in the crotch. He folded with a hoarse gasp.

They might outnumber him, but they were taken aback by his sudden attack, and for a shining moment Edmond thought that he might get away with this – that at the very least he could overwhelm them enough that he'd have the opportunity to run – but as he swung a punch at a third man, the man neatly shifted his weight, avoiding the blow. Edmond's momentum caused him to overbalance, and suddenly he was on the ground, his jaw pulsing with pain. He hadn't even seen the punch coming.

His attacker smiled nastily and kicked him in the stomach, driving the air from his lungs.

The first man stormed over and forced Edmond onto his back so he could rummage through Edmond's pockets, looking for the brooch.

He'd forgotten about the knife.

Edmond snatched it from his belt and clumsily slashed at the thief's face, but his other attackers had recovered by now and one of them grabbed his wrist, wrenching it at an angle that forced him to drop the blade. One of them stooped to pick it up.

His optimism that he might escape this was drowned in an icy wave of fear.

The first man fished the brooch from Edmond's pocket and held it up so the diamonds caught the light.

"Very nice," he said, his eyes gleaming.

They turned hard and cold as he looked at Edmond, still pinned to the ground by the other four men.

"You could have handed it over without causing trouble," he said, and there was ice in his voice.

"That's important to me," Edmond snapped, though he knew it was useless.

Part of him didn't even blame them for robbing him. He knew what it was like to have nothing. He knew the bitter taste of desperation.

The man pocketed Ysanne's brooch and Edmond closed his eyes, knowing he'd never see it again.

When he opened them again, the man was still staring at him, and Edmond didn't like what he saw in that expression.

"Get him on his knees," the man ordered.

Edmond fought, but there were too many of them. They forced him onto his knees.

The first man walked around him, slow, casual, rubbing his jaw where Edmond had punched him.

"Someone needs to teach you some manners," he said.

He disappeared from view, and there was a cracking noise. When he returned, he was holding a thin birch branch, cracking it through the air like a whip.

Edmond fought again, with renewed desperation, but his attackers held him down, wrenching out his arms so he couldn't writhe away. He stared up at the thief, who stood calmly in front of him, tapping the birch rod against his palm as he eyed Edmond. Maybe he expected Edmond to beg. Edmond set his jaw. Nothing he said would make a difference, and he wouldn't give these bastards the satisfaction.

The man walked behind him, and Edmond closed his eyes again, bracing himself.

The rod whistled through the air, and pain exploded across Edmond's back. The breath burst from his lungs in a pained cry, then the rod snapped down again, spilling fire across his shoulder-blades.

He didn't want to scream, but he couldn't help it.

Again and again the birch rod fell, until blood streamed down Edmond's back, soaking into his clothes, and the pain was so intense he almost blacked out. The world swam around him, red and hazy, and he barely even realised when the beating stopped. He didn't remember falling, but he was lying on the ground, trying to suck air into his lungs, trying to stay afloat over the crippling waves of pain that threatened to overwhelm him.

But he couldn't do it.

Blackness rushed in.

The next time he opened his eyes he was alone. He tried to move, and the explosion of white-hot agony almost made him pass out again.

Clenching his teeth until his jaw ached, Edmond dug his fingers into the ground and hauled himself onto his hands and knees. He had to move. Maybe the thieves thought they'd killed him, maybe they just realised he'd had enough, but what if someone worse came along? Someone who saw a helpless, injured man and decided to take whatever he had left?

But Edmond had nothing left.

The thieves had taken the brooch and his knife – they'd even taken his knapsack with the little wedge of cheese inside, all the food he'd had left in the world. The only thing they'd left him were the clothes on his back, blood-soaked and tattered now.

Edmond crawled to the shelter of the trees that the first thief had emerged from, and every movement was a blast of pain that made tears burn his eyes and hoarse moans work from his throat, but at last he was safe behind a screen of wild shrubs. He'd hidden like this before, two years ago, on a bitter winter's night that had very nearly been his last.

That night someone had come to save him – Ysanne, striding through the snow like a blood-splattered angel.

He could see her so strongly in his mind that he actually found himself looking for her now, half-expecting to see her coming towards him again, ready to save him.

But Ysanne wasn't here.

Edmond was alone.

His strength gave out and he collapsed, his face hitting the grass, and then, mercifully, he passed out again.

Next week, we're going to see a human Ludovic for the first time :D