Song of the White Swan
Aleta Boudreaux
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Laughing Owl Publishing, Inc.
Song of the White Swan © Copyright 1998
By Aleta T. Boudreaux. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from Laughing Owl Publishing, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and review.
This is a work of fiction. The characters and events described in this book are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, as are those fictionalized events and incidents which involve real persons and did not occur or are set in the future. Their inclusion in this book is intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity.
FIRST EDITION First Printing, 1997
Cover art and design: Laughing Owl Publishing, Inc.
ISBN: 0-9659701-6-7
LCCN : 97-073404
Chapter 1
Château Rennes
Brittany, Mid-June 1491
Heathen. Pagan. Blasphemer.
Words used to condemn; to accuse.
Antoinette Charboneau knew the man sitting on the low dais in front of her would say all these words before her interrogation was over. She wondered why the words had not yet escaped from Cardinal Visconti’s lips and why he had not locked her in some dark oubliette beneath the château to await her death at a more auspicious time.
Yes. From the Christian Church’s point of view she was certainly a pagan. A heathen? Perhaps. But never a blasphemer. She had never shown irreverence toward anyone’s religion; only to those who professed to act on their favored deity’s behalf. Egotistical, pompous and vindictive people like Cardinal Marcello Visconti.
Antoinette searched the faces of the men standing beside the Cardinal. She knew them all. Some she had laid her healing hands upon. She had delivered the heirs of others at frantic midnight callings. They were men who from childhood had worshipped the Ancient Ones and the Great Goddess, as well as the One God of the Christians. No doubt they were here to stand witness to her powers.
"Mademoiselle Charboneau." The Cardinal raised his opulently robed arm and waved a gloved hand toward the men standing by his side. "We have called you here to discuss a problem facing both the Church and the Crown of France."
"I beg pardon, Your Grace. I am not privy to the problems of your Church, though I am sure there are many that vex you," Antoinette said. "You must realize that even though I am advisor to Lady Anne, I am not at liberty to speak for her in her absence. Shall I send for her? I’m certain she is in her chambers."
Visconti leaned back in his chair, his arms perched on the padded armrests. He tented his hands across his prominent belly. He might be master at this game, but he was on Antoinette’s ground¾ he was in Brittany, in her domain, and he was powerless to harm her if he wanted the young Duchess Anne’s agreement to marry the King of France.
"I do not feel it appropriate to discuss this matter with her Ladyship. It is a question of propriety, I assure you. This problem can be solved without involving King Charles or Lady Anne."
Visconti did not tarry with niceties, but he was wasting his breath. For the last hundred years, Brittany had been under a Breton’s rule, separate from France, distanced from the politics of Rome. The ancient ways and the old gods were still revered, kept alive by the strong will and the enduring faith of the Bretons.
The Cardinal bent forward on one elbow and his dark brows creased together in a long thin line. He looked like a hawk surveying his prey, ready to strike her at the earliest sign of weakness.
"Unless you wish to make trouble and bring hardship upon everyone you represent," he said, "I suggest we talk."
"Am I to understand you are threatening Anne de Bretagne? And my order?"
"I would not call it a threat, Mademoiselle. Simply a warning."
"Warnings often precede disaster." Antoinette narrowed her eyes and locked her gaze with his, seeing beyond his facade of piety. He hid his true thoughts, but the energy circling around him, bright with orange streaks, vibrating with flares of green, betrayed him. She wondered what drove him to be so full of hatred.
"What do you require of me, Your Eminence? I am but one person. I cannot act or answer for an entire community." She motioned to the men standing beside the Cardinal. "Perhaps you should ask your assembly their true feelings about King Charles’ trespass in our province. Ask these men how much they will enjoy the Church’s total control of their lives."
Visconti stood and dismissed his entourage. The men scurried across the black and white checkerboard floor of the great hall like frightened sheep. None of them looked back toward Antoinette. She knew they had been carefully chosen for this interrogation. They had been bought, but not paid well enough to keep silent if she revealed too much about Visconti’s mission.
As the last man exited, the Cardinal stepped off the dais in a flurry of red and black fabric. Startled at the little man’s quick movement, Antoinette remained calm.
"Don’t play games with me." His words were awkward, thickly laced with his Italian accent. "I know what you are. And you know what I have the authority to do if you give me even the slightest provocation."
His robes reeked of frankincense. The energy around him encircled her with buffeting waves of anger. His gaze traveled the length of her body and Antoinette stiffened, holding away the malice that touched her.
I must not show my anxiety. He must see me as Anne’s advisor, not just a young woman. He must understand I will not back down.
"You have no power here," she said. "Not as long as Anne is regent." Not as long as the people respect the Sisterhood and honor the Goddess.
"You mean not as long as you are her counselor." Visconti let out a long dramatic sigh. "Why do you make this so hard for us?" He waved to the window where campfires were visible, scattered like tiny flickering stars across the open expanse beyond the keep. "Look at your situation. It is hopeless. King Charles’ mercenaries are camped just outside the château’s walls. Who knows how much they will abuse the good people of Rennes until the King arrives? The way I see it, Lady Anne has no choice but to marry him and honor her father’s treaty. And you, my dear..." He raised a short stubby finger to Antoinette’s face and traced it down the length of her cheek. "...your presence and influence will not be tolerated when King Charles rules Brittany."
Antoinette grabbed his wrist and dug her fingernails into his satin glove. Her gaze burned in defiance.
"How dare you threaten me!"
Visconti looked down at her hand. The edges of his mouth turned up in a thin mocking smile.
"How dare you not respect my intelligence. You are not a mindless handmaiden whispering gossip into the ear of her mistress. You are Anne’s trusted advisor and¾ a pagan. I wonder why she listens to you."
Antoinette released his wrist and took a half step back. "You have no authority to remove me from Anne’s court."
"No. Indeed I do not." He straightened his gloves, adjusting the large ring resting on his index finger. "I do not have that power—not yet."
"You will never have it. Anne will never acquiesce to such a demand."
"Perhaps not; but when she is Queen, she will obey Charles."
"Obey Charles?" Antoinette smiled and made a small laugh. "Anne did not even obey her father."
"Duke François was not the King of France."
"No, he was not King, but he was our ruler, as Anne is now. The Duke took no dictate from King Louis, nor will Anne be commanded by his son."
"You underestimate our power, my dear. No matter how faithful she is to her people or how tolerant she is of your ancient gods, Anne is still a Catholic. When she marries Charles, she will be forced to listen to our demands or she will risk the wrath of the Church."
"So you are threatening Her Ladyship."
"If you believe the truth to be a threat—then so be it."
"The truth, Your Grace, is something you have yet to speak." Antoinette held back her anger. She had to let him reveal his secrets along with his display of vanity.
"You want the truth, my dear? The truth is the Church will not allow you to remain in the Queen’s court. Nor will we permit the Sisterhood and your ancient gods to influence any part of Brittany."
"Surely you mean that you will not permit it. Your Church has always allowed the Bretons the freedom to worship as they choose." Antoinette’s voice echoed off the high ceiling. "Your God has prospered here. Why disturb the people now? Why take away what little remains of their ancient ways, their pardons, their innocent petitions to the Ancient Ones?"
Visconti turned, and his robes swished against the marble floor. His eyes glared with a passion deeper than she could have imagined. "It is the Church’s will. As Brittany becomes one with France, so it will become one with the Holy Christian Church. The Sisterhood of the Moon will be destroyed and the ancient gods you force upon the Bretons will vanish."
"Never!" Antoinette stepped back from him. "The Ancient Ones have always existed. They will not disappear, simply because you wish it. Nor will the Sisterhood."
Visconti laughed. "We are prepared to assimilate your gods into the bosom of the Church as we have for many centuries. After several generations, no one will even remember them. Do you know the names of the gods of the people before the Romans conquered the Gauls? Before the Romans conquered Britain?"
She wanted to say yes, but she would not give Visconti the gift of knowing that the legacy of the ancient gods and goddesses remained intact. It was best to let him think his church had been successful.
"I see by your silence that you understand."
Let him think so. Let him think I am powerless to defend my faith, my people, my regent.
"If I consent to your requests Your Grace, what then? Will the Sisterhood simply cease to exist? I believe you would not stop at our mere submission. I have seen the Inquisitors’ fires burn too often."
"The Inquisitors can be kept away. I know someone who has the power to stay their hands, but his grace comes with a price."
"Which is?"
"Anne’s compliance to the King."
"You do not know Her Ladyship. She refuses to be handled like chattel."
Visconti stepped closer. So close she could thrust her dirk into his belly and be done with him. So close she could see a tiny fleck of black in the white part of his left eye, smell the garlic on his breath and the rancid oil of his perfume.
"She has no choice," he said coldly.
Antoinette stared into his dark eyes, knowing he would stop at nothing to secure Brittany. He would crush the Sisterhood if they interfered further in his politics and he would not hesitate to petition for Anne’s expulsion from the Church. Even though she accepted the Ancient Ones and the Goddess, Anne was still devoted to the Blessed Virgin. She would be as lost without her faith as much as Antoinette would be without her own.
"I will not betray the Sisterhood or my people." Antoinette turned from him and walked to the outer door leading to Anne’s private chambers. In a final act of defiance she turned back to face her adversary.
"The Church will never control Brittany, Your Grace," she said. "Not while I live and breathe."
Château Rennes
The darkness had a life of its own.
Beyond the window, in the emptiness of the night, the demons of doubt and the shadows of chaos danced together to keep away the dawn. The harsh shriek of a seabird tore through that emptiness with a preternatural cry.
Antoinette's heart pounded as she sprang from her bed and ran to the window. She looked toward the horizon, straining to see into the dawning sky. "An omen. A messenger sent by the Goddess."
But there was no sign of bird winging its way to the heavens, only the haunting shadow of morning light looming above the small stone cottages and ripening fields of summer grain. Perhaps the pre-dawn visitor had only been in her dreams. Nevertheless, she would consider it a forewarning.
After the confrontation with the Cardinal, she had to be cautious. Visconti was not above murder to achieve his goal. He would order it in the name of his Christian Church and believe himself absolved of his crime.
Antoinette opened the neck of her gown to catch the light breeze drifting across the open fields. Even though the ocean lay some fifty leagues to the North, the humid air smelled of salt and sea. In all her eighteen years, she could not remember the heat of summer being this stifling.
Like a vigilant sentinel guarding first light, she leaned against the window frame, feeling the stone’s cool texture against her skin. She imagined the moist air flowing around her, inside her, softening the tense muscles in her legs and arms. It had been a long time since she’d slept soundly, a long time since she’d felt the blessings of the Goddess.
"Beloved Mother, I need you. I need to feel you, to hear you, to be comforted by your words of strength and hope. Let me know that what I am doing is right for the people, for my sisters and for myself."
Only the barking of dogs on the hillside beyond the keep replied to her request and Antoinette laughed. What made her think the Goddess would answer her now? She had petitioned the Goddess before, and her prayers had not yet been answered. Visconti and his men were still in Rennes.
She believed in the power of the gods, but belief was no longer enough. She needed to know they were with her, know without doubt that she should fulfill her obligations to the Sisterhood of the Moon by remaining at Anne’s side.
Even ritual had become an empty ceremony for Antoinette. The words, the movements no longer held the same meaning. Even when she summoned the forces of nature, the spectral powers that once flowed through no longer touched her.
Only once had she experienced the true bliss and ecstasy of the embrace of the Goddess, of being enfolded in a weightless, timeless, moment of rapport. A feeling, said by many, to be like the instant of passion’s release.
Now, Antoinette wondered if that momentary rapture had been an illusion, if she would ever feel the touch of the Goddess again. She felt like an impatient witness to life. Waiting for something that might not exist.
Antoinette took a deep breath, letting out her frustration. She was nearly eighteen and had been chosen from early childhood to continue the legacy of the Sisterhood’s counsel to the duchy of Brittany. It was too late to have second thoughts.
She wondered if it was Visconti’s threats that had made her question the wisdom of the Sisterhood. He had placed her in the position of defending not only her faith but the ancient traditions of the Breton people. Was there something else that caused her to be out of step with the rest of her kind? To question and not to blindly obey?
Even with the strength of the Sisterhood behind her, Antoinette felt powerless. What few visions she’d had told her nothing of Brittany’s future, nothing about her own destiny. Perhaps it was time to try again.
Withdrawing a small candle from her pocket, she placed it in a silver holder and set it upon her writing desk, then lit it with a firebrand from her hearth. She took a long, deep breath to begin her magic.
"Candle of light—Candle of power—First burn to honor the Blessed Mother. Give me strength with your fire, and burn to bring my heart’s desire."
Antoinette closed her eyes and whispered anxiously. "Beloved Goddess. Show me what lies ahead."
After a suspended heartbeat she let out her breath with a long sigh. Still no answers. She had to have faith, patience. Wanting was not enough to make the magic work.
Once more she focused on the sounds of the dawn; to the warm wind whispering through the tall oaks and lofty aspens surrounding the château and to the sound of sentries moving along the balustrade above her.
The singing of morning birds beckoning the dawn faded in and out of her hearing. She watched the candle flicker and flare as she slipped into a space between sleep and awareness. The scent of lavender drifted on a rare cool breeze. Then the vision came.
A rocky shoreline extended far beyond a fog-laced headland. The gray outline of majestic trees loomed in the distance.
She could hear the sound of waves lapping the shoreline, smell the salt air and feel the dampness of a misty, early morning.
From out of the mist, a man appeared. He was tall and dark, outlined by the growing dawn behind him. His eyes reflected in the candlelight behind her, but his other features were indistinct. His eyes were black, and as deep and mysterious as the sacred caves of Lascaux. Their gazes locked and a sudden warmth spread around her, filled her with a longing to reach out to him. As if drawn by her thoughts, the man lifted his arm, beckoning her to his side. Entranced, Antoinette took a step forward and extended her hand into the swirling mists.
A sound behind her snapped her awareness back into the room. The otherworldly vision instantly faded.
Instinctively Antoinette extinguished the candle and moved against the far wall. She looked toward the door where a shape hovered just outside her sight.
"Who’s there?" she demanded.
"Hush Chère. ‘Tis only I." A small woman emerged from the shadows.
Rushing across the cold slate floor, Antoinette pulled her grandmother into the room. "What are you doing here, Ursule? You should be with the Sisters. Cardinal Visconti’s men are everywhere."
"Tsk," Ursule muttered, pushing Antoinette away with the side of her wrinkled hand. "You know I am safe. I haven’t lived all these years to die at a witch’s stake."
Antoinette could not deny Ursule’s magic was greater than her own. Ursule was a High Priestess of the Sisterhood. Her skills in ceremony and ritual were legendary among the acolytes of the Goddess. She had been companion and advisor to Duke François, but with his death she had withdrawn to live on the Île du Sein, off the western coast of Brittany. The island was home to the Sisterhood of the Moon. Women dedicated to do the work of the Goddess.
What could Ursule be thinking, wandering the dark hallways of Château Rennes? Antoinette wondered.
"I’ve come to give you a message." Ursule picked up a gray feather from the floor. Looking first toward the window, then at the smoldering candle, she handed the feather to Antoinette. "It seems I’m not the only one concerned about you."
Antoinette took the proffered feather and laid it on the bed. "I’m not sure what all this means, Grand-mère. What am I supposed to do? Surely the Sisterhood has not placed Brittany’s future in my hands."
"And why not?" The old woman sidled to the bed and gingerly climbed onto the mattress, patting the empty space beside her.
The lines on Ursule’s face ran together into fine delicate patterns like streams of water washing across silky white sand. Her face showed the wisdom and passing memories of a lifetime. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back from her face. She no longer wore the blue robes of the Mother, but the honored dark robes of the Crone, the wise woman. Ursule’s voice was still sweet and youthful. "You are the only one we can trust. You are chosen by the Goddess to defend us, to delay the dissolution of the Sisterhood as long as possible."
"Delay?" Antoinette was astonished at the woman’s choice of words. She sat down beside her. "Dissolution?"
"Yes," the old woman conceded. "We know the days of open worship are waning, but there are still many things we must do before we seem to disappear. Many things must happen before the Ancient Ones step aside for the one god of men."
Visconti’s threats to the Sisterhood echoed in Antoinette’s mind.
"What do you mean step aside?" she asked. "I can’t believe the Mother would willingly give way to such an unforgiving god."
"Only in the eyes of men, Antoinette. The Goddess and the Ancient Ones have always been, always will be. They are eternal." She waved her hand toward the window. "Like moonset and sunrise. I do not need to tell you that the Ancient Ones must often take the names and guises of those gods most comfortable to the minds of men." She shook her head and sighed. "But I fear, this time, the goddess will sleep for many centuries. The followers of the Christ are spreading from here to the edges of the earth."
Antoinette hopped down from the bed and extended her arms wide. "What am I supposed to do, Ursule? What does the Goddess want of me?"
"That my dear, I cannot tell you. I came to remind you to be cautious and not to sacrifice that lovely neck of yours to this Christian god. The King’s emissary is quite a ruthless man."
"Visconti." Antoinette spat out the name like a bitter tonic. "He is a snake, Ursule. A snake that I would like to feed to Hecate’s hounds."
"Be patient, Antoinette. You must tread lightly and bide your time. Things are moving quickly. There may yet be a place for the Goddess."
"Anne promises she will do whatever she can to keep the Sisterhood safe."
"And she will honor her promise, as her father did. But she will not be the only ruler in Brittany if she marries King Charles. He will have a say in her affairs and Visconti will be by his side. The Church wants Brittany’s wealth along with the souls of her people."
The rattle of armor outside Antoinette’s chamber startled both women. Antoinette ran to lock her door, her long gown flowing like shimmering wings against the dark stone walls.
"You must go now." She turned to her grandmother. "The guard is changing."
Unhurried, Ursule slid down from the bed and walked toward a heavy tapestry hanging behind Antoinette’s bed. She shoved on the corner of a discolored stone and a hidden passageway appeared.
"Don’t worry about me," she whispered. "I know this palace’s secrets. I will blend with the scenery."
An odd feeling of loss swept over Antoinette and she touched her grandmother’s cheek. She wanted to talk about her doubts and her recurring dreams, but there was no time.
"Be careful. Listen to your heart," Ursule whispered as she stepped into the dark corridor. The stone slid shut behind her and Antoinette heard Ursule's words in her mind.
Follow your visions.
"Follow my visions?" Antoinette sighed as she backed away and leaned against the hard oak door. Her visions were the problem and her heart spoke in riddles. Neither was reliable.
Suddenly, the latch moved beside Antoinette’s hand and she stepped away from the door. The heart she’d just dismissed leapt up and lodged securely in her throat.