“So where are these foul creatures?” she called out. “Does anyone know what they have done with my sister?”
Her questions produced a barrage of shouted replies, some of them verging on hysteria.
“She’s being held prisoner at the church.”
“They’ll torture her, make her give up other names. We’ll all be arrested and burned,” someone shrilled. Madame Elan, the potter’s wife, began to sob. Others appeared in danger of joining her when a gruff voice called out.
“Oh, stop that caterwauling. It won’t help a thing.”
Madame Jehan shoved her way to the front of the group. At least one woman in town did not appear to be losing her head, although the elderly apothecary had more reason to fear than anyone.
She was the epitome of what the witch-hunters would be looking for, with her wild white hair tangling in the wind, rheumatism gnarling her fingers in the chill morning air.
But her eyes were calm as she informed Ariane, “This is all the fault of those ignorant chits on the far side of the island. From what I have learned, they were turning the old ceremony of the giants into some sort of witches’ Sabbath when little Miri tried to stop them. That is when she was arrested.
“Witches’ Sabbath!” Madame Jehan rolled her eyes and snorted. “I don’t know where these young girls today get such nonsense.”
“From those superstitious fools over on the mainland,” Mistress Paletot, the swordmaker, piped up.
“The next thing you know we’ll have these idiot girls attempting to ride broomsticks,” someone else called out.
“The world would be a far better place if wise women were in charge,” said Madame Jehan. “No more foolish wars, no more ignorant suppression of ancient learning, and best of all no more witch-hunters. Melusine had the right idea when she mounted her rebellion to restore power to the daughters of the earth. Maybe we should take her example.”
“And would you have us adopt her methods as well?” Ariane admonished. “Poisoning wells, blighting crops, cursing cattle with infectious disease. We are daughters of the earth, madame. We are meant to use our knowledge to heal, not destroy.”
Madame Jehan folded her arms stubbornly across her scrawny chest, but the old woman looked somewhat abashed by Ariane’s solemn reminder.
“For all her knowledge of the dark ways, Melusine failed in the end. Her peasant army was defeated by the king’s soldiers, but not before a good many innocent people had died. Melusine’s excesses only gave the authorities more excuse for the persecution of other wise women. She was as much a danger to our kind as any witch-hunter.”
“Nor was she all that clever.” Madame Paletot spoke up. “I heard tell that the witch-hunters got her in the end. She was burned the same as any poor old helpless woman.”
Madame Elan quavered, “So—so what are we to do, milady?”
Anxious faces turned toward Ariane, a score of expectant eyes asking the same question. Ariane’s heart sank, for she didn’t have an answer. The situation was far worse than she had thought. Girls attempting to hold a black Sabbath, giving the witch-hunters an excuse to cut a swath through Faire Isle.
I should have known such nonsense was going on and been the one putting a stop to it, not Miri, Ariane thought. As the Lady of Faire Isle, it was her responsibility to be aware of all that was taking place on the island, to be vigilant, to protect these women, even from themselves.
Ariane looked out over the circle of tense faces. “The best thing that you can all do now is go home, go about your daily tasks, show these witch-hunters we are not afraid.”
Madame Elan cried, “Are y-you certain we should not flee now? While there is still time?”
“Trying to run would be the worst thing you could do. It will only be taken as a sign of your guilt and you will be tracked down. Besides, where would you go? The Faire Isle is your home. Will you be so easily frightened away?”
“Mistress Cheney is right,” Madame Jehan said. “We must not give way to panic. Now all of you be off to your homes and allow the Lady to handle this matter.”
The group began reluctantly to disperse, many saying to each other in comforting tones, “Yes, let the Lady deal with the witch-hunters. The Lady will find a way to protect us.”
The murmurs carried back to Ariane, falling heavily upon her ears. The level of trust these women placed in her was almost terrifying. What if she failed not only Miri, but the rest of the island as well? She feared that she already had, by allowing these witch-hunters to ever set foot upon Faire Isle in the first place.
The square slowly cleared, leaving only herself, Charbonne, and Gabrielle. At least her sister didn’t look as though she expected Ariane to perform some sort of miracle, Ariane thought.
As she descended the steps of the market hall, Gabrielle challenged, “So what are you going to do, Ariane?”
“Well . . . to begin with, I had better see this Vachel Le Vis and discover where Miri is being held. I want you to return with Charbonne to the convent and—”
“Oh, no, I am going with you, Ariane.”
“I think it would be best if I had a chance to speak with Le Vis alone.”
“Speak with him? To what end? You can’t reason with a witch-hunter, Ariane. There is only one sort of persuasion those devils will understand and it is this.”
Gabrielle wrenched open her cloak. For once her elegant sister had abandoned her fine silks for a plain workaday gown. But what truly alarmed Ariane was the sword that Gabrielle had strapped about her waist.
“Sweet Jesus!” Charbonne exclaimed.
“Gabrielle, where did you get that thing?” Ariane cried.
“From Captain Remy.”
“He gave it to you?”
“Not—not exactly.”
Gabrielle tried to avoid her eyes, but Ariane cupped her chin and read the truth with a single piercing glance. “Oh, Gabrielle! You took it from him and left him struggling to get out of bed to stop you?”
Gabrielle tossed her head with an air of angry impatience. “I had no time for any display of foolish male heroics. Agnes will look after him. I am more worried about my sister.”
“And so are we all, but you rushing about brandishing a sword will help nothing. Now keep that thing hidden until you leave town.” Casting a nervous glance around her, Ariane tugged Gabrielle’s cloak closed.
“Do you think I don’t know how to use it?” Gabrielle asked fiercely. “I remember all that Papa ever taught me.”
“Yes, just enough to get you killed. I already have one sister in danger. I don’t want to risk another as well.”
“But I should be the one to pay, not Miri.” Gabrielle’s eyes blazed up at her. “Don’t you understand? What has happened to her is all my fault. I refused to go to the cliffs with her. I should have known she would go off on her own. I didn’t even notice when she failed to come to bed last night. When I fell asleep, I thought she was out in the barn with her animals, still sulking.”
A tear splashed down Gabrielle’s cheek and she dashed it furiously aside. Ariane longed to envelop her in a tender hug, but she knew how little Gabrielle would welcome such comfort.
Instead she attempted to soothe, “Dearest, it is more my fault than yours. I have been so preoccupied lately. Unfortunately, deciding who is to blame won’t help Miri now.”
Ariane ventured a light touch to her sister’s hand. “Please, Gabrielle, do as I ask. Go with Charbonne to St. Anne’s and at least give me time to assess the situation before you go rushing in ready to lop off heads. Who knows? I may require you to rescue me as well.”
Ariane tried to smile, make it sound like a jest, but they both knew it wasn’t. Gabrielle regarded her for a long moment, then muttered in grudging tones, “Very well. But if you are not back with Miri in one hour, Ariane, I am coming after both of you.”
Ariane watched as Charbonne led her reluctant sister toward the main street leading up to the convent. But it was not until the two women vanished from s
ight and Ariane found herself utterly alone in the middle of the usually bustling square, that she allowed her rigid mask of control to slip. Her shoulders sagging, she pressed a trembling hand to her lips.
Witch-hunters here on Faire Isle, preparing to set up their tribunal! Such a thing had never occurred in the island’s entire history under the rule of any other Lady. And the first victim could well end up being her own sister.
“Oh, what am I going to do?” she whispered, giving way to a moment of pure despair.
She stumbled over to the memorial to Evangeline Cheney. Ariane needed her mother’s counsel so desperately, she felt as though she could have risked attempting to invoke Evangeline’s spirit again, right then and there in the middle of the town. But no doubt the witch-hunters were already busily gathering evidence against the women of Faire Isle. She didn’t need to offer them any more.
Instead she stared up at her mother’s statue, her eyes raised in mute appeal.
Oh, Maman, give me the strength and wisdom to deal with this.
The church door creaked as Ariane thrust it open and slipped inside. She blinked, the interior more dark than usual on such a gray morning, the stained-glass windows appearing muted with no sunlight flowing through them.
St. Anne’s was a plain stone church, with high vaulting arches and a long nave that stretched up to the altar. During mass, the interior was usually crowded with the stools of the parishioners, the nuns cloistered behind a screen.
But this morning the church appeared empty except for the glow of candlelight coming from the direction of the altar. But as Ariane moved deeper into the nave, a man in a long black robe emblazoned with fiery crosses suddenly blocked her path.
“Halt! State your name and purpose for being here,” a youthful voice demanded.
Ariane’s gaze swept over the witch-hunter, arrested by the sight of his face, young and handsome, dark curls spilling over his brow.
“Since this is a church, I would have thought my purpose in being here was obvious.”
“In case you have not heard, this holy place has been temporarily commandeered for our prosecution of those involved in the crime of witchcraft.”
“Persecution would be a better choice of word. More shame to you.”
Her rebuke clearly took the boy aback. But he stiffened, repeating more sternly, “Your name and purpose, mademoiselle.”
“I am Ariane Cheney, and I want to see Monsieur Le Vis. I have come to demand the release of my sister, Miribelle.”
“O-oh.” The boy’s bravado faded like a puff of smoke, a hot tide of guilty color surging into his pale cheeks.
The boy knew something about Miri, Ariane realized. She stepped closer, capturing and holding his gaze. The boy’s eyes were so clear, it was an easy matter to read his thoughts.
“You were there,” Ariane accused. “You were with Miri when she was taken and you know that she is innocent.”
The boy’s gaze skittered away from hers. “I—I am only an apprentice. It is not my place to determine innocence or guilt.”
“Then you should never have promised Miri she would be safe.”
“But—but how could you possibly know?” His face paling, the boy stumbled away from her. “I—I will just go tell the Grand Master you are here.”
Ariane stalked after the boy, heading toward the front of the church and saw that a table and chair had been placed directly below the dais. A pair of gold candlesticks had obviously been confiscated from the altar. They rested near a stack of books perched on the table’s gleaming mahogany surface.
A man with a stubble of white hair sat behind the table, scratching away with a quill pen, his bloodred robes in startling contrast to the earnest youthfulness of the boy in his jet-black attire.
The lad bent over the table, whispering urgently, but the older man never looked up from the parchment he was working on. He gave an impatient nod, then lifted one hand in a dismissive gesture.
The boy beckoned Ariane, as though he was half-afraid to say another word. As she came closer, the young witch-hunter melted into the shadows, disappearing through the side door.
She approached in an unnerving silence, broken only by the relentless skritch of the pen. She was given full leisure to study the Grand Master of the Order of Malleus Maleficarum.
So this was the dread Vachel Le Vis. He had a harsh face, deeply pitted, but Ariane had seen men scarred by the pox before. His thin mouth hinted at cruelty and intolerance, but there was nothing especially alarming about that either.
Only when she stood directly before the table and he at last glanced up at her did she understand how Vachel Le Vis was able to inspire such fear. It was his eyes, one drooping slightly below the other, so cold and soulless, Ariane was afraid to attempt to read them, to delve beyond that glassy expression.
They measured each other for a long moment. Then Le Vis tossed down his quill and said, “I am Vachel Le Vis, the Grand Master of—”
“I know who you are,” Ariane cut in. “I have heard of you. I am Ariane Cheney.”
“I have also heard of you, mademoiselle,” Le Vis interrupted softly. “You are the one they call the Lady of Faire Isle.”
Le Vis made her title sound like an accusation. He might as well have called her a witch.
Le Vis leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across the front of his robe. “And exactly what is it I can do for you, Mistress Cheney?”
“I have come about my sister Miribelle, whom you have wrongfully imprisoned. I demand that you release her at once.”
“I regret that that is quite impossible, mademoiselle. Your sister has been detained on suspicion of witchcraft.”
“My sister is no witch,” Ariane replied coldly. “Nor is she like most of your usual victims, monsieur, some poor nameless peasant girl. Our mother was Evangeline Cheney, a noble lady well loved on this island and respected in much of Brittany. Our father is a heroic knight, much decorated for his service to France during the Spanish wars.”
“Ah, yes, the Chevalier Louis Cheney. A good man, but alas long absent from these shores. No doubt it would grieve him mightily to learn that one of his daughters has sold herself into the service of Satan.”
“Miri has done no such thing.”
“She was caught near the old ring of pagan stones preparing to take part in a witches’ Sabbath and animal sacrifice.”
“That’s ridiculous. Miri would never harm so much as a hair of a single living creature.”
“We have evidence. We have the cat in our possession.”
“Oh?” Ariane arched one brow sardonically. “And are you planning to persuade this cat to offer up testimony against her?”
Le Vis forced a light laugh. “Contrary to what you might think, mistress, I am not a superstitious fool. No, I have a human witness. Young Simon Aristide.”
“That boy who was here awhile ago? If he speaks the truth, he will tell you Miri had no part in any witches’ Sabbath.”
“Aristide knows his duty. He will say what is appropriate.”
“Or in other words, whatever lie you put in his mouth,” Ariane retorted angrily.
Le Vis’s eyes flashed. “Have a care, mademoiselle, or you may soon find yourself up on charges yourself.”
“Knowing the way that you and your kind work, I am surprised that I’m not already.” Ariane compressed her lips, knowing that she was being foolish to provoke Le Vis.
“Gabrielle was right,” she muttered. “It was a waste of time my coming here. Any trial you hold will be pure farce. You decided upon my sister’s guilt the moment you arrested her.”
Pivoting on her heel, she started to stalk out of the church.
“Wait!” Le Vis shouted after her.
Ariane faltered halfway through the nave, her pulse thudding. She expected that at any moment Le Vis would summon his guard and have her seized. But she refused to run. It was too undignified, and it would not do her any good.
Instead she forced herself to turn
and stare imperiously back at him. He was poised before the altar, but he did not look as though he was preparing to have her arrested. A strangely speculative expression had settled over his coarse features.
“Your sister’s situation is indeed grave, Mistress Cheney. However, I acknowledge that she is scarcely more than a child who has possibly been led astray by bad influences. A pardon might yet be obtained with true repentance on her part . . . and some cooperation on yours.”
“If you think I am going to give you names, accuse other innocent women in order to—”
“No, I have no interest in that. I was speaking of compliance of a different sort.”
A thin smile carved Le Vis’s lips and suddenly Ariane feared what he might be hinting at.
“No, not that either.” Le Vis sneered, apparently comprehending her reaction. “I was not speaking of cooperation of a carnal nature. I have never tainted myself with the feel of a woman’s flesh nor do I ever intend to do so.”
“Then what is it you want from me?” Ariane asked.
Le Vis leaned closer. He had colorless lashes that fluttered over his cold eyes like pale sickly moths.
“Captain Remy,” he whispered.
“W-what?” Ariane said, her heart going still.
“Surrender the captain to me, and the property that he stole, and your sister will be set free.”
Ariane gaped at Le Vis, stunned into speechlessness. How could he possibly know about Remy and the gloves? Unfortunately there was only one way that he could, only one way that made sense.
She was a fool not to have made the connection sooner.
“My God,” Ariane said hoarsely. “Catherine sent you.”
“If you are referring to our good and glorious queen, yes, I do have the honor to serve that great lady.”
“Great lady.” Ariane all but choked. She shot the Grand Master a look of complete contempt. “You are either a hypocrite or a fool, Monsieur Le Vis. You come here prepared to trap and torture innocent women while at the same time, you are being employed by one of the worst sorceresses France has ever—”
“Silence! It is treason to speak of Her Majesty that way. I could have you arrested at once.”
The Dark Queen Page 20
