A Double Majesty IV

No one had any idea how the repercussions from the events of the weekend would reverberate throughout the immediate family and the clan. If the truth be told, everyone was too weary to care. The revelations, the information, the changes were all overwhelming. Catherine took one look around the room and decided that it was time to call a halt to any more rehashing of the story. She had listened patiently to Hélène who was immersed and lost in her own anguish. Catherine did her best to sympathise where appropriate. Keeping her attention on the torment expressed over and over was difficult. Hélène did not seem to be able to move beyond a repetition of her daughter's name. The sad refrain, like the endless loop of a song, spoke of incredible loss but it only seemed to heighten the distress. There was no alleviating even one moment of the pain.

Catherine glanced at her husband and saw how tightly he held on to Cathy's hand. 'That man, my wonderful husband ' she thought, ' is really Cathy's surrogate father, the man who had been there at her birth and contributed so much to her early life'.

It was clear from the details of the story that no one could have saved Lena. The young mother had her own destiny to fulfill. Now was the time to save her daughter. 'Daughters', Catherine amended in her mind, for there was another young woman, raised in a motherless environment, who was probably just as unprepared for the shock of realization. Soon, that daughter would also know how the perception of self could easily change. The deep sigh, following Catherine's thoughts, did bring Vincent's attention back to his wife. He returned her look with a nod, quickly interpreting its meaning. Goodbyes were not prolonged but the shared hugs between the shell shocked group of people in the room, helped to ease the parting.

Vincent and Catherine took their daughter-in-law home. Cathy said little, watching the road ahead with intent eyes. Their arrival at the brownstone brought no change to her demeanour. Restless hands seemed bound together, turning and twisting around each other or alternately they were gripped tightly and held firmly beneath the trembling chin. Despite overwhelming fatigue, Cathy could not be persuaded to go up to her own bed or even to the apartment until Jacob came home safely. Despite being distracted by the revelations of the weekend, her primary worry was not about herself. Just as Rob stepped out the door to head to his own home, Cathy ran to him. The capable ex-marine melted in the face of her heartfelt pleading requesting him find Jacob and bring him home. One part of her over-stressed body understood just how tired her husband would be. Rob didn't need to be asked twice. Providing service to this unique family had become his reason to live. He smiled at the earnest young woman, patted the hand which she placed on her arm and said a few reassuring words before getting back into the van.

...

Back at the condominium, Philippe had been left in the care of his capable partner Vladimir. There was no doubt that he would be certain to call a New York specialist first thing in the morning. Philippe had suffered for years with his moderate but well controlled heart condition. Natural aging combined with the revelations of the past few months only added to a stress which was inexorably taking a toll on his general health. The culmination of the previous night's events and the new knowledge of a second granddaughter, struck a deep blow. His colour had improved greatly with the jolt of energy he received from Jacob. And yet, the shell shocked grandfather was unprepared for resurgence of his troubled past, ebbing and flowing, sometimes coming as cresting waves of emotion. Much of it had been dammed up for so long. For the first time since he left Belgium, many painful memories, which had been on hold for years, were released. If Philippe could have wished to see but one person that night, it would have been the beautiful mother whose love he had missed so desperately. She alone could understand what the years of separation from his natural child meant to him.

Hélène, who within a few hours suffered ups and downs virtually unheard of in human resilience, managed to stumble into bed, unclear if she could ever trust herself to feel alive again. Hélène realized that Vincent and Catherine could do no more to uplift or stabilize the trauma of the night. They needed to go home. The French Canadian woman didn't want to part with the granddaughter she had just come to know and love. Hélène's actions were driven by the fear which gripped her heart over the loss of her daughter, Lena, but a precarious mental state needed peace and quiet to really process the events. She accepted the warm hug from Cathy, accompanied by a few shared words of love. With one last glance at Philippe, Hélène moved towards her room, seeing the door handle as a lifeline to solace.

Kurt stumbled behind Vincent and Catherine, wondering if he would ever view anyone as ordinary again. That his former secretary had married a man born of two exceptional parents was enough of a shock but that she had such an incredible history, with much of her own skill yet to be revealed, left him reeling.

A good night's sleep was in order for everyone.

...

Gaul 762 AD

From the moment of her birth Veneranda defied the odds. According to legend, she sat topsy-turvy inside her mother for seven months before deciding to make an entrance into the world weeks before her time. If her mother Anise had been stronger, the minor blood loss suffered during the tricky birth would not have mattered. She might have had a chance to regain some strength, but a raging fever sapped the last of her energy, making recovery impossible. The pregnancy had also been marked by long absences of the man of the house. All chores had been left to Anise as well as caring for her large brood of children. She had little help. All those events took their toll.

A poor harvest meant that there would be little food over the harsh winter for anyone in the small struggling community. The last thing the family needed was another child, another mouth to feed but Anise had no way to stop the pregnancies. When her man returned from the endless forays into enemy territory either in defence of their small community or aggression, Anise ended up pregnant. This was their tenth child. Her body was worn down.

Food had been scarce and the animals were as malnourished as the inhabitants. Whatever little was available, it was given to keep her children alive. Already one of her sons had died. Two other children looked sickly. When Fedir returned home from the latest battle, the only one of the brood who looked healthy was the new, motherless child. Her rosy cheeks and calm face startled him. Only a vague grunt acknowledged her presence. He mumbled his reluctant thanks to the midwife who helped with the birth and stayed on to wait for his return.

The war weary widower cared even less about the rest of his family. The small border community in Septimania, where he had settled was floundering under the constant attacks from other Franks, some disenfranchised members of the defeated Caliphate and the invasion hungry Visigoths. Charles Martel's death in 742 left a state of flux in the area. He had been a brilliant strategist but his death freed ambitious men who had waited for time and opportunity. The small community was vulnerable. Many whispered rumours around the village told of an impending visit from an evil one presaged by the turbulent weather. Persistent high winds throughout the spring had made planting impossible. The land was barren and dry. Its appearance overall was a true representation of the character of the village. Some felt the inevitability of death by invaders. Fear was the overriding emotion. Certainly, no one could envision a return to a prosperous farming community when everyone shared in the harvest and enough food could be stored for the long winters.

As Fedir looked at his daughter, a wave of distaste crossed his face. He was sure she would have no viable life. She should have died with her mother. Another young woman in the village, Winnien, who recently lost her own child, accepted the motherless baby, took her in and nursed her. The widowed father relieved of the responsibility for at least one of his children, looked around for a young woman to fill his bed and care for his other children. He soon got on with his own life, completely ignoring his wife's last gift. It didn't take long for the false rumours about Veneranda's real parentage to spread throughout the village. Anise was vilified in death, her last child shunned by all but the wet nurse whose milk supply seemed never ending.

Despite being abandoned and ignored by her family, Veneranda grew, strong, healthy. She thrived with the abundant flow of milk from her wet nurse. Living free of the restrictions which would have plagued other girls, she was allowed to blossom in her own way. For sure, those who saw her were amazed by the fresh cheeks and dark lustrous hair which framed her heart shaped face. Her wet nurse/surrogate mother Winnien, developed an incredible ability to lactate which superseded most of the women in the community. It was a gift which made her life much easier. She was much in demand for the overflow of life sustaining milk from her breasts. Among her most faithful clients was the countess whose husband dominated the small village. He ruled with an iron hand demanding and expecting the men to be ready to fight at a moments notice. His wife behaved with the same disregard for those who worked for her.

Because the countess could not manage her growing family, Winnien had been called on to help out. In that exalted position as wet nurse, she was provided with reasonable access to what little food was available. Her milk was abundant and gave her and Veneranda a way to survive. Winnien never gave a thought to the origin of her gift, nor did she extend much of her other benefits to the child. The beautiful toddler accompanied her surrogate to the main house each day where she sat on the floor or lay in a bundle of straw until Winnien had time to attend to her needs.

The child's lovely face was a treasure to behold. Everyone who saw her felt love or envy immediately, forgetting the early rumours surrounding her birth. Veneranda didn't make noises, speak to her surrogate nor anyone else. She smiled often, drawing people to her like a magnet. In an era where children were generally ignored unless they failed to complete chores, everyone went to look at the lovely child and marvel at her beauty. No sound ever issued from her mouth. She would look at people with bright eyes, smile with an increasing toothy grin and stare wide eyed at her whoever was her captive at the moment. Because Veneranda did not speak, she was thought to be backward. Winnien didn't understand why. In her ignorance, she attributed the behaviour to the death of Anise.

Over the years, as she grew strong in body and spirit the young girl continued to find her own way, in the desperate and desolate world of Gaul in the dark ages. Winnien watched the child grow and wondered what was to become of her. The child-like innocence would attract a man but her inability to speak would prevent any man from taking her in. Eventually, Winnien spent less and less time worrying about her young charge and focused her energy on the brood of children in her charge. Being a surrogate mother didn't pay. She was busy and had little time to properly watch over the young girl. Strangely, Veneranda didn't seem to care. She ran free, smiling at everything which came into her path. She loved looking at flowers during the warm months. Her childish touch seemed to make them bloom even more brightly. In the winter when the deep chill covered the land, she intuitively saved bits and pieces of seeds to feed the birds which always seemed to flutter around her head.

The young girl blossomed into womanhood. It was a shock to Winnien when she looked closely at her young charge silently crying over the stain which signalled the change. Even if she didn't talk, Veneranda understood what she was told. The warning to stay away from men was not dismissed as easily as many other warnings had been. The young woman nodded her acceptance but did not change her odd behaviour of slipping out at night, especially at the time of the full moon.

From a very early age, long after Winnien lay snoring loudly, she would walk down to the pool of water, located in the wooded area at the edge of the village and sit. It wasn`t long before she gave into the urge to experience the water. Unseen and unsupervised, she would strip down to her bare skin to dip beneath the water as naturally as if she had been born out of its depths. The only change she made, in keeping with her changed status was to remain clothed in a white chemise.

The one room cottage she shared with Winnien was the place where they lived but the water was her home. Like a fish, Veneranda could glide across the water then dive below to swim under the surface for agonizingly long periods of time. Unlike other superstitious folk, she had no fear of the dark hours. The full moon`s light was a curse to many but the young girl blossomed under its light. Any lunacy which befell those who cowered behind cottage doors was lost on Veneranda's sensitive aura. Animals had no fear of the human who walked among them. Something about her energy was able to tame even the wildest creature. Away from the watchful eyes of the villagers, she babbled some language which every creature, except other humans, seemed to understand.

Over the years, as Winnien`s interest in her young charge waned, the night time forays into the woods became more frequent. There was a lot of work at the stone castle of the Count and Countess. Every year there was a new baby. When she was actively wet-nursing an infant, Winnien was well-fed and saved all her time and energy for the newborn infant. The air of self sufficiency which Veneranda displayed from her earliest years did not encourage intimacy. Winnien seemed to care less and less what her young charge was doing. Veneranda had been independent from an early age and seemed to have a knowing, worldly air. Although her world was small indeed, she showed little fear about the future. In her early teen years, an improved climate helped to generate better crops and slightly less worry about food. Fear of the marauding bands of outsiders who were interested in taking in the land, killing the men, and raping the women remained high.

Veneranda cared little about the threats preferring instead to tend to her animals and getting in touch with nature. Of all her favourite pastimes heading down to the small pond remained at the top of her list. There she continued to swim, unseen, at least in her mind. Once her duties were done in the small space she shared with Winnien, no one cared much if the child wandered off. She was totally free to be as her mind and heart dictated. Many who observed the peculiar behaviour considered that the child, who had cost the life of her mother, was likely mad or at best simple minded. Veneranda was nothing of the kind. In truth, she was wise beyond her years, intuitive and fearless.

...

The young knight, frustrated with his slow progress in the skills needed to battle the enemy, took to wandering away from his small band under cover of night. His restless nature could not be stilled and the worry of his mind forced him to slip out of the holding area and walk until fatigue overtook the circular thoughts for which there was no end. His blonde curly good looks were at variance with the steely chiselled face of the warrior. He had grown up privileged, with all the opportunity to obtain the training and skills required to overpower the enemy. Despite his advancing age, he was denied the same practical opportunities to fight as his peers. One day he would inherit immense lands from his father. Had he understood the importance of his position he might not have railed against the edicts of his elders to 'wait for his time to come'. The words had no meaning for him. Fighting was programmed into his genes and yet he was held back. The longer he had to ponder the time and attention paid to his safety, the more his real desire bubbled up inside. Music was the true anima that fired the blood which raged through his veins. To be a troubadour filled his every waking thought.

The truth was that he wanted to fight or die because he knew that there was no other choice. He was not free to follow the dictates of his heart. Theodoric was born to be a leader, a king. Travelling the very dangerous terrain of Gaul singing out his passion was just a sky dream never to be fulfilled. There would always be war. It was the way of life for Visigoths. They were currently trying to capture land near Septimania, hopeful of advancing north and west. They needed to recruit men more than anything. Theodoric was able to convince many of the young men who strayed from their village to be recruited into a fighting band. Theodoric may not have been a great warrior but he had the gift of gab.

The small band of warriors, advancing under the leadership of a laissez-faire general, were camped just on the outskirts of the village. Their leader decided that it wasn't worth fighting over the meagre possessions but a surfeit of young men without work, land or hope might be persuaded to join in and become a part of a larger army. The promise of food was sufficient incentive.

To assuage his increasingly troubled conscience, Theodoric took to walking away from the smell of bodies, the inane laughter, the fear of failure. The small lake, whose surface shone inky black in the glint of moonlight, beckoned. Just as he moved towards its stillness, the surface rippled. Fully expecting a night creature to break the surface he was stunned into utter silence by the sight before his eyes.

Veneranda rose from the dark water pool. The moon's light shimmered off the water-filled white chemise which she wore. Her black hair was lost in the inky night. Her aura threw out waves of energy drawing him like a magnet, pulling the very heart of his voice from the depths of his soul. Words rose longing to be sung. Her beauty stunned in it's simplicity. Theodoric wondered if he was dreaming.

Cannot deny ...Nor ignore such effect of...feminine beauty...glistening body...overwhelming charm. Controlled heart ...changes all thinking...goals shift... physical is replaced and reborn...stronger than a warrior's might...calm takes over...heartstrings play songs without resistance...soul cannot withstand...finally surrenders

The Goddess rules!

Theodoric gave little thought to feel of the words rising at the back of his throat. He knew that they were not said aloud. The effect on his body was immediate. He felt washed in a sea of emotion, unable to move a muscle. Waves of warmth seeped unrelentingly through the arteries and veins filling him with heat before its power exited through the pores of his body. It was a feeling like no other. He saw his aura light fire, fanning outwards as if trying to capture the Goddess who stood before him.

No sound broke the night and yet he could hear the responding words from the Goddess as if she whispered them directly into his ear. He hadn't spoken and yet she seemed to understand. No move was made to bring the man and woman together. Theodoric remained hidden while she stood at the edge of the water. Her return song only confirmed what he thought. She is the Goddess of water, the lovely deesse de l'eau, Aageria. He was enchanted by her words.

Nature holds enchantment freshly pure clean
unknown dreams reap harvest never imagined
never seen

Blinded eyes uncover handsome future god
filled with strength and raw power
order gently overturned

Trouble lurks, love perils innocence so sweet...
dark hides danger ...goddess falls to prey
heart can never gleam the unknown enemy

Theodoric rose from his hidden spot ready to move towards the beautiful vision. His outstretched hand reached out to her. He closed his eyes, stunned by the ethereal quality...

'Come on KitCat. You're worn out. Come to bed.'

Cathy opened her eyes, unsure of the real time and place as seconds ticked by. Jacob nodded his knowing. He understood that she had been in another world. She said nothing, stretching out her hands to join the man whose soul reached across to her over generation after generation. She smiled with barely a tilt at the corners. She was emotionally fragile. Jacob lifted her into his arms. He smiled at his parents, silently thanking them for filling in the breach. Tomorrow they would talk. Tonight Jacob only wanted to wrap his arms around the woman in his arms and hold her tightly,waiting until they bodies melded into an unbreakable bond.