The Se7en Passions of Gabrielle Émilie

By Joaquin Rafael Roces

Gabrielle ilie is a young princess-bride on the eve of her fairy tale wedding. This
should be by all accounts her Happily ever after ending: a royal wedding with
her Prince Charming; but she is hunted with uncertainty and doubt. Although
her mother tries to assure the young princess, she decides impulsively to flee
the safe confines of her castle to follow a mysterious voice that leads her to
the dark woods on the frontiers of her kingdom. She is seduced by the rogue
highwayman, and the two embark on a worldwide journey that takes them
across continents and oceans to the rim of the world. She begins her journey
as a young sheltered and cloistered princess armed with only her knowledge
and education, both of which are benefits of her privileged status. She acts
on impulse and gives very little thought to the consequences that spring
from her decisions. But the veil of Gabrielle iles youthful romance with her
highwayman starts to fade as she examines the true nature of her relationships,
religion, sexuality and identity. She traverses the Silk Road; forges primordial
forests and battles both men and fantastic beasts; she scales the Himalayas and
explores the Amazon; and along the way she discovers the true meaning of
love and faith. Each book chronicles her spiritual and physical journey as she
travels to exotic and distant lands, and learns about love, faith and loyalty and
the true fragile nature of her own humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469137605

Joaquin Rafael Roces

n/a

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by Joaquin Rafael Roces.

ISBN:          Softcover                                 978-1-4691-3759-9

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4691-3760-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

108977

Contents

Chapter I  Once upon a time…

Chapter II  All the King’s men

Chapter III  By the Blood of the Lamb

Chapter IV  Judas’ Reward

Chapter V  Man’s blind indifference

Chapter VI  In Faire Vienna

Chapter VII  Give my love to the King

Biography

Chapter I

Once upon a time…

TUMBLING. THAT WAS the word that came to her mind as she watched a leaf snatched by a gust of wind. The leaf circled and tumbled wildly as the wind pushed and pulled it here and ’fro. The leaf had no control it seemed to her as its fate was carried by the wind. It was early fall and there was a soft chill in the air. She was a princess of regal stature. A princess-bride, born of noble stock, promised to another whose face was as foreign to her as was his land. Often she had tried to picture his face in her mind, but was not able to conjure up one trait or feature. Of course not, she knew there was not enough concern in her to want it… to will it. Her fate was also left to wind. There was no love; this marriage had been arranged as was her birth and everything in between. Everything was on schedule.

It started the night before; a sensation. The wedding was but a fortnight away and at this very hour her groom was crossing the channel. Already the castle was filling up with honored guests as were the local inns. She had not slept and tossed and turned in her bed with anxiety and… dread. That was it. At first she thought it to be anxiety, nervousness. After all, courtiers and ladies of the court fawned over her, parroting phrases about How fortunate she was and what a wonderful service she was doing for her King. One such nobleman, certainly a fine figure in the world, at dinner and drunk on ale, staggered forth and proclaimed, Hail thee well, for what marvelous fortunes you bring us all. Up until this moment, she had avoided the word, but it was clear now. Dread fell upon her like an icy cold hand falling upon her heart. She had quietly murmured her concern to the Queen Mother a day or so ago as she was being fitted for her wedding gown. The Queen Mother fretted with the gown, and avoided her daughter’s searching eyes. The Queen Mother cooed as she smoothed out imaginary wrinkles in the fabric, There, there, young child, it will be alright. Speak not of such nonsense lest your father hear of such blasphemy. Really, child, this is for the best.

Her father, the King, was unbearable. All he spoke of with his advisors were of the lands the union would bring, and much needed alliance between the two kingdoms. Once he mused while the Queen Mother combed her daughter’s hair, Perhaps now, I could have a rightful heir. On another occasion he heard him speak to the Cardinal, Your Excellency, my prayers have been answered. My curse has been lifted! With a wry smile, the Cardinal’s reply slithered from between his teeth, God wills it.

This night was no different. The fire in the hearth of her chamber had long since gone cold as she lay awake in her bed chamber clutching to her mattress for fear the wind might snatch her as it did the leaf. Everything was on schedule; everything was going according to plan. Not a stitch of thread was out of place. The fact was the more things progressed on schedule, the more out of control she felt. These past few days were particularly nerve racking. She had to fight to keep her composure. At first, she thought that perhaps the anxiety had driven her mad, an illness of the mind; hysteria to be cured by the village barber with leeches and bleedings. Then there it was again. Was it the howling of the wind or perhaps some lonely wolf? No. There it was; carried on the wind. Her name whispered in the air. She was sure of it now. She had lost her sense and sensibility. Then she caught her self laughing—her madness would stop nothing. She realized the marriage would proceed, like an anchor it dragged her to the airless bottom of her anxiety. Her in her grand mama’s dress, standing by her faceless husband, after which she would spend the rest of her days talking to spiders in the tower or in some distant nunnery. What madness, indeed.

She was about to call for her hand maiden when she heard it again. She rubbed her eyes and shook her head as if to shake off the sleep, but she knew better. It could not be a dream, for that requires sleep to conjure such hallucinations. There. There it was again. Her name, soft and gentle, carried on the wind as if it were a feather. She gazed out at her window at the dark forest that lay far beyond the castle keep. Even beyond the township proper and its surrounding farmlands. On the fringe of her world it clung. It was calling to her… for her. What madness she cried! If her father knew of such, he would surely lock her in the tower.

The following day, she found it even more difficult to focus. The fitful sleep the night before had fatigued her. She could all but drag herself to her studies with the Viscount. The Viscount came from the rock strewn and craggy province of Sans-Terre. He was a man who weighed three hundred and fifty pounds, clearly one of immense and ostentatious appetite, and as such was a person of no small consideration. A person fond of gambling and the ilk, one could measure the breath and width of his estate in the pebbles and rocks affixed to the soles of his feet at the end of each day. Thus he lived on the good graces and fine hospitality of his cousin and brother-in-law, His Majesty, the King—clearly the best of all possible worlds. The Viscount would hold her studies in the antechamber of the Grand Hall after the morning meal. The Viscount de Sans-Terre was an educated man of the highest order, a master barber, learned in Latin, Chief Alchemist to the King and oracle to the Royal Family. He was tutor and teacher to the princess-bride and lectured the young child in matters of metaphysico-theologo-cosmolonigology.

As she entered the chamber the good Viscount began his lecture, Listen, my dear, the ancient teachers of this science, promised impossibilities and performed nothing. The modern masters promise very little; but these philosophers, whose hands seem only made to dabble in dirt, and their eyes to pore over the microscope or crucible, have indeed performed miracles. At this, he dropped several manuscripts upon her lap, as he continued his monologue. They penetrate into the very recesses of nature and show how she works in her hiding-places. They ascend into the heavens; they have discovered how the blood circulates, and the nature of the air we breathe. They have acquired new and almost unlimited powers; they can command the thunders of heaven, mimic the earthquake, and even mock the invisible world with its own shadows…

She found her concentration ebbing away as the good Viscount de Sans-Terre droned on barely aware of her presence, and then there was the voice again calling to her. Her mind seemed filled by it. She tried to busy herself with the manuscripts, but the voice kept calling to her. She felt herself slipping into madness; her dress felt suffocating, even the thrill of the birds outside the chamber’s only window seemed to lend its voice to the conspiracy. How could she marry a man who she had not laid eyes upon—what a ghastly notion! At that moment she surmised, that the good Viscount de Sans-Terre, nourished in letters, would certainly see her plaint as innocent and her cries just, and would then indulge the princess-bride her lament. She then spoke up so as to startle the good Viscount who had been lulled into a state of comfort by his own voice, and citing such works as that of the Lady de Pizan presented her case to the most learned and esteemed Viscount de Sans-Terre. She spoke of de Pizan’s numerous works as the world’s first lady writer and cited Capellanus’ work as well, Surely it is the pure love which binds together the hearts of two lovers with every feeling of delight. This kind consists in the contemplation of the mind and the affection of the heart, none of which exists between me and my beloved…

Annoyed at such an offense, the learned scholar and master barber, scoffed at the child, My dear, I am a man of letters, a master barber, curer of the ill and infirm, and Factotum of the Guild of Barbers, not some troubadour or minstrel. I tell you every instant that you have wasted on those books is utterly and entirely lost. You have burdened your memory with trifle folly and useless names. Good God! In what desert land have you lived where no one was kind enough to inform you that these fancies which you have so greedily imbibed are a thousand years old and as musty as they are ancient? Understanding that you are a woman ignorant of subtle understanding and agile sentiment, and not an expert in rhetoric as I, a disciple of Albertus Magnus and Paracelsus, would fall for such gibberish. Really! In this enlightened and scientific age, to find such folly tainting such a pretty head as yours. My dear lady, we must begin your studies entirely anew.

"Observe, sweet child, your ears, one upon each side, matching in distance and