Gods' Concubine

by Sara Douglass

  My eyes slid his way more often than need be, I expect, but I had so little chance to see him, or be with him, and the sight of him comforted me.

  I would have liked—desperately—to be able to sit down next to him, and allow him to wrap me in his arms and hold me, but that was impossible under these circumstances.

  Under any circumstances, I expect.

  Sweet gods, how close had I come to discovery during the night? Or had I been discovered? Asterion would have noticed my absence when he’d visited his little dance of death upon Edward. Would it have seemed strange to him? Or would he have thought only that I slept in a different chamber so that Edward’s piety would not be disturbed by my female form?

  In which case, Asterion must have wondered why my attending lady, Judith, slept on a pallet at the foot of the bed.

  Would Asterion have remembered that brief moment when he’d held me by the magical waters of the pond, and connected that woman with my absence from Edward’s bed?

  As the night progressed my worry combined with my fatigue to make me nauseous, and, when one of the servants leaned close to me just after dawn and offered me a cup of warm mead, I felt my stomach heave and sweat break out on my face.

  Saeweald noticed as well, and grabbed my arm just before I toppled from the bed.

  “Madam,” he said, sharing a glance first with Harold and then with Judith, “you must rest. You cannot do more for your husband at present than you have.”

  “What?” screeched Edward, lurching up from where he’d been reclining against the pillows. “The whore feels ill? What, Caela, a bastard child you’re breeding there to some peasant lover? A thick-witted boy you’re going to claim is mine? A bellyful of some lustful—”

  “You go too far, even for a king,” snapped Harold, rising and coming to the bed. “If you think yourself dying, Edward, then concentrate on that dying, and ensure your own salvation rather than searching out imaginary faults in those who seek only to aid you.”

  He turned his back on Edward, who was spluttering and hacking his way through a coughing fit brought on by his outburst, and took my arm, leading me back to the chest where we both sat down.

  Judith hurried over with a fresh dampened cloth to wipe my face, and I smiled my thanks at her.

  There was a clear question in her eyes, and I shook my head slightly. There was no baby, I was certain of that, even though my womb had been cramping badly in the past week or so.

  Judith wiped away my sweat, then brought me a cup of milk and egg and honey mixed, and I took it gratefully, thanking her as she turned to return to her stool by the door.

  “He is dying?” Harold said softly, his lips barely moving.

  “Yes.”

  “Saeweald cannot save him?”

  “Do you want him to?”

  Harold, who had been staring at Edward, looked at me. “No,” he admitted. “I do not. It has come time for me to take my heritage.”

  I shivered, a black wave of despair making me feel ill all over again. “Harold…”

  “I know, my love. I know.”

  That “my love” almost undid me, and I had to set the half-drunk cup of milk down on the floor.

  Harold mistook the reason for my distress, and took my hand, no longer caring, I think, what all the watching eyes thought.

  “I am strong. I can face whatever comes at me. England will not accept either Hardrada or William.”

  Oh, Harold, my love, I thought, you have no idea what it is you will face. I had a sudden, crazed hope that Asterion would best all who ranged against him, for then Harold would not have to die. He could reign as king, never knowing that beneath him reigned a far viler lord in a far more wretched land…

  The thought vanished even before I had completed it. England would not accept Asterion either.

  Harold’s gaze returned to Edward, now lying back on the pillows and struggling for breath. He spoke, keeping his voice very low. “Edward will die, but he has chosen the best time of year to do so.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It is the dead of winter. Neither Hardrada nor William can invade until late summer at the earliest. I have well over six months before…”

  He stopped, and I squeezed my eyes closed so that he might not see the pain in them. Oh, I knew very well what that “before” encompassed.

  Before William came home to kill Coel all over again.

  William would win whatever battle he engaged in with Harold. William would become king. Hardrada, if he was to be a player at all, would be little more than a nuisance.

  “Do not fear for me, Caela,” Harold said in the gentlest voice I had ever heard from any throat. He was going to say more—I was by this stage beyond any coherent speech—but then his head jerked towards the door, and he cursed, not taking the trouble to lower his voice.

  I raised my head.

  Swanne had entered the room.

  She looked…I don’t know…she looked different in some aspect. She was very pale, but then, she’d always had pale skin, although it did seem far more translucent than normal. Her eyes were over-bright, but then might that be because she had a winter chill?

  There was a strange rigidity in the manner in which she held her body, but was that because she’d heard Harold’s curse, and because she undoubtedly knew she would not be much welcomed within this chamber?

  Edward had always disliked her (the man had some sense!), and Harold had made his feelings for Swanne known throughout the court.

  Harold was within one or two weeks at the most of being crowned the new king, and there was no one in this chamber likely to try and alienate him by taking Swanne’s side in their rift.

  The chamber was already crowded, and there was little room for movement, but still people managed to draw back from Swanne as if she carried the pestilence within her person.

  “What do you here?” Harold asked. He had let go my hand and risen.

  Swanne’s eyes moved about the room, as if searching for supporters, but she answered Harold calmly enough. “I am here to pay my respects to the king,” she said, “and to offer my assistance, howsoever that may be required.”

  Without waiting for a reply Swanne moved to the side of Edward’s bed—the opposite side from Harold and myself—and sank to the floor in a graceful curtsey, bowing her head almost down to her breast.

  “My lord and liege,” she said to Edward as she finally raised her face to look at him, and I was shocked to see her eyes glistening with tears. “I am sad to see you in such distress. How may I best help?”

  Edward was in no mood for courtly niceties. “You can remove yourself from my presence,” he said, “and take that slut with you. I have had enough of her.”

  He waved a hand feebly in my direction.

  Harold tensed, and before he could speak I rose and said calmly enough, “I will be glad of the time to rest. Judith, perhaps you might bring some bread and cheese so that the Lady Swanne and I may break our fast together? We can sit in peace in the solar, I think.”

  Away from all these people. That would be a relief, at least, even if Swanne’s company was not. I determined to rid myself of her as soon as possible. All I wanted was to sleep…

  Curiously, Swanne seemed pleased at this suggestion, and she and I made our silent way to the solar. There was no fire burning in the brazier because of the fuss Edward’s sudden sickness had caused, but there were furs and blankets enough to wrap about us, and Judith could send someone to attend to the fire shortly.

  “Swanne,” I said as we sat down in opposite chairs and arranged the furs about ourselves. “How do you?”

  Her eyes gleamed strangely, and her mouth worked as if she wanted to say something but dared not.

  “Well enough,” she said finally. She was staring at me now with a disturbing brightness, and I shifted, uncomfortable. I did not truly feel like trading barbed comments with Swanne at the moment.

  “And you are comfortable at the archbishop’s palace?” I said
. The news of Swanne’s move to Aldred’s residence had caused a stir and much comment in Edward’s court.

  She jerked her head in what seemed like assent.

  I looked to the door, wondering where Judith was. The mere presence of a third person in this chamber would be a welcome relief, even if she did nothing to ease the awkwardness of the conversation.

  “You must be missing your children,” I said.

  “Do you remember those golden bands Brutus wore about his limbs?” she said. Her entire body was rigid, and she stared at me unblinkingly.

  I froze, although I truly should not have found the query unexpected. Swanne would have known another band was moved last night, and I was the only living soul in England with whom she might discuss the matter (apart from Asterion, of course, but then I could not imagine Swanne interrogating him about the bands’ movements!). She might even suspect me, although she would not think me capable.

  Still, Swanne-who-once-was-Genvissa had been blaming me for most of the world’s ills for these past two thousand years, so, that she would blame me for this—without actually believing that I was responsible for it—was hardly a shock.

  “Of course,” I said. “Brutus treasured them dearly.”

  “He hid them. After you had murdered me.”

  “They vanished from his limbs, that I know, but I did not know what he had done with them.” Not then.

  “Now someone is moving them.”

  I swallowed. It wasn’t so much the topic of conversation, but the strange, unreal directness of it, that perturbed me. There was something odd about Swanne. Something…un-Swanne. It was the only way I could describe the strangeness that hung about her.

  Perhaps it was her anger and shock at the movement of the band?

  “We think it is Silvius,” she said.

  We? I thought. “Silvius?” I said.

  “Oh, come now, you pathetic little wretch, you know who Silvius is.”

  I fought the urge to drop my eyes from her direct stare. “Oh…Brutus’ father. Yes? Swanne, you must understand that in our dealings with each other Brutus and I spent little time talking.”

  There, let her make of that what she would.

  Swanne flushed, and I knew my barb had hit home.

  “There are rumours, foul rumours I am sure,” she said, “that you were absent from Edward’s bed when he took ill last night. How may that be explained, do you think?”

  It was not unexpected that Swanne would have heard this, and certainly not unexpected that she would comment on it to me…but that she would do so in the instant after discussing both the kingship band and Silvius?

  I gave her the same explanation I’d given everyone else. I’d woken, realised Edward’s distress, and run to fetch Saeweald without thinking to wake anyone else.

  I finished, but Swanne said nothing. She just stared at me with that unusual light in her eyes.

  “I’ve taken Aldred to my bed,” she said. “Did you know that?”

  Perhaps if she had said that she was really Og reincarnated she might have stunned me more, but, frankly, I doubt it. It was not merely that the comment was so totally inappropriate to the conversation immediately preceding it, but that Swanne had taken Aldred to her bed was…unbelievable.

  I cannot imagine any woman willingly taking Aldred into her bed, but Swanne? Never! Not when events were so clearly moving towards a reckoning. Not when William was so close!

  Later, of course, I may have recognised that comment for what it was—a heavily-veiled scream for help—but at this moment I only sat there, my mouth agape, and finally managed to splutter, “But what about William?”

  “He wasn’t handy at the time,” she snapped.

  “But—”

  “Do you know who is moving the bands?”

  Again, the sudden twist in the conversation unnerved me. “No.”

  “Is it Silvius?”

  “I don’t know to what you refer, Swanne. I—”

  “Are you moving the bands, Caela?”

  “Me? Me? How can I, Swanne? I do not even know why you are so obsessed with these damned bands. And Brutus hid them, not me. Surely you have enough wealth and estates not to hanker after some long-buried relic?”

  “Are you moving the bands, Caela?”

  “Why are you asking me this, Swanne?”

  “You were not with Edward last night when a band was moved.”

  Gods, and to think I’d been worrying about what Asterion might have thought! “I have explained where I—”

  “Who do you keep company with, Caela? What strange creatures aid you those nights you are not with Edward?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She rose suddenly to her feet, the furs and coverlets tumbling about her feet. “Who else has come back from that terrible life we endured? Who are your friends?”

  I defended with attack. I was now so truly confused, worried and disorientated by Swanne’s bizarre behaviour that I could think of no other way to respond.

  I, too, leapt to my feet, and with one fist I beat against my belly. “Do you not remember, Swanne? Asterion tore Mag from my womb. I am no more than an ordinary woman—I have no insights, no secrets! What? Do you think that I am still Asterion’s pawn? Still dancing to his tune?”

  Something in Swanne’s face changed.

  There was a moment when she seemed terrified, and I assumed that her terror was because she might truly have thought I was Asterion’s creature.

  “Look,” I snarled, spreading my hands wide. “No knife.”

  She winced, but I carried straight on.

  “I want nothing save to be left in peace, Swanne. I have no ambitions save to escape your malevolence and jealousy and retire to some hall in the country where I might live quietly. I do not want to see your and William’s triumph, Swanne.”

  My face was twisting in bitterness now, and I think it was that more than anything else that convinced her. “I do not want William, Swanne. You can have him. I just want to escape you and him and all that happened. I just want to escape!”

  I burst into tears, and as I put my hands to my face and sobbed, Judith entered the room, took one appalled look at me, and hastened over.

  “Madam!” she said. “What—”

  “My Lady Swanne is leaving, Judith. Perhaps you can close the door behind her.”

  Swanne gave me one more strange, searching look, nodded tersely, then left.

  Two days later, as I sat exhausted in Edward’s chamber, Silvius came to see me.

  I was astounded at his daring—for he did not bother with one of his Aegean sorceries, but came to me openly—though grateful. In truth, Edward’s death chamber (once our marital chamber, but now utterly overtaken with the stink and business of his dying) was thronged with clerics, supplicants, nuns, abbesses, physicians, herbalists, nobles, members of the witan, sundry palace servants crowding in for a glimpse of the fun and a press of other bodies and ambitions I did not bother to recognise. Jesus Christ himself could have entered that chamber, and it would have elicited no comment.

  I was sitting on a linen chest on the far side of the chamber, all but hidden from the view of those closely grouped about the bed by a group of nuns (from Mother Ecub’s order, I think, which may have given Silvius the courage, knowing they would do their best to keep him hidden from view) when a close-hooded monk came to me, murmured an apology for intruding, and sat on the chest beside me.

  “My lady,” he said, and took my hand.

  I almost jerked it out of the presumptuous man’s grasp before I realised who it was. Silvius’ good eye gleamed at me from deep within his hood, and I nearly burst into tears.

  I almost spoke his name, but he put his finger to his lips and winked.

  I contented myself with squeezing his hand. “What do you here?” I asked, speaking low.

  “Come to see if you need any comfort.”

  Oh, he was too good to me.

  “Oh,” I said. “Good man—” damn this audi
ence for not allowing me to say his name! “—I am glad you are here. I wish to say…that…”

  I wanted to apologise to him for how I had acted that night we lay together, for not being what he deserved, but I did not know how to phrase the words.

  “Do not worry, my lady, you were all that I deserved, and more. Tell me…have you lost that emptiness?”

  I shook my head wordlessly.

  “Ah, I am sorry for it. I had hoped…”

  “I know.” Again I squeezed his hand. “So much has changed in so few days.”

  He glanced at the back of the closely grouped nuns, as if he could see Edward through their substance. “I know. There is a disturbance in the Game.”

  “Long Tom has felt it also.” Silvius’ eye jerked back to my face as I continued. “The foundations of both land and Game have tilted slightly.”

  “And does he know what has caused this?”

  “No.” Now it was I who looked about the chamber. “Swanne is altered. I wonder if it is she who has…has…”

  “Has?”

  “I don’t know.” I felt close to tears, and Silvius lifted his free hand and touched my forehead, making the gesture look like a blessing. I wished he could keep his fingers on my face, but of necessity he needed to drop them away as he did. I took a deep breath and tried again. “Her manner. Her very being. It is different in some way. Sharper, edgier. More acute.”

  “Then what has happened, has happened to Swanne,” he said.

  “But what could it be?”

  He shrugged.

  “Asterion?” I asked, glancing around me, wondering if he was here, among us.

  Undoubtedly.

  “If Asterion did anything to Swanne it would be to kill her. That I could imagine. Especially if he was angered that another band had been moved. Who else would he suspect apart from Swanne?”

  “He could suspect me. He came to Edward while I and Long Tom moved the second band, and he saw I was not here. Then Swanne came to me, and asked questions…”

  “Lady,” Silvius said very gently, “how could he suspect you? He is certain that Mag has been killed. He cannot know you for who you truly are.”

  I shrugged, closer to tears than ever. If only I could sleep, rest, close my mind to everything…