Druids Sword by Sara Douglass

Mrs Stanford had come to the kitchen door to listen, and so Jack kept his voice quiet when he spoke to Grace.

“Do you ever see him…the king?”

“Rarely, Jack. He finds it difficult to get away from his palace and the court.”

“You know who he is reborn?”

“Yes. John Thornton.”

“He loved your mother very much.”

Grace looked at him quizzically. “Why so pensive, Jack?”

“I was remembering what your father said to me yesterday.”

“He didn’t mean to—”

Jack smiled. “Oh yes, he did. He’s terrified for you, Grace, and I cannot fault him for that. He thinks that I am as much a threat as Catling.”

“No, surely he doesn’t—”

“What he said about my three sons cut to the quick.”

Grace didn’t answer.

“Noah—Cornelia as she was then—and I had three glorious sons, and have I ever thought about them? No. How could I not have ever thought about them, Grace?”

“What were their names?” she asked softly.

“Achates,” Jack said, and grimaced. “He was the eldest. Got on your mother the night I first raped her.”

“Jack, there’s no need to—”

“I think there is, Grace. I need to say this to you…not for your sake, perhaps, but to acknowledge those three boys.”

“And the names of the others?”

“Idonale and Charistes. Those I got on your mother when I had imprisoned her within hatred.”

“Did you love them?”

“As much as I was capable of loving when I lived as Brutus…and that was not very deeply. Not enough, I’m afraid. Gods, Grace, I was so hideous.”

Grace had tears in her eyes, and neither of them were aware that the king’s address had ended and Mrs Stanford had turned off the radio and gone back into her kitchen.

“Your father has every right to be afraid of what I might do to you, Grace.”

“I am not afraid,” she whispered, and Jack gave a short laugh.

“I’m afraid of what I might do to you, Grace.”

She didn’t respond for a long minute. “And your daughter? The one who died at birth?”

In the kitchen the White Queen stirred, and raised her head, her nerveless black eyes gleaming.

“She had no name,” Jack said, “and isn’t that the supreme tragedy of all, that she had no name? That I cared so little for her that I thought not even to name her?”

“Jack…“

“If I had one wish, one wish that I could make come true, Grace, I think I would want to be able to hold that girl, and cuddle her, even if she were dead, tell her I love her, and name her. Give her that, at least.”

In the kitchen the White Queen lowered her face, and wept black tears into her bubbling pot of marmalade jam.

NINE

London

Tuesday, 24th September to Wednesday, 9th October 1940

GRACE SPEAKS

Ifelt somewhat guilty that Jack had to ask me to go out into London again and see what I could discover about the shadow. Since I’d been living at Ariadne’s, I’d done little more than to work with her, and to explore and develop my abilities with the labyrinthine harmonies by myself. I’d also been so involved with Jack’s growing presence in my life that I had put virtually everything else aside. These were, however, pitiful excuses when considering the desperate battle we were all involved in, and I should not have needed Jack’s prompting.

I went out the very next day. Much had changed, not merely in the city, but in me. Ariadne’s training had deepened my power and my perception, but Jack’s influence had bolstered my self-confidence and courage. I walked into a city that I saw with different eyes, and I walked with bolder steps than I had ever done hitherto.

Jack’s diamond bracelets felt warm and comforting, a constant reminder not only of him, but of my own abilities. I didn’t allow them visibility when I walked the streets, but they were always there, part of my flesh as the four bands of Troy had once been a part of me.

I did not fear Catling as once I had. I was still very much aware that she held my fate in her hands (or, bound by my wrists, as it were), and I very much respected her power and malevolence, but fear of her no longer dominated my life. Jack had taken my scars, and my feelings of shame and failure and burden, and (with his belief in me, more than his gift) gave me back my life and my heritage.

Neither did I fear the imps. It had been weeks since their last murder, and I wondered if they had grown tired of their deadly activities.

For the sake of the young women of London, I hoped so.

Thus, with my new-found abilities and confidence, I discovered a new city. It opened up to me in a way it had never done before. I was far more aware of the labyrinthine shadow that hung over London, but I was also aware of all the labyrinthine twistings of the city itself, the paths and harmonies and strange meanderings that gave the city its life. I looked at the way cars and lorries and people moved about the city and saw underlying patterns and purposes. I watched the way racing pigeons flew in their flocks about the tops of the buildings, and saw a reflection of the way a Kingman danced about the labyrinth. I looked at the barrage balloons moving in the breeze, and saw new possibilities of manipulating harmonies.

Suddenly I was more than Grace. I was a Mistress of the Labyrinth, and I was a Darkwitch, and I had the power to create my own future, rather than allowing others to create it for me.

I encountered difficulties as well as new possibilities, though, and those mainly due to the war. “Wandering about” was no longer quite so easy as once it had been. Large areas had been bombed and were closed (or were too difficult to access). Other areas were officially off limits (although it was a simple matter for me to assume a glamour and wander unseen); yet more areas were unofficially off limits. These were areas where there was so much residual pain and fear and distress from bombing that I found myself walking past them quickly. I hadn’t been affected by the sorrow and pain of others before, and I realised just how introspective (even selfish) I’d been before Jack arrived.

I still disguised what I was doing as much as possible. Catling appeared to have no idea of this shadow hanging over London (and I admit that this bothered me deeply, and made me wonder if I was right in thinking the shadow was Catling’s trap; perhaps it might be something else and I didn’t want to be the one to make her suspicious). The war made disguising the true purpose of my meanderings easy. There were many people, all over London, who needed comfort and relief and help, and I spent a great deal of my time with either my mother or Matilda and Ecub (I was finally feeling more confident with them, as I was with my mother), travelling around with my mother’s mobile canteen in the evening and night, and visiting those who needed comfort during the day. It all gave me a chance to get out and about, and to open myself up to this shadowy possibility overhanging the city, but I also enjoyed meeting people, and laughing and crying with them.

Again, it was all part of this new experience for me…living.

Mostly I kept to the central areas of London—both Jack and I were well aware that the shadow spread over the entire Greater London area—but it was at its most potent over the old City. It would be here, I thought, that I’d have more chance of discovering anything of its nature.

For a week I walked here and there, visiting a shop in this street, helping out at a shelter or a kitchen for the homeless in the next. On one occasion Ecub came with me, on another my father accompanied me. For that week I concentrated on opening myself up as much as possible. As each day passed I became more and more sure I was on the verge of a breakthrough. Each day the shadow seemed “closer”—not in a physical sense but almost in an emotional one. I felt as if I would discover something significant, very soon.

I was only slightly wrong. I didn’t discover anything. It discovered me, and once it did, my new-found serenity shattered completely.

One day I met Matilda at Leman Street Station. We meant to walk through the East End to see if we could be of any assistance. Both of us had spare food coupons (gods alone know where my mother had “found” those), cards giving directions to hostels for the homeless, and, we hoped, a store of sympathy and empathy for the wretched people of the East End who had borne the brunt of the bombing thus far. As the morning wore on, we moved through that part of the East End closest to the Tower of London, stopping here and there to help as we were able.