Gods Concubine by Sara Douglass

―He means to control it,‖ Caela said. She began to cry again. ―Become its Kingman in

place of William. Silvius…I am sorry…Silvius…I told Swanne, before I knew of her bond with

Asterion, what the Game has planned. Oh, Silvius, I am so sorry. I should have—‖

―Be still,‖ Silvius said gently. ―It could not be helped. They trapped you.‖ He took

Caela‘s hand in his, stroking it gently.

Then, suddenly he stilled and his face went pale.

―What?‖ said Saeweald, staring at Silvius.

―The Mag force within Caela has gone,‖ he said, his voice hoarse with disbelief and

horror. ―The Mag within her has gone.”

A terrible, bewildered silence.

―Swanne has succeeded,‖ Silvius went on, his voice now barely audible. ―She has killed

Mag. She has finally killed Mag.‖

Part Seven

1066

Among the school-boys in my memory …

Among the school-boys in my memory there was a pastime called Hop-Scotch, which was

played in this manner; a parallelogram about 4 or 5 feet wide, and 10 or 12 feet in length, was made upon the ground and divided laterally into 18 or 20 different compartments called

beds…the players were each provided with a piece of tile…which they cast by hand into the

different beds in regular succession, and every time the tile was cast, the player”s business was

to hop on one leg after it, and drive it out of the boundaries at the end…if it passed out at the

sides, or rested upon any of the marks, it was necessary to repeat the whole of this operation.

The boy who performed the whole of this operation by the fewest casts was known as The

Conqueror.

Joseph Strutt, Sports & Pastimes of the People of England, late 18th century

London, March 1939

“Cornelia is mine, you know,” said Asterion, lounging against the closed door to

Skelton”s bedroom as the Major slid home the knot on his tie.

Jack Skelton ignored the Minotaur as he turned slightly, checking his reflection in the

wardrobe mirror to make sure his uniform sat straight.

“I”ve had her ever since that moment she begged me to sleep with her,” Asterion

continued. “Genvissa was right. Cornelia was always a tramp.”

Skelton turned so that he could look the Minotaur in the face. His eyes were weary,

ringed with dark circles, the expression in them resigned, almost hopeless.

“Then why hasn”t she given you the final two bands?” Skelton said.

The Minotaur laughed. “Oh, she will, soon enough.”

Skelton smiled. “Yes? Then why traipse over London after me? Why torment me, if there

is no need?”

Asterion straightened, snarling. “Because I enjoy it!”

Then he was gone, and Skelton was left staring at the back of the bedroom door.

“Major?” Violet called from the other side. “Frank”s waiting for you. He has the motor

outside.” She paused. “Waiting.”

“Aye,” whispered Skelton. “Waiting, as are we all.” He raised his voice. “I”ll be but a

moment, Mrs Bentley!”

But Skelton did not immediately move. Instead he continued to stand, staring at the

closed door, one hand raised to his shirt where he scratched softly at that spot where Matilda had touched him earlier.

He could hear a rumble outside, and Skelton knew that it was not, as might be expected,

the sound of Bentley starting up his motor.

Instead he recognised it for what it was: the sound of the wild white stag with the

blood-red antlers running through the forest.

“I”m ready,” he said, and the only one who heard was the running stag.

ONE

Mid-September 1066

The northerly wind blew strong, whipping up the waves in the Somme estuary into

man-high, cream-foamed crests that slapped against the hulls of the scores of galleys at anchor.

On shore, standing atop a tower which overlooked the harbour and the small town of

Saint-Valery, William glanced yet once more at the weather vane on top of the church spire.

The northerly wind showed no sign of abating.

Matilda, standing with her husband, saw the direction of his glance. ―Hardrada is

moving.‖

―With this wind? Aye. His ships will be close to northern England by now.‖

The spring and summer had been a curious mix of frantic activity and a soul-deadening

wait for intelligence. While William had built up his military expedition and garnered support

from the European heads of state and Church (all of which had, thank Christ, been forthcoming),

Harold had consolidated his hold on England and built up his own forces to meet the expected

challenge from Normandy.

But Harold Hardrada of Norway was also moving. He had built three hundred ships, a

flotilla with which to invade the north of England, and, like William, awaited propitious weather

conditions in order to launch his ambition.

This northerly wind provided Hardrada with his chance. William had received

intelligence a week ago that Hardrada had embarked on his voyage. If he wasn‘t within sight of

England now then he would be within the day. And while the northerlies sped Hardrada towards

England it kept William penned in the mouth of the Somme…waiting.

―And Harold?‖ Matilda asked softly.

―Preparing to meet him.‖ William let go a pent-up breath. ―At last. At last we are

moving.‖

―But we are not moving,‖ Matilda observed, and William turned to her and grinned.

He leaned down and planted a kiss on her forehead, and rested a hand briefly on her

belly. Matilda was five months gone with child, and William was grateful for no other reason

than that pregnancy would keep Matilda at home when otherwise she might have insisted on

embarking with him.

―We shall be soon,‖ he said. ―This northerly will not last a lifetime, and the instant it

changes, we sail.‖

―Yet in the meantime Hardrada threatens to seize England from us.‖

William shook his head, his eyes now scanning the fleet as it bobbed at anchor. ―Harold

is good. Very good. Hardrada may test him, but I doubt very much that he will best him. He will

tire him. With luck, my love, Harold‘s force will be exhausted by the time it meets mine.‖

―I wish my agent was still in place,‖ Matilda said, her voice sad. She‘d heard some time

ago of her agent‘s death, and Matilda worried that it was her orders that had placed Damson in

danger.

―We will manage without her,‖ William said, kissing the top of Matilda‘s head.

―I wish I knew who killed her,‖ she said.

―When I have England, then we shall hunt down her murderer. I promise you that.‖

Matilda relaxed, trusting in her husband. She, too, looked over the fleet, reviewing in her

mind all that had happened in the past months. The Norman magnates‘ enthusiastic acceptance

of William‘s plan; the Pope‘s blessing; the aid—both monetary and in the form of troops—sent

by the nobles of Flanders, Maine, Brittany, Poitou, Burgundy, five of the Italian states and a score of others.

All lusting for the spoils William promised would be theirs at his victory.

―I will keep Normandy safe for you,‖ she said, and William again smiled and kissed her.

He was leaving Matilda as co-regent of Normandy with their eldest son, Robert. At fourteen

Robert was coming into an age where he needed to shoulder the responsibilities of the duchy

which would eventually be his. William had needed to fight for decades to establish his right to

rule Normandy, and he intended to make the process of succession much easier for his son. He

loved his son, as he loved Matilda, but not with the deep-hearted passion he was capable of. That

he reserved for…

His eyes slipped over the estuary and out to sea. Wondering what was really happening in

England…in London.

Swanne had been quiet. Too quiet for his liking, and for the events that were gathering.

He had heard that she kept her place in Aldred‘s bed, and he found that disturbing.

Why?

Harold he had understood (if not Swanne‘s neglect in telling him that Harold was

Coel-reborn). William‘s chance to take his rightful place on England‘s throne (as England‘s

kingman) had been delayed by so many years because of the (Asterion-driven) revolts within

Normandy itself. In the meantime Swanne had needed to establish a place within the English

court, and Harold had been the perfect vehicle with which to do that.

William could forgive her Harold. Could understand Harold.

But not Aldred. The man was not unknown to William, for the corpulent Archbishop of

York had acted as one of Edward‘s emissaries to Rome on numerous occasions, and when

travelling through Europe Aldred had often stayed with William. Aldred‘s sympathies were

clearly with William, because he‘d acted as the go-between for the letters between Swanne and

William for years.

William repressed a sigh. Perhaps that‘s why Swanne was with him. Payment owed?

No, that wasn‘t Swanne at all.

―Your thoughts?‖ Matilda said beside him, and William jumped a little guiltily.

―I was thinking of Swanne,‖ he said. ―I was wondering why, out of all the intelligence