here for you when you returned. I am so sorry. I came as quickly as I could.”
She clung to him, her weeping increasing, and the man rocked her back and forth.
“Cornelia,” he whispered, “don”t cry, please don”t cry.”
―Enough,‖ said the Sidlesaghe. ―You need see no more.‖
―I remember,‖ Harold said, his voice thick with tears. ―Oh gods, I remember!‖
―Good,‖ said the Sidlesaghe, ―for there is much more I need to tell you.‖
He leaned close to Harold, and he began to whisper at the speed of wind in the man‘s ear.
FIVE
CAELA SPEAKS
Ihad taken to walking the hills north and west of St Margaret the Martyr‘s during these
late summer days. Here I could escape the bewilderment in Saeweald‘s eyes and the vain hope in
Judith‘s. Here I could wipe my mind free (or as free as possible) of my responsibilities.
Here I could just walk, and here, if ever it was going to, the land could speak to me and
tell me what it wanted.
On this day I had walked until I had exhausted my barely recovered body, and had sat
down in the centre of the weathered circle of stones atop Pen Hill.
The view from here was beautiful. Before me spread fields and meadows that ran down
to the silvered banks of the Thames, their purity marred only by the huddle of buildings and
roadways that were London.
I tried not to look at the city. I tried not to think on what it contained: not only Swanne
and Asterion somewhere within its huddled walls, but the Game…waiting, as I waited.
Well, they could all wait.
I tried also not to look too closely at the stones that encircled me atop Pen Hill. Today I
did not want to see the Sidlesaghes. I did not want to see their long, mournful faces. Today, they
were just stones.
To my relief, after I had been atop Pen Hill for an hour or more, low-lying, thick mist
closed in, cloaking the view, but leaving the summit of the hill and myself in sunlight. I was
happy, for this meant I might sit amid the waving grasses and flowers of Pen Hill, my arms
wrapped about my raised knees, in solitude, and not have to fear any disturbance.
Thus it was some shock, eventually, to hear the faint thud of footfalls approaching up the
mist-shrouded lower reaches of the hill.
I was irritated, more than anything. It would be Saeweald, come to ask me questions. Or
Ecub or Judith, come to sit with me and think to offer me some comfort. Or it would be some
peasant woman who, finding the space atop Pen Hill occupied by a former queen (and one with
her hair all loose and blowing in the wind at that), would blush and mutter in confusion, and
depart, taking my peace with her.
So I turned my face very slightly in the direction of the footfalls (thud, thud, thud up the
hill; whoever this was, they sounded as if they had the gods at their heels), my chin on my arms
folded across my knees, and I arranged my features in a scowl.
Not very welcoming, I know, but I truly did not want company. As if in response to my
irritation, even the sky had clouded over.
Then, in the space of a breath, Harold appeared out of the mists as if he were a spirit,
striding resolutely up the final few yards of grassed slope to reach the summit of Pen Hill.
He walked forward, pausing between two of the upright stones, a hand resting on one of
them. He was clad as if for war, a tunic of chain mail, a light linen tunic of war-stained scarlet
embroidered with the dragon over the mail, a sword at his hip.
He looked terrible. He‘d lost much weight and, while he‘d always been lean, now
appeared gaunt under his mail.
His chest was heaving, as if he‘d found the climb tiresome.
His face…
But I did not see his face, not immediately, for as my eyes travelled up his body a ray of
sunlight burst through the thin clouds and caught Harold in its grip.
I cried out, falling a little sideways in my surprise, for that shaft of sunlight had crowned
Harold in gold as surely as Aldred (Asterion!) had crowned him in Westminster Abbey. But here
he had been crowned, not by a monster in the guise of a man, but by the sun itself.
By the land.
And I understood. Harold was the land!
I scrambled to my feet, painfully aware that my robe was loose and grass-stained, and my
hair all tumbled about my shoulders and blowing about my face.
He didn‘t say a word, not at first. He stood, his hand still on the stone, staring at me.
Then he just walked forward, strode forward, grabbed me to him, and kissed me, deep
and passionate.
―Harold,‖ I said finally, when I managed to snatch some breath.
―Don‘t,‖ he replied, his voice harsh with desire, and something else…I am not sure what.
―Don‘t say anything to me. Not yet.‖ He buried his hands in my hair and groaned, and I think I
did too, and we kissed again, our bodies almost writhing each against the other.
He had remembered. Someone had told him, or he‘d simply just remembered.
―I cannot!‖ I cried, suddenly, frightfully fearful. ―To lie with you will be to kill you!‖
―I am your king,‖ he said, his mouth trailing over my jaw, my neck. ―Do as I ask.‖
―Coel…‖ I whispered.
He grabbed at my shoulders, and shook me, only a little, just enough to tumble the hair
over my face.
―I am this land incarnate,‖ he said. ―Are you really going to refuse me?‖
I was crying softly, but with the strength of the emotions which were surging through me,
and with relief and fear and desire all combined.
Then he gentled. ―We are safe here, in this circle,‖ he said, and smiled, and my heart
could have broken at that moment for love of him. ―Will you accept me, lady?‖
And it was not just Harold asking, but Coel. Harold would die, and he would die through
William‘s actions, as Coel had died, but this time, in this place, we could bless each other…and
the land.
Give me yourself, Caela, and you grant me joy and life.
I do not know if he spoke those words aloud, or in my mind, but I did not care. I smiled at
him, overcome with emotion, and I did not have to answer. Not verbally.
Take what you want of me, for it is all yours.
And he gathered me back into his arms.
When, finally, we lay naked and entwined on the grass, and he entered me, I cried out
with joy, my arms extended into the skies, and wept for the feel of the land embracing me
completely, utterly, filling all my empty, desolate spaces.
We made love all through that afternoon, the gentle warmth of the sun bathing our naked
bodies, the mists still shrouding the lower portions of the hill and the flat lands beyond. This was
loving such as I had never experienced, not even with Brutus, for this passion encompassed both
earth and sky and water as well, and they were as blessed as I.
This is what both I and the land had wanted.
This is what I had needed to open up to me those strange, dark spaces inside, and fill
them.
I wept, and he kissed away my tears.
―How did you know?‖ I asked eventually.
―I was riding the northern road, when a strange mist enclosed me. A creature came, tall,
and pale, and with—‖
―The most mournful face!‖ I said, and laughed, cupping Harold‘s face in my hands.
He smiled, too. Slow, loving. ―You know of what I speak?‖
I told him of the Sidlesaghes, and of Long Tom, and Harold nodded.
―He is of the ancient folk.‖
―Yes.‖
Harold grinned. ―He showed me that day, in the rock pool.‖
I coloured. Even now, after all these years, and all that had happened (and even now,
lying naked with this man), I still coloured as easily as a girl at that memory.
―Now that is a memory to treasure,‖ Harold said, kissing my neck, my shoulder, his voice
light and teasing. ―Inside you, Brutus not twenty paces away.‖
I did not smile, for my mind had jumped to that moment later, when Coel was inside me,
and Brutus a great deal closer than twenty paces, and with a sword, gleaming sharp and deadly in
the lamplight.
Harold was looking at me, his smile gone, but his face still relaxed. ―He is not here now.‖
―But he will—‖
―Shush,‖ he said. ―That does not matter. Not here, not now.‖
―Oh, Harold,‖ I said, my voice cracking, and he gathered me tight, and held me, and I