more than his morning shave. Matilda continued into the chamber until she was close to Swanne
and then, very tightly, also nodded at her.
Swanne made no attempt to cover herself. She had propped herself up on her elbows so
that she could see the better, but her breasts still hung bare from the front of her under-tunic, and
her naked body was exposed from her hips downward.
―And thus you expected to be queen beside my husband?‖ Matilda said, letting both
incredulity and disgust fill her voice.
The barb struck home, for Swanne flushed as with one hand she jerked her skirts down
and with the other pulled her bodice over her breasts. She looked to William to aid her rise, but
he had stepped several paces away and now stood slightly to Matilda‘s left.
Unwittingly—or not, as the case may have been—William had placed himself so that he
and Matilda stood together, confronting Swanne.
Swanne managed to rise to her feet with as much dignity as she was capable of. Her flush
had deepened, clearly more through anger than through humiliation, and her eyes flashed. She opened her mouth, but Matilda forestalled her before she could speak.
―You are the Lady Swanne, I think. Yes? Ah, William, look at that red mouth, and those
sharp teeth.‖ Matilda‘s voice hardened. ―Lady Snake, more like. Swanne is too gracious a name
for you, my dear.‖
―Matilda,‖ said William. ―What are you doing here? Are you well?‖ He kissed her
quickly on her mouth, recovering far more quickly from his initial fluster than Swanne liked.
―I had a bad dream,‖ Matilda said, her voice now rich with love. She laid a hand on his
cheek. ―A terrible dream, and so I acted on it.‖ Her eyes slid back to Swanne, and her tone and
features became glacial. ―Just in time, I see.‖
Swanne‘s mouth opened and then closed as she fought to find something to say. As
William and Matilda continued to watch her with impassive faces, Swanne finally managed to
summon enough dignity to give Matilda a sharp nod, William an even sharper look, before she
stalked for the door.
As it closed behind her William‘s shoulders visibly relaxed. He took his wife‘s face in
gentle hands. ―Thank you,‖ he said. ―Thank you.‖
She smiled, her eyes full of love and relief.
―Why not?‖ cried Asterion, stalking back and forth before Swanne as they stood in an
unnoted corner of William‘s camp. ―Why not?‖
―I had him,‖ she ground out, still so angry her flesh almost vibrated. ―He was mine…and
then that damned wife intervened. Gods help me, I will have her torn apart limb by limb.‖
―You failed me,‖ Asterion said, and there was enough coldness in his voice to make
Swanne look at him in panic.
―I will have him, I will. He cannot resist me for long. Besides, she is pregnant, and soon
will be too unwieldy to take any man atop her.‖
―I need William dead, Swanne.‖
―I know! I know! I promise you, my love. He will be!‖
“Before we get to London. I do not need William breathing over my shoulder when I
retrieve those bands.‖
She leaned against him, placing her hands against his chest. ―I will let nothing come
between us, Asterion. Believe me, William will be mine before we arrive in London.‖
He nodded. ―Make sure of it.‖ Damn her! William should be dead by now! For a moment
Asterion contemplated the possibility that Swanne might not be able to seduce William. If that
was the case, could he use the other…?
No, they were imps of different natures. Swanne carried the deadly imp within her. The
destroyer.
She was the only one who could murder William safely.
―Make sure of it,‖ Asterion said again to Swanne, and there was enough threat in his
voice to make her blanch.
THIRTEEN
CAELA SPEAKS
Isat within St Margaret the Martyr‘s for the six weeks it took William to reach London
and felt every pace he and his army took as England disintegrated before its conqueror. From
Hastings, William marched on Canterbury, then further west on the road to London, fighting
skirmishes here and there, but facing no real opposition.
The might of England‘s army and its nobles had died on the field of Hastings. Not merely
Harold, although for my heart he was the most of it, but his surviving brothers, his uncles,
Alditha‘s brothers; everyone who might have had a faint hope of uniting the remnants of
England‘s pride against William. All had died on the bloodied field of Hastings.
London, as most of England, was terrified. What would William do? Would he burn and
rape and pillage? Would he set England afire? Would he destroy lives? If I had been able, I
would have answered them ―Nay.‖ William would want nothing but those bands. He might strike
down any who stood in his way, but if his way to London remained open, then England would
remain safe.
If I did not fear for England, then I remained taut with worry about William himself. I
knew Swanne had gone to Hastings—and where Swanne walked then so must Asterion walk
close by—and I knew that Swanne and Asterion meant to trap William.
But had she— had they—managed it?
I didn‘t know. I didn‘t think so. I was sure I would feel it if she had, feel her triumph if
nothing else, but I would also feel it through the land. I could still feel that dark stain in the land, and that made me realise that Swanne was still alive, but the darkness had not spread, and that
gave me hope—William had probably not yet been infected with Swanne‘s foulness. What gave
me more hope was the news of Matilda‘s unexpected arrival in England. If William had Matilda
by his side, would he then still succumb to Swanne? I did not think so, but there had been some
days between Hastings and Matilda‘s arrival, and what could have happened in those days was
almost too frightful to contemplate. Yet for all my concern I could do nothing until I laid eyes on
William, and spoke to him, and felt his warmth close to me. Until then I would not know for
certain.
The Sidlesaghes worried also. I often saw them, slowly circling atop Pen Hill, and
sometimes on the more distant Llandin. Long Tom, or one of the others, would also come to see
me from time to time, and sit with me a while, silent, holding my hand in his.
I tried to hope that William would have enough sense to recognise the dark change in
Swanne…but then, he‘d not let her darkness scare him away when she had been Genvissa, had
he? Then, he‘d willingly allowed himself to be enveloped by it.
So why not this time? William was not to know that in this life her darkness had a more
frightening edge to it, a fatal entrapment, so why would he view her any differently? Why
shouldn‘t William already be seduced into Asterion‘s trap?
Because Harold had trusted him. Because Harold had thought him a changed man—and
changed for the better.
I had to trust Harold. I had to…
I had to believe in what he had felt from William.
I had to trust William.
I had to believe that he had grown.
One grey, cold morning in early November, Mother Ecub came to me and said that four
members of Harold‘s witan waited within the convent‘s chapel to speak with me.
―They say,‖ said Ecub, ―that since Alditha has fled to the north—‖ Alditha was heavy
now with her unborn twin sons, and I could not blame her for trying to put as much space as possible between her husband‘s nemesis and her husband‘s unborn children ―—you are the voice
of the nation. You are Edward‘s beloved widow,‖ her own mouth quirked at that, mirroring the
action of my own, ―and they wish to hear your advice.‖
I rose, smoothing down the folds of my robe and reaching for the cloak Ecub held out for
me. ―How satisfying,‖ I said. ―God‘s Concubine has finally achieved some purpose.‖
Ecub grinned. ―If only they knew the true extent of that purpose.‖
―Who is among them?‖ I said.
―Regenbald,‖ Ecub said, and I nodded. The Chancellor had been at the forefront of both
Edward‘s and Harold‘s witans. Of course he would be here.
―And Robert Fitzwimarch,‖ Ecub continued, ushering me towards the door, ―Ralph
Aelfstan, and the Archbishop of York.‖
I froze.
―Aldred,‖ Ecub finished, watching me carefully, knowing the fear that name would cause
me.
―Aldred?‖ I whispered.
―He was a member of the witan as well, Eaving. He is doubtless here in that capacity, not
as…as…‖
―Asterion,‖ I whispered. I closed my eyes, and collected myself. I should not fear. Aldred
would not recognise me for what I truly was. I had not shown myself to him as Eaving—nor to
any except Harold, Ecub and the Sidlesaghes—and whatever tiny ―difference‖, if any, he picked