Gods Concubine by Sara Douglass

Matilda stared at her husband for many long minutes, digesting this piece of information.

―A witch?‖ she said finally, her voice a mere whisper.

William opened, then closed his mouth. He gave a single nod.

―By Christ himself, William, what interest has she in you?‖

―Even witches can find me attractive, Matilda.‖

Matilda laughed, and William was profoundly relieved to hear genuine amusement in it.

―As also daughters of Flanders,‖ she said. ―Very well. I believe you. I think you spoke

truth to me just now. Not many husbands would have done it. Now tell me more. Was that,‖ she

waved a hand at his groin, ―the only reason she used her witchcraft to reach you?‖

―No. Matilda, I have spoken long and often to you of my plans for my…for our future.

But there is one burning ambition of which I have not yet spoken to you.‖

She raised an eyebrow.

―I long for the throne of England. I yearn for it.‖

She gave a disbelieving laugh. ―Fighting for Normandy isn‘t enough for you?‖

―When Normandy is secure, then I am turning my eyes to England, Matilda. You are

already Duchess of Normandy—‖

―Those bits of it you command,‖ she said, sotto voce.

―How much more would you like to be Queen of England?‖

She thought about it. ―Very much, I think. I have heard it is a fine land, and rich, and its

people pliable, but I have also heard that there are many people who lust for England. The

Anglo-Saxon earls for one, notable among them the Godwine family, and what of the Danes and

Norwegians? They have ever longed for England.‖

He grinned, mischievous. ―I thought the challenge would appeal to you.‖

―Oh, aye, challenge does appeal to me. Why else marry you?‖

They both laughed, their eyes locking, and William relaxed even more. He moved close

to her, and bent down to kiss her, but she moved away.

―Not when your mouth still stinks of this Swanne. Later, perhaps, when you have washed

away her taste with wine.‖

William was not perturbed by Matilda‘s refusal, for there was no hatred or bitterness in

her voice. Indeed, her tone had been matter-of-fact, as if all she had complained about was that

his mouth still stank of the leeks he‘d eaten for his noon meal.

―I will secure Normandy,‖ he said. ―And then I will go for England. I will be king of

England, Matilda. And you queen.‖

―Not this Swanne?‖

He shook his head, his eyes unwavering. ―No. You. Swanne is…Swanne is my eyes and

ears within Edward‘s court. My ambition for England is also her ambition.‖

―And yet she does not want to be your queen in return for all this disloyalty to her

country and husband.‖

―What she might want,‖ William said quietly, ―is not necessarily what she might get.‖

Stunningly, he realised that this was no lie.

She regarded him very steadily for some time before finally speaking. ―Do you not want

to know the reason I came seeking you? What made me dare the stables and all its dirt?‖

He smiled. ―What, my love?‖

Now she drew close to him and, taking his hand, put it on her stomach. ―The midwives

have just confirmed to me what I have suspected now for a week or more. I am with child,

William.‖

He looked at her, then drew her in close, holding her in silence for a long time.

Eventually Matilda drew back, her face softer than it had been at any time before in this

conversation.

―Do you think you could still bear to make love to me when I am swollen with this child,

William?‖

He smiled, but for a moment the memory of Swanne‘s pregnant body pressed against his

consumed him. ―I will find it no difficulty at all,‖ he said.

―Then let us quit this tired and dusty stable, and seek our bedchamber and that glass of

wine to wash Swanne from your mouth. I do not think that tightness of breath nor that flush in

your cheeks should be wasted.‖

He slept once they‘d made love, but Matilda lay awake under the heaviness of his body,

thinking over all that had happened this day.

Matilda had known the instant she‘d stepped into that tack room what had been

happening, although she‘d not been able to understand the how of it, for there was no exit from

that place save the doorway she herself stood in.

But there William had stood before her, as aroused as ever she‘d seen him, and behind

her had stood the Master of the Horse, Alain Roussel, who had begged her not to enter.

Matilda had closed the door on Roussel and had done what she had to, in order not only

to save her marriage from disintegrating into a sham, but also to fashion it into something even

stronger than it had been.

William had been engaged in making love with another woman (and a witch, no less!)

that he‘d already admitted (and on their wedding night!) was the first love of his life. Matilda

could have whined and sulked, or she could have cried and stormed and threatened, but she did

none of these things, realising it would have lost her William‘s respect. Instead, she had

remained calm and reasonable, allowing William to judge himself by his own words rather than by hers. She realised that a marriage could be made on stronger ties than love and that, in the

end, these ties would defeat whatever love or lust William felt for this Swanne.

Matilda was not entirely sure that it was love that bound these two. Something else bound

them…their equal ambition for the throne of England, perhaps? Matilda believed William when

he said that she, Matilda, would be his queen…but Matilda did not think that Swanne would let

go of her own ambition easily. Whatever William might believe, Swanne fully intended to sit

beside William as his lover and as his queen.

You might be a witch, Lady Swanne, Matilda thought, but you have not yet matched your

wits against a daughter of Flanders, have you?

William sighed then, half waking, and shifted his body a little, running a hand over

Matilda‘s breast and cupping it gently in his hand before falling back into a deeper sleep.

And you are not the one lying under his body, and with his child in her belly. Beautiful

and powerful you might be, Swanne, but you are deluded if you think that love and lust will mean

more to William than loyalty and friendship and the bonds of a strong marriage.

Matilda resolved, then, to never tax William with Swanne again. If she did so, then it

would be Matilda herself who would fracture their marriage.

No, she would not tax William about Swanne, but she could do her utmost to make sure

that she had her ears and eyes at Edward‘s court. Two agents were better than one when it came to a throne…and a marriage.

SEVEN

In the six months following Edward‘s marriage to Caela, the court at Westminster grew

apace. Edward had announced plans to build a great cathedral on Thorney Isle, as well as extend

and refurbish his own palace.

Builders and labourers thronged the site. In catering to the growing workforce, and to the

growing size of Edward‘s court, the numbers of servants and their families grew also.

Westminster almost tripled its population, and a small town grew up about the palace and abbey

complex.

Many new arrivals thronged the community of Westminster, but among them there were

three who had deeper purpose than merely finding employment.

Some three months after Edward‘s marriage a young widowed and destitute peasant

woman had come to the palace, asking for work as a laundress, or perhaps a dairy

maid…whatever work there was, she begged. Damson, she called herself, after a variety of

exotic plum.

A damson, thought Edward‘s chamberlain, studying her silently, was the last thing she

looked like. The woman was already tired and worn, despite her relative youth, with stooped

shoulders, waxen cheeks marred by broken veins, and pale blue eyes that looked set to fade away

to nothing. Nevertheless, she claimed to be a skilled laundress, and with a queen in residence,

and all the ladies she attracted about her, and all the linens they wore, or sewed, or

commissioned…well, another laundress was always needed.

―Very well, then,‖ said the chamberlain severely, ―but you‘ll work under my direct orders

for the time being, until I can be sure you‘re trustworthy.‖

Damson‘s eyes brightened at the prospect of a home, and the chamberlain softened. He

patted her on her cheek and sent her away to join the women already carrying heavy wicker

baskets of laundry down to the river.

Within a week he had forgotten about her.

Edward was a particularly pious king, and among the builders and labourers and sundry

laundresses that flocked to Westminster, there also arrived a corresponding number of clerics.