―What else can I call the death of my father, Pandrasus? And my nurse, Tavia? All the
people of Mesopotama? Damson! Oh, Damson…‖
―Damson? How can you blame yourself for Damson‘s death? Caela—‖
―I used her unwittingly, and sent her into danger. She was a sweet and simple woman
who—‖
―A sweet and simple woman? Ah, Caela! Enough. I cannot have you carry this burden.
Listen to me…Damson knew precisely what she was doing. And her greatest ‗talent‘ in life was
that she fooled most people into thinking she was ‗sweet and simple‘.‖
―It is good of you to try and make me feel better, Matilda, but—‖
―For sixteen years, Caela, Damson was my agent within Edward‘s court.‖
Caela‘s mouth dropped open.
―Damson was a cunning and knowing woman,‖ Matilda continued, ―not sweet and simple
at all. I met her several times in the days before I sent her to Edward‘s court, and I am very well
aware of precisely who and what she was. Do not berate yourself on Damson‘s account. She had
long accepted the risks of the life she led, and if you want someone to blame for putting her in
Swanne‘s way, then blame me. I was the one who sent her to Swanne when she moved to
Aldred‘s palace.‖
―You sent her to spy on Swanne?‖
―When I discovered that William and Swanne were lovers, in the first month or so of my
marriage, I sent Damson to be my own personal agent at Edward‘s court. She was to report on
Swanne to me…if Swanne moved to destroy my marriage and my life, then I wanted to be
warned of it. Later, my dear, I set Damson to watch you. After Harold came to visit, I became
increasingly curious about you.‖
―But…‖ Caela still could not believe what she was hearing.
―Do not fret.‖ Matilda smiled. ―Damson discovered nothing about you that she could
report to me, apart from a sense that you were far more than you appeared to be.‖ Matilda shrugged. ―You thought you were using
her. She was spying on you. You thought you had sent Damson to her death. I already
had. Caela, Damson is not your guilt to bear. Nor mine either. Damson had responsibility for her
own life.‖
Caela was silent.
―And your father, Pandrasus, and Tavia? Your fault? No. They were victims not of any
single act of ill will, but of circumstance. Mesopotama was destroyed by the miasma of hate,
Caela, not by any single person or action. Everyone hated: you, Brutus, Membricus, Pandrasus,
the Mesopotamans, the Trojans. A small boy walking down the streets of Mesopotama could
have sparked the disaster that ate it as much as anything you did, or anything Brutus did. Forgive
yourself, Caela. Don‘t carry around a burden of useless and unearned guilt.‖
Caela gave a small smile. ―I wish you had been with me in my previous life, Matilda. I
think somehow it would have been a happier time for me.‖
―I can make it a happier time for you in the future,‖ Matilda said, and squeezed Caela‘s
hand where it lay in her lap.
NINETEEN
Caela and Mother Ecub stood on Pen Hill, the stones humming gently, and watched as
William the Conqueror took London.
His army had been split into four and so it approached the city from four directions,
entering from the south via London Bridge, from the north-east via Aldgate, from the west via
Ludgate, and the largest column from the north via Cripplegate.
This last column approached Cripplegate from the northern road, which took them past
Pen Hill, and it was with this column that William and Matilda rode.
Caela and Ecub could just make him out: William was unmistakable in his brilliant,
jewelled armour.
―Did you tell him?‖ Ecub asked.
Caela shook her head, her eyes not leaving the distant figure. ―He is not ready. He did not
want to hear.‖
Ecub sighed.
―His wife, however,‖ Caela continued, ―did.‖
Ecub turned to Caela, an eyebrow raised.
―Matilda will be coming to visit you,‖ Caela said. ―Eventually.‖
Ecub laughed delightedly. ―Asterion has his own Gathering,‖ she said, ―and I shall have
mine.‖
William saw Matilda glancing at the crest of the hill, and his mouth tightened.
―They are watching,‖ Matilda said. ―Caela, and a woman I think must be Mother Ecub.‖
William said nothing, his eyes now back on the road before him. He was still furious that
Caela had told Matilda.
Unbelieving that Caela had told Matilda.
It was not so much anger that Matilda now knew—in a sense William was relieved that
he no longer had to deceive her, or hold anything back from her—but anger because William
was terrified Caela had trapped Matilda within the same maelstrom of rebirth and disaster that caught so many others. Matilda did not deserve that; she deserved to live out this life with as
much blessing and peace as he could manage to give her, and then to die without lying on her
deathbed wondering how and when she‘d be drawn back.
William was also angry because, of all things, Matilda‘s sympathies seemed to be leaning
more towards Caela in this mess than to him. Women!
Is it so bad that Caela might be Mistress of the Labyrinth? Matilda had asked him the
previous night.
He had not answered her, and, after a silence, Matilda had said softly: You do not mind
that at all, do you? You are truly only angry because you think she has not chosen to dance the
final enchantment with you. You are riven with jealousy. You love her, you want her, you cannot
bear her choosing another over you.
At that William had been so infuriated he had not picked up on Matilda‘s carefully
chosen words. I do not love her, he‘d shouted.
Matilda had only smiled at him.
―Keep away from them,‖ William said now, as the hill slid past.
Matilda only smiled.
―I command it.‖
She tipped her head in a gesture that might have been acquiescence.
Not wanting to fight with her any longer, William nodded. ―Good.‖
Tonight, he thought, the bands. Tonight I shall retrieve the bands.
TWENTY
London. It lay spread out before him, windows and torches glittering in the midnight
cold. His!
Finally.
Few Londoners had taken to the streets to witness the conqueror take his city. Most had
stayed indoors, windows shuttered, anticipating, perhaps, riot and pillage.
But William had his Normans under tight command. He established control of the city
within hours, securing it both within and without, then sent the majority of his army to establish
encampments a good distance outside the walls, so that the Londoners might not feel too
severely the humiliation of Norman victory.
William took for himself and Matilda the Bishop of London‘s large house, preferring for
the moment not to remove himself to Westminster. To his captains he said that he wanted to
ensure that the Londoners felt the full power of his domination, but privately William could not
have borne to remove himself from that for which he had lusted for so long.
He had entered London. He was not going to willingly remove himself from it until he
had what he wanted.
The Trojan kingship bands. His limbs burned for their touch.
At dusk William had come to St Paul‘s atop Ludgate Hill. There he had brushed aside the
murmured concerns of the deacons and monks and strode down the nave towards the small door
that gave access to the eastern tower. Waving away his soldiers, saying only
that he wanted some solitude in which to gaze upon his new conquest, William climbed
the tower‘s rickety wooden stairs three at a time, emerging on the flat-topped tower just as full night set in.
Here he‘d stood for hours, feeling, sensing out the bands. Oh, William remembered
where he‘d buried them two thousand years before, but over two thousand years the landscape
had changed remarkably. The city had grown: buildings stood where once had spread only
orchards, streams had been enclosed…and yet nothing had changed. The Troy Game was still
here.
William could feel it beneath his feet. By sheer luck (or design, perhaps?), this tower
stood over the very heart of the Labyrinth, buried many feet below the crypt of the cathedral.
Now the power of the Troy Game throbbed up through soil, wood, stone and the leather soles of
his boots, surging through William‘s body as strongly as it had done when he stood with naked
feet on the Labyrinth itself.
More strongly.
Caela had said the Game had changed, and William could feel it. It had
grown…independent.
It was going to be very hard to control.
It would be impossible to control without his kingship bands.
William shivered, and gazed over the night-time city. Caela had moved all six of the
bands; or, at least, the six had been moved. William could feel four of them very clearly, calling
out to him, longing to be touched and slid over his flesh once more. They were now scattered to