the west, north and south of the city, miles away, but he could feel them, and could feel how the
Game had grown to meet them.
The remaining two bands…
They were not where he‘d left them two thousand years earlier. Caela had taken them,
but he could not sense them at all.
What had she done with them? Where had she hidden them?
―My, what a fine man you have grown into. Taller than I imagined. I wonder if those
bands will still fit you, could you ever discover them.‖
William whipped about. Silvius stood two paces away, his arms folded, dressed in the
manner of Troy with nothing but a white waistcloth and boots.
His flesh was very dark in the low light, but his good eye flashed while of his left there
was nothing but a seething pit of darkness.
―What do you here?‖ William said, trying to keep his voice level. Gods, how much power
had both Silvius and the Game accumulated if his father could appear this solid, this real, this…
here?
―Come to see my son. What else?‖ Silvius let his arms fall to his side, and he took a half
pace forward. ―Come to wonder.‖
―At what?‖
―At you, of course.‖ Silvius paused. ―Come to see what my son has made of himself.‖
―Do you like what you see?‖
―Does it matter any more what I think or like?‖ Silvius paused, his eyes running up and
down William‘s body. ―You have seen Caela. Did she tell you that she and I—‖
―Yes,‖ William said curtly. ―You have become most intimate with Caela, it seems.‖
Silvius‘ face took on a lecherous cast. ―Very intimate. She has changed, and vastly for the
better. It seems you have not. Vile corruption has ever been your creed, has it not? You founded
this Game on it, and you seek it out still.‖
There was a strange note to Silvius‘ voice, and William did not know what to make of it.
―Did it make you happy to lie with her? Did that give you satisfaction? She is not yours, Silvius.‖
Silvius laughed. ―Oh, yes, she is. She gave herself to me freely. Gave herself to me,
William. Freely!‖ He paused, and when he resumed his voice was roped with viciousness and
contempt. ―You lost her two thousand years ago. She can never be yours now.‖
William regarded his father with as much steadiness as he could summon. ―Why do you
interfere, father? What has any of this to do with you?‖
― You made me a part of it. You founded the Game on my murder. I warned you not to
found the Game on corruption, that patricide was no way to—‖
―This is none of your business, Silvius. Crawl away back to your death. Leave Caela
alone. Leave me alone. Leave the Game to play out as it will.‖
―The Game will play out according to my will, William. Mine.‖
William‘s eyes narrowed, and for a moment it appeared as if he did not breathe. Then he
said softly, ―No wonder my mother Claudia died in my birth. It was her only means of escaping
you.‖
Silvius‘ lip curled. ―You killed Claudia. Not me. You tore her apart.‖
William stared at Silvius, his own eyes almost as clouded and dark as his father‘s empty
eye socket.
―You shall never succeed,‖ he said. ―The Game is mine.‖
And with that he pushed past Silvius, and disappeared down the stairway.
William raced down the steps as if his life depended on it, his breathing harsh and ragged
as it tore through his throat. Four times he stumbled, almost falling, sliding inelegantly down five
or six steps before his scrabbling hands managed to find purchase on the stone walls.
When he finally reached the bottom he took time to steady his breathing, glancing back
up the stairwell as if he expected Silvius to come bearing down upon him at
any moment, before he stepped out to meet the concerned faces of his men.
―Robert,‖ William said to one of his most trusted men-at-arms, ―there is a priory about
two miles out of the city on the northern road. Ride there, and deliver a message to the dowager
queen Caela. Let her pick the place, but demand that she meet with me tonight. Impress upon her the need for urgency. You have that?‖
Robert nodded, then left at a trot.
William closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Gods, let her agree! Let her agree!
The situation had been bad before this night. Now it was almost irreparable.
When he had been Brutus, and Silvius had been his living father, his mother‘s name had
been Lavinia.
Not Claudia.
Never Claudia.
When William had left her earlier that evening, Matilda waited until she‘d heard the
clatter of his horse‘s hooves leaving the courtyard, and then she‘d snapped her fingers at one of
his sergeants.
―Find me a quiet mare to ride,‖ she said, ―and an escort. I need to visit a priory just
beyond the walls.‖
The sergeant thought about arguing with his duchess for all of two heartbeats.
Then he nodded, and within the half hour was riding with the escort surrounding Matilda
through Cripplegate.
A half hour after that, Matilda stood before the gates of the priory, watching as the door
slowly swung open.
―You are Mother Ecub,‖ she said to the woman who stood there.
Ecub nodded. ―Sister,‖ she said, and stepped forward and embraced Matilda.
Swanne sat in her chamber, once again within Aldred‘s palace. She didn‘t know where
the good archbishop had
got to, and she didn‘t care. Asterion was the only one who came to her now, and for that
she was heartily glad.
All Swanne could think about was Matilda‘s, and then William‘s, murder.
Aldred‘s palace held many comforts. One of those, blessedly, was a bath—Swanne had
soaked for what seemed like hours within a tub set before a fire—and the other was access to
Hawise. Hawise had not accompanied Swanne south (Swanne had told her to stay within
London, thinking then that she‘d be able to take William and return to London herself within a
day or so of the battle), and Swanne had missed her sorely. Not for her company, for Swanne had
grown to detest Hawise‘s prattling, but because Hawise was one of the best people she had ever
met for procuring things.
Now Swanne sat in a comfortable chair, holding in her hands a vial of one of the
deadliest poisons she had been able to concoct. Hawise, of course, had no idea she was procuring
a poison for Swanne, nor did she have any idea what Swanne was going to do with the collection
of herbs her mistress had sent her out for.
But when Hawise had brought those herbs back, Swanne had spent a delightful hour or
two mixing and fermenting them, distilling from them the purest, blackest poison she could
manage.
Matilda‘s death.
It would look like a miscarriage gone terribly wrong. She would lose the child, and then
bleed to death. What could be simpler? All Swanne would have to do was slip the poison into
Matilda‘s wine cup herself or, more like, pay someone a handsome sum to do it for her.
God knows London was full of resentful Saxons who would jump at the chance to hurt
the Norman cause in any manner they could.
And then poor William. Distraught. In need of comfort.
Swanne smiled, setting the vial to one side. Soon. Within the day.
She closed her eyes and imagined how it would be when William finally rolled atop her,
and entered her, and the imp snatched…
She was looking forward very much to his scream of terror and agony, a scream that
would, within the moment, disintegrate into a whimper of submission. Then she could roll him
away, and leap from their bed, fall to her knees before Asterion, and say, I have done it. I have
worked your will. Love me!
Meantime, she would comb out her hair, and pinch some colour into her cheeks, and
perhaps Asterion would come to her and would love her again.
Soon. Swanne closed her eyes, dreaming.
―Will he love you enough to take your imp, do you think?‖
Swanne‘s eyes flew open, her heart pounding, then she stumbled, terrified, to her feet.
The far end of the chamber seemed to have opened into a huge hall made entirely of emerald
water, and Swanne remembered enough of her previous life to have some idea of what she was
seeing.
―No,‖ she whispered. ―Go back! Go back!‖
Harold was walking towards her out of that emerald watery cathedral. He looked fit and
well, better than she could remember having seen him in many, many years.
He looked as he had before he had touched her, except, more.
And however much she screamed and shrieked for help, he kept walking towards her,
closer and closer, until she could see the terrible gleam in his eyes, and she understood it for