Gods Concubine by Sara Douglass

wept increasingly copiously and painfully each month.

Ecub had settled herself before me by this stage, and I smiled at her, and paid her my full

attention.

―My good prioress,‖ I said, ―what have you to report?‖

Ecub began a recital of her priory‘s good works, and even though I kept my eyes on her

and a half smile on my face, my mind drifted off again. I could hear Aldred, the Archbishop of

York and a frequent visitor to both London and Westminster, arguing with Abbot Eadwine over

some trifling matter of theology, and behind their male, arrogant voices I could hear the soft

whisperings and giggles of the five or six of my ladies who sat at their needlework just behind

me. Judith, my sweet, dear friend, was standing directly behind my chair, her hand resting on its

back just behind my right shoulder, and from its warmth I gathered all the love and support I

could. It was not that Ecub bored me, for I took the greatest interest in her priory and the

wellbeing of its inhabitants, but that in the past few hours my mind had seemed to be drifting off

to strange, unknown regions of its own accord, as if it had business elsewhere and resented

bitterly my every effort to concentrate it on the task at hand.

―Madam?‖

There, my mind had betrayed me once again!

―Ah, Ecub,‖ I said, blushing (one would think me still thirteen years old, and not the

twenty-eight-year-old woman I was), ―you must forgive me this evening. I cannot think what has

come over me. I…I…‖

Oddly, for she never usually was so bold, Ecub leaned to close the space between us and

held my hand briefly.

―You will feel better soon, madam,‖ she said. ―I have it on good authority.‖

―Ecub?‖

But the prioress was already rising. ―I will stay the night within the women‘s dormitory,

if it pleases you. The way back to St Margaret the Martyr is long and cold for an old woman like

myself, and I would rather attempt it on the morrow than tonight.‖

―Of course,‖ I said, rising also (which movement made Edward half start up, as if he

suspected I was going to dash for the palace portal like a hind escaping the huntsmen; my bevy

of twittering ladies started likewise, their needlework suddenly shuffling to the floor).

―Perhaps, if it please you, madam,‖ Ecub continued, looking at me with those intense

brown eyes of hers, ―I might stay a day or two beyond this night? I have need to consult with

Master Saeweald, and perhaps also to gossip with the Lady Judith about mutual memories.‖

―Of course,‖ I said again, feeling stupider by the moment. What “mutual memories”? I

wondered momentarily if Saeweald had a potion against stupidity secreted somewhere. I

managed to smile graciously at Ecub, murmur my apologies to my husband stating that my head

ached and I must needs to bed, then made my exit accompanied by Judith and the other of my

ladies.

Perhaps sleep would untwist my wits.

Sleep brought me no peace. Instead, I swear that as soon as I had closed my eyes I

slipped into dream.

I dreamed I walked through the centre of a stone hall so vast there appeared to be no end

to it. It stretched east to west—I felt, if not saw, the presence of the rising sun towards the very

top of the hall—and above me a golden dome soared into the heavens. Beneath my feet lay a

beautifully patterned marbled floor; to my sides soared stone arches protecting shadowy,

mysterious spaces. Even though thick walls rose high beyond those arches, I could still somehow

see through them to the countryside beyond where a majestic silver river wound its way through

gentle verdant hills and fertile pastures. It was an ancient and deeply mysterious land, and it was

my land, England, although an England such as I could not remember ever seeing.

I turned my eyes back to the hall. Although this was a strange, vast place, I felt no fear,

only a sense of homecoming. I also sensed that I had spent many nights dreaming of this hall,

although I never remembered such dreams.

Suddenly I realised I was not alone. A small, fey, dark woman walked towards me.

My eyes filled with tears, although I did not know why.

―Peace, lovely lady,‖ the woman said as she reached me. She half started forward as if

she meant to embrace me, but then thought better of it and merely reached up a hand to briefly

touch a cheek.

―Are you ready?‖ she said.

―Ready for what?‖

―The battle begins,‖ she replied. ―You must be ready, Cornelia, my dear.‖

I frowned, for this was the name Saeweald had called me so many years ago. Was this

woman as deluded as he?

―Remember,‖ the woman said, ―to meet us in the water cathedral beyond death.‖

―What are you talking about?‖ I said, taking a step back. The woman was mad! A witch,

no doubt.

She laughed, as if I had made a jest. ―Then follow Long Tom, my darling girl. Listen to

him. He will show you—‖

― You! Will I never be rid of you?”

The man‘s voice thundered about us, and the small, dark woman gave a sad smile, then

vanished with only a word or two reverberating in my mind. Remember, Cornelia, my

dear…remember…remember…

―What do you here?‖

I forgot the woman, and looked at the man striding towards me.

I gasped, for although I swear I did not recognise him, nonetheless I felt I knew him

intimately. Tall and well built, the man had cropped, almost blue-black hair, a strong, handsome

and clean-shaven face, and compelling dark eyes that seemed to have noted my every flaw, for as

he neared an expression of distaste seemed to come over his features. He was dressed in the

finery of a Norman nobleman: a vivid blue, and beautifully embroidered, knee-length tunic over

breeches and boots, and a sword at his hip.

For some reason my eyes kept blurring, and I saw him with short black curls one

moment, then with long curls that streamed and snapped in the breeze of his movement the next.

―Cornelia? Is this you?‖ He looked at me, puzzled, as if I was some half-remembered

companion to him.

―I am not Cornelia!‖ I cried. ―I am Caela. Caela! ‖

He had stopped before me now, his black eyes unreadable. ―You will always be

Cornelia,‖ he said. ―Always ready to betray me to Asterion—‖

I do not know why, but at the mention of that name a feeling of such fear came over me I

thought I would collapse.

He took another step to me, very close now, and he grasped my chin in his hand. ―You

are much more beautiful now than you were as Cornelia…‖ He paused, his black eyes running

over my face as if he wanted to consume it. ―Far more beautiful…but still as desirable.‖

His mouth twisted, cold and malicious. ―But if the reports I hear are true, then Edward

has more sense than I would have credited him with and has not touched you. I should have

known better than to lie with you, bitch daughter of Hades.‖

At the contempt in his voice I cried out, and tried to wrench my chin from his hand. But

he was too strong, and I remained caught in his hateful grip.

―You want me to kiss you? Well, I will not kiss you, Cornelia, or Caela as now you are,

Queen of England. I have a wife; I do not need your womb. I have a lover who awaits me; I do

not need your kisses.‖ He hesitated, and something changed in his face, and his fingers became

gentle and caressing, as did his voice. ―But oh…oh, how lovely you are.‖

His face bent closer, and his breath fanned over my cheek. I shuddered, and he felt it.

Then his mouth grazed the skin beneath my ear, then grabbed and held, and I cried out, and

would have sagged had he not let go my chin and caught at my shoulders.

Something occurred to me, almost a memory, though I knew I had never met this man

before. I said: ―Do you hate me still?‖

He had raised his head away from me, and I saw his lips form the word ―Yes‖, but then

his expression became puzzled. ―I never hated you,‖ he said. ―Not really.‖

―But you just called me,‖ God help me, I wanted him to hold me close again, and do

again with his mouth what he had just done, ―bitch daughter of Hades.‖

He laughed, low and soft, and pulled me close enough that he did lay his mouth against

my cheek again. ―I am sorry for that. That was habit. Who knows if you deserve that epithet

now?‖

―They call me God‘s Concubine,‖ I said, relaxing even more with this strange Norman.