Several churchmen had come, and leaned forward with wet lips and gleaming eyes to
hear what sins of the flesh I had to confess (of which I, boring creature that I am, had none at all,
save a weakness of the womb which was neither my fault nor theirs). A woman or two, wives of
senior members of the court, had come, and twittered over me.
Judith saw them off with thankful alacrity.
Today, perhaps, Harold would come to see me. I closed my eyes, the soft movements of
my ladies about the chamber a soothing lullaby and, thinking of Harold, drifted into a light doze.
I dreamed of that strange stone hall, and in this dream it was such a familiar place to me
that I knew I had dreamed of it previously.
I smiled in my dream, for now, at least, I might have something to tell Saeweald.
I walked through the hall, noting as I went that there were great patches of dried blood
staining columns and the floor. Oddly, this did not disturb me, nor did I seem to find it strange.
There was a step behind me and I turned. Harold! And yet not Harold, for this man wore
no beard, and he was dressed in strange clothes, and his face had a different aspect—and yet still
I knew it was Harold.
―Harold!‖ I said, and, glad beyond knowing, I held out my hands.
Joy lit his face, and he strode towards me. ―Cornelia,‖ he said. ―How strange you appear
to me.‖
I laughed, thinking this some jest of Harold‘s. ―My name is not Cornelia.‖
―Is that so?‖ he said, and then he had taken my hands, and pulled me in towards him, and
I had no thought at all of stopping him. He leaned down until our mouths almost touched—and at
this moment I abruptly recalled a dream I‘d had recently…a night ago, two nights ago?…when another man had lowered his face to me, and chosen not to lay his mouth to mine.
He had called me Hades‘ daughter, and I had heard those words before—shouted at me,
as if in accusation. And I had known that man intimately, too. But where? Where? In dream? Or
in some unknown day or week or month of my life that I‘d somehow managed to forget? Who
was he, this man of whom I had dreamed?
I tensed, my mind in turmoil, but Harold only smiled gently, and lowered his mouth to
mine.
I should not allow this, I thought. He is my brother.
And yet, even thinking so, I opened my mouth under his, and felt the sweet bitter taste of
his tongue, and then the pressure of his hand against my back as he pressed me against him.
And then, to one side, a sweet laugh.
Harold and I pulled apart. Standing not three or four paces from us was the most
compelling man I have ever seen. He was very tall, and wore only a crudely fashioned leather
jerkin and trousers. His face was both bleak and joyful all at once; his eyes great mysteries that
saw far more than just the objects within their sight. He laughed, raising his hands at the end of
long, thin, strong arms, and I saw that his square teeth were rimmed with light, as if he would
always be incapable of speaking anything but the truth.
Harold‘s arm tightened about me, but I could feel that he was not frightened of this
apparition, nor angry at its intrusion into our intimacy.
―Are you one of the ancient ones?‖ Harold asked of the strange creature.
―I am Long Tom,‖ the creature said, and I frowned, trying to remember something that
tugged at my mind. Hadn”t a wise woman said something to me about a Long Tom only
recently? What was it? What…?
The creature began to say something else, but then it turned slightly, and cried out at what
it saw.
Then Harold was wrenched from my arms, and I saw the man who had called me Hades‘
daughter, and now he had a sword in his angry hand, and as Harold fell over backwards, his
throat white and vulnerable, the sword came slashing down…
I think I screamed. I know I jerked awake with such violence I almost fell from my bed.
That I did not was due to the fact that someone—a man—was holding my shoulders.
I twisted away, sure it was that brutal man of my nightmare come to murder me, but
whoever it was tightened his hands, keeping me safe, and a beloved voice cried out, ―Caela!
Caela! Wake, I beg you, for this is nothing but a dream.‖
My eyes cleared, and Harold‘s face came into focus before me.
―Caela,‖ he said again, his voice now a groan, and I took a deep breath, and stilled, and
then fell forward into his arms.
There was a moment, a long moment, when Harold‘s hand cupped the back of my head,
tipping it back, and his face lowered to mine, his mouth so close I could feel its warmth, and then
he gave a harsh laugh and laid me back against the pillows.
Sweet Christ, he had almost kissed me. The memory of my dream still lingered, and I
knew that if he had, I would have responded. What were we, Harold and I, that this sin consumed
us? ―By all the spirits of the night, Caela, of what were you dreaming?‖
I could not lie, not after what had just—almost—happened. ―I dreamed of you, that you
were with me—‖
He winced.
―and that—‖
―Caela do not say it!‖
I stopped, and drew in a deep breath. ―I dreamed I saw a Norman drag you away from
me, and raise his sword. Then I woke.‖
―Caela…‖
―I wish to God,‖ I said very quietly, holding his eyes, ―that I had not been born your
sister.‖ There. The words were said.
There was a silence, neither of us looking away from the other. The silence grew intense,
and I wondered if we were both teetering at the edge of a cliff, and if I would truly mind very
much if we fell over.
He sighed, and the sound was ragged.
―Harold—‖
―Caela, we can‘t…‖
I sat forward, the memory of his sweet dream kiss still very much with me, and laid my
mouth very softly against his.
I didn‘t know how to progress. I had never been kissed in passion before, and I was not
sure…
Harold‘s mouth moved against mine. Very slowly, very gently, and I felt his breath
mingle with mine. I opened my mouth, pressing it more firmly against his.
I felt him hesitate, then respond, and then he was pushing me back again. ―Caela, we
can‘t. Someone could well walk in.‖
Not, ―We can‘t, for it is a shameful thing.‖ But only, ―Someone could well walk in.‖
I smiled. At that moment I was so intensely happy that I did not care that we had, for a
moment, slipped over the edge of that precipice. ―I love you, Harold,‖ I said.
He slid a hand over my mouth, but I could see the emotion in his eyes, part joy, part
longing, part fear of what we had done. It was not the kiss that was so frightening to him, I think,
but the fact that with it we‘d opened a door that might prove impossible to close again.
―Not now,‖ he whispered, and his hand fell away from my mouth.
―Harold,‖ I said, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. ―You are here, at last. I looked for
you yesterday. I wanted to thank you for what you said in court yesterday. For a moment I
thought no one would dare a word in my defence.‖
―Your husband does not deserve you,‖ he said, and in my mind I heard what he meant to
say: I would be the better husband for you. ―I did come last night, but late, and you were already asleep. I did not want to wake you.‖
―So he came to me, instead,‖ said another voice, and I felt my own face stiffen even as I
saw Harold‘s lose all expression as Swanne‘s face appeared over his shoulder.
Oh, Lord Christ, that the ―someone‖ who should walk in would be her.
She looked serene and beautiful and powerful—sure of herself as I never truly was—and
as she moved up to Harold she put a hand on his shoulder and looked down on me.
―You quite enlivened your husband‘s court yesterday, my dear,‖ Swanne said. ―Are you
quite well now?‖
Harold‘s eyes had dropped away from both of us, his head turned slightly down and
away. I felt a great sorrow then, for I understood that where once Harold had loved Swanne, now
he found her irritating, and an embarrassment.
―Aye, sister,‖ I replied. ―It was but my monthly flux, more burdensome than usual.‖
―Is that truly so?‖ she said. A very slight frown creased her forehead, then she lifted her