Gods Concubine by Sara Douglass

Taking an afternoon stroll, indeed, thought Swanne. I have never before seen you walk

further than from one banqueting table to the next.

―I was thinking,‖ she said, ―about that spectacular horsed game the Londoners put on

yesterday in Smithfield. Harold seemed quite taken with the skills evidenced.‖

―Ah yes,‖ Aldred said, tweaking at a corner of his robe where it had become

uncomfortably stuck under his bulk. ―I have heard tell of that extravagance myself.‖

―You were not there?‖

―Alas, no, my lady. I decided it would be better for me to stay close to our beloved

king…should he need me.‖

Thought it better to stay close so that you could insinuate yourself even further into his

graces, she thought.

―Aldred,‖ Swanne said slowly. ―I may have another letter for you to pass on within the

day. You will be able to arrange…?‖

―I shall be able to expedite its delivery, my lady, with all speed.‖

She inclined her head. ―I do thank you, my good archbishop.‖

He beamed and patted her knee, which made Swanne wince.

Another meeting took place in the orchard that afternoon, but an hour or two after

Swanne and Aldred had abandoned the trees.

Tostig was walking through the orchard on his way from his own quarters to Edward‘s

palace when he heard the sound of a footfall behind him.

Stopping, and both turning about and drawing his dagger in one fluid movement, Tostig

saw that two men approached, one of whom he recognised as the man who had talked to him

when he‘d left the Great Hall after Caela‘s sudden collapse.

―My lord,‖ both men said, and bowed as one.

Tostig‘s hand had not left his dagger.

―What is it you wish?‖ he said.

―To talk only, my lord,‖ said the first of the men. Both of them were fair, but this man‘s

hair and beard were fair to the point of whiteness, and even in the weak afternoon sun it shone

brilliantly.

―I am Halldorr Olafson,‖ said the man, ―and this is my companion, Örn Bollason.

Because we want you to trust us, and believe in us, we give you our true names, and not those we

go under while at Edward‘s court.‖

Tostig narrowed his eyes. His hand had not strayed from the haft of his dagger. ―You are

Hardrada‘s men,‖ he said. He‘d heard that the Norwegian king had agents within Edward‘s

court…but what were they doing approaching him?

―We mean you no harm,‖ said Bollason. ―Indeed, we speak with Hardrada‘s voice. Our

words are his, and spoken with his authority.‖

―And they are?‖ said Tostig.

―Hardrada wants England,‖ said Olafson. ―He would like you to aid him.‖

Tostig snorted, and half turned to walk away.

―In return,‖ said Bollason, ―he will give you all of the north. Not just Northumbria, but

all of the north.‖

Tostig stopped, although he did not look at the two men.

―Hardrada is a fair man,‖ said Olafson. ―He does not need it all. He has asked us to treaty

with you. If you pave the way for Hardrada‘s successful ascension to the English throne after

Edward‘s death—‖

―Then I get the north?‖ said Tostig, turning back to stare searchingly at each of the two

men who faced him. ―And the means by which to hold it?‖

―And the means by which to hold it.‖

―Talk on,‖ said Tostig, and his hand fell away from his dagger.

While they conversed all three men noticed the round-shouldered woman walking

through the orchard ten or fifteen paces to their left carrying a wicker basket of late-fallen winter

apples. They saw her, but they paid her no attention.

She was but a serving woman, scrounging the orchard for something to see her and her

family through the long winter months.

They did not know that, instead of carrying the apples to where she kept her pitifully few

belongings, Damson instead went straight to the river where, after a few moments, a waterman

poled his flat skiff to where she waited. Damson handed the basket to the waterman, then bent

close for a hurried conversation.

The waterman nodded and, as Damson walked away, continued on his journey down the

Thames.

Late that night, when most of London and Westminster slumbered, one of the standing

stones atop Pen Hill shimmered, then changed into its ancient form. It was the senior among the

Sidlesaghes, a creature who had once been a great poet, songster, lover and humorist.

His name he had long forgotten, but he had grown used to the childish whims of the men

and women who had peopled this island after he and his kind had taken to their stone-like

watchfulness, and so the Sidlesaghe called himself Long Tom. As he walked, his every

movement soft and fluid, Long Tom hummed snatches of melody to himself, the fingers of one

hand occasionally snapping in time to the beat of his music.

The Sidlesaghe skirted London‘s western wall, taking the road to Westminster. The

Thames was on his left hand, and as he walked the river rose up in strange, luminous, rolling

waves as he passed, as if it were greeting him.

―Soon!‖ the Sidlesaghe whispered, and the river subsided.

Soon.

―Soon,‖ the Sidlesaghe said again, and shivered in excitement.

Far beneath his feet, something rumbled and hissed, as if a dragon was passing through a

long-forgotten mine.

―One day,‖ said the Sidlesaghe, ―but not yet, not yet.‖

The beast beneath his feet fell still, and groaned.

Long Tom‘s pace picked up as he neared Westminster. There was someone he had to see,

to touch, to make words with. A woman of darkness and long memory.

A woman who could bring him what he needed.

Judith had spent the night with Saeweald. Now, as dawn approached, she made her way

swiftly and silently from Saeweald‘s chambers back towards the palace. Locked in thought—and

her warm memories—Judith almost passed out from fright when a long arm grabbed at her from

the darkness.

Before she could shriek—and she‘d drawn the huge breath to do just that—a large, hard

hand had enveloped her lower face.

―Peace, little lady,‖ said the Sidlesaghe, drawing close. ―It is only I.‖

The moment Judith saw the long, hook-nosed face with those strange, watchful,

melancholy eyes, Judith remembered Ecub‘s description and recognised it immediately for a

Sidlesaghe. She relaxed, not much, but enough, and the Sidlesaghe managed a small smile and

let her go.

―How may I aid you?‖ Judith said, not sure what she should say to the Sidlesaghe, but

deciding that that question was as good as any.

―It is time for Caela,‖ said the Sidlesaghe. ―Time for her to remember.‖

―But the bracelet did no good.‖

―The bracelet?‖ The Sidlesaghe‘s face crinkled into a hundred lines of questioning.

―The ancient bracelet of Mesopotama, that which Silvius gave her yesterday.‖

―Silvius?‖

― Yes! Silvius!‖

―Silvius was out of the heart of the Labyrinth?‖

―Yes.‖ Judith repressed a sigh. ―At Smithfield yesterday.‖

Long Tom was looking increasingly puzzled.

―The Troy Game?‖ Judith said, hoping that would be enough to prod him into

remembering.

―Oh,‖ the Sidlesaghe said, sighing hugely, then smiling. ―Yes. That‘s why I am here.

Caela needs to take her place within the Game.‖

Now it was Judith who was confused. ―I am sorry. I do not know how I might aid you.‖

The Sidlesaghe leaned forward and enveloped both of her hands in his large ones. ―You

already do more than enough,‖ he said, ―but seeing as you offer…bring Caela to the banks of the

Thames tomorrow night. By Tothill.‖

―At night? She will not come! How can I—‖

He squeezed her hands. ―That is for you to determine, my dear. Tomorrow night, on the

banks of the Thames. We have some midwiving to do.‖

Then he was gone, and Judith was left to stare into the night, feeling both bewildered and

blessed.

SEVENTEEN

―Madam?‖

Judith looked carefully at her mistress. The evening was closing in, and she couldn‘t help

a quick, impatient look at the as-yet-unshuttered windows in the queen‘s chamber.

Caela sat by the fire, some needlework in her hands, her lovely face relaxed almost to the

point of dreaminess. Twelve days after her haemorrhage she looked rested and well, buoyed by

good food, rest and twice daily visits both from Harold and from Saeweald, who kept their

voices and words light, and made her laugh with every third remark. The outing to Smithfield

had also lifted Caela‘s spirits immensely, even though the outcome was not quite what Judith and

Saeweald had hoped.

―Madam?‖ Judith said again, trying to gain the attention of Caela who had drifted away

somewhere, distant, over her embroidery.

Tonight Judith had to inveigle Caela down to the banks of the Thames.

Caela gave a slight start, then looked to Judith and smiled. ―If you have finished your

duties,‖ she said, ―perhaps you would like to sit and aid me with this embroidery. It is for the

high altar in Westminster‘s new abbey, and I should like it to be finished for the abbey‘s