Gods Concubine by Sara Douglass

still, his eyes watchful.

―And my fate?‖ asked Harold. ―What is my fate, then, if you speak to angels in your

dreams?‖

Caela leaned forward and took both of Harold‘s hands in hers. Her expression was one of

sadness and joy combined. ―You will become a hero such as this land has never seen before,‖

she said. ―You will live in glory.‖

To his side, Tostig and Saeweald exchanged glances, then as quickly looked away from

each other again.

Harold stared at her, then his mouth quirked. ―That may be read as either a glorious

death, or a glorious reign, sister. No! Do not explain yourself, for I regret the asking of the

question in the first place. But do tell me, since you seem to know so much, who is it I should

fear the most? Who stands as the greatest obstacle between me and the throne of England?‖

She tipped her head, and regarded him. ―Your enemies shall flock like crows, Harold. I

am not the warrior to tell you which one will be the most cunning.‖

Harold gave a hard bark of laughter. ―You do not want to tell me.‖

Something hardened in Caela‘s eyes. ―Beware of William, brother, for at his back shall

ride the most dangerous enemy this land will ever know.‖

―Now you speak in riddles, Caela. Should I fear his wife, Matilda? But, oh yes,

William…‖ He drifted into silence, one hand rubbing at his short, stubbled beard.

―Has there been any more spoken,‖ said Wulfstan, ―of that contract Edward and William

are rumoured to have made between them years ago?‖

Harold chewed his lip. Twelve years ago Edward had moved briefly—but with great

effect—against the Godwine clan. The entire family, even Caela, had been exiled for almost a

year, and only the great cunning of Earl Godwine himself had seen their eventual restoration to

power. They had regained their place, but ever since that time it had been rumoured that, while

free of the Godwine family‘s influence, Edward had made a pact with William, promising him the throne of England on Edward‘s death.

―There is always a great deal rumoured about William,‖ Harold said quietly, his eyes

unfocused, ―and very little spoken that is known fact. What does William plan? How shall he

justify his ambitions before God and the other thrones of Europe? I don‘t know…I don‘t

know…‖

And there lies the rub, thought Harold. No one knows what William is or is not planning.

And without that knowledge, anything I plan is certain to be torn asunder the instant I act on it.

What are you planning, William? Will you content yourself with Normandy, or do you want this green isle, as well?

NINE

―She humiliated me, and you said nothing!‖ Swanne said as she watched her husband

disrobe.

Harold remained silent, unlacing his tunic, sliding it over his head and tossing it across a

chest.

Swanne stalked closer, her hands balled into fists, her face white with fury, her black eyes

snapping. ―You have a duty to me. I am your wife. I—‖

Harold suddenly turned from laying his shirt atop his tunic and grabbed her chin in a

hand. ―You have a vile tongue, Swanne, and, I am learning, a mind to go with it! Be silent, I beg

you, before I lose what little regard I have left for you!‖

She twisted out of his grip. ―You‘ve always lusted after her.‖

He went white, but said or did nothing.

―You dream about it, don‘t you? I‘ve heard you, mumbling at night, planning your

incestuous assault on your sister‘s body—‖

He slapped her, then grabbed her wrist as she tried to strike him and twisted it so

violently she cried out. ―Caela was right when she said you had been bred within a dung heap,

Swanne. You are the get of a worm and the night; there is no sweetness within you at all, merely

vileness.‖

Again Harold turned from her, twisting off his boots and then his trousers and tossing

them towards the chest.

Swanne nursed her wrist, watching him with, finally, all of her loathing and contempt

writhing across her face. ―And there is nothing for you but the dung heap, Harold. You cast your eyes towards the throne, but you should know that—‖

She stopped suddenly, both her eyes and those of Harold flying to the door which had

suddenly opened.

Tostig stood there, his face equal amounts incredulity and humour as he regarded his

naked brother and Swanne standing before him.

―My, my,‖ he said softly, closing the door and walking slowly into the room.

His eyes were very wary.

―Is this the future King and Queen of England I see before me? Nay, I think not. This

behaviour cannot surely be that of—‖

―What do you want, Tostig?‖ Harold said roughly.

Tostig had been watching Swanne who, correctly reading the look on his face, took three

or four steps back, spreading her hands out at her sides. Now, he turned back to his brother.

―Only this, Harold,‖ he said softly, ―that Hardrada sends his greetings, and bids you a

well-earned death.‖

And, lightning quick, he drew his dagger from the belt at his waist and plunged it towards

Harold‘s heart.

Harold had nothing with which to defend himself, save for his hands. He grabbed

Tostig‘s wrist just as the dagger reached his chest, managing to stop the blade before it had

penetrated more than a finger‘s thickness into his body. With all the strength he had, he

wrenched the dagger backwards, but he could do nothing about Tostig‘s weight which, leaning

down with the force of his plunge forwards, pushed Harold back on to the bed.

―For god‘s sake, Swanne!‖ Harold shouted. ―Send for aid! Now!‖

Swanne watched, her face still slack with shock at the suddenness of the attack. Then, as

Harold screamed at her again, she smiled, very slightly, and stood back, folding her arms across

her breasts.

―No,‖ she said, and then laughed softly as the two men writhed their deadly dance across

the bed.

Caela was asleep, when suddenly her innocuous dream slid into horror.

His face was torn from her hands by a black shadow that loomed over them, and she saw

a glint of metal that swept in a vicious arc across Coel”s throat. His body, still deep within hers, convulsed, and she screamed, and blood spurted over her in a hot, sticky flood.

Brutus took a firmer grip on Coel”s hair, then he tore him from her, tearing him painfully

out of her, and all she could do was cry, “No! No! Oh, gods, Brutus, no! Not Coel!”

And then she heard Swanne laugh…

Caela jerked upright in bed, shrieking so loudly that both Edward, Judith and the

bowerthegn woke shouting as well.

―Assassins!‖ Caela screamed, stumbling in her haste to leap from the bed and grabbing

her robe as soon as her feet hit the floor. ―Assassins! Harold‘s chambers. Oh, god…assassins!

Help him!”

―No!‖ hissed Edward, but by then both Judith and the bowerthegn had rushed from the

chamber and were rousing the guards.

―It will be too late,‖ Caela whispered, standing as if stunned, or still caught by a dream.

―He is too far from us.‖

Harold and Tostig twisted across the bed, rolling this way and that, each man grunting

with effort, neither man able to gain the upper hand from an opponent as strong and as

battle-hardened as he.

―For the gods‘ sakes, Tostig,‖ Swanne muttered, her look now anxious. ―Do not

mismanage this as you have so many other matters!‖

At that moment Harold cried out, and Swanne saw a thick smear of blood mar the surface

of the creamy bed linens.

―Good,‖ she said. ―Very good.‖

The palace was awake and in full cry, guards grabbing weapons and rushing through

halls and chambers towards exits and, eventually, Harold‘s hall to the south of Edward‘s palace.

Caela ran with them, her robe flapping and barely knotted about her waist, terrified,

hearing Swanne laugh, hearing also Harold‘s cry of pain and fear.

They would never get there in time!

Summoning all the power she could through her panic she sent a shaft of alarm directly to

the men she knew stood guard within Harold‘s own hall.

Your lord fights away an assassin! Aid him. Aid him now!

Then, to her immense relief, Caela felt within her an echoing answer of panic as the

guards within Harold‘s hall rushed towards his bedchamber.

Tostig suddenly cried out, rolling away from Harold, a deep cut across his belly. Harold

lurched upright, his own chest and belly covered in blood and, ignoring the dagger, struck Tostig

an immense blow to his jaw.

The blow sent Tostig tumbling to the floor. Harold lurched forward, meaning to throw

himself after his brother, but one of his legs tangled in a sheet, and he fell after his brother,

hitting the floor with a heavy thud and cry of pain.

Tostig rolled to his knees, gripping the dagger, and exchanging a quick glance with