managed to ensure his rebirth relatively close to England. Close, but still frustratingly
unreachable: Asterion kept William bound to Normandy by creating conditions of such
uncertainty that William had no chance to think of England at all.
Asterion was keeping William at bay for reasons of his own choosing.
William crouched down before the hearth, stretching out his hands to what little warmth
the embers contained. Oh, but England would be his, it would. England, and London, and the
bands, and the Troy Game. All of it.
And Genvissa.
Genvissa had been reborn. William knew it, but he didn‘t know who or where she was.
Genvissa-reborn undoubtedly faced the same obstacle. That was their great dilemma. They
needed each other desperately so they could reunite and complete the Game, but they did not
know who the other was. But wherever or whoever, William knew one thing: Genvissa-reborn
would not rest until she had achieved a place within London where the Troy Game was
physically located. It was the lodestone for both of them, and unless Asterion had also managed
to keep Genvissa-reborn away from the city, William knew she would be there somewhere.
But who was she? Who?
William pondered the fact that as this night was his own wedding night, so also it was
Edward of England‘s wedding night. He knew Edward well, the Saxon king having spent a
number of his youthful years at William‘s court while he was exiled from England by the
murderous intentions of his stepfather, Cnut, and he wondered at this new bride of the man‘s.
Caela, daughter of Godwine, Earl of Wessex. William knew the marriage had been forced on
Edward by Godwine, but Caela caught at William‘s attention; he was aware that Genvissa, if not
actually reborn within the region of London (the Veiled Hills, they‘d once called it), would do
everything in her power to return to London and to a position of power. What better position
than queen?
Genvissa would loathe the necessity of becoming a wife, as she would loathe the
subjection to a man inherent in marriage in this Christian world. It went against her very nature
as Mistress of the Labyrinth, an office of such feminine power and mystery that its incumbents
refused to bind themselves to any man. Well might a Mistress form a partnership of power and
lust and ambition with a Kingman, but never would she subject herself to him.
William also knew that Genvissa-reborn would do whatever she had to in order to
achieve her ambitions in a world where women had little power. No longer did Mothers rule over
households and over their people; the idea of an Assembly of women setting the course of a
society was unthinkable now. Unpalatable as it might be to her, Genvissa would bind herself in
marriage if it meant gain.
Marriage to Edward would give her most gain of all: Queen of England. The highest
power a woman could hope for if she held the kind of ambitions William knew Genvissa
harboured.
The moment William heard of Edward‘s betrothal to Godwine‘s daughter Caela, William
had been almost certain she was Genvissa-reborn. True, Caela was by all reports very young, and as timid as a mouse, but maybe that was merely Genvissa‘s way of disguising her true nature.
William wondered idly what was happening in Edward‘s bed this night. Had he enjoyed
his bedding with the Mistress of the Labyrinth as much as William had enjoyed his with
Matilda?
William‘s face sobered, and he flexed his fingers back and forth before the fading heat,
slowly stretching out some of the tension in his body. He needed desperately to contact
Genvissa-reborn. He wondered if Caela had any idea who he was. Did she suspect William was
more than just a struggling Duke of Normandy, or did she merely think of him as some bastard
upstart who brazened his way about the courts of counts and princes, of little consequence to her
own life and ambitions.
William stared into the fire, then grinned as a means of contacting Genvissa-reborn
occurred to him. He would announce himself in no uncertain manner. She would know him by
his actions, and by his message, and then she would make herself known to him.
―Soon, my love, soon,‖ he whispered.
―William?‖
His mind still caught in thoughts of Genvissa-reborn, William jerked to his feet, turning
around.
Matilda was sitting up in bed, the coverlets sliding down to her waist and exposing her
small breasts. ―What are you doing?‖
After a moment‘s hesitation William walked to the bed, studying Matilda before he slid
beneath the coverlet. ―Wondering if I dared wake you again,‖ he said, ―but look, now I find you
have answered my dreams.‖
And with that he seized her shoulders, and drew her to him.
―Matilda,‖ he said, ―Matilda, Matilda, Matilda,‖ using the sound of her name in his
mouth to suffocate his thoughts of Genvissa.
THREE
Westminster
Two months later
Swanne moved through King Edward‘s crowded Great Hall at Westminster, smiling at
those she favoured, ignoring those she did not. Rather than hold his court in the city, Edward,
like many of England‘s previous kings, preferred to keep his court in the community of
Westminster on Thorney Isle, which lay at the junction of the Tyburn and the Thames a mile or
so to the south-west of London. Westminster was independent of London, and of its noisy and
troublesome crowds and its equally troublesome civil authority. Better, Westminster was the site
of a longestablished community of monks—the name literally meant the minster, or church, west of London—and the pious Edward found them more pleasing company than the secular profanity
of the Londoners. Indeed, Edward was so well disposed towards Westminster‘s monks that he
had summoned court this very day to announce that he would sponsor the rebuilding of the
Westminster Abbey cathedral into the grandest in all of Europe.
The monks were ecstatic, sundry other clerics present were grudging (why Westminster
when Edward could have rebuilt their church or abbey?), Edward‘s earls and thegns were
resigned and, frankly, Swanne cared not a whit one way or the other whether Edward rebuilt the
damned cathedral or not. She was happy to be back on Thorney Isle, happy to be within the heart
of the sacred Veiled Hills of England, happy to be here, now, sliding sinuously through the press
of bodies, watching men‘s eyes light up with desire at the sight of her and women‘s eyes slide
away in disapproval.
Happy to be alive and breathing after so long locked in death.
She saw Tostig‘s eyes on her, saw the darkness in them, and she widened her smile and
closed the short distance to his side. ―Brother,‖ she said, ―you do look well this morn.‖
His eyes darkened even further. ―I am your husband‘s brother, lady, not yours.‖
―As my husband‘s, so also mine.‖ She leaned close, allowing her breast and rounded
belly to brush against him, and kissed him softly on the mouth in a courtly greeting.
As she drew back, Swanne heard his swift intake of breath and decided to deepen the
tease. ―How else should I think of you but as my brother?‖
Now Tostig flushed, and Swanne laughed and laid the palm of her hand gently against his
cheek, pleased at his obvious desire. At fifteen Tostig still had not learned to conceal his
thoughts and needs, nor to discern, or even to realise, that the carefully chosen expressions of
others so often concealed contradictory thoughts.
Tostig began to speak, struggling over some meaningless words, and Swanne studied him
indulgently. He was not, nor would ever be, as handsome as Harold, but he had a certain charm
about him, a darkness of both visage and spirit that Swanne found immensely appealing.
He could be so useful.
―Tostig,‖ she said, and slipped one arm through his, ―I am finding this crush quite
discomforting. Will you escort me through the hall to my husband‘s side?‖ She leaned against
him. ―I feel quite faint amid this airlessness.‖
―Of course, my lady,‖ Tostig said, relieved to have been given something to do, yet
flustered all the more by Swanne‘s attention and the press of her flesh against his. He suddenly
found himself wishing that he‘d laid eyes on her before Harold, and that he had been the one to
demand her hand and her virginity.
Flushing all the deeper with the direction of his thoughts, Tostig began to roughly shove
his way through the crowd, Swanne keeping close to his side.
―Aside! Aside for the Lady Swanne!‖ he cried, paying no attention to the irritated glances
of thegns and their wives. No one said anything, not to a son of the powerful Earl of Wessex, but
there were more than a few muttered words spoken as soon as Tostig and Swanne had passed on
their way.
Within moments Tostig had led Swanne into the clearer space before Edward‘s dais. The
Great Hall, only recently completed, formed the focus of Edward‘s entire palace complex at