Gods Concubine by Sara Douglass

man grew. He loved his children.

―Aye,‖ Harold said. ―They are my delight.‖

―The queen?‖ Matilda said. ―I have heard she has been unwell.‖

―She is better now.‖

Harold‘s manner had become extremely guarded, and Matilda wondered further if some

of the more salacious rumours she‘d heard about Harold‘s relationship with his sister might, in

fact, have a kernel of truth to them.

―And Tostig…‖ she said.

―Madam,‖ Harold snapped, ―your manner is more direct than any of the Holy Father‘s

inquisitors!‖

Matilda laughed. ―I have heard rumours of Tostig‘s penchant to treachery. Moreover, I

suspect that Hardrada is tempting Tostig away from his loyalty to his family.‖

―Then I could do with access to your intelligence, madam, for I think it better than mine.‖

Matilda began to say something, but then there came a clatter of hooves in the courtyard

beyond the narrow windows, and the shouts of men.

―My husband,‖ she said, watching Harold carefully, and noting the manner in which his

face closed over and he set his wine cup aside with great care. He took a deep breath, and

Matilda saw that he was nervous.

Strangely, this gave her no sense of satisfaction, nor of advantage, but only saddened her

somewhat. This man, she thought, has no business seeking out the throne. He is too good, and too valuable, to be wasted on kingship.

The doors at the end of the Great Hall flung open, and William strode into the hall.

Harold and Matilda rose.

―My lord duke,‖ said Matilda as William strode up to them.

William ignored her. He was sweaty from his hard ride back to the castle, his hair—even

as short as it was—was dishevelled, and his black eyes were as hard as flint.

They did not waver from Harold‘s face.

―My lord duke,‖ Matilda said again, unperturbed by William‘s disregard. ―My Lord

Harold, Earl of Wessex and favoured of King Edward, has graced our castle with his presence.

He has come with words, not swords, and speaks of peace and alliances where others might

speak of hard deeds and war.‖

There, she thought, glancing at Harold. I have done my best for you. Strangely, Matilda‘s sympathies tended more to Harold in this encounter than to William, even though she lusted for

the spoils of England almost as much as her husband.

William suddenly appeared to notice that Matilda had spoken, and he gave a brief nod in

her direction. His eyes did not move from Harold‘s face.

―I greet you well, Harold,‖ William said, recovering some of his usual calm demeanour,

and he stepped forward and offered Harold his hand. ―Welcome to Rouen, and to my duchy of

Normandy.‖

Harold took William‘s hand between both of his, and the instant he did so, William‘s

world turned upside down.

As Harold‘s flesh touched his, William knew who he was. Coel. Coel!

A thousand emotions surged through William: jealousy and fright at their head. He

remembered that terrible night he‘d burst into his house in Llanbank to find Coel atop Cornelia‘s

body, sweating in the labours of love. He remembered that appalling moment that he‘d reached

his hand into Coel‘s hair, and hauled back his head so that for an instant they‘d stared deep into

each other‘s soul before Brutus had sliced his sword across Coel‘s throat.

Cornelia‘s cry of terror and loss, Coel‘s eyes still locked into his as he died.

Coel? Coel had reappeared in this guise on the same day that Silvius had once again

writhed on the forest floor before him? What in the gods‘ names was going on? What frightful

magic had them in its hold?

And why had Swanne not told him this? Gods, Swanne had taken Coel to her bed, bred

him children, and she had not told William of it?

William recalled what Swanne had said that day so long ago when they‘d met. He‘d

asked her then if Harold was anyone reborn, and she had said no. He was a mere man. Gods! She

had lied to him! Why? Why?

―William?‖

William realised he was not only still gripping Harold‘s hand, but he was staring

maniacally at the man. In the same moment William also realised that Harold had no memory of

his life as Coel. He had come only as Harold, Earl of Wessex and pretender to the English

throne, not as Cornelia‘s lover come for revenge…or whatever else it could be that he sought.

But this was no coincidence. Surely. And what was Coel doing back in this world? What?

―William?‖ Matilda said again.

―Forgive me,‖ William managed, dropping Harold‘s hand. He even managed to find the

strength and fortitude of spirit to give Harold a small smile. ― Your arrival has truly surprised me,

my lord of Wessex.‖

―Aye, I see that it has.‖ Harold, his hand now free, had taken a step back, and was

watching William speculatively.

―Wine, husband?‖ Matilda murmured. She stood holding out a freshly poured cup to her

husband, and very apparently taken aback by her husband‘s reaction.

A servant hurried forward with another chair, and William waved them all down, his

equanimity now apparently fully restored.

―It has been a most surprising morning,‖ William said. ―First I brought down a great stag,

who reproached me with his dying.‖

Matilda gasped in superstitious dread, but Harold only watched William with narrowed

eyes.

―And now,‖ William continued, ―I find before me England‘s greatest lord, save for

Edward. A most strange and unexpected visitor, given the circumstances. What mysteries swirl

about us today, I wonder?‖

The question was half rhetorical, half real. A most strange and unexpected visitor, given

the circumstances. There, answer me that, Harold-Coel, if you dare.

―No mysteries but those of mortal men,‖ said Harold. He leaned forward in his chair.

―You must know why I am here, William.‖

To reproach me for your death? ―To beg me to take England‘s throne once Edward is

dead?‘

Matilda repressed a wince at the bluntness of both men. So much for the soft beauty of

poets.

Harold held William‘s stare a long moment before answering. ―I come for England,‖ he

said softly, ―I come as England.‖ William‘s face assumed a strange expression at that, but Harold ignored it. ―We are both great lords here, William. To be blunt, I come wondering if you shall be

my ally, as you have been Edward‘s, or my rival. Which one, William?‖

William sat back in his chair, his dark eyes hooded. ―I am ally to Edward for only one

reason, my friend.‖

Harold‘s mouth quirked at that ―my friend‖. ―Not ally, then.‖

William gave a small smile, but his eyes were humourless.

―Edward is heirless,‖ Harold said, ―and the unfortunate circumstance surrounding this is

that we both have a claim to the throne. You through your great-aunt Emma, Edward‘s Norman

mother. I through my place and standing as England‘s pre-eminent lord, de facto ruler

throughout Edward‘s long, pious slide into irrelevancy and death.‖

Ah, thought William. You and I again, Coel, standing each side of the chasm. You for the

old, dark ways of the land, I for the new bright ways of the foreigner. I won last time, Coel. What does that say about this encounter, then?

―I not only claim through the distant blood of Emma,‖ William said, ―but also through

Edward‘s promise.‖

Harold raised a patently disbelieving eyebrow.

―I sheltered Edward for many years during his time of exile,‖ William said, ―during those

years when Cnut held England captive. For my aid, when no one else would help him, Edward

promised to me the throne of England should he die without heir of his body.‖ He paused. ―I

believe that he has no heir, unless Queen Caela quickens with a child I do not know about—and

that possibly Edward does not know about?‖

Something in William‘s voice and face became aggressively confrontational with that last

sentence, and Harold frowned over it.

―There is no heir, either walking or breeding,‖ he said. ―Caela remains chaste and

untouched. God‘s Concubine they call her, for the fact that the saintly Edward has so

consistently refused to have dealings with her.‖

William gave a strange half-smile. ―So, then, Edward‘s promise to me stands.‖

―England has only your word for that,‖ said Harold. ―I have only your word for it, and

neither England nor I will ever accept it.‖

―Truly?‖ said William, his tone now far more aggressive.

―England has had enough of foreigners imposing their word and law over us!‖ Harold

said, his eyes snapping with anger. ―England will not accept you. William, I have the witan‘s

promise that come that day when Edward fails, then they will elect me to the throne. England

wants Saxon rule, William. Not Norman.‖

―England is already half Norman! God, Harold, half your clergy are Norman imports,

while Norman interests hold high office and control much land. Norman—‖

―Those interests and offices shall not continue long past that day I am crowned,‖ Harold

said calmly. ―The clergy shall be replaced with Saxon men, loyal to England. Norman influence