pity and disgust on her face that he could not bear it, and turned away.
FIVE
CAELA SPEAKS
I spent many days wandering in Damson‘s body, and I spent most of this time within
London itself. Here I found many signs, subtle and otherwise, of the influence of the Troy Game
on the Londoners. Children, playing a hopping game on flagstones, weaving a path through a
maze of cracks and flagstone edgings to what they called ―home‖—safety. ―Step on a crack,‖
they sang, ―and the monster will snatch.‖
Women also, embroidering or weaving simplified patterns of the Labyrinth into their
cloths: I found the pathways of Brutus‘ Labyrinth decorating many a collar and cuff, or twirling about the hem of a robe. In the centre of the marketplace that ran off Cheapside was inscribed a
stylised Labyrinth: here traders and housewives alike could pause in the business of market day
and play a game with sticks and balls through the Labyrinth. They called the game ―Threading
Ariadne‘s Needle‖, which I might have found amusing under any other circumstance.
And, of course, the Troy Game that Silvius had led on Smithfield. As tempting as it
might be to believe he had directed the entire enterprise, apparently he had not. It was the group
of men who were responsible for the games that day who had thought up the game, patterning it
on the legends of the fall of Troy. Silvius had only come late to these preparations, suggesting
himself as the leader of one of the lines, and then proving his suitability on the practice field a
week beforehand.
As the Troy Game had merged with the land, so it had also merged with the city.
Whatever was built on this site would always become a living extension of the Troy Game. As
the Londoners went about their daily tasks, so also they stepped out the intricate patterns of the
Game in a hundred different ways; even the pattern of the streets…so many parts of the city now
reflected the purpose of the Game.
I wondered if Brutus had ever realised how powerful his Game could become.
During these wanders I invariably found myself drawn to St Paul‘s cathedral. At first I
supposed this was because the cathedral sat directly over the site where Brutus had originally
built the Labyrinth. The Game, and its Labyrinth, had grown now, I knew that, but here still lay
its heart.
Then, as I sat within the nave, ignoring all the people who prayed and chattered and wept
about me, I came to another realisation, one that stunned me.
St Paul‘s was the stone hall of my dream.
Though not precisely. It was not as grand as the stone hall of my dream, but there was
something about it—some sense, some voice that called silently to me—that told me this was,
indeed, the stone hall of my vision.
But my vision showed it as it would one day be: not in this lifetime, but in one to come.
And what that told me was that all would not be accomplished within this lifetime. The
hall had to grow, and once that was done, then the Game and I could accomplish our mutual
goal.
I can‘t say precisely how my understanding that all would not be accomplished within
this lifetime made me feel. Sad, certainly. Frightened, a little.
Frustrated, beyond measure.
Yet, unsurprised. Mag and Hera had known, I think, that it would take a very long time,
that there were so many twists to be taken that several lives might be needed. But, oh, to have to
come back again and again…
Beyond all this, as I sat in the gloomy, frigid interior of the cathedral staring at the altar
and yet seeing none of it, I felt a deep fear.
I should have known this, surely? Not only that St Paul‘s was the stone hall of my
visions, but that the playing out of the Game to its conclusion would take so long? Mag and Hera
had known it…but was I not Mag-reborn? Did I not hold Mag and all that she was within my
flesh? Was I not everything that she had been, yet more?
So why had I not known? Why had it taken me this long to realise, rather than
instinctively know?
The sense deepened of an emptiness, some ―un-rightness‖ about my power, my bond
with the land. I was far more than I had been as Cornelia, but I was not yet all that I should be.
What was missing? What had I yet to learn?
Was this some omission on my part? Had Mag been wrong in trusting me to be all that
was needed?
I wanted to talk to one of the Sidlesaghes—oh, how I wished I had discussed this with
Long Tom when we walked the forest paths of the Game—but no matter how much I wandered,
and wanted, I saw none of them. They seemed to have their own sense of time, and of how
events should be placed and paced out within that time, but I knew none of it. Long Tom had
told me I needed to move the bands, but had then left me alone all this time—a week, longer,
without a word.
And so I wandered through Westminster, through London, and invariably to St Paul‘s
where I sat and worried.
One market day, when the lowing of cattle and the bleating of sheep and goats from the
markets of Cheapside disturbed even the relative calm of St Paul‘s, I sat huddled on a bench in
one of the aisles. Many of the traders and their customers had come inside the nave of the
cathedral to do their business—I supposed it was raining and the cathedral more conducive to
trade than the rain-washed street—and the aisle was one of the few spots within the cathedral
where remained any peace. I had decided to return to Westminster—the walk would take me an
hour, and poor Damson needed her body back for her evening chores—and so I had shuffled
forward on the bench preparing to rise, when a cloaked figure dropped down beside me, making
me cringe back on the bench. What was this? A robber? A lecher? Worse, a monk come to pry
out my sins?
―Don‘t leave,‖ said Silvius.
I stared at him, not sure if he knew who it was within this poor woman‘s body.
―My lord,‖ I began, but Silvius laughed, and waved a hand in the air.
―Oh, no need for such formalities, Caela. But this body…‖ His eyes travelled over
Damson‘s squat outlines with disapproval. ―You could not find better?‖
―How did you know it was me?‖
His teeth flashed inside the hood. ―I know all about glamours, Caela. I am no fool.‖
―I did not ever mistake you for one,‖ I said quietly. My eyes had got used to the darkness
beneath the enveloping hood, and now I could see his face clearly. He was grinning, obviously
enjoying my discomfiture.
―Glamours were used in the ancient Aegean world, as well as here,‖ he said. ―Mag was
not the only one to know of them.‖
―Ah. I did not know.‖
―I have watched you these past days,‖ he said, all teasing dropped from his voice. ―You
keep coming back here. Why?‖
―It is the stone hall of my dreams.‖
He nodded. ―I had wondered when you would see that.‖
―Is there anything you do not know?‖
Again he laughed. ―Very little, although I suspect that what I don‘t know is what you
desperately need to know, and perhaps why you sit here with Damson‘s rough-worked face all
wrinkled with worry.‖
I wondered how to reply to that, then finally decided that it would not hurt to talk to
Silvius. I felt safe about him, cared for and comforted, and I knew he was someone in whom I
could confide.
―There are several things at worry within me,‖ I said.
―And they are?‖
―Well…the lesser is that Judith has told me that Saeweald expects himself to become
Og-reborn.‖
Silvius grinned. ―The pretentious fool,‖ he said. ―Has he no idea?‖
I shook my head. ―Should I tell him?‖
―Oh, nay. I think not! Imagine the consequences. Ah, Caela, do not worry. He will come
to terms with his disappointment, I am sure. He will do what is best for the land.‖
―I hope so,‖ I said, keeping my voice low.
“He will.”
I chewed at my lip, then nodded.
―Very well. What else eats at you?‖
―There is something missing within me,‖ I said. ―Some part of who I should be is…not
there.‖
He frowned. ―What do you mean?‖
I lifted one hand, then let it drop uselessly. ―An emptiness, Silvius. An ‗un-rightness‘. I
can explain it no more than that.‖
―You are not all you should be?‖
―Yes. That is it, perfectly.‖
He was silent, and I looked at him. He was smiling gently, his face so like and yet unlike