murder Harold in a state of dream-induced madness.
And what was he going to do now that he was here? Break down the door, haul Harold
from his bed and demand the name of whoever it was who had the armband?
Harold would not know. He was not even aware of what part he played in this cursed
Game.
Was he?
What if Harold was aware, and had thus far deluded William into thinking he had no idea
who he had been?
What if Harold and Swanne were in league, against William?
No! No, that could not be.
William suddenly realised he was standing inanely by the closed door to Harold‘s
chamber, so close his forehead was actually resting on the wood, and the sentry who stood
further down the cloistered walk was staring at him as if he were moon-crazed.
William sighed, straightened and, looking to where Matilda stood several paces away
with his cloak, smiled ruefully and held out his hand.
―Are you well, husband?‖ she asked as she handed him the cloak. From what William
could see of her expression in this barely lit place, her eyes were narrowed and suspicious.
―I have had ill news given to me in a dream,‖ he said. ―I need to speak with Harold.‖
―Be careful,‖ she said, and William knew she was not saying, Be careful of Harold, but,
Do not harm Harold.
William nodded, threw the cloak around his shoulders, and dismissed the crowd of
watchful, concerned men who stood at some distance. ―Go now,‖ he said to them. ―I am sorry
that I have disturbed your night.‖
―William?‖ said Matilda.
―I will talk a while with Harold,‖ he said, and bent down to kiss her. ―Do not fret. I shall
not slaughter him. But perhaps he can calm my mind. Wait for me in our chamber.‖
When she had gone, the servants and men-at-arms trailing behind her, William turned
once more to Harold‘s door, and thumped softly on it with his fist.
It opened almost immediately.
Harold stood behind the door, fully dressed, his chamber glowing with the light of several
lamps.
Thorkell and Hugh stood only a pace behind Harold, their expressions wary, hands on the
knives in their belts.
―You‘re awake?‖ said William, and again doubts assailed him. ―Why?‖ Had he made
that much commotion in his mad race from his own bedchamber to Harold”s?
―There is trouble,‖ Harold said, and William‘s eyes narrowed.
―Oh, aye, there is trouble. But how do you know of it?‖
In answer Harold looked to Thorkell and Hugh, then to William, then back to his two
companions.
―I would speak a while with William,‖ he said, and, understanding the message, Thorkell
and Hugh left the chamber, pushing past William with set, careful expressions on their faces.
―You will find warmth and light and companionship in the kitchens,‖ William said to
them. ―I have no doubt that most of the castle is awake and restless this night.‖
The instant Harold closed the door behind him, William spoke again. ―There is trouble in
London,‖ he said, searching Harold‘s face for knowledge of what had— was—happening.
―You dreamed it?‖ Harold said. He walked to a stool by a glowing brazier, and sat down
heavily.
―Aye, I dreamed of it. But it was a dream of reality, not of fancy.‖ William stayed by the
door, watching Harold closely.
The Saxon earl looked haggard, as if he, too, had dreamed horribly. William saw him rub
gently at his belly, and wince slightly as he shifted on the stool, and thought that the wild boar‘s
bruises must be paining him.
―Caela is in danger,‖ Harold said, and William‘s jaw almost sagged in surprise.
―Caela? You dreamed of Caela?‖
―Aye. She and I have ever been close—‖
William‘s mouth twisted.
―—closer than most brothers and sisters. Sometimes when she has been frightened or
unwell I have known it, even though she be at a great distance. Tonight…tonight I dreamed that
a great beast, something monstrous, pursued her through a land of broken stone and tumbled
walls. Ah!‖ Harold lifted his hand from his belly and rubbed at his eyes. ―I cannot understand it.
What I do understand is that there is trouble afoot, great trouble, and that somehow it involves Caela.‖
When has there ever been trouble afoot that has not involved her? William thought, but there was no hatred in that thought. He took a stool opposite Harold, pulling the cloak
comfortably about his body, and leaning forward, close to the brazier. ―Something is wrong
tonight,‖ he said. ―I also had a dream.‖
―Of Caela?‖
William looked at Harold sharply, but saw nothing in the man‘s face other than genuine
concern and puzzlement. ―No,‖ he said. ―Just of…of trouble. Harold…‖
―Aye?‖
―Harold, are you in league with Swanne against me?‖
Harold stared at William, then grinned, genuinely and freely. ―Nay, William. Put that
from your mind. I do not plot with Swanne against you. I may plot with the rest of England
against you, but I do not plot with Swanne.‖
William stared at Harold, then laughed softly, deprecatingly. How twisted his life had
become to be so relieved that Harold only plotted with all of England against him, but not with a
single woman! And Harold was telling truth. William could see it. Coel‘s spirit shone so true and bright from Harold‘s eyes that William believed him utterly.
Whatever else Harold might be doing, he wasn‘t doing it in league with Swanne.
―Will you share some wine?‖ said Harold, standing and walking to a chest, atop which
stood several jugs and cups. ―I think Thorkell and Hugh may have left us a drop.‖
―Aye,‖ said William. ―Thank you.‖
But as he drank, and as he exchanged friendly words with Harold, William‘s mind drifted
back to London, where he could feel the armband moving further and further from that place
where he‘d left it.
Caela? No, surely not. Surely?
And if so, how?
William suddenly remembered that moment when he and Genvissa had been dancing the
final dance which would have completed the Game, building the flower gate to the entrance of
the Labyrinth. He remembered that single horrifying moment when he had seen Cornelia
stepping forth, running forth, drawing from her robe Asterion‘s wicked blade.
Caela?
Caela and Asterion?
God! Was Caela now so completely Asterion”s creature that she could manipulate the
Game”s mysteries?
William realised that Harold had stopped, as if he‘d said something that required
William‘s comment.
―What?‖ he said stupidly.
―I asked,‖ said Harold, ―if you would swear your support to my succession to the English
throne. Your lips were forming the word ―Yes,‖ I think.‖
William shot him an amused look. ―That was not what you asked.‖
―Well…no. But I thought you so lost in your own thoughts that I might catch you
unawares and gain your support for my accession without a single blow being struck.‖
―I do not want to kill you, Harold.‖
―No,‖ Harold said softly, ―I don‘t believe you do. If you and I had met under different
circumstances, I think we would have been true friends.‖
William nodded, accepting the truth of it. ―Harold…‖ he said.
―Aye?‖
―Will you tell me of Caela?‖
―How strange,‖ said Harold, ―for when I return to my homeland, I have every expectation
that Caela will ask me to tell her of you.‖
THREE
CAELA SPEAKS
The Sidlesaghe had told me this moving of the first Kingship band would be a true test of
my abilities and understanding, but I found it far easier than he had intimated.
I picked up the band, and held it in my cupped hands, studying it.
How it reminded me of Brutus. How many times had this band and its fellows rubbed
against me, pressed against me, as Brutus lay with me? Early on in our marriage I had loathed it,
for those bands and their pressing against me represented his victory over me. Later, when I had
come more to my senses, I had loved the feel of them against my skin as I had loved the feel of
Brutus against me.
Then, later still, when I had murdered Genvissa and Brutus had taken me back to wife in
order to hate and punish me, I had missed those bands. Brutus had hidden them, and their lack
represented all that had been buried and hidden between us: love, respect, warmth, want.
I breathed in deeply, feeling the band as it rested in my hands. It was not cold, as one
might expect metal—even golden metal—to be, but was warm, as if it still retained the warmth
and vitality of Brutus‘ body. Of course, now I understood differently. These bands had power
and life of their own, and this warmth reflected that life as also the life and power of the Game.
The band was beautiful. Strangely, given that I had spent so much time with Brutus in the
two years or so before I destroyed everything between and before us in the interests of land and