Edward has not long to live, you think William is coming, you want to be here to greet him. Thus
you beg me for a chamber, and care not what rumour suggests happens within that chamber.‖
He made a face, as if uninterested. ―You don‘t think that might ruin whatever you hope
for with William?‖
―William and I have an alliance that goes back much further than you can guess at, my
lord. He will not think any the worse of me for begging shelter from you.‖
Aldred shrugged. ―Very well, then, my lady. You may ‗shelter‘ within my palace.‖
TWELVE
Swanne waited a full day and more for a time when she had an hour or two undisturbed
in the chamber Aldred had given her before she succumbed to her sense of panic.
Who had moved the band?
How?
Had William told Harold about her? Had William really shared her messages with
Matilda? No, surely not. That was just Harold‘s lies. Surely. And if William had…then why?
Why? Why?
She needed answers, she needed reassurance, and she needed both so badly she knew she
could not wait for the slow passage of written communication between herself and William.
Besides, she no longer trusted Aldred completely. The man had been too sure of himself
recently. What did he plan behind her back?
No, she needed to see William. To meet him again, face to face, as much to satisfy her
emotional needs as to answer her questions.
Since her first meeting with William, Swanne had always been supremely careful with
the use of her power. She had never known where Asterion was, or if he would be able to scry
out her use of power, and, most importantly, what he might do if he felt her use such power.
But the past day or so had witnessed the loss of most of Swanne‘s confidence.
She needed William again, if only for a moment or two, just to see him, to reach out and
touch him. To hear him reassure her that Harold had lied.
And so she did what she had not yet dared to do for the past fifteen years.
She used her power as Mistress of the Labyrinth to visit William.
Once Harold departed, William had taken his horse and a few companions and travelled
to the coast, to a small estate he had near Fécamp. There he spent two days staring north-west
from the tower of the small castle that dominated the estate.
Then, on this morning, he had ridden from the castle, curtly telling his companions to
give him time and space alone for a few hours, and galloped to the beach some three miles
distant.
He pulled his horse to a halt on a small hill. Above his head wheeled scores of seabirds,
filling the air with their harsh voices; about him there was nothing but the rolling turf of untilled
meadows; before him there was nothing but the wild grey sea, whipped into a frenzy by a bitter
northerly wind.
The distant view was hazy, the nearer view distorted from the spray sent skyward by the
crashing waves, but William could feel England just beyond his eyesight. There it lay, so close,
so close…
Something within him tugged. Almost as if an invisible hand had laid hold to his gut and
pulled.
He groaned, bending forward a little in the saddle, and his horse shifted uneasily beneath
him.
Again, the strange, painful tug, and this time William realised what it was.
―No!‖ he cried. Damn, it was Swanne! ―No! Stop!‖
But it was too late. Some twenty paces away, where the hill started to dip towards the
rocky beach, the haze consolidated into a misty pillar, and then into a discernible female form.
―Swanne! No, ‖ William cried again, almost beside himself with a crazed mixture of fear
and anger. She dared not do this! She dared not! Not now, when it was so dangerous. He swung
down from his horse and ran towards the figure just as it consolidated into its final form.
Swanne, running to meet him.
She looked older, but just as beautiful: the black, curling hair snapping free in the wind;
the sensuous figure; the round white arms held out to him; the face, more beautiful than he could
ever have imagined.
The red mouth silently framing his name. William! William!
―Swanne,‖ he grunted in that instant before she hurled herself into his arms. She pulled
his head down and kissed him, but within a moment he pushed her back, his hands on her
shoulders, staring at her.
―God, Swanne! What do you here?‖
―William,‖ she cried, and buried her face against his chest, her arms tight about him.
―William.‖
Again he pushed her back, harder this time. ―What do you here? What is wrong?‖
―You know what! Someone has moved a—‖
―It was not you?‖ William‘s hands tightened about Swanne‘s shoulders.
―No! No! I thought that perhaps you…somehow…‖
―No.‖ William looked away from her, looked over the wild sea.
―Who? No one could touch those bands but you and I. William…William, was it
Asterion?‖
―No. Asterion was as surprised as I. As you, now, I find. Gods, Swanne, I was sure that
you had moved the band.‖ Had prayed that it was you who had moved the band.
Swanne‘s hands had lessened their grip about William a little, and now she moved them
to his chest, and she leaned in closer, and pressed her hands against him. She could feel the heat
of his body radiating out through the layers of his tunic and undershirt, and Swanne closed her
eyes momentarily, and breathed in deeply. ―Then who?‖ she said.
―Caela,‖ William said in a voice almost a whisper. He was still staring out to sea.
―No.‖
―No?‖ William remembered what Matilda and Harold had said about her. ―Are you sure?
She has surprised us before.‖
―She has no power, William. Not like us.‖ Again her hands pressed against him.
―Asterion destroyed Mag within her. She has nothing left.‖
―What?‖ Swanne had finally said something that pulled William‘s eyes back to her.
―What in Hades‘ name do you mean?‖
―Mag,‖ Swanne said, ―within Caela‘s womb. She lived within Cornelia‘s womb. Did you
not…?‖
Swanne suddenly stopped. Had Brutus ever known of this? She had not mentioned it to
him, not in those few brief months between when she had discovered it herself and when
Cornelia, the bitch, had murdered her. And then Cornelia would never, surely, have mentioned it.
Besides, Cornelia would have had no chance to tell him, for Brutus would have killed her
the instant that Cornelia had stepped back from Genvissa‘s dead body.
Wouldn”t he? Caela was speaking only lies when she”d said she”d lived with Brutus for
decades after Genvissa”s death, and borne him more children.
Wasn”t she?
―How long did Cornelia live after she killed me?‖ Swanne asked. ―An hour? A day, at
most?‖
―As long as I did, at least,‖ said William vaguely, not thinking through why Swanne
might have been asking this. ―And that was, what? Some thirty years or so.‖
― What? You did not kill her?‖
William dropped his hands and took a step backwards, breaking the contact between
Swanne and himself. ―No. Eventually I took her back as my wife, but I—‖
― You kept her as your wife for some thirty years after she had killed me? ‖ There was a
terrible pain in her chest, and Swanne could hardly breathe for its fire.
Betrayal, she realised dimly. That‘s what that pain was. Betrayal.
―I did it to punish her, Swanne. I never spoke to her again.‖
Swanne gave a bitter laugh. ―But you lay with her.‖ A pause. ―Yes?‖
He did not speak, and that was all the answer Swanne needed.
Above them the circling seabirds cried out in their harsh tones, as if barking in laughter at
Swanne‘s anguish.
She lifted a hand, as though to strike William, but he seized it before she could act.
―And you told Harold of our correspondence,‖ she said, her voice flinty, trying, but not
succeeding, to wrench her wrist from William‘s grasp. ―And, I discover, shared it with Matilda.
How could you betray me like that? Ah!‖ She gave a hard laugh. ―How stupid of me. If you
could lie with Cornelia after she‘d murdered me, then what would such a small betrayal as telling
Harold of our communication and sharing it with your wife cost you? Eh? I swear before all
gods, William, that I believe you collect wives only so you can betray me with them.‖
William remained silent a long moment, staring at her with a face as tight and as angry as
hers. ―How can you speak of betrayal, my love, when you have been sleeping side by side with
Coel all these years?‖
There was a flash of panic in Swanne‘s eyes, then she collected herself and pouted. ―It
was of no importance.‖
―It was of no importance,‖ William repeated, then laughed hollowly. ―No