Gods Concubine by Sara Douglass

and sundry. The fire festivities were aeons old, meant to encourage the sun‘s rise the following

morning and to frighten away all evil spirits who hoped for the sun‘s death and for never-ending

gloom. Most of London‘s population, and that of the surrounding villages and hamlets, were

gathering at Pen Hill awaiting the first strike of the flint and the first spark that would signal the

commencement of the festivities.

And half the court had gone as well, if the emptiness of this hall was any indication.

Edward had spent the past week expressly forbidding the pagan revelry.

That not only the general population, but also so many of the court, had completely

ignored him had sent him spinning into so ferocious a temper that Judith, who was sitting a few

paces away, wondered at Caela‘s courage in even speaking to him.

―Yes?‖ Edward snapped.

―My lord, I beg your sanction to take my leave of you this night. I would—‖

― You also would take your part in these devilish practices? You also want to dance with the heathens? How dare you, wife! Christ‘s birthday is but days away, and you want to revel in heathenish practices expressly forbidden by our Lord. ‖ His vehemence was so great that Edward

peppered Caela‘s face with fine globules of spit.

Judith winced, hating the king and all he stood for. She looked to Caela, knowing her

mistress wanted above all else to scream, Yes! Instead, Judith watched with growing admiration as Caela kept her face humble and submissive.

―Never!‖ Caela said. ―I grieve for their souls in their ignorance. Nay, I wanted to ask

your leave, not to join in these heathenish and most vile practices, but to spend the night in

humility before the altar of St Paul‘s that I might pray for the souls of all who succumb to sin this

night.‖

Edward was momentarily lost for words. Caela wanted to spend the night in prayer? He

was consumed by a sudden rush of warmth for his wife. Perhaps, in her maturity, she was

learning a greater grace and humility than he had ever thought her capable of.

But…

―St Paul‘s?‖ he said. ―Would you not be better served by our own abbey church of

Westminster? There I could join you.‖

Judith kept her face impassive, but her stomach clenched.

―I have ever felt closer to God in St Paul‘s, my lord. And it is in the heart of London

itself.‖ It is the heart of London. ―There I feel my prayers might have the greater effect on the souls of those Londoners who might otherwise lose themselves tonight. I beg you, grant me my

wish. I feel that much prayer will be needed tonight to counter the effects of these dire, devilish

dances.‖

Judith had to bite her lip at that last, and she could see the corner of Caela‘s mouth twitch

as well. Control yourself, Judith thought, and in that instant Caela did, and her face became as a great pool of sadness and piety.

―Caela!‖ Edward said, and reached out both his hands to take hold of Caela‘s. ―I wish

that your brother had your sense of Christian duty, for I note full well that he is also absent from

the hall this night. Very well, I grant your wish, and I shall send with you an escort of armed men

that you may be kept safe throughout your night of prayer.‖

Caela bowed her head and, as Edward‘s attention drifted elsewhere, winked at Judith.

Two hours later, Caela, accompanied by Judith, Saeweald, an escort numbering some

thirty-five armed men (looking unhappy that duty called this night when they would much rather

be dancing on the hills) and seven monks from Westminster Abbey, entered the cathedral of St

Paul‘s via the great western doors.

There were few people about. A priest or two, several Londoners—among those few who

had not wanted to partake in the revelries—and an aged workman huddled in one corner with a

tattered cloak wrapped about him.

It was very cold, and the party‘s breath frosted about their faces.

―Madam?‖ murmured Saeweald. He had been very quiet on the journey to St Paul‘s.

―I will pray before the altar,‖ Caela said, and led the way through the nave towards the

great gilded altar. There burned several fat candles and dishes of incense, and, in the floor

immediately before the altar, offerings of gold, oils and coins left by pilgrims grateful to St Paul

for whatever healing he had bestowed upon them.

Caela walked directly to the altar, bent and kissed the crucifix which sat upon it, then

turned once more to Judith and Saeweald, who stood close by her.

―I will lie prostrate before the altar,‖ Caela murmured, ―for the entire night.‖

―Madam,‖ said Judith, glancing at Saeweald.

―What I do,‖ said Caela quietly, ―I do for this land, not for any Christian monstrosity. I

need to merge entirely with the land so that it and I are seamless, and tonight…tonight, this is

what I shall accomplish.‖

―Caela,‖ Saeweald said slowly, ―are you sure that you go to the right man?‖

Should it not be me? As Og-reborn?

Caela studied Saeweald, then smiled, and kissed him on the forehead. Briefly. Gently. No

more than a brush of dry lips. ―This is right for me, here and now,‖ she said. ―Later,

perhaps…besides, you have other duties tonight.‖

He nodded. ―I understand.‖ Saeweald paused. ―Be well,‖ he finished, and at his blessing,

grudging as it was, Caela‘s face relaxed.

―Caela…‖ Judith began, her gaze darting between Caela and Saeweald.

―I need to do this,‖ Caela said.

Judith sighed, nodded, then kissed Caela‘s cheek. ―Be well.‖ She managed to summon a

small smile. ―And enjoy, for it is meaningless without enjoyment.‖

―I shall stay all night,‖ Caela said. ―When I am…gone, there is no need for either you or

Saeweald to stay to watch over me. You will be better employed elsewhere. Perhaps,‖ her eyes

danced, ―with Ecub, atop Pen Hill?‖

Judith looked at Saeweald, both knowing that Caela‘s suggestion was, in fact, more like a

command.

―Come,‖ said Caela. ―Aid me to this floor. And be here to greet me at dawn, when I am

sure my bones shall be stiff and cold from this stone.‖

Judith took Caela‘s elbow, and assisted her to the floor where, having bowed several

times and crossed herself even more, Caela sank down until she lay prone, her arms extended to

the side, her face to the floor.

Saeweald gestured to the escort to stand back at a respectful distance—they removed

themselves until they stood in a semicircle about the prostrate form of their queen at a distance of

some fifteen paces—and then he folded his hands inside his voluminous sleeves, and bowed his

head as if in prayer.

Slightly to his side, and one pace behind him, Judith did the same.

In reality, they had their eyes fixed on Caela.

In Rouen, where the population was engaged in much the same activities as the

Londoners, William begged leave from his wife.

―I have drunk too excessively of the wine this afternoon, my dear. My head throbs

horribly. I would retire, I think, and let it settle.‖

―What?‖ said Matilda, her eyebrows raised. ―You would miss the revels?‖ Unlike

Edward, she and William always attended the excitement of the winter solstice fires.

―You go, if you wish,‖ said William, his face apologetic as he leaned forward and kissed

her mouth. ―But I must to bed, or I think my head will burst. Nay, do not think to stay and nurse

me. It is but the wine.‖

Matilda shook her head. William had drunk a little excessively this day. ―I should force

you to drink only milk, like a child,‖ she said.

William made a face, then smiled, kissed her hand, and left her. He went straight to his

bedchamber, where he disrobed and slid beneath the coverlets.

Despite the terrible ache in his head, he was asleep within minutes.

Judith and Saeweald saw the instant that Caela ―left‖. There was a sudden, strange

stillness about her body, and although it still breathed, they knew that Caela was no longer there.

Saeweald glanced at the armed men and monks standing about. They, too, seemed locked

in an eerie stillness.

He reached down and grasped Judith‘s hand. ―Come,‖ he whispered, ―the hills call.‖

The main site of the revels for London was on Pen Hill, a mile or so beyond the northern

wall of the city. Here crowds had been gathering since dusk and now, as full night fell, they grew

increasingly restless.

Atop the hill itself, standing within the circle of worn stones which had graced the hilltop

since antiquity, an elderly woman, clad in little more than a diaphanous robe, cried out and held

aloft a burning brand.

The light revealed her face, and those close enough could see that this year‘s mistress of

the ceremonies was, as it had been for the past twelve years, Ecub—the strange enigmatic