prioress of St Margaret the Martyr.
Standing just to Ecub‘s right were a man and a woman, their eyes riveted on Ecub‘s face:
Judith and Saeweald, the hoods of their cloaks drawn about their faces.
Ecub dipped the brand groundward with an inchoate cry, and fire erupted about the
hilltop. A great bone fire burned, the stench of the bones meant to drive away evil spirits and
witches who might be flying overhead, and men and women rolled forward great hay and
wickerwork wheels.
The prioress gave a signal, and from brands dipped in the bone fire the wheel holders lit
the wheels, and, once they were well alight, sent them rolling down the hill on all sides.
It was the moment the people had been waiting for. With a great roar, the revelries began.
On the hill, Saeweald turned to Judith and gathered her in hungry arms.
―May tonight increase the herd,‖ he said, thinking of Caela.
―May she tie herself and this land in everlasting harmony,‖ she whispered, and lifted her
mouth to his.
―Amen,‖ murmured Ecub to one side.
The stone hall stood empty, waiting as it had waited for so many thousands of years.
Tonight, however, there was an expectancy in the air, almost a vibration.
There was a movement in the deep shadows in one of the side aisles.
Then another. A rustling, as if someone had dropped a cloak or a robe, and dragged it
momentarily across the stone flagging.
And then she walked forth. Caela, yet not Caela. Mag, and yet not Mag. A woman, if
nothing else, of startling loveliness.
She was completely naked, and utterly beautiful in that nakedness. Her glossy dark hair
cascaded down her back and across one shoulder. Her blue eyes were deep and very calm and sure. Her body was slim, strong, lithe.
She walked into the centre of the stone hall, and looked about, as if expecting someone.
After a moment she began to pace impatiently.
William tossed and turned in his sleep as dreams gripped him.
He moaned, desperate, for this dream was no stranger.
He stood, as Brutus, in a stone hall so vast that he could barely comprehend the skill
required to build it. The roof soared so far above his head he could hardly see it, while to either side long aisles of perfectly rounded stone columns guarded shadowy, esoteric places.
This was a place of great mystery and power.
There was a movement in the shadows behind one of the ranks of columns, and
Cornelia— utterly naked— walked out into the open space of the hall.
Brutus drew in a sharp, audible breath, but she did not acknowledge his presence, and
Brutus was aware that even though they stood close, she had no idea he was present.
Cornelia looked different, and it took Brutus a long moment to work out why. She was
older, perhaps by ten or fifteen years, far more mature, far, far lovelier.
Brutus realised he was holding his breath and let it out slowly, studying her. Her body
was leaner and stronger now, her hips and breasts more rounded, her flanks and legs smoother
and more graceful. Her face had thinned, revealing a fine bone structure, and there were lines of
care and laughter about her eyes and mouth that accentuated her loveliness rather than
detracted from it.
“Cornelia,” Brutus said, and stretched out his hand.
She paid him no attention, wandering back and forth, first this way, then that, her eyes
anxious, and Brutus understood that she was waiting for someone.
She stopped, and stared, and breathed an audible sigh of relief.
―I thought you would not come,‖ she said.
The approaching man smiled, and held out his hands.
He was utterly naked, save for the patch that covered his left eye.
She ran to him, and took his hands. ―Silvius.‖ Her voice was filled with longing. ―It is the
death of the year. It is time.‖
There was some uncertainty in his face, even though he was clearly aroused by her naked
body and the yearning in her voice.
―I am not Brutus,‖ he said. ―I am not—‖
―You are everything I want,‖ she said, and drew him in against her. ―Really. This is truly
a special night, Silvius.‖
―I pray I do right by you.‖
He was trembling, and she let go of him and ran her hands over his body. He was lean,
carrying no fat, and with hard muscles and clean limbs, and she found herself wanting him very,
very badly. She was Caela-Mag, she was this land, and she could bear her virginity no longer.
Not on this night, of all nights. Not on a night when those who still remembered, and
cared, lit fires and danced the ancient fertility rituals, begging the land to hold fast through the
winter and to emerge fertile and bountiful in spring. To allow her virgin state to last beyond this
night would have been vile.
―Tonight,‖ she repeated, her voice little more than a murmur, ―this land and I, merged
forever. This land and the Game,‖ she touched his face, ―wedded forever.‖
She ran her hands up his back, and drew him in for a hard kiss.
He pulled his head back, just for a moment, so he could gaze at her with a strange,
triumphant light in his eye. ―Wedded forever, you and I, the Game and the land,‖ he said. ―Oh,
aye. Aye. ‖
Then he gathered her to him fiercely.
William cried out in his sleep, his arms flailing as he tossed and rolled over, tangling the
covers about his legs.
“I thought you would not come!” she said, and Brutus almost groaned at the love in her
eyes and voice.
“Cornelia!” Brutus said again, taking a step forward, his heart gladder than he could
have thought possible.
And then he staggered as a man brushed past him and walked towards Cornelia.
This was the man that Cornelia had smiled at and spoken to, and he was as unaware of
Brutus” presence as Cornelia was.
A deep, vile anger consumed Brutus. Who was this that she met?
The man was as naked as Cornelia, and Brutus saw that he was fully aroused. Who was
he? Corineus? Yes…no. Brutus had an unobstructed view of the man”s face, yet could not make
it out. First he was sure that he wore Corineus” fair features, then they darkened, and became
those of a man unknown.
Cornelia said the man”s name, her voice rich with love, and it, too, was undiscernible to
Brutus” ears.
“Do you know the ways of Llangarlian love?” said the man.
“Of course,” said Cornelia, and she walked directly into the man”s arms, her arms
slipping softly about his body, and offered her mouth to his.
They kissed, passionately, the kiss of a man and a woman well used to each other, and
Brutus found his hands were clenched at his side.
―Caela,‖ Silvius said, his voice rich with love. ―Do you know the ways of Llangarlian
love?‖
―Of course.‖
―I am not Brutus. I am not my son. Know that.‖
―I know that.‖
―Yet you choose me? Freely?‖
―Yes. Yes! Freely, yes! Gods, Silvius, enough words. I have had enough of this virginity.‖
―As you wish,‖ he whispered, and grabbed at her mouth with his, and pulled her to him.
She pressed her body against his, moaning, and together they half sank, half fell to the floor.
All his apparent doubts gone, Silvius wasted no time, nor did he seem to have care for
Caela‘s sensibilities. He put a hand on one of her shoulders, pushing her hard against the stone,
and with the other hand he parted her legs and mounted her, thrusting deep inside.
Caela cried out as she felt the warmth of her virgin blood spill across the stone flooring.
She struggled a little under Silvius, but he did not tolerate any resistance, and, both his hands now on her shoulders, he thrust again and again.
His face, and the one eye that shone from it, were very hard.
After a short while she subsided, accepting him, and then moaned.
―No!‖ William shouted, and lurched upright in the bed, grabbing frantically at the
bedclothes. His eyes stared straight ahead, but they did not see his own bedchamber.
They only saw the dream.
“No!” Brutus shouted, and would have stepped forward and grabbed at the man now
moving over Cornelia with long, powerful strokes save that he found himself unable to move.
He could witness, but he could not interfere.
The lovers” tempo and passion intensified, and Cornelia moaned and twisted,
encouraging her lover in every way she could, and they kissed again, their bodies now so
completely entwined, so completely merged, that they seemed but one.
Caela held on to Silvius‘ shoulders, remembering with every one of his movements those
nights she had lain with his son, remembering how Brutus had felt inside her, remembering how
he had made her feel, and she wept, silently and softly, because Silvius made her feel none of