you acknowledge Ariadne‘s oath?‖
She tried to deny it. She tried with every fibre of her being, but, desperate as she was,
Swanne could not force a denial from her throat. Instead, there came a voice from her mouth that
was not only hers, and not just Ariadne‘s, but the voice of all her foremothers, Ariadne and her
five daughter-heirs before Genvissa.
―Yes,‖ that voice whispered, a ghastly, echoing utterance that coiled about the room.
―Yes, I—‖ we ―—acknowledge the oath.‖
Aldred‘s body tensed, and Swanne was dimly aware it was because he had drawn in a
great breath of triumph. ―You know what is going to happen now, Swanne, don‘t you?‖
Swanne whimpered. It was all she could articulate in her overwhelming sense of horror.
―You are going to fulfil Ariadne‘s bargain for her, seeing as she is no longer about to do
so herself. And well you should pay, Swanne, since it was you who began the Game again! You who tried to trap me!‖
―No, no! I beg you. Anything but—‖
― Everything, Swanne. Everything.‖
―Please…no…‖
Aldred‘s hands were now fumbling under the great dewlap of his belly, and before
Swanne‘s appalled gaze he brought forth his erection.
―No!‖
―And now, my lovely, we are going to seal Ariadne‘s bargain by the same means she and
I originally sanctioned it. Are you ready?‖
Swanne tried to scream, but she felt Asterion wrap his power about her, and she could do
nothing but whimper.
She tried to hit at him, but her arms were leaden.
She tried to roll away from him, but because Asterion still chose to cloak himself within
Aldred‘s massive bulk—the ultimate humiliation—she could do nothing.
Aldred lay down over Swanne, resting his full weight on her, and grunted.
Swanne felt something vile, something cold, probe at her.
She tried to writhe, but could do nothing, nothing, as Aldred shifted his hips, and grunted
again.
Something so cold and so painful that it felt like splintered, jagged ice slithered its way
inside her.
Aldred‘s hips bucked, then pushed down deeply.
Agony coursed between her hips and deep into her belly, but even beyond this, Swanne
felt something else.
Something cold and painful, a splinter, sharp-edged, icy, twisting its way into her soul.
―You‘re mine now,‖ whispered Aldred, and he forced his mouth over Swanne‘s, and
pushed his tongue inside her.
His hips began to work frantically, and Swanne knew that she would have died under the
suffering of his brutal assault—both on her body and her soul—had not Asterion deliberately
kept her alive.
Aldred lifted his mouth a little away from hers, his fat face wobbling with his efforts, and
slicked with sweat that rolled from his skin‘s open pores.
― Everything you shall lay bare to me!‖ he said, and Swanne felt as if she was sliced open,
her every secret laid bare, her every knowledge made understandable to this horror inside her.
She felt her soul, her very being, kneeling in subjection before him.
And then something terrifying, unendurably agonising, exploded within her belly, and
Swanne mercifully lost consciousness.
When she woke, her body throbbing in torment, Aldred was sitting—fully dressed—on
the edge of her bed.
―There,‖ he said, ―that wasn‘t so bad, was it?‖
Swanne tried to swallow, but her throat felt as if it had been stripped of its flesh, and she
gasped in agony partway through the movement.
―Poor dear,‖ Aldred said, and patted her hand where it lay on the bed.
Then his entire demeanour changed, and malevolence shone through the man‘s fat
features. ―You are now wholly my creature,‖ he hissed, and his hand tightened claw-like about
hers. ―You may make no move, and you may make no utterance, without my permission and
guidance. Your powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth you shall use only as I direct. Do you
understand me?‖
Tears now coursed down Swanne‘s face, but she managed a tiny nod.
And then a wince, as if even that tiny movement caused her pain.
Aldred‘s rubbery lips stretched in a grin. ―I may not always be close, but there is a part of
me always with you, always watching you, always knowing. Do you feel it?‖
Benumbed, Swanne could do little but blink at him in incomprehension.
―This,‖ said Aldred, and lifted Swanne‘s hand so that it lay on her belly.
He pressed her hand down.
Swanne‘s eyes slowly widened in appalled understanding.
―My little incubus,‖ said Aldred, his very voice as sibilant as a snake‘s. ―Always within
you, always ready to bite and to whisper and to be. You are my creature, Swanne.‖ He laughed.
―The Game is half mine.‖
Then Aldred sobered, and bent his vile face close to Swanne‘s. ―And all you have to do is
please me, my dear. To start with, I think you can bring me William.‖
A pause. ―Won‘t that be nice for you? Eh?‖
Within her belly, the incubus bit deep with its tiny, icy fangs, and Swanne‘s mouth
opened in a silent scream.
Her body arched and bucked, and Aldred waited patiently until the agony had subsided
and Swanne lay relatively still, even though her moans had not quietened.
―Later,‖ he said, ―I might find some errands for you to run. Yes?‖
She gave a single, agonised nod.
―You will do whatever I want,‖ he said, and Swanne sobbed, hopelessly, knowing that
indeed, yes, she would do it.
Within her, Asterion‘s little incubus twisted happily.
Darkcraft, come to life and form.
In the morning Hawise exclaimed in horror at the blood covering her mistress‘ sheet, and
at the haggard painfilled face of Swanne herself.
But Aldred, arranging the heavy golden crucifix on its chain over his chest, told Hawise
that it was of no consequence. ―It is but Swanne‘s monthly flux,‖ he said. ―A little more
burdensome than usual. No need to send for the physician.‖
He turned to Swanne, fixing her with a cold, hard eye. ―My lady should perhaps take as
her inspiration the queen, who so valiantly struggles with her own womanly complaints. The
physician is not needed, eh?‖
Swanne looked at him, then at Hawise, staring incredulously at her. ―The physician is not
needed,‖ she said hoarsely.
Part Six
Early 1066
With Edward’s gentle piety was blended …
With Edward”s gentle piety was blended a strange hardness towards those to whom he
was most bound…his alienation from his wife, even in that fantastic age, was thought extremely
questionable.
A. P. Stanley,
Memorials of Westminster Abbey, 1886
London, March 1939
“What do you need to do to win Eaving back from whatever darkness consumes her?”
Matilda said. “Why are you so sure that darkness consumes her?”
“Dear God!” Skelton said, standing up from the kitchen table so abruptly that Matilda
had to take a step backwards. “Are you filled with nothing but questions? Can you talk in
nothing but riddles?”
“Find Eaving yourself,” Ecub said. “No one can do that save you. No one!”
Skelton did not reply. He walked to the small window that overlooked the grim, concreted
back yard, staring into it as if it somehow held his salvation.
Behind him, Matilda and Ecub exchanged glances.
Skelton sighed, and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “I need to trust in her.”
“Yes,” Ecub said.
Skelton sighed again, more heavily, and moved as if to turn back into the kitchen. But
before he completed the movement, something in the yard distracted him.
The rear gate, which led to the small service lane behind the row of houses, had moved
slightly.
As Skelton watched, his breath now held in a mixture of hope and fear, the gate swung
open very slowly.
Two boys slipped through, and Skelton let out his breath in a disappointment so deep he
thought for a moment his heart would stop from lack of hope.
Then he looked at the boys more closely. They were twelve or thirteen, identically dressed
in short pants, shirts with their sleeves rolled up, and sleeveless jumpers. Each had a small cloth cap on his head.
As one, they stopped, looking to where Skelton stared at them from the window.
They were very swarthy, their eyes black, their mouths thin and sly.
They smiled, humourlessly, uncomfortably, and one of them pulled from his pocket a
tangled length of red wool.
As Skelton stared, his eyes never leaving those of the silent, watchful dark intruders, the
boy twisted the wool about his fingers, then drew his hands apart.
The wool magically untangled itself and formed a complex woven pattern between the
boy”s fingers.
A unicursal Labyrinth.
“My God,” said Skelton softly.
“Ah,” said Matilda. “Is that Tim and Bob? They pop in for an hour or so before school
most days.”
“Why?” said Skelton, finally turning back to look at the women.
“To help out,” said Ecub, and Skelton”s mouth dropped open in disbelief.
“You dare trust them?‖ he whispered.
ONE
Caela was trapped within her marriage and Edward‘s court throughout the Christmas
festivities. For six long days she smiled and danced and jested and, in the mornings and evening,