seek his forgiveness for what I could not give him on the night of the solstice, but to just have
him hold me, and tell me all would be well. I know I spent the hours after my return ignoring
Edward‘s vilenesses and wondering and worrying. I was outwardly the dutiful wife, bending my
head in contrition at every barb Edward spat my way, aiding Saeweald as first he bled Edward,
then applied hot herbal and honey poultices to his armpits and chest and groin, then wiping down
Edward‘s face and arms and legs to wash away his stinking sweat.
Around us hurried and muttered various court and church officials, moaning and blessing
and praying and, no doubt, wondering how best to position themselves in the upheaval following
Edward‘s undoubted soon-to-be death.
Harold came to attend the debacle as well. He‘d hurried from Alditha‘s bed (Harold had
wasted no time in knocking at the door of Alditha‘s chamber, and I knew also that he had
broached the subject of marriage with her ecstatic family; I had no doubt that Harold would be
making sure he had a legal heir as soon as possible. He might not, after all, have much time once
Edward had succumbed), glanced worriedly at me, then, with the rest of us, endured Edward‘s
ranting throughout the remaining hours of the night and through the morning. He‘d pushed a
chest against the far wall—as far from Edward‘s bed as he could manage—and there he‘d sat and
watched, his face haggard, his eyes deep with worry. Occasionally one of the chamberlains or
counts or thegns or courtiers would bend close to him, and mutter, but Harold only ever
responded with a nod.
My eyes slid his way more often than need be, I expect, but I had so little chance to see
him, or be with him, and the sight of him comforted me.
I would have liked—desperately—to be able to sit down next to him, and allow him to
wrap me in his arms and hold me, but that was impossible under these circumstances.
Under any circumstances, I expect.
Sweet gods, how close had I come to discovery during the night? Or had I been
discovered? Asterion would have noticed my absence when he‘d visited his little dance of death
upon Edward. Would it have seemed strange to him? Or would he have thought only that I slept
in a different chamber so that Edward‘s piety would not be disturbed by my female form?
In which case, Asterion must have wondered why my attending lady, Judith, slept on a
pallet at the foot of the bed.
Would Asterion have remembered that brief moment when he‘d held me by the magical
waters of the pond, and connected that woman with my absence from Edward‘s bed?
As the night progressed my worry combined with my fatigue to make me nauseous, and,
when one of the servants leaned close to me just after dawn and offered me a cup of warm mead,
I felt my stomach heave and sweat break out on my face.
Saeweald noticed as well, and grabbed my arm just before I toppled from the bed.
―Madam,‖ he said, sharing a glance first with Harold and then with Judith, ―you must
rest. You cannot do more for your husband at present than you have.‖
―What?‖ screeched Edward, lurching up from where he‘d been reclining against the
pillows. ―The whore feels ill? What, Caela, a bastard child you‘re breeding there to some peasant
lover? A thick-witted boy you‘re going to claim is mine? A bellyful of some lustful—‖
―You go too far, even for a king,‖ snapped Harold, rising and coming to the bed. ―If you
think yourself dying, Edward, then concentrate on that dying, and ensure your own salvation
rather than searching out imaginary faults in those who seek only to aid you.‖
He turned his back on Edward, who was spluttering and hacking his way through a
coughing fit brought on by his outburst, and took my arm, leading me back to the chest where we
both sat down.
Judith hurried over with a fresh dampened cloth to wipe my face, and I smiled my thanks
at her.
There was a clear question in her eyes, and I shook my head slightly. There was no baby,
I was certain of that, even though my womb had been cramping badly in the past week or so.
Judith wiped away my sweat, then brought me a cup of milk and egg and honey mixed,
and I took it gratefully, thanking her as she turned to return to her stool by the door.
―He is dying?‖ Harold said softly, his lips barely moving.
―Yes.‖
―Saeweald cannot save him?‖
―Do you want him to?‖
Harold, who had been staring at Edward, looked at me. ―No,‖ he admitted. ―I do not. It
has come time for me to take my heritage.‖
I shivered, a black wave of despair making me feel ill all over again. ―Harold…‖
―I know, my love. I know.‖
That ―my love‖ almost undid me, and I had to set the half-drunk cup of milk down on the
floor.
Harold mistook the reason for my distress, and took my hand, no longer caring, I think,
what all the watching eyes thought.
―I am strong. I can face whatever comes at me. England will not accept either Hardrada
or William.‖
Oh, Harold, my love, I thought, you have no idea what it is you will face. I had a sudden,
crazed hope that Asterion would best all who ranged against him, for then Harold would not have to die. He could reign as king, never knowing that beneath him reigned a far viler lord in a far
more wretched land…
The thought vanished even before I had completed it. England would not accept Asterion
either.
Harold‘s gaze returned to Edward, now lying back on the pillows and struggling for
breath. He spoke, keeping his voice very low. ―Edward will die, but he has chosen the best time
of year to do so.‖
―What do you mean?‖
―It is the dead of winter. Neither Hardrada nor William can invade until late summer at
the earliest. I have well over six months before…‖
He stopped, and I squeezed my eyes closed so that he might not see the pain in them. Oh,
I knew very well what that ―before‖ encompassed.
Before William came home to kill Coel all over again.
William would win whatever battle he engaged in with Harold. William would become
king. Hardrada, if he was to be a player at all, would be little more than a nuisance.
―Do not fear for me, Caela,‖ Harold said in the gentlest voice I had ever heard from any
throat. He was going to say more—I was by this stage beyond any coherent speech—but then his
head jerked towards the door, and he cursed, not taking the trouble to lower his voice.
I raised my head.
Swanne had entered the room.
She looked…I don‘t know…she looked different in some aspect. She was very pale, but
then, she‘d always had pale skin, although it did seem far more translucent than normal. Her eyes
were over-bright, but then might that be because she had a winter chill?
There was a strange rigidity in the manner in which she held her body, but was that
because she‘d heard Harold‘s curse, and because she undoubtedly knew she would not be much
welcomed within this chamber?
Edward had always disliked her (the man had some sense!), and Harold had made his
feelings for Swanne known throughout the court.
Harold was within one or two weeks at the most of being crowned the new king, and
there was no one in this chamber likely to try and alienate him by taking Swanne‘s side in their
rift.
The chamber was already crowded, and there was little room for movement, but still
people managed to draw back from Swanne as if she carried the pestilence within her person.
―What do you here?‖ Harold asked. He had let go my hand and risen.
Swanne‘s eyes moved about the room, as if searching for supporters, but she answered
Harold calmly enough. ―I am here to pay my respects to the king,‖ she said, ―and to offer my
assistance, howsoever that may be required.‖
Without waiting for a reply Swanne moved to the side of Edward‘s bed—the opposite
side from Harold and myself—and sank to the floor in a graceful curtsey, bowing her head
almost down to her breast.
―My lord and liege,‖ she said to Edward as she finally raised her face to look at him, and
I was shocked to see her eyes glistening with tears. ―I am sad to see you in such distress. How
may I best help?‖
Edward was in no mood for courtly niceties. ―You can remove yourself from my
presence,‖ he said, ―and take that slut with you. I have had enough of her.‖
He waved a hand feebly in my direction.