Gods Concubine by Sara Douglass

whatever I say.

―When he arrives in England, my dear, we shall have to negate him.‖

―Really?‖ Swanne said, so under Asterion‘s enchantment now that she was not even

mildly curious at her total lack of concern at Asterion‘s proposal.

―Yes, really. There is room for only one Kingman, after all, and to have William

scrambling about would be such a nuisance.‖

She was silent.

―Do you really think,‖ he said, whispering so that she could barely hear, ―that William is

stronger than me?‖

His hands were moving, firmer, insistent. ―Do you really think,‖ he said, directly into her

ear so that his bull breath slid deep into her soul, ―that William is preferable to me?‖

Love me, Swanne. Do whatever I want.

She moaned, and could not think at all. All she could do was lean into Asterion‘s hands,

against his chest once more, and allow herself to be drawn back to the bed.

She felt no fear, only a vague gratefulness that he was not angry at her, and the words he

whispered were not those of terror.

―You have the darkcraft within you,‖ he whispered. ―I put it into Ariadne, and she has

passed it to you. Can you imagine, Swanne, my darling, what kind of Game we could build, what

kind of power we could command, if we used the darkcraft to control the Game?‖

He rolled on top of her, and Swanne felt herself part her legs with something that seemed

a little like eagerness. Caught in Asterion‘s sorcery, her mind had now completely forgotten that

Asterion also used Aldred‘s body from time to time. Instead, they had become two separate

personalities to her. Aldred caused her pain and humiliation. Asterion relieved that pain, and

offered her soft words…and power.

―Why William,‖ he repeated, sliding sweetly and gently into her, ―when you have me?‖

―Not William,‖ she whispered.

―No, my sweet. Not William. When he arrives in England, will you kill him for me?‖

Swanne moaned, not simply from pleasure at the feel of Asterion‘s body within hers, but

because she could feel him sliding a small piece of the dark power into her with every thrust.

Oh, that was so sweet!

―Will you kill him for me?‖

― Yes! Anything, anything…‖ She gasped, and moved sinuously under the Minotaur,

encouraging him with her body.

―And all you will have to do, my love, is to seduce him back to your bed. That won‘t be

too difficult, will it?‖

Swanne couldn‘t think, let alone reason. ―No. Anything. Please, give me more of the

darkcraft…please.‖

―When you have killed William, I will give it all back to you.‖

She moaned.

She would do anything for him now. Anything.

Asterion whistled as he wandered along the river path. He‘d had to escape Westminster

and the confines of petty men, and so had chosen this somewhat muddy walk for the solitude it

gave him. He wanted to shout and to scream his power, but in the interests of maintaining some

dignity restrained himself to the occasional hop and skip as he walked along.

The Troy Game was all but his.

The bands he could get anytime.

He had his Mistress of the Labyrinth.

All that stood in his way was William.

Asterion sobered a little. William was highly dangerous. As dangerous as Theseus had

once been—and Theseus‘ danger had been fatal.

Asterion needed William negated. Murdered. Assassinated. Whatever. Dead.

Then nothing would stand in his way. Nothing.

Asterion‘s face resumed its cheerful aspect and, as he imagined what awaited William the

instant he gave in to his lust for Swanne and slid inside her body, he chuckled and then burst into

laughter, startling the waterfowl which had been hiding in the rushes.

NINE

CAELA SPEAKS

Edward had died.

I was finally free.

At least, that is what it felt like. No longer the queen, merely the relict of a dead king, all

interest in me evaporated the instant Edward breathed his last. I could have torn the robes from

my body and run shrieking about the palace complex and, at best, I would have been regarded

with only mild irritation for creating a noise.

Instead, Alditha became the focus of attention (after Harold himself, naturally). Harold

had spread the word of his betrothal to her the day of Edward‘s death and now she, the future

queen, became the darling of the sycophants.

She was not the loathed wife.

She was not the detested bedmate.

Alditha was respected and treated with deference by her future husband, and thus the

entire court respected and deferred to her.

I did not mind in the least. Not for the world would I have had any other woman suffer

what I did in Edward‘s court. I visited her as soon as Edward had been respectably laid out, and

to her credit Alditha admitted me within an instant, dismissing all the flatterers who crowded

around her chair and kissing me on the cheek before embracing me tightly.

―I will not have you move from your quarters,‖ she said. ―There is no need.‖

―There is every need,‖ I said, ―for they stink of death. Mother Ecub, the prioress of St

Margaret the Martyr, has offered me lodging and privacy, and I shall move there without delay.

You do not need me cluttering up your court, my dear.‖

Harold had entered then, and as he bent to kiss Alditha I was pleased—if smitten with a

pang of jealousy—that there was clearly not only friendship between them, but the ease of

physical intimacy as well. Harold had not been wasting his nights at all.

He had the grace to colour slightly when he met my eyes and saw the understanding

there. He put a hand to Alditha‘s shoulder, and said gently, ―You have done well by me, sister. I

am grateful.‖

―And I,‖ said Alditha. Then she added, ―I think.‖

Harold and I both burst into laughter, and the awkwardness dissipated.

―I heard you say you were moving to St Margaret the Martyr‘s,‖ said Harold. ―Caela,

there is no need.‖

―I do need to quit this palace,‖ I said. ―It has nothing but bad memories for me.‖ And

traps, and eyes and ears. The freedom of Ecub‘s establishment promised to be exhilarating. ―You

may visit me there whenever you wish, Harold. Kingdom and new wife permitting.‖

Again we laughed, all three of us, and spent some pleasant minutes in idle conversation.

Then Harold had to leave—the kingdom waited, and plans for his coronation—and I also did not

linger. Alditha had many matters to occupy her as well, and I did not want my presence ever to

become a strain.

As we stood, I leaned forward and pressed my cheek against hers and, presumptuous, laid

a hand lightly on her belly. ―You will have twin sons by Yuletide this year,‖ I whispered. ―Do

not fear for them.‖

Then, with Alditha staring bewildered after me, I took my departure.

Aldred crowned Harold in Westminster Abbey the next day, an hour after Edward had

been laid to his eternal rest inside his cold stone casket inside his cold stone abbey.

I hoped it comforted him, all that cold stone imprisoning him within his death.

Alditha was crowned alongside Harold, the abbey alive with music and garlands and

pennants and the shouting of the Londoners outside. I stood to one side in the shadow of an aisle,

Judith, Ecub and Saeweald beside me, watching, both glad and saddened for Harold.

I could almost hear the sound of William sharpening his sword across the narrow straits

of the sea.

I closed my eyes, fighting to keep back the tears. Gods, what this land needed was

Harold as its king, not William!

I felt Judith‘s hand touch my elbow in concern, and I opened my eyes, and gave her a

small smile.

Then I looked back to Harold, just as he was standing to receive the acclaim of the witan

and the nobles.

A stray shaft of sunlight hit his head, highlighting the golden crown atop his brow, and I

frowned, for it seemed to me that I was seeing something very important at that moment, yet not

understanding it.

―Caela,‖ Ecub whispered in my ear, and she nodded to a spot within the crowd hailing

Harold.

There stood Long Tom, looking at Harold with eyes shining with reverence.

He must have felt me watching, for the Sidlesaghe shifted his gaze from Harold to me.

He frowned, and nodded in Harold‘s direction, and then raised his hands and applauded as

everyone else in the abbey was doing, his eyes constantly dancing between Harold and myself,

and then the tears did slip down my cheek, because I knew Long Tom was trying to tell me

something, trying to show me something, and I was fool enough not to understand what.

That night, my first at St Margaret the Martyr‘s, I climbed to the summit of Pen Hill, and

there waited Long Tom. I asked him what he had been trying to tell me in the abbey, but he only