Gods Concubine (49 page)

She looked away, composed herself, then nodded. “I have found a woman,” she said, her face and voice very quiet. “Do you wish to hear of her?”

“Does she bear your name?”

“Harold…”

“I am sorry. Yes, tell me of this woman.”

“Do you remember Alditha, Harold? She is the sister of—”

“The earls Edwin and Morcar, aye, I know of her. But she is married to that Welsh lord. Ah! I can never remember his name!”

“He died some months ago, Harold. And now the pretty Lady Alditha, with all her lands and estates and ancestry and alliances, sleeps unattended in the chamber which once was the Bishop of Kent’s. So close to yours.”

Harold’s eyes had grown very dark. “I wish it were you lying unattended and alone in the chamber of the Bishop of Kent,” he said. “I wish it were you lying alone and widowed at night.”

“I cannot,” she whispered, her face stricken. “If you truly want this throne, Harold, then I
cannot.
”

“What say you, sister? That should I renounce my ambition for the throne, then you will be mine?”

“We cannot, Harold.” She shifted on the bed, putting space between herself and Harold. “Alditha is a good woman. I am sure you will manage.”

“I would rather a woman I could love.” He saw the stricken expression on her face. “Ah, I am sorry, Caela. This does neither of us any good. Aye. Alditha will do well enough for me, and that you have chosen her, well, that will bless the match. If you wish me to go to Alditha and warm her nights, then that I can ‘manage’.”

Her face closed over, and he sighed. “What happened three nights ago, Caela? Both William and I had evil dreams, and mine was all about you. I thought you in great danger, and thus I hurried from William’s court back home.”

“What happened? Why, nothing, brother.” She smiled, but it was false, and Harold knew that she kept something from him. “And William dreamed of me as well? What did he say? What did he do?”

William again!
thought Harold.
Why does she speak so much about William?

“He did not say he dreamed of
you
, Caela. He said he dreamed of great trouble.”

“Ah. He was angry?”

“Caela? You said that nothing had happened. Is that the truth?”

“I am in no danger, Harold. Believe it.”

Harold didn’t. She was hiding something from him, just as surely as William had hid something from him that night he’d burst into Harold’s chamber.

What was the interest these two had in each other?
Harold felt a wave of jealousy wash over him.

“Caela—”

“Trust me,” she whispered, her great blue eyes staring steadily into his. “Trust me. Please.”

This time he allowed himself to believe her. “Yes,” he said. “I do.”

Later, when Caela had settled to her ever-present needlework (claiming that a headache kept her from the bustle of Edward’s court), Swanne came to the chamber, and requested an audience with the queen.

Surprised, Caela allowed the request, then further granted Swanne some privacy by asking Judith and the other ladies to retire some distance away.

“Harold has doubtless spoken to you,” Swanne said, her voice hard.

Caela inclined her head. She did not look up from her needlework.

Swanne’s lips compressed into a hard, vicious line. “Grant me duty within your ladies. I cannot lose my place at court.”

Caela finally lifted her eyes. “My attending ladies are my only haven of peace, sister. You want that I should shatter it with your presence?” She sighed, shaking her head slightly. “I cannot offer you a place within my own tiny court. It would go against Harold’s wishes.”

“Harold! Have you slept with him yet, little virgin girl? Are
you
the reason he has turned so viciously against me?”

“How dare you ask me that!” Spots of colour reddened Caela’s cheeks. “How dare you, when—” she glanced at her ladies on the other side of the chamber, ensuring they were not within hearing range “—when in our previous life it was
you
who arranged his death. If he turns ‘viciously against’ you, Swanne, do you think that my doing, or that of fate, weaving out what must be?”

“There is nowhere for me to go.”

“You have your own lands and estates, Swanne.”

“I cannot leave court!”

“Why
not
? What mischief do you plan? And if you want a court to shine within, then why not choose William’s?”

“Oh, I will.
You
will never have a place at
his
side.”

“I do not wish it,” Caela said, calm again, “but neither do I think you will ever have that queenly throne on his right hand, Swanne. From all reports, that is Matilda’s so firmly you could wish the moon from the sky more easily than wish for that seat. But have no fear…perhaps William has planned a back room for you. If you wish, I can inform him of what remote county you linger in, and he can send a horse for you.”

Swanne rose, her face stiff with anger. “Is this your little victory over me, then? Enjoy it, for one day—and soon—it shall be you cast into the cold, and crying out for succour.”

When she had gone, Caela leaned her head against the high back of her chair, and closed her eyes.
I should not have done that. I should have offered a hand, and my friendship, not harsh words and the door. Oh, merciful heavens, how could I have allowed my own petty need for revenge to dictate my actions?

E
LEVEN

A
ldred, Archbishop of York, was sitting at his noonday meal in his palace just within the walls of London when one of his manservants hurried over to him.

“My lord,” he said, bowing respectfully. “The Lady Swanne begs audience.”

Aldred paused with a knife, a tempting piece of juicy meat speared on its blade, halfway to his mouth. He blinked, his mouth hanging open, a dribble of saliva glistening at one corner, and stared at the servant.

“The Lady Swanne?” he said.

“Aye, my lord. She begs audience. Urgently. My lord, she is in a state of some distress.”

Aldred blinked again, then slowly, and obviously very reluctantly, put the knife and its tempting morsel back on the plate.

“Well, I suppose I’d better see her,” he said. Then, hopefully, “She might not wait until I have finished eating?”

The servant glanced at the table with its array of over fourteen different dishes. “I think not, my lord. She
does
appear to be in some need.”

Aldred sighed, and rearranged his fleshy features into a scowl. “Oh, very well then. Send her in.”

The servant hurried out, and as he went, one of the corners of Aldred’s mouth upturned briefly, as if in a smile.

Swanne entered in a swish of skirts and cloak. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed (which fortunately hid the slight bruise that was deepening on one of them) and her abundant black hair artfully arranged atop her head.

She wore no veil, and Aldred noted that her gown was most unseemly for this hour of the day. It was one a noble lady might more properly wear to a private banquet, for its neck was square cut and low, unlike the high necklines of public gowns.

“My lord!” she said, and dropped in a deep curtsey.

Aldred blinked yet once more, finding it difficult to lift his eyes away from the sight of her breasts straining at that low neckline.

“Ahem,” he managed as Swanne rose to her feet. “What can be the matter, my dear lady?”

“Harold has abandoned me,” she said. “He has renounced our marriage.”

Aldred spluttered, then succumbed to a fit of coughing so violent he had to cover his mouth with a napkin lest he spray pieces of half-chewed food over the table.

“How is this possible?” he finally asked. “Why? Why?”

“He wants a good wife under Christian law,” Swanne said, sitting down at a bench at the side of the table. “He wants the throne, my good lord archbishop, as you know, and he thinks it more likely the Church, witan and England will accept him with a Christian-wed wife, rather than a Danelaw one.”

“But this is…is…so…”

“After all I have done for him!” Swanne’s eyes filled with tears, and her breasts heaved with the strength of her emotion. “What can I do? What? I have been abandoned…
abandoned.
”

“My dear woman,” Aldred said, laying aside his napkin. “You need not pretend such distress to me. Harold has discovered your communication with William, yes? His reaction can hardly be of great surprise to you.”

“Did
you
tell him?”

“No. I did not.”

“Well, that may be as may be. My lord archbishop, I need your aid as never before. Your vast palace has many spaces and chambers. May I not inhabit one of them?”

Aldred’s mouth dropped open yet again. “My lady! What would people think!”

Swanne shrugged. “They can think what they like, my lord. Besides, it will do you no harm. Many of the higher clerics keep mistresses, even wives, without any repercussions.”

“You are offering yourself to me as…as…”

“No!” Swanne fought briefly with herself, managing to keep the disgust from her face. “No, not at all, my lord. I was only arguing that even should people think the blackest, it would not harm
your
reputation. Indeed, it may even add to it.” She attempted a coquettish smile, but it faded almost as soon as it had lit her face. “I only want a chamber, my lord.”

“But…why? You have estates in your own right. I would have thought that—”

“No! No, I must stay in Westminster, or London.”

“Why?”

“For my children’s sake, my lord. I need to be assured that Harold will not forsake them as he has forsaken me. I fear that should I vanish to the country, he will disinherit them.” Swanne felt like screaming:
I have to stay in London!

Aldred sighed. “I asked you not to pretend with me, my lady. You have no thought for your children. You never mention them, never think of them. They have only ever been but a means to keep Harold tied to you, and thus you to Westminster and Edward’s court. You think Edward has not long to live, you think William is coming, you want to be here to greet him. Thus you beg me for a chamber, and care not what rumour suggests happens within that chamber.”

He made a face, as if uninterested. “You don’t think that might ruin whatever you hope for with William?”

“William and I have an alliance that goes back much further than you can guess at, my lord. He will not think any the worse of me for begging shelter from you.”

Aldred shrugged. “Very well, then, my lady. You may ‘shelter’ within my palace.”

T
WELVE

S
wanne waited a full day and more for a time when she had an hour or two undisturbed in the chamber Aldred had given her before she succumbed to her sense of panic.

Who had moved the band?

How?

Had William told Harold about her? Had William really shared her messages with Matilda? No, surely not. That was just Harold’s lies. Surely. And if William had…then why? Why? Why?

She needed answers, she needed reassurance, and she needed both so badly she knew she could not wait for the slow passage of written communication between herself and William.

Besides, she no longer trusted Aldred completely. The man had been too sure of himself recently. What did
he
plan behind her back?

No, she needed to see William. To meet him again, face to face, as much to satisfy her emotional needs as to answer her questions.

Since her first meeting with William, Swanne had always been supremely careful with the use of her power. She had never known where Asterion was, or if he would be able to scry out her use of power, and, most importantly, what he might do if he felt her use such power.

But the past day or so had witnessed the loss of most of Swanne’s confidence.

She needed William again, if only for a moment or two, just to see him, to reach out and touch him. To hear him reassure her that Harold had lied.

And so she did what she had not yet dared to do for the past fifteen years.

She used her power as Mistress of the Labyrinth to visit William.

Once Harold departed, William had taken his horse and a few companions and travelled to the coast, to a small estate he had near Fécamp. There he spent two days staring north-west from the tower of the small castle that dominated the estate.

Then, on this morning, he had ridden from the castle, curtly telling his companions to give him time and space alone for a few hours, and galloped to the beach some three miles distant.

He pulled his horse to a halt on a small hill. Above his head wheeled scores of seabirds, filling the air with their harsh voices; about him there was nothing but the rolling turf of untilled meadows; before him there was nothing but the wild grey sea, whipped into a frenzy by a bitter northerly wind.

The distant view was hazy, the nearer view distorted from the spray sent skyward by the crashing waves, but William could
feel
England just beyond his eyesight. There it lay, so close, so close…

Something within him
tugged.
Almost as if an invisible hand had laid hold to his gut and pulled.

He groaned, bending forward a little in the saddle, and his horse shifted uneasily beneath him.

Again, the strange, painful tug, and this time William realised what it was.

“No!” he cried.
Damn, it was Swanne!
“No! Stop!”

But it was too late. Some twenty paces away, where the hill started to dip towards the rocky beach, the haze consolidated into a misty pillar, and then into a discernible female form.

“Swanne!
No,
” William cried again, almost beside himself with a crazed mixture of fear and anger.
She dared not do this! She dared not! Not now, when it was so dangerous.
He swung down from his horse and ran towards the figure just as it consolidated into its final form.