A coldness seeping from the cracks of the lighthouse basement’s stone walls. The night was cold, yes, but this was different.
Malevolent.
Seeing.
Saeweald glanced at the well, made sure the conjuration hiding the well’s opening remained in place, then he turned, trying to see in every direction at once, tottering and almost falling as he looked for a place to hide. Curse his power which enabled him to hide (however insubstantially) other objects, but not himself.
You poor fool. What brought you back to this calamity?
Saeweald felt the voice, rather than heard it. He twisted around, trying to locate it.
There was a movement in the air. Something large, shifting. Behind him? No! To his left.
Do you look for me?
Saeweald cried out, terrified. The Minotaur had materialised directly in front of him, no more than two paces distant. He was massive, taller than any man Saeweald had ever seen, tightly muscled, overpowering in presence.
His ebony bull’s head, almost majestic, swayed slowly from side to side, and bright, savage eyes pinned Saeweald where he stood.
Tell me—what do you here?
Saeweald found himself compelled to speak. It was as if a ghostly hand had seized his throat, squeezing the words from him. “I am tied to the land! I am for the land!”
That’s pathetic. I am for power. Did you know that?
The word was crushed from Saeweald’s chest. “Yes.”
And what is this then, that you try so pathetically to hide? Suddenly the gravel dissolved, and the god-well lay exposed. The Minotaur’s gaze jerked back to Saeweald, and the man cried out as invisible claws ripped agonisingly into his body.
“It is…ah! It is a god-well!” Saeweald’s body shook, jerking up and down as the Minotaur’s power began to crush him.
Asterion began to laugh, a belly-shaking amusement that filled the basement with his merriment. A god-well! How sweet. Shall I destroy it?
Saeweald had begun to cry. He was no longer capable of speech.
Shall I destroy you, friend?
Then, just as Saeweald was sure he was about to be torn to shreds, the Minotaur’s eyes widened, and the creature snarled. Who is here with you? Who?
Saeweald somewhere found breath enough to speak a single word. “Silvius.”
A Kingman? The Minotaur was still staring at the god-well. The next moment he’d taken a step back, then another, and then he was fading from view. A Kingman?
And then he was gone, and Saeweald collapsed unknowing to the ground.
He woke to find Silvius crouched over him.
“What happened?” Silvius said.
“Asterion…”
“Asterion was here?”
Saeweald nodded. His body was throbbing horribly, but it seemed that the Minotaur had not quite torn him to shreds after all. It had just felt like it at the time. “Aid me to rise. Please.”
Silvius lent him his hand. “ What happened?”
Saeweald briefly told him while he struggled to regain his balance, a hand on Silvius’ shoulder for support. “The instant he heard your name, he vanished. ‘A Kingman?’ he said, as if it was the last thing he wanted to hear, and then he was gone.”
Silvius frowned. “I had not thought I had the power to overly perturb him,” he said.
“You were the one who keeps reminding me that you were once a Kingman. Maybe Asterion has not forgotten it, even if occasionally I do.” He managed a small smile. “Perhaps I will trust you after all, Silvius. Having a man close by who can terrify even Asterion is bound to come in handy.”
Silvius patted Saeweald’s hand where it still rested on his shoulder. “I need to see you safe back to your chambers.” He managed his own grin, but it was a weak thing. “I think you have need of Judith’s ministering hands.”
“Did you find it?”
Silvius nodded, and held out a hand. In its palm rested the bracelet.
“Pray to Mag it works,” muttered Saeweald.
TWELVE
CAELA SPEAKS
When I woke the next morning, I lay for a very long time, cold and stiff, my belly a terrible, painful weight, and waited for the usual sense of futility to sweep over me.
This futility was my constant burden. I had carried it ever since that first night with Edward (I find you most displeasing) and I had borne it as a woman, as a wife, as a queen. Poor Caela, they whispered.
Poor Caela. How I hated it.
The drapes were partly pulled back from the bed—and, oh, the sweetness of having this bed to myself for an entire night—and I could see that someone sat by the hearth, her chin on her chest.
Slim build, delicate face, dark sweep of hair escaping from the veil askew over her brow.
Judith. I smiled drowsily, happy in this moment. Alone in my bed, watched over by Judith.
“You’re awake.”
Startled, my eyes jerked to the person who now stood by my side: he must have been sitting towards the head of the bed where the drapes had obscured him.
“Saeweald.” Sweet Lord Christ, he looked worse than I felt. There were dark circles under his eyes, his skin was blotched, and there were deep lines of pain about his mouth. “Saeweald,” I said again, holding out my hand. “Have you not slept?”
He took my hand and kissed it. “You seem rested, madam.”
“I am well enough, Saeweald.” And, surprisingly, I was well enough. Although my belly ached the wave of futility and melancholy which had been so often my intimate companion had, apparently, decided to stay away for this day. “But you, Saeweald…have you been battling demons all night?”
He laughed. “Indeed, madam. Keeping them from your bed.”
Judith appeared at his shoulder, her tiny hands lifting to straighten her veil and push away the dark wing of hair which had fallen loose.
Saeweald, serious now, looked at me with an unreadable expression. “Did you dream well, madam?”
Ah, sweet Lord, why did he so constantly inquire after my dreams? “I slept dreamlessly, physician. I am sorry to disappoint you.”
Judith and Saeweald shared a glance, and for some reason that made me angry.
“I am sorry to disappoint you,” I said again, my tone decidedly waspish now. “If I had known you were so concerned, I would have had a nightmare to delight you.”
“I did not mean to offend you, madam,” Saeweald said.
I sighed, turning aside my face. How I hated these strange, uncomfortable conversations with Saeweald. He always seemed to be waiting for me to say something for which I could not form the words. At times he appeared to be teetering forwards on his uncertain legs, as if I should remember something of great import and then hand it to him to enchant him.
Although I could not see it, I felt Judith and Saeweald glance at each other once more.
“Bring me water,” I said, looking back to Judith, “and cloths. I am not so sick I want to break my fast stinking of my night sweat. Saeweald, I feel greatly improved this morning. You may take some of your own rest, and, should you need to again inquire after my health, then you may do so this afternoon.”
And with that, and yet one more of those cursed glances between the two, Saeweald bowed and retired.
Later, when I had eaten a small bowl of broth and a piece of new-baked bread, washed, assured both myself and Judith (who would doubtless report the fact to Saeweald) that I had not bled afresh during the night, and when the linens of my bed had been changed and the coverlets shaken, I lay back upon my pillows and prepared to receive what visitors there were. I would have risen, but apparently Saeweald had threatened Judith, and every other of my attending ladies, with dire warnings of my undoubted demise should I rise from my bed too soon, and so I was condemned to yet another day’s rest within my bedchamber.
To be honest, I was not so very unhappy with that thought. A day abed meant a day of peace: Edward would avoid me, the majority of the court would find other scandals and intrigues to
amuse themselves, and perhaps…perhaps Harold might come to talk a while with me.
He had not come yesterday when I was awake, but Judith told me he had looked in when I’d slept.
I remembered that there had been a constant stream of people come to view me, to poke and prod me, physically, emotionally and spiritually, to ensure that I was still breathing and to depart with further gossip for the court.
None of them had been Harold, therefore none of them had been particularly welcome. Edward had come, and said words that I think he meant to be conciliatory (but how could I forget him standing over me as I lay in humiliation on the floor of his court, screaming at me that I was a whore? How could I ever set that memory aside?) and had then, gratefully, departed, all thin-lipped and pinch-nosed.
Several churchmen had come, and leaned forward with wet lips and gleaming eyes to hear what sins of the flesh I had to confess (of which I, boring creature that I am, had none at all, save a weakness of the womb which was neither my fault nor theirs). A woman or two, wives of senior members of the court, had come, and twittered over me.
Judith saw them off with thankful alacrity.
Today, perhaps, Harold would come to see me. I closed my eyes, the soft movements of my ladies about the chamber a soothing lullaby and, thinking of Harold, drifted into a light doze.
I dreamed of that strange stone hall, and in this dream it was such a familiar place to me that I knew I had dreamed of it previously.
I smiled in my dream, for now, at least, I might have something to tell Saeweald.
I walked through the hall, noting as I went that there were great patches of dried blood staining columns and the floor. Oddly, this did not disturb me, nor did I seem to find it strange.
There was a step behind me and I turned. Harold! And yet not Harold, for this man wore no beard, and he was dressed in strange clothes, and his face had a different aspect—and yet still I knew it was Harold.
“Harold!” I said, and, glad beyond knowing, I held out my hands.
Joy lit his face, and he strode towards me. “Cornelia,” he said. “How strange you appear to me.”
I laughed, thinking this some jest of Harold’s. “My name is not Cornelia.”
“Is that so?” he said, and then he had taken my hands, and pulled me in towards him, and I had no thought at all of stopping him. He leaned down until our mouths almost touched—and at this moment I abruptly recalled a dream I’d had recently…a night ago, two nights ago?…when another man had lowered his face to me, and chosen not to lay his mouth to mine.
He had called me Hades’ daughter, and I had heard those words before—shouted at me, as if in accusation. And I had known that man intimately, too. But where? Where? In dream? Or in some unknown day or week or month of my life that I’d somehow managed to forget? Who was he, this man of whom I had dreamed?
I tensed, my mind in turmoil, but Harold only smiled gently, and lowered his mouth to mine.
I should not allow this, I thought. He is my brother.
And yet, even thinking so, I opened my mouth under his, and felt the sweet bitter taste of his tongue, and then the pressure of his hand against my back as he pressed me against him.
And then, to one side, a sweet laugh.
Harold and I pulled apart. Standing not three or four paces from us was the most compelling man I have ever seen. He was very tall, and wore only a crudely fashioned leather jerkin and trousers. His face was both bleak and joyful all at once; his eyes great mysteries that saw far more than just the objects within their sight. He laughed, raising his hands at the end of long, thin, strong arms, and I saw that his square teeth were rimmed with light, as if he would always be incapable of speaking anything but the truth.
Harold’s arm tightened about me, but I could feel that he was not frightened of this apparition, nor angry at its intrusion into our intimacy.
“Are you one of the ancient ones?” Harold asked of the strange creature.
“I am Long Tom,” the creature said, and I frowned, trying to remember something that tugged at my mind. Hadn’t a wise woman said something to me about a Long Tom only recently? What was it? What…?
The creature began to say something else, but then it turned slightly, and cried out at what it saw.
Then Harold was wrenched from my arms, and I saw the man who had called me Hades’ daughter, and now he had a sword in his angry hand, and as Harold fell over backwards, his throat white and vulnerable, the sword came slashing down…
I think I screamed. I know I jerked awake with such violence I almost fell from my bed.
That I did not was due to the fact that someone—a man—was holding my shoulders.
I twisted away, sure it was that brutal man of my nightmare come to murder me, but whoever it was tightened his hands, keeping me safe, and a beloved voice cried out, “Caela! Caela! Wake, I beg you, for this is nothing but a dream.”
My eyes cleared, and Harold’s face came into focus before me.
“Caela,” he said again, his voice now a groan, and I took a deep breath, and stilled, and then fell forward into his arms.
There was a moment, a long moment, when Harold’s hand cupped the back of my head, tipping it back, and his face lowered to mine, his mouth so close I could feel its warmth, and then he gave a harsh laugh and laid me back against the pillows.
Sweet Christ, he had almost kissed me. The memory of my dream still lingered, and I knew that if he had, I would have responded. What were we, Harold and I, that this sin consumed us? “By all the spirits of the night, Caela, of what were you dreaming?”
I could not lie, not after what had just—almost—happened. “I dreamed of you, that you were with me—”
He winced.
“and that—”
“Caela do not say it!”
I stopped, and drew in a deep breath. “I dreamed I saw a Norman drag you away from me, and raise his sword. Then I woke.”
“Caela…”
“I wish to God,” I said very quietly, holding his eyes, “that I had not been born your sister.” There. The words were said.
There was a silence, neither of us looking away from the other. The silence grew intense, and I wondered if we were both teetering at the edge of a cliff, and if I would truly mind very much if we fell over.
He sighed, and the sound was ragged.
“Harold—”
“Caela, we can’t…”
I sat forward, the memory of his sweet dream kiss still very much with me, and laid my mouth very softly against his.
I didn’t know how to progress. I had never been kissed in passion before, and I was not sure…
Harold’s mouth moved against mine. Very slowly, very gently, and I felt his breath mingle with mine. I opened my mouth, pressing it more firmly against his.
I felt him hesitate, then respond, and then he was pushing me back again. “Caela, we can’t. Someone could well walk in.”
Not, “We can’t, for it is a shameful thing.” But only, “Someone could well walk in.”
I smiled. At that moment I was so intensely happy that I did not care that we had, for a moment, slipped over the edge of that precipice. “I love you, Harold,” I said.
He slid a hand over my mouth, but I could see the emotion in his eyes, part joy, part longing, part fear of what we had done. It was not the kiss that was so frightening to him, I think, but the fact that with it we’d opened a door that might prove impossible to close again.
“Not now,” he whispered, and his hand fell away from my mouth.
“Harold,” I said, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. “You are here, at last. I looked for you yesterday. I wanted to thank you for what you said in court yesterday. For a moment I thought no one would dare a word in my defence.”
“Your husband does not deserve you,” he said, and in my mind I heard what he meant to say: I would be the better husband for you. “I did come last night, but late, and you were already asleep. I did not want to wake you.”
/>
“So he came to me, instead,” said another voice, and I felt my own face stiffen even as I saw Harold’s lose all expression as Swanne’s face appeared over his shoulder.
Oh, Lord Christ, that the “someone” who should walk in would be her.
She looked serene and beautiful and powerful—sure of herself as I never truly was—and as she moved up to Harold she put a hand on his shoulder and looked down on me.
“You quite enlivened your husband’s court yesterday, my dear,” Swanne said. “Are you quite well now?”
Harold’s eyes had dropped away from both of us, his head turned slightly down and away. I felt a great sorrow then, for I understood that where once Harold had loved Swanne, now he found her irritating, and an embarrassment.
“Aye, sister,” I replied. “It was but my monthly flux, more burdensome than usual.”
“Is that truly so?” she said. A very slight frown creased her forehead, then she lifted her hand from Harold’s shoulder and placed it on the coverlets of the bed, over my belly.
“Swanne…” Harold began, but I shook my head—she could surely do no harm—and he subsided.
“Is that truly so?” Swanne repeated, and her frown increased. Something shadowy and unknowable darkened her eyes and the pressure of her hand increased slightly, although not uncomfortably so.
“My lady?” I said, glancing at Harold who was watching Swanne’s face.
“Your womb is empty,” Swanne said, and her voice was slightly puzzled. She leaned back, raising her hand away from me, and looked at me, the frown still marking her lovely face.
“Do you believe, too, that I have a lover, and lost his child?” I said, bitterly. “I am a virgin still, Swanne.”
My eyes briefly, meaningfully, locked with Harold’s.
She nodded, and made a small smile with her mouth, but I could see that her mind was consumed with something other than our conversation.
“So,” she said softly. “He has made his first move. I wonder why this was so important to him…” Her voice drifted off.
By now both Harold and myself were staring at her. “Swanne?” Harold said. “Of whom do you speak?”