Before she could shriek—and she'd drawn a huge breath to do just that— a large, hard hand had enveloped half of her face.

    "Peace, little lady," said the Sidlesaghe, drawing close. "It is only I." The moment Judith saw the long, hook-nosed face with those strange, watchful, melancholy eyes, Judith recognized it immediately for a Sidlesaghe. She relaxed, not much, but enough, and the Sidlesaghe managed a small

    smile and let her go.

    "How may I aid you?" Judith said, not sure what she should say to the

    Sidlesaghe, but deciding that question was as good as any.

    "It is time for Caela," said the Sidlesaghe. "Time for her to remember."

    "But the bracelet did no good."

    "The bracelet?" The Sidlesaghe's face crinkled up into a hundred lines of

    question.

    "The ancient bracelet of Mesopotama, that which Silvius gave her yesterday."

    "Silvius?"

    "Yes! Silvius!"

    "Silvius was out of the heart of the labyrinth?"

    "Yes." Judith repressed a sigh. "At Smithfield yesterday."

    Long Tom was looking increasingly puzzled.

    "The Troy Game?" Judith said, hoping that would be enough to prod him

    into remembering.

    "Oh," the Sidlesaghe said, sighing hugely, then smiling. "Yes. That's why I

    am here. Caela needs to take her place within the Game."

    Now it was Judith who was confused. "I am sorry. I do not know how I

    might aid you."

    The Sidlesaghe leaned forward and enveloped both of her hands in his large ones. "You already do more than enough," he said. "But seeing as you offer… bring Caela to the banks of the Thames tomorrow night. By Tothill."

    "At night? She will not come! How can I—"

    He squeezed her hands. "That is for you to determine, my dear. Tomorrow night, on the banks of the Thames. We have some midwiving to do."

    Then he was gone, and Judith was left to stare into the night, feeling both bewildered and blessed.

    ADAM?" JUDITH LOOKED CAREFULLY AT HER

    mistress. The evening was closing in, and she couldn't help a quick, impatient look at the as-yet unshuttered windows in the queen's chamber. Caela sat by the fire, some needlework in her hands, her lovely face relaxed almost to the point of dreaminess. Twelve days after her hemorrhage she looked rested and well, buoyed by good food, rest, and twice daily visits both from Harold and from Saeweald who kept their voices and words light, and made her laugh with every third remark. The outing to Smithfield had also lifted Caela's spirits immensely, even though the outcome was not quite what Judith and Saeweald had hoped.

    "Madam?" Judith said again, trying to gain the attention of Caela who had drifted away somewhere unknowable over her embroidery. Tonight Judith somehow had to inveigle Caela down to the banks of the Thames.

    Caela gave a slight start, then looked to Judith and smiled. "If you have finished your duties," she said, "perhaps you would like to sit and aid me with this embroidery. It is for the high altar in Westminster's new abbey, and I should like it to be finished for the abbey's consecration."

    "Madam… I had wondered…"

    Caela gave up all pretense at her needlework, allowing it to slip to her lap as she raised her face to Judith and laughed. "Am I keeping you from some great pleasure, Judith?"

    Judith blushed, more from her current state of tension than embarrassment.

    Caela's smile died and she set her embroidery to one side. "What is it, Judith?"

    Judith abandoned caution and plunged straight into the lie. "Madam, your brother Harold spoke to me earlier."

    Caela raised an eyebrow, no more than mildly curious.

    "He asked that I bring you to the banks of the Thames just below Tothill tonight, when all is still and silent in the palace."

    Caela's face retained its pleasant expression, but Judith could see the incomprehension growing in her eyes.

    "Your husband has decided to spend the night in prayer on his knees before the altar in the abbey, madam." Judith had told Saeweald and Ecub (visiting this day from her priory) about the visit from the Sidlesaghe. Edward's decision to spend all night in prayer was Saeweald's doing, although Judith had no idea how he'd managed it. Did he inform the king that if he prayed all night before the altar, his amulet against the arthritis would double its potency? Or was this just a sign of Edward's increasing piety? "He will not notice you gone."

    "Judith—"

    "Madam, Harold was most insistent."

    Caela's brow creased, and she looked cross. "Judith, before heaven, what is Harold doing? Sneaking about like a mischievous child? A surreptitious midnight picnic by water's edge? What is going on?" "Madam, please. I beg you, Harold needs you."

    "Then why not beg me himself? Why ask through you?"

    "It is about Swanne," Judith said, desperate now. "Swanne… Swanne

    is…"

    "Ah…" said Caela, and her posture relaxed very slightly. "Swanne is

    causing trouble." She furrowed her brow, thinking. "It must be that Swanne and… and Tostig, perhaps…"

    "The palace has ears, madam." Judith had no idea quite what she meant by that, but it seemed to confirm something in Caela's mind.

    "Yes." She nodded. "What chamber is safe in this palace, eh? I swear that Edward has paid ears against every door." Then Caela smiled, and it was the kind of smile that Judith had never seen her give: girlish, mischievous, uninhibited. Judith's breath caught in her throat. Sweet gods, if ever she smiled that

    way upon a man…

    Then Caela's smile faded. "But how can I leave the palace? I can have no excuse, and the fact of my leaving will surely reach Edward's ears long before

    dawn."

    Judith allowed her shoulders to relax: she had not been aware how tense she had been. Pray that Caela forgive her when she realizes the deception. "I shall fetch you my third-best robe, and we shall drape a serving woman's hood and cloak about you, and none shall be the wiser."

    THEY WAITED UNTIL WELL-PAST MIDNIGHT, THEN,

    heavily cloaked and veiled, made their way to one of the postern gates in the wall about Westminster (the guard long gone, persuaded away from his post by the gold of Saeweald's purse). From here Judith led Caela south along the river path toward a spot some hundred paces south of the palace complex where the southern branch of the TyburnRiver joined with the Thames.

    Perhaps some ten or fifteen paces ahead of them, waiting on a broad expanse of gravel laid bare by low tide, waited three cloaked figures.

    "Who can be with Harold?" said Caela.

    "Saeweald," said Judith. "See how he drags that leg?"

    Caela nodded. One of the figures had moved slightly at their approach, and he did indeed drag his right leg in the manner of Saeweald.

    "Saeweald!" Judith called softly as she and Caela approached. "Is that you?"

    "Aye." Saeweald threw back the hood of his cloak. "Madam, you are well? We thank you for agreeing to come."

    Caela peered at the smaller of the remaining figures, and it turned about, revealing Ecub.

    "Mother Ecub," said Caela, "what do you here?"

    Ecub bowed her head, a gesture of deep respect, and smiled, but she did not respond with words.

    Caela stared at her, then looked to the final figure. Strange, for out here in the night Harold looked much taller than—

    The other figure turned about, and as it did so, the cloak about its form faded as if it had never been, and Caela saw that it was—stunningly—the same creature that she had seen in her dream.

    Long Tom.

    "It is a Sidlesaghe, my dear," said Ecub, but Caela was staring at the creature in horror, taking a step backward.

    "Caela," Saeweald said softly, hobbling forward a little. "Please, it is all right. You will be safe."

    Caela shrunk back from him, her eyes riveted on the Sidlesaghe, standing with a strange, dark, watchful expression about two or three paces from her. His eyes, as dark as they were, seemed to reflect the small amount of moonlight, and they glittered at Caela eerily.

    "What… is… this?" Caela said very slowly, enunciating every word very carefully. She shot Saeweald a look, and it was full of anger.

    "Madam," Judith said, placing a hand on Caela's elbow.

    "Don't touch me!" Caela hissed. Her eyes swung between Saeweald, Ecub, and Judith. "What have you done?"

    Whatever they may have said was forestalled by the Sidlesaghe, who suddenly almost doubled over in a sweeping, elegant gesture of reverence.

    "My lady," he said, "forgive the means by which these three delivered you to me."

    Caela stared at the Sidlesaghe, her posture as tense as that of a startled deer. "What are you?" she said harshly.

    The Sidlesaghe smiled, his teeth gleaming in the trickle of moonlight. "I

    am your welcomer," he said. "Do you not remember the last time I greeted

    you?"

    For a moment Caela did not respond. Then she shook her head slowly. "I am here once more," said the Sidlesaghe, "as is all my kind." He lifted one of his long-fingered hands and gestured.

    Caela's eyes darted around her, and she gasped. Where a moment before had been empty graveled shoreline, now stood rank upon rank of creatures similar to the one that stood before her.

    "We are all here," the Sidlesaghe, "to welcome you anew."

    "Caela," said Saeweald, his tone pleading. "Please trust—"

    "No," she said, and took another step backward. Then she glanced over her shoulder, as if ensuring her way were still open.

    "It is time," said the Sidlesaghe, and, with a movement as quick and as fluid as that of the fox, darted forward and seized Caela.

    She gave a half shriek, grabbing at the Sidlesaghe as if she meant to push it away, but the creature cradled her against his body, holding her almost as if she were a baby. Caela struggled, but caught in the Sidlesaghe's firm, loving

    grip, she could do nothing.

    For an instant the Sidlesaghe stood, Caela in his arms close against his body, smiling at her as if she were his own much beloved child.

    Then, stunningly, he lifted her high above his head and, as all the Sidle-saghes let out a long moan, tossed her into the river.

    Caela hit the water with a frightful splash and almost instantly sank

    beneath its surface.

    The final sight that Judith had of Caela was of her terrified white face, and then her extended arms and hands as, slowly, inevitably, she sank into the rolling gray waters.

    Caela Speaks

    H, GODS, THE TOUCH OF THAT WATER!

    Something ruptured within my head—the pain was excruciating, overwhelming, and within the space of a single breath that agony had become my entire existence.

    I was terrified, but what of I cannot say. Not of the water, nor even of death (an activity I was undoubtedly engaged in, for the water flowed down my throat as I gasped and gulped, and some tiny part of me understood that it was filling my lungs), but of the fact that I was in the grip of something so powerful, so unknowable, that even death could not save me from it.

    Death could not be an escape from it.

    My head was on fire, the pain now beyond the excruciating, and I gave up even trying to stay afloat. I sank down through the waters—strangely deep for the shallows of the river—descending into an icy bleakness.

    And still my head rang with agony.

    I screamed, and river water surged down my throat.

    Now my lungs felt as if they, too, were going to explode with the weight of the river within them and I gave myself over entirely to the water and the pain, and hoped only that they would have done with me as fast as they possibly could.

    My last single coherent thought was that if Edward could see me now he would only nod his head knowingly, and turn his head to say to one of his ever-present sycophants: / always knew the Devil was in her.

    The instant she gave up the struggle, tiny hands reached out for her, pulling her deeper and deeper, not so much into the river, although that was what encased them, but deeper into a realm that was unknowable to any who watched from above.

    I6O

    The water sprites waited until her body was cold and still, drifting lifeless in the current, and then they stripped her of all her clothing, leaving only the ruby and gold bracelet she wore about her wrist.

    I blinked, and woke, and found myself lying curled into a tight ball on a cold stone floor, utterly naked and dripping wet. For the longest time I did not move. I just lay there, my arms hugging my knees to my chest (not quite naked, for I could feel a band of jewelry about my wrist that cut into the soft flesh just below one of my knees), blinking, not thinking, just being.

    Then, very softly, the sound of a name being called. Was it my name? I did not think so, but then, lying there, I was not even sure of what my name

    was.

    Then the faint sound of thrumming hooves, coming ever closer, and I raised myself on one elbow just as, at the very reaches of my vision, a white stag burst into the stone hall in which I lay.

    He was huge, vital, brimming with power and sexuality and meaning, and he lifted his head and cried out, trumpeted out, tidings of such joy that I cried out myself, and raised myself to my knees.

    The stag ran closer, closer, and I could feel his heat and feel his breath on

    me, and then I saw…

    I saw…

    I saw about his delicate, tightly muscled limbs the golden bands of Troy, two on each of his forelimbs and a pair about his hind limbs.

    And I remembered… and I knew where we were going and where we had been.

    I gave one incoherent cry, and then, as the beast came to a halt before me, and lowered his noble head, and I felt his lips gently move within my river-dampened hair, I said: "Og, Og, can we truly manage this?"

    He said, "We must…" And then he groaned, and I both felt and saw his body crumble about me, crumble away to nothingness until there was nothing but six golden bands, rolling about on the stone floor…

    I woke, and I was no longer who once I had been, although I was what I

    had always been.

    I LAY NAKED AT TIDE'S EDGE, MY LOWER BODY STILL

    rocked by the gentle waves of the river.

    The Sidlesaghe was leaning down over me, his dark face smiling with such

    love I thought I could not bear it.

    "Resurgam, pretty lady," he said, and his voice was full of simple,

    unrestrained joy.

    Part Three

    It is an opinion generally received, that the tournament originated from a childish pastime practised by youths called Ludus Troia (the Troy Game), said to have been so named because it was derived from the Trojans…

    In the middle ages, when the tournaments were in their splendour, the Troy Game was still continued, and distinguished by a different denomination; it was then called in Latin, behordicum, and in French, bohourt or behourt, and was a kind of lance game, in which the young nobility exercised themselves, to acquire address in handling of their arms, and to prove their strength.

    Joseph Strutt, Sports & Pastimes of the People of England,

    Late 18th century

    London, March

    AVING?" JACK SKELTON WHISPERED INTO THE SORRY

    gray dawn light of the Bentley's spare bedroom, unable to let go of his need. "Eaving!"

    For a moment nothing, then a creaking noise somewhere deep within the house.

    Skelton leaped out of bed, his heart racing, and then realized, horribly, that Violet Bentley had made the noise. She was moving from her and Frank's bedroom, down the stairs, and to the small kitchen on the ground floor where she was doubtless about to prepare Skelton one of those horribly fatty English fried breakfasts.

    Skelton subsided back to the bed, almost hating Violet for causing him to hope so terribly, and so momentarily.

    Eventually he made the effort to sit up and swing his legs over the edge of the bed. He paused there, then dropped his head into his hands, trying to find the energy to rise and wash and then dress for his first day in his new posting.

    And then it came. From outside the window this time, not inside where Violet was making an increasing amount of clatter over the breakfast.

    The sound of a child's voice. A breathless, joyful catch of laughter. A spoken word, murmured.

    Daddy.

    "Gods!" Skelton said, his voice a harsh, shocked whisper.

    She was dead! Dead! He'd recovered her charred bones from the ruins of St. Paul's himself, wept over them, refused to allow anyone else to touch them.

    Her bones, as those of her mother's.

    She was dead. Dead!

    Daddy.

    Skelton felt the hope rise like bile in his throat. He scrambled to the window, almost falling in his haste, and stared out.

    On the street below, looking up at the window, was a little girl of some seven or

    eight years. She had very black curly hair, an image of Skelton's own, and a pale face with deep blue eyes ringed with sooty lashes.

    Daddy, she mouthed.

    And then she held out her hands.

    In each palm rested one of the golden kingship bands of Troy.

    The two lost bands of Troy, for which both Skelton and Asterion had searched for centuries.

    CbAPGGR

    Rouen, Normandy

    ATILDA, DUCHESS OF NORMANDY, SHIFTED

    slightly in her chair, easing her still-tender muscles, and looked to where her husband sat on his dais at the head of the ight, commodious hall. William had returned from his morning hunt not an hour before, and now sprawled in his great chair, his face still flushed with excitement, one hand gesturing effusively as he relived the chase with his two closest companions, Walter Fitz Osbern and Roger Montgomery.

    She smiled, happy that he was, for the moment, content.

    Then she sighed, and shifted yet again to ease her aching muscles. She'd given birth a few weeks previously—another daughter—and had only just rejoined William's public court. She would also, Matilda thought, as she watched William's eye slipping to wander over the form of one of her more youthful waiting women, shortly have to rejoin him in their marital bed. William's natural lusts made him wander sometimes, and Matilda knew full well that on occasion he bedded a village woman and had sired three or four bastards about his many estates, but the knowledge did not perturb her overmuch.

    She was the woman he respected and honored before all others, she was the one to whom he confided his most secret thoughts and greatest ambitions, and she was the one to whom he turned to for advice and counsel.

    Matilda felt a tiny kernel of fear. She was the woman he trusted and honored and respected above all others, but what would happen once he won England? England—and thus Swanne—had been so distant for so long that Matilda had all but forgotten her fears regarding Swanne. But now… now that Edward's health was declining… suddenly neither England nor Swanne were far away at all.

    WILLIAM GRINNED AT THE EXPRESSION ON HIS WIFE'S

    face, knowing full well she'd seen him ogling the luscious form of Adeliza.

    Adeliza would be sent home to her family estates and Matilda would be back in his bed before a new day dawned.

    That thought contented William. The tedium of birthing always annoyed him; he appreciated the fine healthy children Matilda gave him, but he was irritated that it should remove Matilda from his bed in the weeks immediately preceding and then following the birth. He missed those hours holding her, and talking through his problems with her, in that one place where they had utter privacy and need not guard their words.

    Matilda was worth to him more than all the gold in Christendom. William did not think he could have borne the uncertainty and fear of the past years if it had not been for her.

    He valued her beyond measure… and yet he had not found within himself the courage to talk to her of that one thing which consumed so much of his life.

    The Troy Game.

    How could he ever explain that to her?

    So William couched his thoughts of the Game within talk of his ambition for the English throne, and that ambition Matilda understood very well. All men lusted for more estates and power, and what was more normal than William, having finally secured his own duchy, to lust for a throne to which he had some small right, in any case?

    A sound distracted William from his thoughts, and he looked to the doorway.

    The guards had admitted a short and very slight priest, still with his stained traveling cloak flapping wetly about his shoulders, and now that priest was striding toward where William sat.

    William tensed, sitting a little higher in his chair, and his companions Walter and Roger shared knowing glances.

    "My good lord," said the priest, sweeping in a low bow before the duke's chair, "I greet you well, and am glad to have arrived in your sweet abode after the mud and strain of the road."

    "Greetings, Yves," William said. "I welcome you indeed." He waved to his chamberlain, who sent a man forward with a stool for the priest. "You were not troubled by brigands on your way?"

    "Nay," said Yves, handing his cloak to the chamberlain and seating himself with patent relief, "just the rain and the sleet. Winter has set in early."

    "I welcome you also, Yves," said Matilda, wandering over to stand by William's side. She perched one hand on his shoulder. "It is too long since we have seen you."

    There was something in her tone that made William glance at her face, but she wore a bland, unreadable expression that gave no clue as to her thoughts. He looked back to Walter and Roger, sitting forward on their seats with expressions of perfectly readable curiosity on their faces, and he turned those expressions into ones of disappointment by asking them to leave himself and his wife alone for a while with the new arrival.

    "We have matters of some delicacy to discuss," William said, and Walter and Roger, who were certain as to what those matters might be, reluctantly rose, bowed to both their duke and duchess, and joined the greater part of the court seated at some distance from the dais.

    Matilda took one of the chairs vacated by the departing men. She folded her hands in her lap and waited, leaving it to her husband to conduct the conversation.

    "Well?" said William softly.

    "I have a communication for you," said Yves and, glancing about in a manner that must have incited the suspicions of the entire court, handed to William a carefully cloth-wrapped small bundle.

    "From my husband's agent at Edward's court?" said Matilda.

    Yves inclined his head, and Matilda and William shared a meaningful glance. William would not open this now, not here.

    "And how goes Edward's court?" said William.

    "The king ages apace," said Yves. "His mind lingers less on worldly matters than on the salvation that awaits him. Most days he spends with the monks and priests of Westminster Abbey, or walking within its rising walls. He thinks to build for himself a place of great glory, so that the world might not forget him when death takes him."

    William grunted, turning the small cloth-wrapped bundle over and over in his hands, as if impatient to read its contents.

    "There is no sign of an heir?" he said.

    Yves gave a short laugh. "Queen Caela is not so blessed as my lady here," he said, inclining his head to Matilda, who accepted the compliment with a small, polite smile. "Edward refuses to corrupt his piety, or his possible salvation and deification, with any sins of the flesh. There will be no heir of his body."

    He hesitated, and William looked at him sharply.

    "What do you not say?" he said.

    "Only that Queen Caela was struck with a most untimely bloody flux of her womb at court two weeks before I left," said Yves. "Some said that she had miscarried of a bastard child, but the midwives who examined her said she was a virgin still. Edward," again Yves gave his short, strange bark of laughter, "has his reputation as intact as his wife's virginity."

    Matilda had been watching her husband as Yves spoke, and she frowned, puzzled, at what she saw in his face. Regret? Unhappiness? Uncertainty? She could not read it, nor understand it completely. Again she resolved to discover all she could about this enigmatic queen.

    "Harold?" William asked, and Matilda relaxed, for now there was nothing in William's face at all but ambition and cunning.

    "His strength grows, my lord," said Yves. "He knows, as does everyone, that Edward has his eyes more on the next world than he does on this one."

    "And so how does Harold conduct himself, knowing the throne shall be vacant in so little a time?" said Matilda.

    "He sits, and watches, and gathers his forces. The witan is all but sure to elect him to the throne on Edward's death—"

    "But William has the greater claim," said Matilda, unable to suppress an outburst of loyalty. "Edward all but promised it to him when my husband sheltered him in his court during the man's exile, and through Emma, Edward's mother, William and Edward are close cousins. There is no one closer in blood

    than William."

    Yves shrugged. "The witan will not want a foreigner marching in and forcing the Saxon earls to his will."

    "They may have to accept it!" snapped Matilda.

    William smiled at her, then looked back to Yves. "I thank you for your care in bringing this," he tapped the bundle, "to me. Will you accept my hospitality for the next few days as I decide whether or not to respond?"

    Yves rose, knowing a dismissal when he heard one. He bowed, first to William, then to Matilda, and left the hall.

    The instant he had turned his back, both William and Matilda looked at

    the bundle he held.

    "I will open it later," William said, and slipped it inside his tunic.

    "We will open it together," Matilda said firmly, and William sighed, and nodded.

    CbAPGGR GUDO

    Caela Speaks

    OW CAN I EXPLAIN HOW I FELT AT THAT MOMENT?

    When I opened my eyes and saw the Sidlesaghe look down at me, and smile, and say "Resurgam, pretty lady!" with such joy and welcome?

    I felt relief. That was the first, overwhelming emotion. Sheer, thankful relief. We'd managed it—Hera, Mag, and I. The first and most critical part of our journey was done.

    And who was I? Why Caela, of course, as I had been Cornelia, but far more than that.

    Far more.

    How can I put into words what that felt like? It is as if… it is as if you had wandered naked all your life, and then someone approached and placed a mantle about your shoulders. This mantle protected and nurtured, and because of the warmth and comfort it gave, it made you much more than you had been when naked. Moreover, the threads of the mantle magically wound themselves into your flesh so that it became an integral and living part of you.

    The mantle had not truly changed who you were, it had just made you more.

    I lay at tide's edge that still, cold night, and I felt the land beneath my back and the waters about my legs. It was not just that I felt their solidity or wetness, I felt them. The essence of them—how they felt, how they turned, their wants and needs and loves as well. I could feel the land closing in upon itself for its winter death-sleep; I could feel the seeds of spring and the bones of the dead sleeping within its flesh; I could feel the roots of the trees stretching down, down, down; and I could feel the chatter of the moles and the bark of foxes and the sweetness of the worms who inhabited its flesh.

    My flesh.

    In the waters I could hear the laughter of distant lands, and feel the siren

    song of the moon, for love of whom the tides and inlets danced. I could feel my heart in its depths, and feel the love of the water-sprites who, with the ancient ones, the Sidlesaghes, had overseen my birth.

    I was aware that the water-sprites still hovered close to the surface of the water, and that the Sidlesaghes lined the banks of the river in their thousands, and that Ecub and Saeweald and Judith stood close by, staring down upon my naked flesh in varying degrees of stupefaction and awe, but, for the moment, I concentrated only on myself.

    I closed my eyes, and did what Judith, Saeweald, and Ecub had been wanting me to do for so long. I remembered.

    I remembered that terrible night when Genvissa had torn my daughter from my body, and I had died. I remembered how Mag had come to me then (even as Loth was sobbing over my cooling flesh), and how she had talked to me, and shown me the way ahead.

    I remembered how dismayed I had been, not only dismayed at the thought of how far we had to go, the intricacies involved (where so much could go wrong) and the dangers inherent in that journey, but of how unworthy I was of the responsibility. But Mag had loved me, and held me, and promised me that all would be well. That all I had to do was to believe and to trust, and to summon the courage to dare.

    I lay there at tide's edge, my eyes closed, my heart full of contentment, and felt the land and waters move about me. When, as Cornelia, I had stabbed myself in the neck, thus causing my own death, Mag within my womb had died with me. When I had been reborn as Caela, so had Mag—or her potential, rather than her precisely—been reborn also, but not within my

    womb.

    Within me. As much a part of my flesh as that imagined mantle.

    There was no difference between us now. I was not only Caela, Cornelia-reborn, but also everything that Mag had been.

    Mag-reborn. That strange mantle, seamlessly wound through my flesh, that made me more than I had been previously. Not different, just more.

    I knew that about me stood those who needed a word, and who needed reassurance, but first I wanted to do one more thing… I allowed my memory to roam free. Oh, but it encompassed so much! I could remember when this land was still young, when it was still bound by a thin land bridge to the great continent to the east, and when great bear and elk and wolves scampered across that bridge to fill this bounteous land.

    I remembered when Mag had walked across that land bridge, and was welcomed to this land by the Sidlesaghes who now stood about me, welcomers once more.

    I remembered the joy of turning about one day, and seeing standing there the great white stag, and knowing that he would be my one mate throughout eternity.

    And I remembered that bleak day when the Darkwitch Ariadne came to this land, and Mag welcomed her, not realizing her malignancy and her contempt.

    Finally, I remembered the arrival of the Trojans, carrying with them Mag nurtured within the womb of their leader's wife, Cornelia. Mag, arriving once more to this land, bringing with her… me.

    Filled with joy, I looked deeper.

    And found an empty space. A well of nothingness. An incompleteness.

    Had something failed? Had my transformation not been complete?

    Startled, and not a little scared at that discovery, I opened my eyes. I would think on it later when I had peace and solitude. This was only the beginning, after all. I could not expect everything all at once.

    The Sidlesaghe reached down his hand and I took it, and rose, glimpsing as I did so at the gold and ruby bracelet that glinted about my wrist. I half smiled at that, seeing in it everything that Cornelia had suffered but yet would become, then I looked to my three faithful companions who had been reborn into this life with me, and, in turn, I took their faces in my hands and kissed them softly on their mouths.

    "You are Mag?" stammered Saeweald.

    I hesitated. I was not Mag precisely, but did not know how best to express myself. So, foolishly perhaps, I let him think what he wanted, for it was easier. "Aye," I said, and felt a faint flutter of discomfort deep within my belly.

    "But… I had no idea… I would not have…"

    "Wait," I said. "This is not the place nor the time to discuss it." I turned back to the Sidlesaghe, and I kissed him also on the mouth. "Long Tom," I said, for that was truly his name, "thank you for greeting me. I am sorry I was so nervous and that I attempted to obstruct you."

    Long Tom smiled, and, as I had in my dream, I saw a faint suggestion of light spill from his mouth. "We are happy to see you as well, lady. Do not worry for what you may have said. We are happy only to see you."

    My smile slipped. "I need to speak with you."

    "Aye, and we with you. But not now. I will come to you again. We will walk the paths."

    "Aye," I said, "that we will."

    Then I turned back to Saeweald and the two women, and I grimaced, and I said, "May I borrow a cloak or some other covering from you? This night is chill, and there is a long walk back to the palace."

    And so, huddled beneath Saeweald's cloak, with the Sidlesaghes fading into the night, and the physician, the prioress and my attending lady beside me, I

    went back to the palace via the graveled flats of the Thames until we reached the wharves of Westminster, thence up the paths and steps to the palace itself where doors opened and sentries stood unnoticing. We went to the very door of my bedchamber and there, I smiled again, and kissed them all once more, and said, "We shall have a chance to speak tomorrow. Be still until that moment."

    Then I opened the door, and walked inside and, shucking away the cloak, crawled into my empty, cold bed (Edward was, most apparently, still on his knees before his altar, and the bowerthegn who usually slept by the door must

    also be with him).

    I lay down naked, and I closed my eyes, and I put my hands on my breasts, and I dreamed—not of the young boy Melanthus whom I had thought to love in my previous life as Cornelia, nor even of Brutus-now-William, but I dreamed of my beloved white stag with the bloodred antlers, pounding through the forest toward me.

    One day, I thought. One day, beloved.

    And then I began to weep.

    Silently, deep into the night.

    GbR

    ATILDA WATCHED THROUGH HOODED EYES AS

    William, as naked as the day he had been born, stood before the fire in their bedchamber, reading the letter that Yves had slivered earlier.

    They had retired some hours ago, made love (which Matilda hoped had driven all thought of Adeliza from William's mind for the time being), talked, and then William had waited until he thought Matilda asleep.

    Now he stood before the fire, his head bent over the letter, frowning.

    HE COULDN'T ALLOW MATILDA TO SEE THIS! WILLIAM thanked all the gods that existed that he'd delayed opening the communication until Matilda had been asleep. Previously, Swanne always had been circumspect in her communications, but now she had abandoned caution. Swanne wanted him to tell her where the kingship bands were. She wanted to move them before Asterion could get to them. She needed to do it before William arrived, or else it would be too late. She wrote of the strange events of the day the Troy Game was enacted in Smithfield, and of the children who played at the Game on the flagstones outside of St. Paul's. They needed to act fast, before everything disintegrated out of their control. Her unwritten fear, but one William discerned easily, was that Swanne was just as worried about the Troy Game's intentions as she was about Asterion's.

    William understood Swanne's fear about Asterion. It was evident that matters were careening toward a head: Edward was sliding toward death, the new abbey was almost complete… and now the Londoners were dancing the Troy Game? Children playing it across paving stones?

    To be honest, William was not surprised at the manifestation of the Game above the stones. It had existed for two thousand years, it was no shock to find that the people who lived their daily lives above it should also find their feet moving unwittingly in its steps. Swanne's belief that the Game was trying to take matters into its own hands, however, was an overreaction. William

    could not conceive for a moment that the Game would ever try to divorce itself from its Mistress and its Kingman.

    But the bands. On that subject William was prepared to share Swanne's concern. The golden bands of Troy were vital. If Asterion had them, then all hope that William and Swanne could work the final Dance of the Flowers and complete the Game—thus trapping Asterion within its heart forever—were

    gone.

    If William could retrieve them, however…

    William's body tensed, his eyes staring unfocused into the fire. If he had the hands, if he wore them, and if he and Swanne had the time and space to raise

    the Flower Gate…

    Then all would be won, and he and Swanne would live forever within the

    stones of London.

    Strange, that he should feel no joy at this thought. "I must be getting old," William muttered. Once, every bone in his body would have been screaming with joy at the thought of controlling the Game completely.

    Again William collected his thoughts and concentrated on what Swanne asked him: Tell me where lie the bands of Troy, and I shall take them, and keep them safe for you. What do you want otherwise? That Asterion should snatch them before you can collect yourself enough to arrive?

    The tone of that last sentence irritated William immensely. What did she think, that he had idled his life away in his court of Normandy? Drinking fine wines and laughing at the antics of court jesters? By the gods, did she not know that he'd had to battle rivals and enemies for the past thirty years? That he'd spent each and every day of those thirty years ensuring his survival? That there had not been a single chance—not a one't—to turn his armies for England and for London so that he could, at last, take his rightful place on its

    throne?

    William well realized that his troubles had been caused by Asterion's meddling. He knew that Asterion had his own dark, malevolent reasons for ensuring William kept his distance from London for all these years.

    And William knew, with every instinct in his body, that the fact that all these internal problems within Normandy had miraculously receded over the past couple of years meant that Asterion was preparing the way for the confrontation they all knew was coming.

    "What news?" said Matilda from their bed, surprising William so much he

    visibly jumped.

    "Little," he said as lightly as he could, and tossed the paper into the fire. It crackled, flaring in sudden flame and burning to ash within moments. "You did not want me to read it?" Matilda said.

    "No."

    "Why?"

    "Swanne was incautious." William looked Matilda directly in the eye. "She spoke of things I did not want you to see."

    "What things?" Matilda hissed, finally allowing her jealousy free reign. She rose from the bed, snatching at a robe to cover herself as she did so, hating the fact that her body was still swollen from the child she had so recently borne, and hating Swanne even more bitterly for the fact that all the news Matilda received of her spoke of a beautiful and elegant woman, despite the six children she'd birthed.

    "She did not speak of love," William said, walking over to Matilda and kissing her gently on the forehead. "But there are matters so terrible that you will be safer not knowing of them. I speak nothing but truth, Matilda, when I say that what Swanne wrote has irritated me. I did not throw that letter into the flames because I am a shame-faced adulterer, but because I was angry with she who wrote it."

    "I should not have taxed you over the matter," Matilda said, more angry with herself now that she'd allowed her jealousy to speak tartly.

    "You had every right," William said very softly, his lips resting in her hair. "You are my wife, and I honor you before all others."

    "But Swanne is the great love of your life," Matilda said, keeping her voice light.

    "When I spoke those words to you, fifteen years ago," he said, "then I thought I spoke truth. Now I am not so sure."

    "What do you mean?" Matilda leaned back so she could see his face.

    Again William paused, trying to find the best words with which to respond. "You have taught me a great deal during our marriage," he said eventually. "You have taught me strength, and tolerance, and you have given me maturity. What I thought, and felt, fifteen years ago, are no longer so clear to me."

    Again Matilda arched an eyebrow. "Are you saying that I have suddenly become the great love of your life?"

    William laughed, knowing from all their years together that she jested with him. "What I am saying, my dear, is that 'great love' no longer appeals to me as once it did."

    She held his eyes, her jesting manner vanished. "When you win England—"

    When, not if. William loved her for that.

    "—a marriage to Swanne would consolidate your hold on the throne, especially if, as we expect, the witan elects Harold as king to succeed Edward.

    When you have dealt with Harold, what better move for you than to marry his

    widow?"

    "I will never renounce you!" William said. "Never! You will be queen of

    England at my side. Believe it!"

    Matilda, studying the fervor in his eyes, believed it, and was content.

    FOUR

    UDITH THOUGHT THE CHANGE IN CAELA SO

    stunningly obvious that the entire realm would have taken one

    gigantic breath and screamed its incredulity, but she supposed, on

    second thought, that maybe most people who came into contact with the

    queen on that following day thought her "eccentricity" merely a result of the

    turbulent state of her womb.

    She woke Caela as she usually did, just after dawn, with a murmured word and the offering of a warm, damp flannel with which to wipe the sleep from her eyes.

    Caela took the cloth, smiling, and wiped her face. Then she stretched catlike under the covers, then pushed them back and rose in one fluid, beautiful movement, apparently unconcerned at her nakedness.

    Edward's bowerthegn, or bed chamberlain, aiding his king to dress, stilled and stared.

    Normally, Caela stayed modestly covered in bed until both her husband and his servants had left the chamber.

    Now she walked slowly over to one of the closed windows, threw back the shutters, and stood gloriously outlined—and gloriously naked—in the dawning light.

    "Wife! What do you? Clothe yourself instantly!"

    Judith froze, wondering if Caela would strike him down.

    Instead Caela only inclined her head toward Edward's direction, as if she found his presence mildly surprising. "My nakedness disturbs you?" she asked.

    And turned about.

    Judith bit her lip, suppressing a deadly desire to giggle. Both Edward and the bowerthegn were staring goggle-eyed at the queen.

    Caela smiled, sweet and innocent, and drew in a deep breath.

    The bowerthegn's mouth dropped open, and, frankly, Judith was not surprised. Caela looked magnificent, her pale skin subtly shaded by the rosy light of dawn, her mussed hair gleaming in an aura about her face and shoulders.

    Her body, which Judith knew so intimately from their long association,

    appeared somehow different, and it took Judith a moment to realize that where once Caela's body, although slim, had been soft from her life of inactivity at court, was now taut and finely muscled, as if she spent her time, not at rest at her needlework, but running through the forests, or slipping wraith-like through the waters.

    "A robe perhaps, Judith," Caela murmured, turning slightly so that the slack-jawed men could see her body in profile.

    Judith hurried to comply, not daring to look at Caela's face. "That was most unseemly, wife," said Edward.

    "I am sorry my nakedness offends," said Caela, allowing Judith to slip a soft woolen robe over her head and shoulders.

    Even then, the soft robe clinging to every curve and hugging every narrowness, Caela managed to give the impression of nakedness as she moved slowly about the chamber, lifting this, inspecting that, and Edward finished his dressing in red-cheeked affront before he hurried from the room.

    The bowerthegn, hastening after him, shot Caela one final wide-eyed glance, which made Caela grin.

    "How sad," she remarked to Judith, dropping the robe from her body so that she might wash, "that Edward should be so afraid of a woman's body, and that the bowerthegn should be so shy in admiring it."

    Fortunately for Judith's peace of mind, Caela managed to perform her usual duties about court demurely and quietly, although with an air of slight distraction. Several people looked at her oddly, frowning, as if trying to place what was unusual about Caela (among them Swanne, who stopped dead when first she saw Caela enter court, then wrinkled her brow as she patently tried to discern exactly what was different about the queen on this

    morning).

    When Harold came to her, and wished her a good morning, Caela visibly glowed, and Harold responded in kind. He, too, looked puzzled by her, but also pleased, and he stayed longer than he normally would when he had business elsewhere, laughing and chatting over inconsequential matters as other members of the court circled close by.

    I wonder if some part of him knows, wondered Judith, hovering nearby and wondering if Caela was being a trifle indiscreet with her openness and patent happiness in the presence of her brother. There was a subdued sexuality to every one of her movements that had never been there before, and Judith prayed that no other observer noted it and spread further dark and malignant gossip about the queen and her brother.

    Edward, certainly, kept a close eye on his wife, closer than usual.

    However, when Caela bid her brother a good morning, and turned her attention instead to chatting with one of her more recently arrived attending

    ladies, a young widow called Alditha, then Edward relaxed and allowed himself to be distracted by the priests and bishops who hovered about him.

    In the late morning, Caela beckoned Judith closer. "I have decided to take an interest in my lady Alditha," she said, gracing the said lady with a lovely smile. "I wonder if you could see to it that her sleeping arrangements are changed. Currently poor Alditha shares with five other of my ladies, as well as one of the under-cooks, and she sleeps badly. Perhaps…" Caela paused as if thinking, one finger tapping gently against her lower lip. "Perhaps Alditha can take over that chamber in the annex that runs between our palace and Harold's hall? You know the one, surely. The bishop of Kent occupied it before he so sorrowfully succumbed to his ailments."

    Judith blinked, trying to mask her confusion. She glanced at Alditha, a pretty woman with a heart-shaped face and generous hazel eyes, who looked as confused with the attention she was receiving as Judith felt. And the chamber of the (sorrowfully now deceased) bishop of Kent? Why, not only was that a sumptuous chamber, it was also a very private chamber in a palace complex where privacy was a highly valued thing indeed. She wondered what Caela was about… why establish Alditha in such a fine, and finely private, chamber?

    And one so close to Harold's own private apartments?

    "Of course, madam," she said, inclining her head.

    "And when you have done that, and settled Alditha comfortably," Caela continued, "I wonder if you might bring the physician Saeweald to attend me? And the prioress Ecub? Mother Ecub has been complaining so greatly recently about her aching knees that I think it time I grant her a consultation with Edward's own physician. Don't you think?"

    "Yes, madam." Judith locked eyes with Caela, understanding.

    "Perhaps in my solar," said Caela. "I think I may withdraw for a little while."

    "Yes, madam."

    "I AM SORRY THAT FOR SO LONG I HAD NO MEMORY,

    and that you were sorrowed and troubled because of it," Caela said, once Saeweald, Ecub, and Judith had gathered in her solar. They were not entirely alone, for below the windows sat three of the queen's ladies, their heads bent over their needlework, but Caela and her three companions were far enough distant in their chairs about the hearth that they could talk in reasonable privacy. To have insisted that the ladies take their needlework elsewhere was to have invited gossip and unwelcome curiosity.

    "But you remember now… madam?" Saeweald said. He hesitated at the

    I8O

    end of the question before adding the "madam." His concern was obvious. How should he address this woman, his friend, queen and, now, reborn

    goddess?

    Caela nodded. "Most things, yes, although there are still some vaguenesses." She shifted a little in her chair, her eyes glancing over at the group of ladies under the window. "My friends, I am still Caela to you in private, and madam in public. I am nothing else."

    "You are Mag," Ecub said.

    Caela hesitated a fraction before replying. "I have her within me, her power and knowledge and memory, but I am still Caela, Cornelia-reborn. I am simply more than she had once been."

    Ecub gave a small smile, her creased face kind and loving. "And perhaps not. When you first came to this land we knew you were somehow different. You were always, and will always be, beloved."

    At that Caela lowered her face, drawing in a deep breath as she blinked back tears. "I say again," she said, as she raised her face and looked in turn at each of the three, "that I have been well served in you and that you have my unending gratitude for staying by me, even when you thought I had no memory, and when you had every reason to suspect me of uselessness in the struggle that is to come."

    "To destroy the Game," Saeweald said.

    Caela looked at him, her gaze clear and direct. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, having reconsidered. "Let me tell you, briefly, how things came to pass. In the world where Cornelia came from, the Aegean world, there was a great goddess named Hera. She had once been all-powerful, magnificent, but had been cruelly crippled by Ariadne's darkcraft. Before she died, she approached Mag—also suffering from the Darkwitches' malevolence—and suggested a plan. A means by which the Darkwitches could be outwitted, and Mag's land saved."

    "But not Hera's world?" Judith said.

    "No. That was too badly corrupted. It was dying. There was nothing Hera or Mag could do about that. But Hera could aid Mag and Mag's land, and she did so by passing on her knowledge and cunning."

    "How to destroy the Game," Saeweald said, and again Caela glanced at him, this time with her brow very slightly furrowed.

    "Mag needed a place to hide," Caela continued, "and Hera showed her Cornelia. But Cornelia… but I… was not simply a place to hide. In rebirth—and Hera and Mag knew that what needed to be done would take more than one lifetime—Mag would be reborn within my flesh, giving her power and potential new vitality."

    Judith frowned. "But Mag was within your womb…"

    "No," Caela said. "That was merely a phantom. A decoy, if you will. Hera and Mag had known about Asterion, and had known of his malevolence and danger. Mag pretended an alliance with the Minotaur, but knew that eventually he would turn against her. She had no illusions about that. Thus the phantom within my womb that he could murder, and my lack of memory. Asterion had to be convinced that he had disposed of Mag, and subsequently that I was no threat. He did just that, murdering the phantom Mag, and convincing himself that poor Caela was of no consequence. Now I am safe, we are safe, for Asterion thinks us all of little consequence or danger to him in the Game ahead."

    "And the Sidlesaghes?" asked Ecub.

    "The Sidlesaghes have always been intimately connected with a goddess's rebirth. They also knew something of Mag's plan. When they felt Asterion readying himself, they walked. When Asterion murdered Mag, and convinced himself that I was no threat, then it would be time to rebirth the goddess."

    "And thus they approached me," said Ecub, "and then Judith."

    "Yes," said Caela.

    "Tell us, great Mother," said Saeweald, his face alive with eagerness, "how will you destroy the Game? How shall you return this land to its purity?"

    There was a moment's silence, a stillness, during which Caela visibly steeled herself.

    "I have no intention of destroying the Game," she said eventually, watching Saeweald carefully.

    "What?" Saeweald said, tensing as if to rise.

    "Be still!" Caela hissed, and Saeweald subsided at the command in her voice.

    Again Caela glanced at the ladies under the window, but they had not moved, nor glanced up from their needlework.

    "The Troy Game will save this land," Caela continued, her voice low and compelling. "It will be completed, but not by Swanne and William. Not by Genvissa- and Brutus-reborn."

    Her three companions stared at her, their bewilderment patent.

    "I will complete the Game," Caela said. "With Og-reborn."

    There was a long hush as Saeweald, Ecub, and Judith stared at Caela, then exchanged glances between themselves.

    "Og-reborn?" Saeweald said, very slowly, and a flush mottled his cheeks. Og-reborn! He could not help a thrill of excitement.

    "How can this be so?" Ecub said eventually. "My lady, we… we do not understand. The Game completed? By you, and Og-reborn?"

    "The Troy Game is not the evil thing that you believe," Caela said. "You only saw it so because its creators, Genvissa and Brutus, worked it with corruption rather than with good intention and meaning. Used correctly, the Game is a

    powerful and beneficial thing, and it can be used to protect this land as nothing else can. But to use the Game to its full potential, to use it to aid this land, then we need to wrest control of it away from Swanne and William."

    "Gods," Ecub muttered. "No wonder you needed to divert Asterion's attention away from you. It is enough that you have set yourself against Swanne and William; you do not need to contend with Asterion as well."

    "Since the time Genvissa and Brutus left the Game unfinished," Caela said, "the Game has all but merged with the land. The land and the Troy Game have, if you like, negotiated an alliance. Hera told Mag that this would be so. That if the Darkwitch and Brutus were stopped before they completed the Game, and the Game and the land upon which it sat were left to their own devices, then they would come to an understanding, if you will."

    "Og-reborn?" said Saeweald, who had paid little attention to anything else Caela had said. "Where? When?" He paused. "In whom?"

    Caela smiled, and leaned forward so she could put a warm hand on Saeweald's arm. "Not yet," she said. "He will not be reborn until it is safe for

    him to be so."

    In whom? Saeweald thought, and would have repeated the question save

    that Ecub spoke first.

    "When will it be safe for Og to be reborn?" she said.

    "When Asterion is negated, and when…" Caela faltered, then resumed, "and when Swanne can pass on to me the arts and secrets of the Mistress of

    the Labyrinth."

    Judith's mouth fell open, her expression mirroring that of Saeweald's and Ecub's. "Swanne hand to you the powers of the Mistress of the Labyrinth?"

    "I will need them in order to complete the Game, as so also will Og-reborn require the powers of the Kingman. Land and Game merged, completely. Mag and Og, Mistress and Kingman of the Labyrinth."

    "That is not my query," said Judith, still aghast, "but this: how in creation's

    name will you get Swanne to hand to you her powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth?"

    "There is a way, I know this," Caela beat a clenched hand softly against her

    breast. "But for the moment this way remains unknown to me. Eventually I

    will find it—or it will find me."

    Saeweald gave a short, harsh bark of laughter, making the ladies under the

    window look at him in surprise.

    He waited until their attention had returned to their needlework. "I wish I had your certainty, Caela. Swanne will never do it, just as William will never hand to Og his powers as Kingman! Both are too devoted to their ambitions, and to their shared vision of immortality. They will never do it!"

    "You misjudge both of them," Caela said quietly. "I think they will. Eventually. When circumstances are right."

    There was quiet for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Judith and Ecub were trying to come to terms with the idea that they should actually use the Game, rather than destroy it; Saeweald's mind remained consumed with the idea of Og-reborn. Who? Who? Who?

    The thoughts of all three stumbled at the idea that Caela, Mag-reborn, actually thought she could make Swanne hand over her powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth, and that William would do likewise with his powers as Kingman.

    Eventually Caela, having watched the doubts flood the faces of the other three, shrugged her shoulders as if in a silent apology. "There is still much to be decided. I will need to speak with the Sidlesaghes. They have been watching these past two thousand years. They will show me the direction I should take."

    Ecub, somewhat reluctantly, gave a single nod. "May I ask, great lady, whom Asterion masquerades as? He is among us, we can all feel that, but who is he?"

    Caela colored slightly. "I do not know."

    "You do not know?" Saeweald said, incredulously.

    Caela shot him another hard glance, but Saeweald met it unhesitatingly.

    "He hides himself well," she said curtly. "Too well. I cannot know him. But he must have come to see me in the hours after Mag's death. Who visited me then? My mind was sleepy and muddled, and I can remember only a procession of vague faces."

    "Half the cursed court visited you," Saeweald muttered. "How is it you cannot tell Asterion's guise? By all the stars in heaven, Caela, you do not know how to persuade Swanne to hand over her powers, you do not know who Asterion is… what else do you 'not know' ?"

    "There are still vaguenesses, and still things I need to learn," Caela said. "I am not omniscient, neither was Mag, nor even Og. But, if you worry about Asterion, then pray put that to one side. For the moment Asterion is concentrating on Swanne and William. I am no longer of any concern to him." She drew in a deep breath. "Now, I have some questions of you. Harold…" her voice broke a little. "For all the gods' sakes, why does he not remember? Why have none of you told him?"

    "As to why he cannot remember," Saeweald said, "I do not understand this, but I suspect it is because it is kinder to him that it be so. And that is the reason none of us have taken him aside, and explained to him the tragedy of his previous life. What would you have had us say, my lady? That his sister in this life is the great love of his life? That if he indulges in that love, he not only threatens her well-being, but throws away all he could attain in this life? By all the gods, Caela! Harold is the man who can lead England to a victory

    against William, but England will not follow him if he is accused of fornication

    with his own sister!"

    "But he is married to Swanne!" Caela said.

    "And that marriage took place before any of us knew him," said Ecub.

    "That fact changes little."

    Caela's face twisted in revulsion. "But Swanne… she arranged his murder in his last life."

    "And what can you do about it?" said Saeweald. "If you walk up to him now, and reveal all that can be revealed, then you risk destroying his life."

    Caela did not answer.

    Saeweald again leaned forward. "Is Harold Og-reborn?"

    Caela shook her head.

    "Then what purpose is there in revealing his past to him?" said Saeweald. "What purpose, save to batter his emotions, and show him what he cannot

    have in this life?"

    Caela nodded with obvious reluctance.

    "Silvius," she said, lifting her wrist a little so she could see the bracelet he'd given her. "What in heaven's name does he do here?"

    "He is part of the Game," Saeweald said. "Brutus made him so."

    "He says he is here to help," Judith put in. "He thought that the bracelet might make you remember. None of us then knew quite what you truly were, or what was needed to make you remember…"

    There was a slight reproach in her last remark, and Caela's cheeks again

    colored a little at it. "Well," she said, "I suppose I will speak to him eventually."

    She was about to say more, but at that moment the door to the solar

    opened, and Edward's chamberlain entered with a request that Caela rejoin

    her husband to greet an ambassador from Venice.

    With a smile, and a gracious inclination of her head, Caela rose.

    LATER THAT NIGHT, WHEN JUDITH STOOD BEHIND

    Caela in her bedchamber, combing out her long hair, Caela half turned, and

    spoke quietly.

    "Judith…" Caela hesitated. "William… I have not met him in this life… have I? He and Edward were very close when Edward was younger— gods, Edward spent a decade or more at William's court when he was exiled by Cnut—but I do not think William has come to our English court. Has he? Ah, I have searched my memory and cannot remember, and I do not know if that is because I have not in truth met him, or because if I have met him then I dismissed him, not knowing who he was…"

    Her voice broke a little on that last, and Judith frowned.

    "Caela, remember how this William treated you in your former life. He was vile to you! He—"

    "I loved him. And now I need to know. Judith, tell me… have we met?"

    "You have not met."

    Caela sighed. "And his wife, Matilda? I have paid little attention to what I've ever heard of her. What do you know?"

    "Caela, you can be doing yourself little good by—"

    "I want to know. Please."

    "She is a strong woman, quick to temper, sure of herself and her place in life. I… I have heard that she and William have made a good pairing."

    "And children?" Caela said.

    "Many, sons as well as daughters."

    Caela winced.

    "They have been blessed," Judith finished.

    Caela turned aside her head.

    "Caela…" Judith said softly.

    "My hair is untangled enough, Judith. You may leave me now."

    Judith went to Saeweald, needing to talk through all she had heard that day.

    "I still find it difficult," she said, as she lay naked in Saeweald's arms on his bed, bundles of drying herbs hanging from the low beam above them, "that the reborn Mag and Og will complete the Game instead of destroying it. For so long we have hated and loathed the Troy Game, wanted it gone. Now… now we must reconcile ourselves to the idea that it will be with us always. Part of us."

    Seaweald did not immediately reply, and, curious at his silence, Judith raised herself on an elbow so she could see his face. "Saeweald?"

    "While you spent the evening with Caela, I went to sit on the edge of the river. I prayed, and thought, and sought answers."

    "And did you find any?"

    His hand stroked gently over Judith's shoulder, and down her upper arm, making her shiver and smile. "Aye. Caela—Mag—is right. Imagine the power and strength of this land if it is wedded to the Game."

    "But the Game is so… foreign."

    "Now? After so many years? I don't believe so, not anymore. You may as well say that Caela is 'foreign' and unacceptable, yet Mag chose her for her rebirth. The Sidlesaghes, most ancient of creatures, have accepted both Caela and the Game. Imagine the power of all these things combined—the ancients, the gods, and the Troy Game."

    Judith frowned a little at Saeweald's emphasis on power. "And if Caela is

    Mag-reborn, and will become the Mistress of the Labyrinth, then who is to

    become Og-reborn?"

    Saeweald was silent, but he smiled very slightly as he stared upward toward

    the ceiling where strings of drying herbs swung gently in the warm air that

    radiated out from the brazier.

    "By Mag herself," Judith said softly, "you think it will be you!"

    Saeweald focused on her face. "And who else, eh? I cannot think myself

    worthy of the honor… but who else? Not Harold, for Caela said so, and surely he is the only other one among us who Og's spirit could inhabit."

    "Saeweald…"

    He grinned, and lifted his head enough to kiss the tip of her nose. "Ah, I know. You think of the intimacy that must exist between the Mistress and the Kingman, but that is a mere part of the ritual, a step in the dance, and you should not take it personally. Besides, when did you assume such a cloak of Christian morality? We have both had different lovers, in both our lives."

    "That was not what I meant."

    "Then what?"

    She hesitated, then gave a half smile and lay her head back on his chest so that he could no longer see her face. "Nothing," she said. "I think it is all just too much to absorb at once. Mag and Og, reborn, and dancing the Game. Imagine."

    He laughed, and they chatted some more about inconsequential things, and then they made love, and Saeweald spoke no more of his ambition to

    become Og reincarnate.

    But all Judith could think of, as she lay with Saeweald through that night, was that moment in their previous life when Loth had challenged Brutus within the labyrinth. Brutus had seized Loth, and had lifted his sword to take the man's head off, but then Og himself, by some supernatural effort, had careened from the forest and dislodged Brutus' sword arm so that, instead of decapitating Loth, Brutus had merely crippled him.

    Had that been happenchance (Brutus' sword must go somewhere, and better in Loth's spine than through his neck), or design? Had that sword stroke been as much Og's judgement on Loth as Brutus' displaced anger?

    Was Loth's crippling, in this life as well as then, Og's judgment? If so, then Saeweald would never become Og-reborn.

    Whatever he himself believed.

    And if not Saeweald, then who?

    Five

    't>, WANNE HAD NOTICED SOMETHING DIFFERENT

    about Caela during the past few days, and it disturbed her

    X_w_^*' greatly. There was something altered in the way that Caela

    moved, in the way that she sat—very, very still—and in the way Caela looked

    about her when she observed her husband's court.

    There was certainly something very different in the manner Caela looked at Swanne—with sadness and regret, almost—and that difference was driving Swanne almost to distraction.

    There was already enough to worry about. She did not need to fret about what Caela was doing as well.

    Consequently, when an opportunity presented itself one afternoon when the court had adjourned for the day (Edward had retired to murmur and mutter in a chapel), Swanne took it in both hands. She asked for admittance into Caela's private chamber, received it, and then asked that she and the queen be allowed to speak in some privacy for a time.

    As Caela's serving women and attending ladies retreated, Swanne took a seat close to where Caela sat at her ever-present needlework.

    "You wonder what is changed about me," Caela said simply, put her needlework down, and lifted her deep blue eyes to Swanne's face. "It is merely this: I have remembered."

    Momentarily shocked, Swanne's expression froze. "Remembered what?" she said, stupidly.

    "That I am," Caela said in a very even voice, "merely a body to be penetrated and a pair of legs to be parted… if I remember rightly how you taunted me so long ago."

    Swanne stared, saying nothing, still trying to absorb the shock.

    "Why Harold?" said Caela. "Why him? What pleasure did you take, then, in seducing Coel-reborn to your bed?"

    "Do you want him now?" said Swanne, finally finding her voice. "I find that I have tired of him, somewhat."

    "William must be close then. Do you send him reports of Harold? Beg him to invade and take you?"

    Swanne's face flushed. "He will ever be distant to you!" "Did you not know," Caela said, her demeanor remaining very calm, "that once you were dead he took me back as his wife? Back to his bed? I bore him two more children." Caela lowered her face, resuming her needlework as if this conversation were of no importance to her.

    Now Swanne's face drained of all color. "Never/1 cannot believe that lie." Caela shrugged slightly, disinterestedly.

    "He loathed you," Swanne continued. "He found you vile!" She drew in a deep breath, then resumed in a more even tone. "How is it that you have suddenly remembered all that you were, and all that you did? Did Asterion draw close, and plant an enchanted kiss upon your lips to wake you?"

    Caela's needle threaded in and out, in and out. "Asterion has not—"

    "Has he roused you from your slumber so that you might once again work his will? Hark!" Swanne put her hands to her face in mock fright. "Is that a dagger I see at your girdle?"

    Despite herself, Caela's eyes jerked upward, and her cheeks reddened. She immediately looked away, hating the smile of triumph on Swanne's face. "Where is he, Caela? Where is Asterion?"

    "I do not know."

    "Ah! Do not expect me to believe that! You are his handmaiden! His

    dagger-hand!"

    "No! I will not again—"

    "Have you taken him to your bed yet, Caela? If I caused the midwives to examine you again, would they now not find you the same virgin you were a

    few weeks past?"

    "I am a virgin still, Swanne. Unlike yourself, I do not need to use my bed

    to make my way in life."

    "Ah, poor little virgin, can you not even find one man eager to take it from you? And now even Mag has deserted you. Poor worthless bitch goddess. Dead. Was that what woke you, Caela? The corpse of your one true friend slithering dead in the hot blood running down your thighs?"

    Ignoring the look of distaste on Caela's face, Swanne leaned forward, jerked the needlework out of the way, then took Caela's hands in her own. To any of Caela's ladies watching from across the chamber it seemed only that the lady Swanne was comforting their queen.

    "My only regret is that Asterion did not murder you as well. You are as useless as ever you were, Caela. Take my advice and cast yourself into the cold waters of the Thames. Who wants you? No one. You are a pathetic queen—even your husband cannot bear to take you. When William comes,

    and come he will, Caela, then I shall be his queen, and you shall be locked away in a nunnery in the cold, gray reaches of the north where even the scurrying rats will be hard put to remember your name."

    She let go Caela's hands and sat back.

    "You were ever the failure at being the wife. An, no! I lie! There is one small thing at which you ever excelled as the wife, Caela, and that is in attracting husbands who despise you, and who can hardly bear to touch you."

    Finished, Swanne raised an eyebrow, as if daring Caela to even attempt a response.

    "How strange," said Caela very softly, her eyes unwavering on Swanne's face, "that you should say that my husbands despise me, Swanne, when you have misnamed both my husbands."

    Swanne's face assumed an expression of affected curiosity.

    "I am married to this land, Swanne, and it is not me that this land despises."

    Swanne's expression froze, and she did not move as Caela rose and walked away, brushing aside Swanne's skirts as she did so.

    By all the gods, Caela, Swanne thought, keeping her face expressionless under the regard of the other ladies in the chamber, / will make you suffer once William is here, and the Game, and England are ours.

    CbAPGCRSl-X

    Caela Speaks

    LAY AT NIGHT BESIDE MY STILL, COLD HUSBAND—

    one part of me thinking that, ironically, nothing had changed—and tested my memory and powers.

    It all felt so comfortable and so overwhelmingly right, but still… still… There was still something missing, as I had felt it on the banks of the Thames. Something not quite as it should be. An emptiness. In that first euphoric day after the Sidlesaghe had thrown me into the river, and I had remembered and, in remembering, I had thought that if I had actually felt anything wrong, then that was merely because of the newness of my awareness.

    Now, in the days following that awakening, and, more particularly, during the long nights following, I had more than adequate time to investigate.

    That exploration unnerved me. I found a fullness of memory and experience, a growing sense of power and knowledge, but at the very heart of all this… a cold emptiness. Not so much that there was something "missing," but that I could not determine what it was.

    Only that I was slightly "emptier" than I should be.

    I consoled myself with the thought that the Sidlesaghes still had to come to me. I knew that they had visions to show me, and words to share, and I thought that what was "missing" (whatever it was) could be supplied by them. They would be the ones to show me how Swanne could be persuaded to part with her powers. They were the ones to show me the means whereby Asterion

    could be subdued.

    They would be the ones to show me how William… no, I would not dare to think about that now. There was too much else to be accomplished before

    then.

    On the fourth night after that of my awakening, I lay beside Edward thinking deep into the early hours of the morning. Finally I fell into a fitful sleep.

    I dreamed.

    I walked the stone hall again, my stone hall, my special place. I studied it, seeing that perhaps one day it could be a place of great joy.

    Perhaps. If all went well.

    I recalled that, not so long ago, when I had been Caela-unremembering, William had come to me in this hall and so, when I heard the soft footfall behind me, I turned, a glad smile on my face, thinking that it would be him again.

    It was Silvius, and some of the gladness went out of my smile.

    Oh, but he was so much like Brutus! He was as tall, and as dark, but not so heavily muscled, and his face, almost a mirror of Brutus' own (save for that patch over his empty eye), was gentler and far more weary than I had ever remembered my husband's. That gentleness and weariness made my gut wrench, and endeared him to me as nothing else could have done.

    Silvius was dressed as he would have been in his Trojan prime: beautifully tooled-leather waistband, soft ivory waistcloth, laced boots that came partway up his calves, and a variety of gold and bronze jewelry about his fingers and dangling from his ears. His long, curly black hair was tied with a thong in the nape of his neck.

    About Silvius' limbs, around his biceps, forearms, and just below his knees, circled broad bands of paler flesh, as if someone had only recently taken from him the bands that had once graced his body.

    I saw that my fading smile had hurt him, and so I held out my hands in greeting, and rearranged the smile upon my face.

    "Silvius," I said. "What do you here?"

    He took my hands, one of his fingers reaching out to touch the bracelet on my wrist, and smiled in answer to my own. "Come to see this lovely, magical woman," he said. "Why, oh why, did Brutus never appreciate you? Not know what a treasure he held in his arms?"

    His hands tightened about mine as he spoke, and their warmth and dry softness made the breath catch in my throat. Oh, he was so much like Brutus!

    "What do you here?" I asked again, hearing the quaver in my voice and hoping Silvius would not know the reason for it. "What have you been doing, wandering the streets above, and conversing with Saeweald and Judith?"

    "I am a part of the Game," he said. "Brutus left me to wander its twists eternally. That is what I do here. I am part of the Game." With his hands, he drew me in close to him, so that I could feel the heat from his flesh, and feel the waft of his breath across my face.

    "Gods," he whispered. "I am so glad to see you as you truly should be."

    And then he leaned forward and kissed me, gently, warmly, lingeringly, on my mouth.

    I was stunned at my reaction. Silvius had just dared far too much, but…

    lyz

    oh, I had always longed to have Brutus kiss me, and had hated it that this was

    the one intimacy he denied me.

    And so, when Silvius leaned forward and presumed so greatly as to place his mouth on mine, I sighed, mingling my breath with his, and opened my

    mouth under his.

    He was surprised, I think, for he drew back, half-laughing. "Lady," he said,

    "do not mistake me for your son."

    I let his hands go, and smiled apologetically. "I am sorry for that. For a

    moment…"

    "I am not my son."

    "I know."

    To distract him, and myself, I lifted a hand to the patch over his eye. For a moment, I hesitated, and then I lifted the patch, and winced at the shadows that I saw writhing within the empty socket.

    For two thousand years the Troy Game had been attracting evil into its heart, and for two thousand years Silvius had waited within that same heart, where Brutus' corruption had placed him. The shadows I saw within Silvius' empty socket was the physical manifestation of evil at the heart of the Game. "You carry this about with you?" I whispered.

    He nodded. "I must."

    I turned away, unable to bear it. "I wish I could undo that which Brutus

    has done to you."

    "Perhaps one day you will."

    Distracted, both by his presence, and by the thought of what Silvius had been forced to bear these two thousand years, I lifted my left arm and allowed the bracelet to sparkle between us. "I thank you for this. It was a fine gift."

    "It did not make you remember."

    "A little." I allowed myself to look at him again. "It prepared the way, I

    think."

    He laughed softly. "You are very kind." He stepped close to me again, and touched my hair. "When you killed Genvissa, Brutus kept you imprisoned in a dank, airless hovel for three years. And then for another twenty-four he took you back to his bed and tormented you. Oh gods, how is it that I had bred

    such a son!"

    Abruptly he turned away. "Do you know," he said, half looking over his shoulder, "that when my wife was pregnant with Brutus, a seer told me that I should cause the child to be aborted, for it would be the death of both me and

    her."

    He laughed shortly. "She was wrong. He was far more than just the death

    of me, He imprisoned me in torment, as he did you. He—"

    "Stop," I said. "Please."

    "You still love him," he said, wonderingly. "How can that be so?" Now he swiveled back to me again. "How can that be so when he caused you so much suffering?"

    "But you still love him."

    His eye went very dark, and his face stilled. "Oh, aye, I still love him. He is my son. My flesh." Silvius hesitated, and when he spoke again his voice was soft, pleading. "Caela, will you come see me sometime, and allow me to come to you? I have been so lonely…"

    "Of course." I would be glad of it, I thought, to speak with Brutus' father.

    And it would serve both Brutus and myself in good stead, when it came time for Brutus-reborn to make his peace with his father, and with himself.

    Thus I reasoned, although, in truth, when I looked at Silvius, all I really saw was Brutus' face. It was a selfish foolishness on my part, but I had been a woman helplessly in love, and despite whom I had become, a part of that love still lingered.

    "Tell me," Silvius said, "Now that you are in touch with your true nature, and know of where you must go—"

    The doubt at his knowledge of that must have shown on my face, for he laughed.

    "Of course I know what you plan, and where you want to go. I have sat in the heart of the Game, remember? Do you think that I do not know? You want to complete the Game yourself, with your lover, and make of it a shining thing, rather than the corrupt monster of Genvissa and Brutus' construction."

    I let most of my doubts go at that point, and laughed slightly. "Is there anything you do not know?"

    He made a show of thinking, and I grinned even more. Silvius had a sense of fun about him that his son had never demonstrated. I felt doubly attracted to him, and now it was not merely because of his resemblance to Brutus.

    "Aye," Silvius said eventually. "Do you know," he touched the pale flesh about his biceps, "that even though I was once a Kingman, and had kinship with the bands of Troy, that I cannot feel where Brutus has put them. Can you feel them?"

    I frowned, then shook my head. "No. He will find them, eventually. Surely."

    "Aye. He will. Meantime, there is but you and me."

    He smiled, and it made him look so handsome, and so appealing, that I felt my heart race a little, and I knew that he realized it.

    "Caela," Silvius said, then he stepped close to me, and leaned forward °nce more, and laid his mouth on mine, and the last thing I remember as

    I rose toward wakefulness was the taste and strength of his tongue in my mouth, and I swear that taste stayed with me all through the day, and at times that memory made me tremble and wonder if Silvius was everything that Brutus had not been.

    sevejM

    % ILLIAM? WILLIAM?" MATILDA SHOOK HER

    husband's shoulder, concerned at his tossing and muttering, Sweet Christ, of what was he dreaming? "William!"

    't—He jerked away, suddenly sitting upright so abruptly he almost knocked Matilda out of the way.

    "Ah," he said, blinking. "I am sorry, my love. A nightmare engulfed me, and for a moment I thought I was lost to it."

    "A nightmare?" She slid an arm about his waist, pulling him gently against her, and kissed his shoulder. "Tell me of it, for then it will lose all power over you."

    He licked his lips, and for a moment Matilda thought he would not respond, but just as she was about to broach the silence he began to speak in a harsh tone.

    "I dreamed I was in the labyrinth, trying to save… I don't know whom, but someone who was so important to me that I would have died if I could have given this person freedom."

    "The labyrinth?" Matilda said softly, kissing his shoulder once again.

    "She was trapped—"

    Matilda held her breath at that "she."

    "—and I could not find her. The blackness swarmed all about, and I thought it would overwhelm me… had overwhelmed her… ah, Matilda, this is making no sense, and I am sorry for it. It makes no sense to me, either."

    "But why dream of a labyrinth?"

    He gave a half shrug. "It no doubt has meaning that the local village wise-woman can decode for me."

    "Perhaps it represents England, and your fear that England shall be a trap."

    "Perhaps," he said eventually.

    "William," Matilda said, unnerved by her husband's dream, "there is something I should say to you."

    She saw a flash of his white teeth as he grinned. "What, wife? You feel the

    need to confess a passion for the stableman? For the houndsman? You need to tell me that none of my children were fathered by me, but by a variety of

    rough-speaking peasants?"

    She did not grin as he had expected her to. "Matilda?"

    "William, perhaps England will be a trap."

    "What do you know?"

    "Hardrada lusts for England. You know this."

    He nodded. "The king of Norway has long cast envious eyes south. What

    of it?"

    "It is possible that he conspires with Tostig, Harold's brother."

    "Against Harold?"

    "Who else?"

    "How do you know this?" William asked eventually.

    "Womanly gossip, my love."

    He regarded her silently for some time, then nodded. If she would not tell

    him, he would respect that for the moment. For the moment.

    eigbc

    WANNE GLANCED OVER HER SHOULDER, SAW

    that Harold was ensconced in some doubtless dry conversation with Earl Ralph, Edward's nephew; Wulfstan, the bishop of Worcester; and his younger brother, Tostig. Swanne knew there had been some bad blood between Harold and Tostig recently, but they seemed to have resolved whatever differences they had in the past few days, and now were back to their old, easy friendship. There was an empty chair set next to Harold's: Swanne's chair, but she had no intention of filling it this evening. Just behind the group of men, sitting attentive on a bench, were Harold and Swanne's eldest sons, Beorn and Alan. Saeweald was sitting with the boys as well, and managed to catch Swanne's eye during her brief glance.

    She arched an eyebrow at him, then deliberately turned her back, walking slowly and gracefully down the hall toward a gathering of southern thegns listening to the sweet voice of a Welsh bard. Swanne smiled as the group rose to greet her, then accepted a seat from one of the thegns.

    This would be a far pleasanter means of spending the evening than having to pretend a smile at Harold. Truly, now that events moved apace, and William was surely so close, she would not have to submit to him for much longer.

    The king had retired early, well before Vespers, whining about a headache and a congestion of his belly. Freed from the necessity of attending the king during evening court, Harold and his retinue had retired thankfully to the earl's own hall and chambers at the southern end of the palace complex. Caela, Swanne assumed as she settled down and allowed the thegns and bard to fawn over her, was trapped with her husband, wiping either his brow or his arse, whichever needed the most attention at the moment.

    Her grin broadening, Swanne relaxed and tried to concentrate on the song the bard was now singing for her. In truth, she'd not had many settled moments these past few days. Something had happened… something had shifted.

    Oh, yes, part of it was Caela suddenly recalling all that had been—for no apparent reason—but that was not all.

    Was it something about the land? The very soil and the forests and the waters? It made Swanne uncomfortable. Once she would have known. Once she had been the MagaLlan, and nothing occurred within and to the land without her being fully apprised of it. But Swanne's powers as MagaLlan had passed with her previous life, and her darkcraft lay untouchable, and something was moving beneath her feet that she was not privy to.

    Asterion, no doubt.

    Damn you, William, Swanne thought, keeping the smile light on her mouth and the desperation from her eyes, Reach out to me! Let me know that you, at

    least, are well/

    William still hadn't replied to her request that he tell her where the golden bands of Troy were. Damn him for delaying the information! They were all in danger of dancing to Asterion's call… and Swanne had no doubt at all that Asterion would be trying to locate those bands before William arrived in England to claim his throne and his heritage.

    Hadn't that been what Asterion had been doing these two thousand years,

    while delaying their rebirth?

    She had to find those bands now! Before Asterion.

    Swanne could not entirely prevent the shiver of apprehension that shot from the base of her spine to her neck. If Asterion found those bands, then he would effectively prevent William and her from dancing the final Dance of the Flowers and completing the Game. It was all Asterion had to do. He need not

    even face William.

    He only had to find and hide, or destroy, those bands.

    From the corner of her eye, Swanne saw the great door at the end of the

    Hall open, and glanced over.

    More churchmen! Was the entire land swarming with them? The archbishop of York, Aldred, and Eadwine, abbot of Westminster Abbey, had entered, smiling and nodding, and—damn them!—were making their way toward Swanne and her group of musicians and admirers.

    Swanne's smile slipped, but she had it back in place by the time Aldred and Eadwine sat themselves down a few places from her, bobbing their heads pleasantly to all about. Eadwine began a muted conversation with the thegn beside him, while Aldred waved the bard to continue as he sat back, and, closing his eyes, folded his hands over his huge belly. His expression relaxed into one of total enjoyment, and Swanne had to admit that perhaps the archbishop did find the soulful music of the Welsh bard a more enjoyable entertainment than the constant wail of sinners and beggars, and the incoherent mumble of monkish prayers that must surely fill most of his days.

    The great door opened again, admitting yet another party, but this time

    Swanne ignored it, as she finally relaxed under the spell of the bard's beautiful voice.

    It would be another group of clerics, or sycophants perhaps, come to scry out the lay of the land in the court of, possibly, the king to follow Edward.

    If only they knew, Swanne thought, closing her eyes herself and allowing her body to sway slightly to the rhythm of the bard's music. If only they knew.

    William, her lips formed slowly, and, briefly, the tip of her tongue glistened between her teeth.

    Asterion saw her from his place within the hall, and read her thoughts, and kept his face bland and pleasant, and his thoughts to himself.

    When Swanne reopened her eyes, it was to notice that the entire world seemed to have changed.

    No longer was she the sole object of attention within her circle of clerics, thegns, and musicians.

    Instead, all of their eyes—indeed, every eye within the hall!—was watching as Caela and several of her attending ladies walked slowly and assuredly up the hall toward Harold and his company.

    It must have been Caela and her party who had entered the hall after Aldred. But why wasn't Caela with her husband? What was she doing here? Swanne had never known Caela to do something like this.

    It was far too bold for the contemptuous wretch.

    And the way she walked. She was so confident, so majestic.

    So sure of herself.

    Every eye in the hall was riveted on Caela, and not merely because of her surprising entrance.

    Because of the way she walked. That wasn't like Caela at all. Not even a Caela who had suddenly recalled her previous life.

    Swanne felt her heart thudding within her chest. There was something about the way Caela moved, something in the way she held herself. Something Swanne should have recognized, and yet remained curiously just out of recognition's reach. Damn her!

    She swiveled about on her seat, and stared toward Caela who was, by now, within ten paces of Harold.

    And the empty chair beside him.

    Nausea and cold disbelief gripped Swanne in equal amounts. Caela was about to take Swanne's place at Harold's side!

    Apart from making an inelegant and highly embarrassing dash to get to the chair before Caela, there was absolutely nothing Swanne could do about it.

    OO

    GI

    Caela was about to take Swanne's place at the top of the hall. Caela!

    That Caela, both as queen of England and as Harold's sister and equal, had every right to take that chair, did not enter Swanne's mind. That she herself had disdained to sit with Harold did not for a moment occur to Swanne. All she could think of was that Caela was going to take her place at the head of the hall.

    Then, just as Caela reached the group of now-standing men, she turned

    about in a move so elegant and lissome that Swanne had trouble believing

    that it was Caela standing there at all. She faced Swanne, and extended one

    long, white, graceful hand and arm behind her to the chair by Harold's side.

    "If I may, sister?" she said, smiling with great sweetness at Swanne. "This

    is your seat, after all."

    Swanne was so furious that her entire body tensed, and she almost growled. Caela had her trapped. Swanne simply could not refuse her permission without appearing scandalously ungracious. Every eye in the hall was on her. A moment passed.

    Something changed within Caela's smile, something so subtle that Swanne was sure no one but her would have noted it. Swanne realized that Caela was deliberately provoking her. For the sheer enjoyment of it.

    "As my queen wishes," Swanne said. Then, as Caela bowed her head in acceptance, and started to turn back to Harold, Swanne added, "And, if you wish, you can also take my place in your brother's bed. We all know how much

    you have both lusted for it."

    Absolute silence filled the hall. No one could believe Swanne had said that. Rumor and innuendo was one thing, outright accusation another.

    As one, eyes turned from Swanne to Caela.

    Among them, Asterion was absolutely incredulous. If he didn't mind his way, Swanne would dig her own grave before he could manage it for her! Gods! The

    Intemperance of the woman!

    He narrowed his eyes, intrigued as to how Caela would react.

    Caela tilted her head slightly, her still face composed, and regarded Swanne thoughtfully. "Even if your own tastes have been bred within the dung heap, sister, you should think twice before ascribing them to others. If you find my purity unbearable, then think not to besmirch it with your own foulness." Swanne froze in humiliation and fury, unable for the moment to respond. Caela's eyes shifted slightly, looking to Archbishop Aldred, sitting a few places from Swanne, and looking as shocked as everyone else. "Perhaps, my Lord Archbishop," she said, "you might take my lady Swanne aside for some instruction in manners. Such careless accusations, bred within privy pits and

    spoken with spitefulness, are the wont only of barnyard sows accustomed to rolling in muck. They are not becoming to those who believe themselves great ladies of the realm."

    With that, Caela turned her back to Swanne, smiled at Harold (who had been glaring at Swanne with silent promises of later retribution), took his hand and allowed herself to be escorted to the chair beside his.

    Behind her, thegns slowly began to drift away from Swanne's group, thinning it to such an extent that within minutes there remained only Swanne, the highly embarrassed archbishop, the equally embarrassed, but also angry, abbot, and a Welsh bard, who looked as if he did not know whether to continue singing or not.

    "I am most sorry for that," Harold murmured as Caela sat down. He was studying her as many others were, surprised that the queen had managed to best Swanne in the verbal exchange. "You spoke well, sister. Swanne has ever had a vicious tongue, and that little jest of hers was unbecoming in the extreme."

    It was what Harold had to say, even if, in his heart, he was writhing in shame. What had Swanne seen when she'd walked in on him and Caela that single time they'd let their passions rule their heads?

    Caela shrugged, looking utterly unperturbed. "Swanne is… Swanne. It is no matter to me, brother. Now, Judith shall stay with me, and my other ladies may interest themselves as they may in the hall."

    She waved away her attending ladies, save for Judith, who sat on a stool Saeweald had placed beside Caela's chair, and nodded greetings to her brother Tostig and the other men who were now resuming their seats about Harold. Tostig was regarding her as thoughtfully as most others were: that exchange was not what he would have suspected from the girl he had known so many years.

    "What great conference have I interrupted, Harold, Tostig?" Caela said. "Such grave faces you all wear!"

    Harold glanced at Judith, and Caela reached down a hand to the woman, keeping her eyes steady on Harold's face. "I trust Judith with my life," she said. "You may, also."

    Harold looked again to Judith, then to Saeweald, who gave a very slight nod.

    "Very well," he said, then he sighed, and rubbed a hand over his suddenly haggard face. "Not good news, Caela. I have heard that Harold Hardrada has agents within this court. I fear their intent."

    Tostig rolled his eyes. "Our brother has turned to womanly fancies, sister."

    "The intelligence is good!" Harold snapped.

    "Of what do you fear, Harold?" Caela said.

    O

    "Hardrada wants England, he has made no secret of this. I worry that he will try to smooth his way to the throne with some silent, treacherous action."

    "Do you fear for yourself, Harold?" Tostig asked softly. "Why, the last I heard, you had surrounded yourself with an army to keep unwanted daggers

    at bay."

    Harold gave Tostig a dark look, but did not respond to his taunt.

    "Can you discover who they are?" Caela said.

    Harold nodded. "Within a day or two. My men know where one of the agents, a man named Olafson, hides. I will have him taken, and questioned."

    Caela grimaced. She knew precisely what Harold meant by "questioned."

    To one side, Tostig's face had suddenly gone very still.

    "Ah!" Harold continued, "If only I had the knowledge of the angels on my side, and knew when Edward will finally gasp his last. Then I could plan the better to meet any challengers. But," he shrugged, smiling wryly now, "who

    can know such things."

    Caela started to speak, then stopped, indecision written across her face. She exchanged a glance with Saeweald, then dropped her gaze to her lap.

    "What do you know, sister?" Harold asked very quietly. "You share his chamber intimately. Is there something you can share?"

    She lifted her eyes to his. "Edward will not live more than a few days past the New Year celebrations."

    There was an utter silence as everyone stared at her. "How can you know this?" asked Wulfstan, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Such knowledge is witchery, surely."

    Caela regarded the bishop very calmly. "I know this," she said, "because, as Harold has said, I am my husband's wife, and I know his every breath and manner. And I know this because my husband's physician," again she glanced at Saeweald, "tells me that Edward has not long to live. And… and I have dreamed it. An angel has indeed come to me and told me as much."

    People nodded, accepting her explanation. But again, as before, Tostig's face was very still, his eyes watchful.

    "And my fate?" asked Harold. "What is my fate, then, if you speak to

    angels in your dreams?"

    Caela leaned forward and took both of Harold's hands in hers. Her expression was one of great sadness and joy combined. "You will become a hero such as this land has never seen before," she said. "You will live in glory."

    To his side, Tostig and Saeweald exchanged glances, then as quickly looked away from each other again.

    Harold stared at her, then his mouth quirked. "That may be read as either a glorious death, or a glorious reign, sister. No! Do not explain yourself, for I regret the asking of the question in the first place. But do tell me, since you

    O

    seem to know so much, who is it I should fear the most? Who stands as the greatest obstacle between me and the throne of England?"

    She tipped her head, and regarded him. "Your enemies shall flock like crows, Harold. I am not the warrior to tell you which one shall be the most cunning."

    Harold gave a hard bark of laughter. "You do not want to tell me!"

    Something hardened in Caela's eyes. "Beware of William, brother, for at his back shall ride the greatest enemy this land shall ever know."

    "Now you speak in riddles, Caela. Should I fear his wife, Matilda? But, oh yes, William…" he drifted into silence, one hand rubbing at his short, stub-bled beard.

    "Has there been any more spoken," said Wulfstan, "of that contract Edward and William are rumored to have made between them fourteen years ago?"

    Harold chewed his lip. Twelve years ago Edward had moved briefly—but with great effect—against the Godwine clan. The entire family, even Caela, had been exiled for almost a year, and only the great cunning of Earl Godwine himself had seen their eventual restoration to power. They had regained their place, but ever since that time it had been rumored that, while free of the Godwine family's influence, Edward had made a pact with William, promising him the throne of England on Edward's death.

    "There is always a great deal rumored about William," Harold said quietly, his eyes unfocused, "and very little spoken that is known fact. What does William plan? How shall he justify his ambitions before God and the other thrones of Europe? I don't know… I don't know…"

    And there lies the rub, thought Harold. No one knows what William is or is not planning. And without that knowledge, anything I plan is certain to be torn asunder the instant I act on it. What are you planning, William? Will you content yourself with Normandy, or do you want this green isle, as well?

    HE HUMILIATED ME, AND YOU SAID NOTHING!"

    Swanne said, as she watched her husband disrobe.

    Harold remained silent, unlacing his tunic, sliding it over his

    head and tossing it across a chest.

    Swanne stalked closer, her hands balled into fists, her face white with fury, her black eyes snapping. "You have a duty to me. I am your wife. I—"

    Harold suddenly turned about from laying his shirt atop his tunic and grabbed her chin in his hand. "You have a vile tongue, Swanne, and, I am learning, a mind to go with it! Be silent, I beg you, before I lose what little

    regard I have left for you!"

    She twisted out of his grip. "You've always lusted after her."

    He went white, but said or did nothing.

    "You dream about it, don't you? I've heard you, mumbling at night, planning your incestuous assault on your sister's body—"

    He slapped her, then grabbed her wrist as she tried to strike him and twisted it so violently she cried out. "Caela was right," he said, "when she said you had been bred within a dunghill, Swanne. You are the get of a worm and the night; there is no sweetness within you at all, merely vileness."

    Again Harold turned from her, twisting off his boots and then his trousers

    and tossing them toward the chest.

    Swanne nursed her wrist, watching him with, finally, all of her loathing and contempt writhing across her face. "And there is nothing for you but the dunghill, Harold. You cast your eyes toward the throne, but you should know

    that—"

    She stopped suddenly, both her eyes and those of Harold's flying to the

    door that had suddenly opened.

    Tostig stood there, his face equal amounts incredulity and humor as he regarded his naked brother and Swanne standing before him.

    "My, my," he said softly, closing the door and walking slowly into the room.

    His eyes were very wary.

    O

    "Is this the future king and queen of England I see before me? Nay, I think not. This behavior cannot surely be that of—"

    "What do you want, Tostig?" Harold said roughly.

    Tostig had been watching Swanne who, correctly reading the look on his face, took three or four steps back, spreading her hands out at her sides. Now, he turned back to his brother.

    "Only this, Harold," he said softly, "that Hardrada sends his greetings, and bids you a well-earned death."

    And, lightening quick, he drew his dagger from the belt at his waist and plunged it toward Harold's heart.

    Harold had nothing with which to defend himself save his hands. He grabbed Tostig's wrist just as the dagger reached his chest, and managed to stop the blade before it had penetrated more than a finger's thickness into his body. With all the strength he had, he wrenched the dagger backward, but he could do nothing about Tostig's weight that, leaning down with the force of his plunge forward, pushed Harold back onto the bed.

    "For God's sake, Swanne!" Harold shouted. "Send for aid! Now!"

    Swanne watched, her face still slack in shock at the suddenness of the attack. Then, as Harold screamed at her again, she smiled, very slightly, and stood back, folding her arms across her breasts.

    "No," she said, and then laughed softly as the two men writhed their deadly dance across the bed.

    CAELA WAS ASLEEP, WHEN SUDDENLY HER INNOCU-

    ous dream slid into horror.

    His face was tom from her hands by a great black shadow that loomed over them, and she saw a glint of metal that swept in a vicious arc across Coel's throat. His body, still deep within hers, convulsed, and she screamed, and blood spurted over her in a hot, sticky flood.

    Brutus took a firmer grip on Coel's hair, then he tore him from her, tearing him painfully out from her, and all she could do was cry, "No! No! Oh, gods, Brutus, no! Not Coel!"

    And then she heard Swanne laugh…

    Caela jerked upright in bed, shrieking so loudly that both Edward, Judith, and the bowerthegn woke shouting as well.

    "Assassins!" Caela screamed, stumbling in her haste to leap from the bed and grabbing her robe as soon as her feet hit the floor. "Assassins! Harold's chambers. Oh, God, assassins! Help him!"

    O

    "No!" hissed Edward, but by then both Judith and the bowerthegn had rushed from the chamber and were rousing the guards.

    "It will be too late," Caela whispered, standing as if stunned, or still caught by dream. "He is too far from us."

    HAROLD AND TOSTIG TWISTED ACROSS THE BED,

    rolling this way and that, each man grunting with effort, neither man able to gain the upper hand from an opponent as strong and as battle-hardened

    as the other.

    "For the gods' sakes, Tostig," Swanne muttered, her look now anxious.

    "Do not mismanage this as you have so many other matters!"

    At that moment Harold cried out, and Swanne saw a thick smear of blood

    mar the surface of the creamy bed linens. "Good," she said. "Very good."

    THE PALACE WAS AWAKE AND IN FULL CRY, GUARDS

    grabbing weapons and rushing through halls and chambers toward exits and, eventually, Harold's hall to the south of Edward's palace.

    Caela ran with them, her robe flapping and barely knotted about her waist, terrified, hearing Swanne laugh, hearing also Harold's cry of pain and fear.

    They would never get there in time!

    Summoning all the power she could through her panic, she sent a shaft of alarm directly to the men she knew stood guard within Harold's own hall.

    Your lord fights away an assassin! Aid him, aid him, now!

    Then, to her immense relief, Caela felt within her an echoing answer of panic as the guards within Harold's hall rushed toward his bedchamber.

    TOSTIG SUDDENLY CRIED OUT, ROLLING AWAY FROM

    Harold, a deep cut across his belly. Harold lurched upright, his own chest and belly covered in blood and, ignoring the dagger, struck Tostig an immense

    blow to his jaw.

    The blow sent Tostig tumbling to the floor. Harold lurched forward, meaning to throw himself after his brother, but one of his legs tangled in a sheet, and he fell, hitting the floor with a heavy thud and cry of pain.

    Tostig rolled to his knees, gripping the dagger, and exchanging a quick glance with Swanne who was stepping forth, her hands held out in entreaty— finish him! For the gods' sakes, finish him!—but just then Tostig heard the distant footfalls of the guards rushing up the stairs and, with a bitter curse, he

    O

    sheathed the dagger in his belt, stumbled to his feet, and disappeared out the door.

    WHEN CAELA ARRIVED WITH JUDITH, THE BOWERTHEGN, and what seemed like an entire company of guards from Edward's palace, it was to find Harold sitting on his bed, one of his guards by his side holding a thick wad of bedding to Harold's chest and belly to staunch the bleeding, and Swanne standing by the window, staring out, her face closed, her arms folded.

    "Harold!" Caela said and ran to him, pushing away the guard's hand so that she could examine her brother's wound. "Harold? Are you well? Oh, gods, I dreamed of treachery—" 7 dreamed that Genvissa had set Brutus to your death all over again "—and came as fast as I could."

    "It was Tostig," Harold said, wincing as Caela's probing fingers bit a little too deeply.

    Caela went very still. "Tostig?" she whispered. "Oh gods… Tostig…"

    "Tostig was ever the fool," Swanne said in a toneless voice. She still kept her back to them as she stood by the window.

    Harold looked his wife's way, and the black hate in his eyes was enough to make Caela recoil.

    "Swanne?" she whispered. "Again?"

    Swanne turned about. "Me? Nay, Caela. I was surprised as any by Tostig's attack."

    "She stood back," Harold said. "She laughed, refusing to aid me."

    "I was afraid for my own life!" Swanne cried, her face now a mask of fright. "I thought he would take his blade to me the instant he had done with you!"

    Harold was about to say more, but just then Saeweald pushed his way past the guards standing about, and the movement was enough to make the bowerthegn spring into action.

    "What are you standing about for!" he cried, his face purpling. "Seek out the assassin! Now!"

    Within three heartbeats, the chamber had almost emptied again as the bowerthegn hurried the guards out the door, leaving for the moment only Harold, Swanne, Judith, and Caela.

    "Let me see," said Saeweald as he sat on Harold's other side. He pushed away Caela's hands, pulled back the wad of bedding that was being used to staunch the bleeding and, with fingers considerably less gentle than Caela's had been, pulled back the flap of skin on the cut that ran across Harold's belly, and then probed the puncture wound in his chest.

    Harold cursed, pulling away, but Saeweald would not leave him be until he'd finished his examination.

    ^wo

    He grunted finally, allowing Caela to wipe away the blood, and sat back. "You're lucky," Saeweald said. "The chest wound did not go deep enough to reach either your heart or your lungs. It will be sore enough for a few days, but it will leave you with hardly a scar. The belly wound I will need to stitch, but only because of its length, it is even less deep than that wound in your chest." Swanne laughed, harsh and bitter, making everyone jerk their heads toward her. "Well now," she said, "what a scene this is. Is it only someone with my sense of humor who could possibly enjoy it? Ah, I see no need to pretend, not with who we have here in this chamber."

    She sauntered forward. "Lucky, lucky Caela," she said, very low, her eyes vicious, "isn't this just what you always wanted? Sitting on a bed next to your naked lover—only this time he has survived the assassin's knife. Tell me, should we leave you in peace so you and your lover can consummate your love… I'm sure those wounds won't stop him."

    Caela's face hardened as she opened her mouth to speak, but Harold forestalled her. He pushed aside Saeweald's hands, strode over to his wife, and

    grabbed her arm with a tight hand.

    "Get you gone from here, you snake-tongued bitch," he said and, despite her protests, pushed her through the door and slammed it shut after her. Then Harold turned about, his face more determined now than angry, walked over to where Caela sat, leaned down, and kissed her hard on the mouth.

    "I am no longer ashamed of what I feel for you," he said, standing upright again. "On the night that my brother tried to murder me, and my wife begged him to succeed, I have no reluctance in admitting before all present," his eyes swept over Saeweald and Judith, "that I love you more than any other woman,

    more than life itself."

    Caela rose slowly, her eyes riveted on Harold's. "Harold…" She sighed, closed her eyes briefly, then leaned forward and kissed him very softly on the mouth. "We cannot. We each have different paths to travel. If we were to act on this love, it would destroy this realm. What we feel for each other would be used against us, and this land and its people would be the ones to suffer. We cannot, and I, for one, am most sorry for it."

    She turned away, and, her head bowed, left the chamber.

    G6JM

    Caela Speaks

    AROLD CAME TO SEE ME THE DAY AFTER TOSTIG'S

    vile treachery. It was in the late afternoon, and many among the

    court, my husband included, had gone to vespers services within

    the abbey church. Edward had only shrugged when told of the drama within

    Harold's bedchamber the previous night, and commented: "I'd thought Tostig

    was a better marksman than that."

    I was seated before the fire in the Lesser Hall that Edward and I used for our smaller courts when Harold arrived. He nodded away Judith and the two other ladies who were seated with me as I rose to greet him.

    Under normal circumstances I would have kissed him on the mouth—that was normal greeting between close relatives—but "normal circumstance" between us had been shattered the previous night. I took his hands between mine, and pressed them, then let them go and silently cursed the awkwardness between us.

    "Harold… are you well? Your wounds?"

    "They sting a little," he said, and I could see that in the stiffness of his movement as he lowered himself into the chair, "but they shall be no more trouble. Saeweald has done well."

    "And Tostig has done badly," I said. "Oh, Harold, I cannot believe that our brother—"

    "Leave Tostig for the moment," he said. "Caela, what happened last night, what I said—"

    "What you said was truth, and best spoken," I said. "Do I feel this pull between us? Yes, of course I do. But we cannot act on it, Harold. We cannot. We are each more than just a man and a woman unhappily yearning each for the other. What each of us does affects an entire realm and its people. We cannot."

    I cannot kill you again through my ill-considered passions, Coel. Please understand that. Please.

    IO

    His mouth twisted wryly. "You state your case as clearly as you did last night. I am sorry that I have so discomforted you."

    "You comfort me through all my life, Harold," I said as softly and lovingly

    as I could.

    He looked away, overcome, I think, with emotion, and for long moments

    we were silent.

    Finally, unable to bear it any longer, I said, "Tostig?" He sighed. "Last night's debacle was my own fault. You remember that when we sat in court in the evening, I mentioned that I'd heard that Hardrada had agents within Westminster, and I had the means to shortly discover them, and their purpose?" I nodded.

    His mouth twisted wryly. "Even then I suspected Tostig. I had thought to goad him into action… but I had no idea how deadly that action might be." I closed my eyes momentarily, unable to bear the thought that Tostig might have succeeded. "Have you found him?"

    "No. He slipped away." Aided, no doubt, by Swanne's witchcraft, I thought. How she must have

    enjoyed last night.

    He reached a hand out and took one of mine. I tensed, but then relaxed. A hand was not much. "You aided me," he said. "I am not sure how, but I know it was you. My men said they were roused by the sound of your voice screaming in their heads, screaming that an assassin was upon me."

    I said nothing, but my eyes filled with tears. All I could think of was how Brutus had torn him from me, and ripped out his throat. To have that happen

    again…

    "Ah," he said, very softly, "you do not deny it. Then I do owe you my life."

    "You are very beloved to me, Harold," I whispered.

    He smiled, and it contained no demands, nor hurt. Nothing but love.

    "Swanne?" I said, wanting to distract both him and myself.

    "Ah, Swanne. After Saeweald attended me last night I returned with him to his own chamber, mostly to avoid my damnable wife, as to avoid the stink of murder in my bedchamber, but also partly as a precaution should Tostig have decided to try again. I have not seen her this morning, nor shall I seek

    her out."

    "Be wary of her."

    "You do not need to warn me of that! God, Caela, she stood there and

    laughed as Tostig tried to murder me."

    "She can do far worse, Harold. Please…"

    "I will be wary of her, my love. Now, to the reason I came to you this morning, apart from my desire to lay my eyes on your beautiful face yet again,

    and to thank you for saving my life. Caela, I need your aid further to what you have already done for me."

    "You have it."

    "You may not be so willing to offer it when you hear what I need from you."

    "You will always have my aid, Harold. Whatever you plan."

    "I have put it about that in four days' time I intend to return to my home estates in Wessex. My stewards have some problems that I need to attend. Besides, I need the peace to recover from Tostig's brutal attack."

    I inclined my head. Nothing thus far seemed very difficult.

    He held my eyes steady. "But Wessex is not my true destination, sister."

    I raised an eyebrow.

    "I go to see William of Normandy."

    "Harold!"

    "Shush! Keep your voice down! No one must know of this, Caela! I need you to help maintain the ruse that I am in Wessex."

    "Why? Why?" My heart was pounding in my breast, and my emotions were so tangled that I could not sort them out. Oh, gods, William was his murderer in his previous life… why go to see him now? "Why, Harold?"

    "I need to know William's intentions. I need to know his ambitions. Caela, the crows are gathering for Edward's death. I need to know who my rivals for the throne shall be. After last night, I can now be certain that Tostig will be against me, and will probably ally with Hardrada—only the gods know what Hardrada has promised Tostig in return. But William is an unknown. He could be either my rival or my ally. What does he plan?"

    Ah, mercies, I knew exactly what he planned, but how could I tell Harold this without shaking him to the very core of his being with the tale of his previous life? Harold needed strength and equanimity to survive what faced him. Saeweald and Ecub were surely right when they argued that he did not need to be distracted or perhaps even tipped into uncertainty by what had happened to Coel. I believed that Harold had a better chance against William without the burdens of both their previous lives.

    "I need him to know, if he does not know it already," Harold said, "that England shall stand united behind me. Perhaps if he knows that, then he will ally with me, continue the partnership he had with Edward. He may not be such a willing rival if he knows how England will stand behind me."

    Ha! I thought, but again felt that it would be better that Harold discovered now where William's ambitions lay than delude himself with the hope he might be an ally. "The witan will elect you king?" I said.

    "Aye. They have given me their word."

    "And you hope that, in informing William of this, he might retract his

    ambitions? Reconsider his likelihood of success? Consider instead an alliance

    before a challenge?"

    "He already has Normandy safe in hand. Why lust for England as well

    when it might well kill him?"

    Oh, what could I say? That William-once-Brutus would have no compunction in slaughtering the entire witan, in razing the entire land, if he thought it would clear his way to London, to Swanne, and to his Trojan kingship bands?

    And yet what harm could Harold's trip do?

    Particularly if I armed Harold as best I could for his venture.

    Besides, this he did need to know.

    "Harold," I said, laying a hand on his knee. "I have some deeply privy information for you that has only just come to my ears."

    Had just come to my own understanding, more like, but there was no means by which I could explain this to Harold.

    "Yes?" he said.

    "It will be useful for you at William's court," I continued. "A weapon."

    "Yes?"

    "William has an agent, a spy, within Edward's court."

    He gave a harsh bark of laughter. "I am not startled to hear of it. There are agents everywhere, I think."

    "It is Swanne."

    Nothing I could have said would have shocked Harold more. Well, perhaps one or two revelations may have shocked him more, but this one certainly had no small effect.

    He stared, white-faced. "Swanne?"

    I nodded.

    "Why? Why?"

    What could I say but the truth? "She lusts for him, and she lusts to sit as

    queen beside him."

    Harold cursed. "Then no wonder she stood by and laughed as Tostig tried to murder me. Ah, I have misjudged both her and Tostig. I knew she disliked me, but to betray me to William? I had not thought she would go that far."

    What could I say? That Swanne wanted William, not for the title as queen, but because he was her Kingman, and with him she could achieve a greater immortality than she ever could as wife to Harold?

    Harold was a hindrance to the Mistress of the Labyrinth. William was a

    much-loved necessity.

    "There can be no doubt that I will set her aside after her behavior last night, as well knowing her betrayal of me to William," Harold added, his face now rigid with anger. "By Christ himself, Caela, does Swanne not know that William is already wed, and securely so by all accounts?"

    A wife has never stood in her path before, I thought, and she will not allow one to do so now.

    "Be careful," I said, meaning so much with those two simple words.

    "Aye," Harold said, smiling in what I suppose he hoped would be a reassuring manner. He rose. "You will put it about that I am in Wessex, and perhaps send communications to me there, so that all may think I truly am within my estates?"

    "Aye, of course. Harold…" I took his hand as he was about to step away. "Will you do something for me?"

    "Anything."

    "Will you talk to Matilda, William's wife, and discover what kind of woman she is? I have heard so many rumors of her, and I would like to hear a report from eyes I can trust."

    I was curious. Feverishly so. Matilda might make all the difference if she was indeed as strong as rumor had it. William had been married to her for some fifteen years. They had many children together.

    "Harold," I continued, "will you tell me if… if she is someone William respects?"

    I could see he was agog with curiosity as to my motives, but he merely nodded. "Of course."

    And will you tell me of William? I wanted to ask, but did not.

    Oh, merciful heavens, how I wanted to be there when Coel-who-was and Brutus-who-was met again for the first time in two thousand years.

    I hoped that William had learned enough that he would not instantly slide a sword through Harold's throat.

    ebspceR ecevejsi

    /%/%/* HEN HAROLD HAD BEEN GONE THREE DAYS,

    ostensibly to visit his estates in Wessex, and the court quieter-''' ened in its traditional lull between harvest celebrations and Christmastide festivities, Caela lay asleep beside her husband the king in the

    quiet, dark night.

    The night was very still and, now that autumn had taken firm grip on the land, very cold, readying itself for a heavy frost at dawn. Nothing moved, not so much as a night owl, not even a breath of air.

    King Edward's and Queen Caela's bedchamber lay as still and cold as the rest of Edward's kingdom, as heavy and unyielding as the wall Edward had built between himself and the woman who lay at his side. It was a large chamber, its floorboards covered in part with thick rugs, its timber-planked walls hung with woolen tapestries and drapes. A great bed occupied the central portion of the chamber, its embroidered drapes pulled partway about the great mattress where lay the king and queen, their motionless forms huddled far

    apart.

    The king's bowerthegn occupied a trestle bed closer to the door. Beside the bed, lying unscabbarded on the floorboards, lay a sword so that the bowerthegn could set his hand to it the instant danger threatened.

    Unusually, the bowerthegn appeared to have forgotten to shutter the windows before he retired and now faint moonlight, occasionally shadowed by thin clouds that scudded across the night sky, spilled through the chamber.

    The sleepers did not move, save in the gentle breath of sleep.

    The moonlight intensified, almost as if the moon had suddenly waxed to its full girth within the space of a breath.

    A stray cloud scudded briefly across its face and, when it moved on, the strange, intense moonlight flooded the chamber once more.

    The chamber was not as it had been before the cloud had so briefly

    obscured the moon.

    Now, in that expanse of bare floorboards between the great bed and that of the bowerthegn by the door, there appeared a trapdoor. As yet it was little more

    than a faint outlining of lines within the boards but, as the moonlight grew ever stronger and the breathing of the sleepers ever heavier, the lines thickened and deepened until the trapdoor became a new reality within the chamber.

    Everyone slept on.

    The trapdoor quivered, then rose, achingly slowly, utterly silently.

    An arm lifted with the door, its hand gripping the bolt that raised the door. It was a very long arm, browned, and roped with muscle. There was a moment of stillness, as if whatever awaited beneath the trapdoor hesitated, to ensure all was well, then, satisfied that all was as it should be, a Sidlesaghe rose entirely from the trapdoor, laying it open silently against the floor.

    Again the Sidlesaghe hesitated, looking first at the bowerthegn, then at the sleeping king whose lips rattled wetly as a small snore escaped his throat. Finally, content that all was at it should be, the Sidlesaghe walked to Caela's side of the bed, folded his hands before him, and waited.

    A moment later Caela's eyes opened. She saw the Sidlesaghe, and then, without comment, turned back the bedclothes as he held out a hand for her.

    Once she had risen, the Sidlesaghe handed her a cloak that had mysteriously appeared in one of his hands, then he nodded at the trapdoor.

    She stared at it, clearly puzzled, for directly beneath this bedchamber lay the dais of the Great Hall. She looked at the Sidlesaghe, raising her eyebrows.

    He merely nodded once more at the blackness revealed in the mouth of the trapdoor.

    Caela gave a slight shrug, then walked to the trapdoor and descended through it into the unknown. The Sidlesaghe stepped down after her, and in the next moment the trapdoor had closed, and there was nothing in the chamber save for the smooth floor and the heavy shadows of the beds, coffers and the two sleepers. There was no Great Hall beneath the trapdoor, nor even the foundations of the Hall, nor even the worm-infested earth that lay beneath. Instead, the Sidlesaghe led Caela into the softly shadowed, barely discernible track of a vast forest. About her reared massive trees—trees such as the land had last seen many millennia ago—tangled with vines and sweetly scented flowers.

    Was this the forest and the land of her youth? Of Mag's youth?

    Caela tipped back her head and visibly stretched, almost catlike, and drew in a deep breath. "This is so wondrous!" she said.

    "Aye," said the Sidlesaghe, coming to stand beside her. "Do you recognize it?"

    She frowned, only slightly, just enough to crinkle the skin between her brows. "This is the land, as once it was. Yes?"

    He shook his head. "Not entirely correct. The land is not as once it was." She shivered, and pulled the cloak a little more tightly about her shoulders,

    as if she had suddenly felt more acutely the fact of her nakedness beneath it. "Ah," she said. "We are in the Game."

    "Aye. This is where Brutus and Silvius played the Game. This is where

    Brutus murdered his father."

    "Why are we here?"

    "To learn," said the Sidlesaghe. "To remember."

    She turned from her regard of the forest and studied the Sidlesaghe. "Long Tom," she said, "when you threw me into the waters, and I came to understand myself as I truly am, I saw many things. I saw my lover, Og, running through the forest," her eyes flickered about the great trees dwarfing them both, "wearing the golden bands that once graced the Kingmen of Troy." Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. "That once graced my husband's limbs."

    "What did you learn from that vision, Caela? What did it tell you?"

    "It told me where the Game is going, Long Tom. It told me where the land is going, and where I must, too, tread."

    "Aye."

    "How?" she said. "How did the Game and this land become as one? Can

    you show me?"

    In answer the Sidlesaghe inclined his head, nodding to the path that had opened up through the trees before them. "Will you walk with me?"

    She nodded and, taking his hand, they walked through the forest track. As they want, the Sidlesaghe continued to speak. "The Game has grown, as you know. When you were Cornelia, and you witnessed Brutus and Genvissa dance the Dance of the Torches, what was the Troy Game then?"

    "A labyrinth, atop Og's Hill. A thing made of stone and gravel."

    "Aye. And then when you had murdered Genvissa, and halted the Game before its completion, what became of the Game and its stone and gravel

    labyrinth?"

    Caela licked her lips, remembering. "Brutus buried it," she said. "He caused it to sink into the hill, and atop it he built a temple." She laughed, short and hard. "Which he dedicated to Artemis."

    "And his kingship bands? What did he do with those?" Caela stopped, and faced the Sidlesaghe. "I don't know. I can't even feel them. They merely vanished. When Brutus pulled me from my three-year confinement—and that was the first time I had set eyes on him since that day I'd murdered Genvissa—he was not wearing them and, to be frank, I was so much in fear of my life at that point, so much in fear of him, that I did not ask what had become of them. Not ever.

    "Silvius asked me about those bands a few nights ago," she said, her mouth quirking in either memory or humor. "Everyone wants to know about them."

    "They are vital," said the Sidlesaghe. "We dream of them as well. But first,

    I will show you what happened to this land and to the Game in the two thousand years that have passed, and then we will need to talk about the bands."

    "You know where they are, don't you?" she said, searching his face with her eyes.

    The Sidlesaghe smiled. "Of course! Did Brutus not bury them within this land? They have been itching at us for centuries."

    She laughed, delighted at the humor that lurked behind the Sidlesaghe's otherwise bleak face, and allowed him to lead her farther down the track.

    "The Troy Game that Brutus made has grown," the Sidlesaghe said once more. "Now that you understand who you are, and are beginning to understand the extent of yourself, perhaps you can tell me exactly where we are within the Game."

    Caela chewed her lower lip, her eyes on the ground, thinking, feeling the ground beneath her feet.

    "We are within the Game, yes," she said eventually, her eyes still on the ground, "but we are walking within that part of the Game that twists under the northern shore of the River Thames. We were walking north, but are now moving more eastward." She paused. "We are walking toward the heart of the labyrinth. Toward St. Paul's within London, atop what was once Og's Hill. Gods, Long Tom, how far does the Game extend?"

    "As far south as Westminster, and a little under the river on the opposite bank to Westminster where once stood Llanbank, and where now stands the village of Lambeth. Eastward the Game now encompasses all that stands within the walls of London. To the northwest the Game stretches toward…"

    "Toward the Llandin," Caela said. "What the people now call the Meeting Hill."

    "Aye, and north—"

    "North to Pen Hill. The Game has grown to encompass all of the Veiled Hills. Blessed Lady," the Sidlesaghe stopped, and as he faced Caela he dropped the hand he held and put both of his on her shoulders, "the Game wants to grow even further. It needs to, if it is to overcome what lays ahead. You need to help it do that."

    She drew in a deep breath, nodding. "I still need to know—"

    "How it grew? Yes, be patient now. We are almost there."

    They resumed walking again, and soon the sense of a close forest fell back. Light—not sunlight and yet not quite moonlight either—filled the spaces between the trees, and the borders to either side of the path broadened.

    Caela visibly tensed, as if she knew what they walked toward.

    Then suddenly they were there.

    An emerald green glade, encircled by trees. In the center of the glade lay a roughly circular pond, its waters still.

    On the far side of the pond, perhaps some six or seven paces from the water's edge, and halfway between the edge of the forest and the pond, lay the form of a white stag with blood-red antlers.

    His heart, half torn from his body, lay on the creamy pelt of his chest. Caela groaned, and made as if to step forward about the pond, but the Sidlesaghe seized her arm.

    "No! Touch him and you kill him!"

    She twisted about, partly trying to tear herself free from his grasp, partly in an agony of emotion. "Why? Why can not I go to him? Why?"

    "Because you are not yet strong enough to heal him, or to help him in any manner. All you will do is push him toward the final precipice. One day you will be able to aid him, and midwive him through his rebirth, but you are not strong enough to do it now!"

    Caela sobbed, her knees slowly bending until she sank to the ground, and

    the Sidlesaghe let her go.

    "Can I not just touch him?" Caela said through her tears. "Just lay a hand

    to his face, and kiss him?"

    "No," the Sidlesaghe said, then laid his own hand on the crown of her head. "He knows you are here. It is enough for him for the moment. It is enough that he knows you are reborn, and are growing stronger."

    Caela lowered her face into her hands and cried disconsolately, rocking back and forth. The Sidlesaghe, his own gray-brown eyes filled with tears, kept his hand on her head, letting her cry out her sorrow.

    "I want to touch him," Caela said once more, but the Sidlesaghe did not respond. He knew she said it, not to him, but to the Stag God himself, and he knew that she said it as a comfort, both to Og and to herself.

    Eventually Caela composed herself, wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks with the backs of her hands, and rose again. "Thank you," she said simply, and the Sidlesaghe nodded. "We need to go to the pool," he said.

    Again they walked forward until they stood at the edge of the pool. Before Caela looked down to the waters, she glanced upward, then gasped, truly

    shocked.

    Instead of a sky, or the arching and intertwining branches of the trees, a

    great golden dome soared above them.

    "We are in the stone hall!" Caela cried.

    "We are deep under it," the Sidlesaghe said. "Deep under St. Paul's." He paused. "Deep in the heart of the labyrinth." He looked across the pond again, toward Og, and now Caela saw that Og lay not alone, but that a man sat with him, cradling the wretched stag's head in his lap.

    Silvius.

    "And there lies the evil the labyrinth attracts," the Sidlesaghe said, his voice hard, merciless, nodding at Silvius.

    "I know," Caela whispered. "Poor Silvius."

    Silvius looked up as if he had heard her, and he stretched out a hand. His face held both a frightful yearning, as well a terrified aspect, and it unsettled Caela, for Silvius had seemed so confident, so calm, on the two occasions she had met with him. He opened his mouth, and it moved, but no words came out, and his eyes filled with tears, and before Caela's appalled gaze Silvius began to cry.

    Caela started forward, but again the Sidlesaghe held her back. "Ignore him," he said. "He is not why we are here now."

    She gave Silvius a half-sad, half-reassuring smile, hoping he knew why she could not approach him at the moment. He held her gaze, than lowered his face, looking away from her and back to the stag.

    Caela watched him for a further long moment, wishing she could speak with Silvius, and comfort him of whatever had troubled him. Eventually she sighed, and looked again at the water. "The waters will show me what happened to the Game?"

    "Aye," said the Sidlesaghe. "Of all people, you should know how to read them."

    In answer she walked forward a step or two until the water touched her bare toes.

    For long minutes Caela did nothing but stare at the water.

    Then, she sighed, only very slightly, but the entire surface of the pond rippled as if disturbed by a heavy wind, and when it settled again, the waters showed Caela what she wanted to know.

    Brutus, standing and screaming with grief and rage in the center of the labyrinth atop Og's Hill under a sky laden with roiling black clouds.

    Genvissa's body at his feet, her cold pregnant belly mounding toward the sky.

    Time, passing.

    Brutus, again standing atop Og's Hill, again under the laden black sky, but now Genvissa's corpse lay atop a great burning pyre.

    Time, passing.

    Brutus, burying Genvissa's ashes at the entrance to the labyrinth.

    Then Brutus doing… doing something, but his actions were cloaked with the grayness of enchantment, and Caela could not discern his actions.

    "He is hiding the Trojan kingship bands," she murmured, and behind her the Sidlesaghe nodded.

    Time, passing. Much time passing. Many years.

    Now a great temple stood atop Og's Hill, hiding the labyrinth beneath its

    G

    stone flooring, but somehow the waters of the pond showed Caela what was happening beneath the temple floor.