"Aye!" She threw back the hood of her cloak, then undid the laces about her throat and discarded the heavy garment entirely

    Beneath, Swanne wore a simple white linen robe, a low scooped neckline revealing the first swell of her breasts, her narrow waist spanned by a belt of plain leather, the heavy skirt left to drape in folds to her feet.

    The simplicity of the robe, its starkness, set off her beauty as nothing else could have done. William felt the breath catch in his throat. Even though she was a little too thin, as if she had been ill recently, Swanne was still as desirable as she had ever been.

    And yet there was something about her, something apart from her thinness. Something… harsh.

    "William!" she said, shaking her head so that her heavy, black curls shook free from their bindings. "William!"

    She held out her arms, her eyes shining, her red mouth slightly parted, the tip of her tongue glistening between the white tips of her teeth. "William!"

    "Swanne," he said, feeling ridiculous, as if he'd been caught in a child's play. Gods! Could he do nothing but stand here and mutter her name? Is this not what he had waited for, lusted for, so many years?

    Then, in a moment of a stunning—almost horrifying—revelation, William knew that she was not. Swanne was not what he sought at all. She was merely his unavoidable companion.

    Was this what Theseus felt when he abandoned Ariadne on Naxos? Did he feel as I do now when I look on a woman I once thought to love, and think, "Murderess?"

    As cold as ice, William stepped forward, took one of Swanne's outstretched hands, and laid his lips to it in a courtly fashion.

    His eyes never left her face.

    Something shadowy crossed Swanne's countenance, but vanished within an instant.

    "William!" she cried yet one more time as she threw herself against him, pressing her body against the length of his, her arms tight about his waist, her face uplifted to his. "Finally… finally …"

    He gave a small, tight smile, then lowered his face to hers, and, reluctantly, kissed her.

    Her mouth grabbed at his, her hands tangling within his hair, her body writhing against his flesh.

    William felt as though he were being devoured.

    Worse, her mouth tasted foul, as if it were full of the coppery aftertaste of old blood…

    He pulled back, pushing her away with his hands on her shoulders.

    "William? I have waited for this moment for so long. I have been through so much for this moment! Shared Harold's bed—"

    "Harold is dead."

    "Yes! Praise all gods!" Swanne clasped her hands before her, her face alight with delight. "And you must ensure his children die as well. You cannot have any of his blood lurking in the hills, ready to make a play for your throne."

    William's face froze. "They are your children as well!"

    "Ah," she said, making a deprecatory gesture. "Mere necessities to keep Harold happy. They are of no importance to me. A discomfort, only. I could not wait to rid my body of their weight."

    Swanne leaned froward again, lifting her face to again be kissed, but William turned away. He walked a short distance to a table where lay a scattering of parchments: intelligences and reports.

    He did not touch them.

    "William?" Swanne stepped up behind him, and laid a hand on his back. "What is wrong?"

    "Harold is dead."

    "Yes…?"

    "God damn you, woman!" William swung about to face her. "You shared his bed for over sixteen years! You bore his children! Have you not a care for the fact that this man is dead?"

    "Harold discarded me!" she snarled. "No one discards me!" Then she relaxed, and smiled again. "Have you seen his body, my love?"

    William gave a terse nod.

    "Did you like the arrow? I thought it a nice touch. I thought…"

    Swanne stopped, appalled at the expression on William's face. "He was nothing to us, William! Why look at me as if I were the most loathsome witch on earth?"

    "He was a good man, Swanne. He did not deserve to die. And not in that manner!" William paused, his face working. "And to now beg me to murder his children? Your children. I cannot credit it! Is there nothing within that breast of yours but hatred and ambition? Nothing?"

    "What is wrong with you, William? You and / are the only things that matter. And the Troy Game. Nothing else counts. We are here, we are together,

    and we can complete the Game. Nothing else matters! Why look at me as if I were a vile thing?"

    He turned away again. "I also used to think that nothing mattered but the Game," he said quietly. "I used to think that nothing counted but that you and I would live together, forever, caught in the immortality of the Game."

    Swanne stared at his back, her face a mixture of confusion and frustration. What was the matter with him?

    "Forgive me," William said, his voice now drained of all emotion. "I am tired. I know I am not what you want me to be right now… but… I am tired."

    "Of course." Again she approached him and put a hand on his back, rubbing it gently up and down before she reached for one of his hands, turning him about as she lifted it and put it on one of her breasts. "I understand. Of course I do. Perhaps in the morning… ?" She smiled seductively. "All we need do is lie side by side tonight if you are too tired to…" Again she grinned, and rubbed his hand back and forth over her breast.

    He pulled it away, watching her face cloud in anger. "I am tired, Swanne. I am sick in the stomach from the slaughter that has ensued this day. I want to be alone. I want solitude. I want to grieve for Harold, even if you do not. I am sorry if you thought that I would leap instantly into your arms, but…"

    He stopped, too tired and heartsore to even continue arguing the point. The thought of lying with Swanne—the thought of that blood-sour mouth running over his body, taking him into her flesh—made his very stomach lurch over in nausea. He grimaced, and that told Swanne more than words ever could.

    "What?" she said, her body stiff, her brows arched. "You think to lust after your damned Cornelia again? She's a pale, hopeless wretch who has retreated into a convent, William. I can't see her offering her body for your use!"

    "I am married to a woman whom I respect and honor," William said, holding Swanne's furious stare. "I have no thought to demean Matilda by taking another to my bed."

    "I cannot believe you said that!" Swanne said. "What is a wife when compared to me? First Cornelia, and now this Matilda?"

    "A wife is an honorable thing, Swanne."

    "That is not what you believed when you had Cornelia mewling at your side!"

    "Perhaps I should have thought of it then," he said quietly.

    "I am your—"

    "Matilda will be my queen, Swanne."

    To that, Swanne could make no immediate verbal response. She merely stared at him, her mouth closed grim and tight. Finally, she said, "I am your queen, William. I am your mate, your partner. How have you forgotten that?"

    "We will dance the final enchantment together, Swanne. We will make the Game together. We will—"

    "How can you possibly want another woman before me?"

    Although Swanne was still angry, her voice sounded genuinely bewildered, and William gave up trying to argue with her. He took her in his arms, and pulled her close, and hugged her. "I am tired, Swanne. Forgive me. My mind and mouth are too muddled to make sense."

    "Ah, my sweet…" She lifted a hand to his cheek. "You must pardon me as well. I know you must be exhausted, and we have eternity before us to consummate our love. Our power. Kiss me one more time, and I will leave you in peace for this night, at least."

    She grinned lasciviously, and William's mouth gave a tired twitch in response. Swanne looked up at him, her body relaxing against his, and William gave a capitulative sigh and leaned down to kiss her.

    After all, what was a kiss?

    He pulled away almost instantly, again appalled at the foulness he'd tasted in her mouth.

    But Swanne did not seem to notice his revulsion. She gave him a smile. "Soon," she said, and left the room, picking up her cloak as she left.

    William stared after her, the fetid taste of death still filling his mouth.

    GUD6CV

    't^ WANNE GAVE WILLIAM A FULL DAY AND NIGHT

    ■Hh before she came to him again. He'd kept himself busy with the X»_,_ aftermath of the battle, with orders and worries, and the sheer and unexpected weight of Harold's death, which he had yet to deal with effectively.

    Harold's death had been a far more bitter blow than William had imagined. He hadn't known Harold well, but what he had known…

    And he had fought to save him. Damn it! He had fought so hardl The fact that it hadn't been a Norman arrow that had felled Harold gave William no comfort. Instead he felt even more responsible; that it was Swanne's hand (again… no matter who wielded the weapon, it was always Swanne who struck with it) made William feel even more guilty than he would have otherwise.

    So when Swanne had herself admitted into his presence on the third day after the battle, William raised his head wearily from the maps he'd been studying and gazed at her with such clear aversion that any other woman would have turned on her heel and walked straight from his presence. "I am weary, Swanne," William said. "What is it you want from me?"

    "How can you ask that, my love? You must be fatigued if you cannot even remember what we have fought toward for so long." She smiled at him. "Come now, give me a kiss, and then we can, perhaps, share our noonday meal and discuss what we should do. Whatever your weariness, William, we must consolidate what we have gained. Asterion can no longer keep us apart, and we must work toward the Game with all the strength we may."

    "You are right." William called to his valet and asked him to bring some small ale and whatever food he could barter from the kitchens, then he waved Swanne toward his own chair, which sat before a brazier, while he took a bench. As the valet set a platter of food before them—fresh bread and the remains of the pigeon pie that William had partaken of the previous night— William gestured to Swanne to eat as he poured some small ale from a jug into beakers.

    "You're looking thin, Swanne. You should eat."

    "I have been mildly unwell, but nothing of any true concern." She smiled, and once more William found himself thinking that it looked more like a grimace than a genuine expression of warmth. "And I have been aching for you. To be with you."

    Her smiled stretched, becoming almost predatory. "I remember how we were interrupted that day in your stables, when Matilda made her ungracious entrance. I think, William, that it is time we consummated our union." She pushed aside the stool on which sat the platter of food and, rising from the chair, unlaced the bodice of her gown so that her breasts swung full and naked before William. "William, do not deny me. We have already begun the partnership of the Game. You cannot now turn your back on me, or on the Game. Once started, it can't not be finished. We have obligations we both need to fulfill, and the sexual union of both Mistress and Kingman is the mightiest of them."

    He sat very still on his bench, only his eyes moving as first they ran over her breasts then moved back to her face. "Swanne…"

    She knelt before him, and lifted his hands to her breasts. "This does not arouse you?" she said.

    Now William shifted, uncomfortable. In truth, it did arouse him, the memory of her foul-tasting mouth notwithstanding. It had been many weeks since he had slept with Matilda, and now, to have these warm, soft breasts filling his hands…

    "William," Swanne whispered, running her hands up his thighs, kneading and rubbing, until they reached his groin. "William…"

    He slid down from the bench, thinking, Just this once… just this once… then she will be satisfied and she will leave me alone… just this once… it will surely do no harm…

    "William!" Swanne said, more powerfully this time, and she also slid so that she lay on the floor, and she pulled William down atop her. His mouth ran along her shoulder, her neck, her jaw, not touching her mouth, and his hands kneaded at her breasts.

    Smiling in triumph, Swanne hauled her skirts over her hips, then began to fumble with the fastenings at William's crotch. "Thank God," she said, "that your petty wife is not about to interrupt us this time!"

    "And I say, 'Thank God she is!'" came a voice, and William rolled off Swanne so fast that he knocked over the stool carrying the platter. Food scattered everywhere as he fumbled with his clothing while trying to rise at the same time.

    Matilda walked into the room, very calm, very dignified, very in control of herself.

    "Husband," she said, nodding to him in greeting as if she'd disturbed him at nothing more than his morning shave. Matilda continued into the chamber until she was close to Swanne and then, very tightly, also nodded at her.

    Swanne had made no attempt to cover herself. She had propped herself up on her elbows so that she could see the better, but her breasts still hung bare from the front of her under tunic, and her naked body was exposed, from her hips downward.

    "And thus you expected to be queen beside my husband?" Matilda said, letting both incredulity and disgust fill her voice.

    The barb struck home, for Swanne flushed, while with one hand she jerked her skirts down and with the other pulled her bodice over her breasts. She looked to William to aid her rise, but he had stepped several paces away and now stood slightly to Matilda's left.

    Unwittingly—or not, as the case may have been—William had placed himself so that he and Matilda stood together, confronting Swanne.

    Swanne managed to rise to her feet with as much dignity as she was capable. Her flush had deepened, clearly now through anger rather than through humiliation, and her eyes flashed. She opened her mouth, but Matilda forestalled her before she could speak.

    "You are the lady Swanne, I think. Yes? Ah, William, look at that red mouth, and those sharp teeth." Matilda's voice hardened. "Lady Snake, more like. Swanne is too gracious a name for you, my dear."

    "Matilda," said William. "What are you doing here? Are you well?" He kissed her quickly on her mouth, recovering far more quickly from his initial fluster than Swanne liked.

    "I had a bad dream," Matilda said, her voice now rich with love. She laid a hand on his cheek. "A terrible dream, and so I acted on it." Her eyes slid back to Swanne, and her tone and features became glacial. "Just in time, I see."

    Swanne's mouth opened and then closed as she fought to find something to say. As William and Matilda continued to watch her with impassive faces, Swanne finally managed to summon enough dignity to give Matilda a sharp nod, and William an even sharper look, before she stalked for the door.

    As it closed behind her, William's shoulders visibly relaxed. He took his wife's face in his gentle hands. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you."

    She smiled, her eyes full of love and relief.

    "WHY NOT?" CRIED ASTERION, STALKING BACK AND

    forth before Swanne as they stood in an unnoted corner of William's camp. "Why not?"

    "I had him," she ground out, still so angry that her flesh almost vibrated.

    OO

    "He was mine… and then that damned wife intervened! Gods help me, I will have her torn apart limb by limb!"

    "You failed me," Asterion said, and there was enough coldness in his voice to make Swanne look at him in panic.

    "I will have him, I will! He cannot resist me for long. Besides, she is pregnant, and so soon will be too unwieldy to take any man atop her."

    "I need William dead, Swanne."

    "I know! I know! I promise you, my love. He will be!"

    "Before we get to London! I do not need William breathing over my shoulder when I retrieve those bands!"

    She leaned against him, placing her hands against his chest. "I will let nothing come between us, Asterion. Believe me. William will be mine before we arrive in London."

    He nodded. "Make sure of it." Damn her! William should be dead by now! For a moment Asterion contemplated the possibility that Swanne might not be able to seduce William. If that were the case, could he use… ?

    No, they were imps of different natures. Swanne carried the deadly imp within her. The destroyer.

    She was the only one who could murder William safely.

    "Make sure of it," Asterion said again to Swanne, and there was enough threat in his voice to make her blanch.

    Caela Speaks

    SAT WITHIN ST. MARGARET THE MARTYR'S FOR THE

    six weeks it took William to reach London, and felt every pace he

    / and his army took as England disintegrated before its conqueror.

    From Hastings, William marched on Canterbury, then farther east on the

    road to London, fighting skirmishes here and there, but facing no real

    opposition.

    The might of England's earls and nobles had died on the field at Hastings. Not merely Harold, although for my heart he was the most of it, but his brothers, his uncles, Alditha's brothers, everyone who might have had a faint hope of uniting the remnants of England's pride against William—all had died on the bloodied field at Hastings.

    London, as most of England, was terrified. What would William do? Would he burn and rape and pillage? Would he set England afire? Would he destroy lives?

    If I had been able, I would have answered them "Nay." William would want nothing but those bands. He might strike down any who stood in his way, but if his way to London remained open, then England would remain safe.

    If I did not fear for England, then I remained taut with worry about William himself. I knew Swanne had gone to Hastings—and where Swanne walked then so must Asterion walk close by—and I knew that Swanne and Asterion meant to trap William.

    But had she—had they—managed it?

    I didn't know. I didn't think so. I was sure I would feel it if she had, feel her triumph if nothing else, but I would also feel it through the land. I could still feel that dark stain on the land, and that made me realize that Swanne was still alive, but the darkness had not spread, and that gave me hope— William had probably not yet been infected with Swanne's foulness. What

    O

    gave me more hope was the news of Matilda's unexpected arrival in England. If William had Matilda by his side, would he then still succumb to Swanne? I did not think so, but there had been some days between Hastings and Matilda's arrival, and what could have happened in those days was almost too frightful to contemplate. Yet for all my concern I could do nothing until I laid eyes on William, and spoke to him, and felt his warmth close to me. Until then I would not know for certain.

    The Sidlesaghes worried also. I often saw them, slowly circling atop Pen Hill, and sometimes on the more distant Llandin. Long Tom, or one of the others, would also come to see me from time to time, and sit with me for a while, silent, holding my hand in his.

    I tried to hope that William would have enough sense to recognize the dark change in Swanne… but then, he'd not let her darkness scare him away when she had been Genvissa, had he? Then he'd willingly allowed himself to be enveloped by it.

    So why not this time? William was not to know that in this life her darkness had a more frightening edge to it, a fatal entrapment, so why would he view her any differently? Why shouldn't William already be seduced into Asterion's trap?

    Because Harold had trusted him. Because Harold had thought him a changed man—and changed for the better.

    I had to trust Harold. I had to…

    I had to believe in what he had felt from William.

    I had to trust William.

    I had to believe that he had grown.

    ONE GRAY, COLD MORNING IN EARLY NOVEMBER,

    Mother Ecub came to me and said that four members of Harold's witan waited within the convent's chapel to speak with me.

    "They say," said Ecub, "that since Alditha has fled to the north—" Alditha was heavy now with her unborn twin sons, and I cannot blame her for trying to put as much space between her husband's nemesis and her husband's unborn children "—that you are the voice of the nation. You are Edward's beloved widow," her own mouth quirked at that, mirroring the action of my own, "and they wish to hear your advice."

    I rose, smoothing down the folds of my robe and reaching for the cloak Ecub held out for me. "How satisfying," I said. "Gods' Concubine has finally achieved some purpose."

    Ecub grinned. "If only they knew the true extent of that purpose."

    "Who is among them?" I said.

    ©

    "Regenbald," Ecub said, and I nodded. The Chancellor had been at the forefront of both Edward's and Harold's witans. Of course he would be here.

    "And Robert Fitzwimarch," Ecub continued, ushering me toward the door, "Ralph Aelfstan, and the archbishop of York."

    I froze.

    "Aldred," Ecub finished, watching me carefully, knowing the fear that name would cause me.

    "Aldred?" I whispered.

    "He was a member of the witan as well, Eaving. He is doubtlessly here in that capacity, not as… as…"

    "Asterion," I whispered. I closed my eyes, and collected myself. I should not fear. Aldred would not recognize me for what I truly was. I had not shown myself to him as Eaving as yet—nor to any, save Harold, Ecub, and the Sidlesaghes—and whatever tiny "difference," if any, he picked up, he would undoubtedly put down to Caela's much-lauded acceptance of God and religion since her time in St. Margaret the Martyr's.

    I was more powerful now. I could hide myself and my true nature from him. I could. Besides, he thought he'd murdered Mag in Damson. He would not be looking for her replacement within me.

    I merely had to be Caela.

    Ecub squeezed my hand in comfort. "I will be waiting outside the chapel," she said. "With an axe."

    I burst out laughing. "And I had thought to escape attention!"

    And thus, smiling, we proceeded to the chapel.

    "MY LORDS?" I SAID SOFTLY, ENTERING THE CHAPEL

    with my shoulders bowed in Caela's habitual thralldom.

    "My lady Queen!" said Regenbald, stepping forward to greet me with great courtliness and respect.

    Oh, that I had received this respect when I'd truly needed it as Edward's down-trodden wife!

    "Disaster brings you to me," I said, nodding to Fitzwimarch, Aelfstan, and Aldred, upon whom I was careful not to allow my eyes to linger.

    "Aye," said Aelfstan bitterly. He was an aged man who had once been a renowned warrior, and I could not imagine but that the events of the past weeks had caused him great pain. No doubt Aelfstan wished he had died honorably in battle, rather than being left among those few who would oversee England's complete humiliation.

    "William marches on London," Aldred said, stepping out of the shadow where he'd been standing. "He is but a half day's march away. Good lady…"

    O

    Aldred was wringing his fat hands over and over themselves, and I could not help but admire the depth of the creature's disguise. Who could have thought this the dreaded Minotaur? "Good lady, we fear greatly!"

    "And… ?" I said, looking between the four men, but wondering within me if Aldred's presence here (Asterion's presence) indicated that he and Swanne had not been as successful with William as they'd hoped. Or was this but another part of his greater plan?

    "Lady Queen," Regenbald said, "we face a stark choice. Lock London against William, and watch it starve into submission over a half year, or capitulate it to him without a fight, and watch him burn it to the ground."

    "Oh, I doubt that William would—" I began, but Fitzwimarch broke in.

    "Lady Queen, we would beg you that you surrender London to William, and in the doing, plead for its life, and the life of its citizens. He would the easier listen to your pleas, we think, than those of men he has good cause to loathe and distrust."

    I thought furiously. This is undoubtedly what three of these emissaries thought, but what of Aldred? Would he truly believe that William would listen to anything that Cornelia-reborn pleaded? Did he hope that William would just push me to one side and burn the city to the ground anyway?

    Was he just here, adding his silent support to this plan, merely because he needed to keep up his disguise as wobbling fool for a while longer?

    The hope that William had thus far resisted Swanne grew stronger, and, I must admit to myself, the thought of finally facing William was something I could not resist.

    Finally. To see him again, to be in his presence, if only briefly.

    "I will do it," I said, and did my best not to allow my anticipation to flood across my face.

    "What a good girl you are," said Aldred, and the anticipation froze within me.

    pociRcee>]

    ILLIAM PACED BACK AND FORTH, BACK AND

    forth, knowing that Matilda was standing and watching him and wondering why he was so nervous.

    But he couldn't stop himself from pacing. Back and forth, back and forth.

    One of his men came into the chamber with some trivial question and William snarled at him.

    The man fled. Matilda raised her eyebrows.

    William made a gesture composed of equal parts frustration and impatience, and forced himself to sink into a chair. He gripped the armrests, for otherwise William thought he might have sprung up almost as soon as he had sat down.

    It had been six weeks since Matilda had arrived, and in those six weeks little seemed to have been accomplished. William had consolidated his hold on the southeastern county of Kent, secured the port of Dover, and had moved on London, but had not managed much else. London was William's prize, he wanted it desperately, but almost as desperately he did not want to destroy it in the taking. London was a fortified city, it could be defended, and it had by all accounts a good militia. The very last thing William wanted was to become enmeshed in a siege that kept him from his kingship bands for months, if not years.

    So William had hedged and threatened and negotiated, moving his army eastward, swinging south below London, then marching west and crossing the Thames at Wallingford. From there William moved his army to the small town of Berkhamsted. Here he had moved himself, Matilda, and his immediate command into a large and comfortable abbey house while his army made do with sleeping more roughly in the frosty meadow fields or, if they were lucky, the outbuildings and barns of local farmers.

    And so at Berkhamsted William waited, until, two days ago, had come news that a delegation was moving west from London to meet him.

    And, perhaps, to surrender.

    Heading the delegation was the dowager queen, Caela.

    O

    They were due this afternoon; they had, in fact, arrived, and William and Matilda only waited for the delegation to be escorted into their presence.

    William, Matilda thought, was far more nervous than he should be, and she wondered why.

    Personally, Matilda was more than looking forward to meeting Caela. She'd heard so many intriguing things about the woman over the past years (although intimate, personal information about the queen had largely ceased to come her way after Damson's terrible loss) that now Matilda could barely restrain herself from hopping from foot to foot.

    Was Caela the reason William was so nervous'? Matilda suddenly wondered. And if so, why?

    At least Caela could not possibly be the threat that Matilda knew Swanne posed. Since her arrival, Swanne had kept her distance; from Matilda, at least, although Matilda had seen Swanne talking to William on two or three occasions when she managed to catch him at some distance from his wife.

    There was a knock at the door, and William of Warenne, one of William's senior commanders, entered.

    "They are here, waiting outside," he said.

    Matilda saw William draw in a deep breath and slowly rise from the chair.

    She also saw him briefly clench and then relax his hands.

    "How many, and who?" William said.

    "The dowager queen," said Warenne. "Harold's Chancellor, Regenbald. Aldred, the archbishop of York. Robert Fitzwimarch. And a small retinue, unarmed."

    William was silent, a little too long, for Warenne glanced at Matilda in concern.

    "Pray send in only the queen," William said eventually. "Entertain the rest with good wine and food and warmth, and tell them that I shall receive them later."

    Warenne nodded, bowed, and left.

    Matilda watched as William drew in yet another deep breath, and again clenched and relaxed his hands.

    Sweet Christ Lord, she thought, what has he to be so nervous about?

    And then the door opened, and Edward's queen and Harold's sister entered, and Matilda took her first step on a journey of mystery that she could never have imagined.

    THE FIRST THING THAT MATILDA NOTICED AS CAELA

    hesitated just inside the door was that the woman, if not stunningly beautiful according to court tastes, was nonetheless one of the most arresting figures

    O

    Matilda had ever laid eyes on. It was not her features so much, although Caela's face and form, and most particularly her stunning deep blue eyes, were most pleasing, but that Caela had a presence about her that was extraordinary. She was lovely in the manner of a still summer's day, and she carried about her a sense of peace and strength that Matilda would have given her right arm to acquire. She wore very simply-cut clothing, and had left her dark hair unveiled and unworked, save for a loosely bound plait that twisted over her left shoulder, but, even so, with her presence Caela could be recognizable as nothing else but a queen.

    The second thing Matilda realized was that Caela was as nervous and as tense as William.

    The third thing that Matilda noticed was that William and Caela could not take their eyes off each other.

    Matilda was put out by this, only in the sense that it was so unexpected. She did not feel any presentiment of jealousy or of disquiet. She was consumed only by a sense of great curiosity and by a desire to understand what lay behind this extraordinary tension between her husband and Caela.

    "My lady queen," Matilda said softly, but with enough strength to make Caela's eyes flicker, then move away from William to his duchess. "I do welcome you to Berkhamsted, although"—Matilda smiled, quite genuinely, and reached out both her hands as she walked over to Caela—"I confess I feel most awkward in welcoming this land's queen into the presence of its invader."

    Caela returned Matilda's smile. "I am but its forgotten queen," she said. "The wife of two kings past. Alditha should truly be here."

    "No," William said, and Matilda was more than a little relieved to hear that his voice was strong. "You are this land's queen, whatever brief claim Alditha might have had to the title. Thus you are here now, not Alditha."

    He had also walked over, and Caela took her hands from Matilda's and held them out for William.

    As William took them, Matilda had the sense that both William and Caela had quite forgotten she was there.

    And again, Matilda's only reaction was one of deep curiosity.

    What went on here?

    "I am sorry about Harold," William said.

    Matilda noticed he had not let go of Caela's hands.

    Caela nodded, and tears sprang to her eyes.

    "It was none of my doing," William said.

    "It was Swanne's doing," said Caela and Matilda as one, and both women looked at each other, smiled, laughed softly, and, in that single moment, became friends and allies.

    "Harold told me so much of you," the two women said together, and their

    O

    laughter deepened, and whatever awkwardness had been in the chamber dissipated, and Caela let William's hands go to lean forward and embrace Matilda.

    "Thank you," Caela murmured for Matilda's ears only, "for coming so quickly to William's side. He is whole, thank all the gods."

    "I would not allow the snake to take him," Matilda muttered, and Caela leaned back, her face sober now, and nodded at Matilda.

    "We should speak later," she said. "You and I.

    "But now," she turned back to William, "my lord of Normandy, I have come before you for two reasons."

    He inclined his head, his black eyes very steady on her face.

    "The first," Caela said, "is to beg for the lives of Harold's children, and that of his wife, Alditha. She is currently with child, and greatly fearful that you intend her harm."

    "I did not wish him dead, Caela. I would have done anything to prevent that."

    "I know," she said softly.

    "I vowed to Harold that Alditha and his children would remain safe, Caela. And so they shall. As shall you. He asked for your life as well. Did you know that?"

    "I do not fear you, William."

    Matilda felt that she should say something, if only to reassert her presence in the chamber. "William has already hammered his orders into the heads of every one of the Normans with us," she said. "They are not to be harmed, and given every assistance possible."

    "Then thank you both," said Caela. "The safety of Harold's family means a great deal to me. The second reason I stand before you is to hand you London." She paused. "It is, after all, yours."

    Matilda frowned at that. What did Caela mean?

    William's mouth twitched in a tiny smile. "Then I will gladly accept London's surrender, madam."

    "Other members of the witan wait outside. Shall you—"

    "No, leave them for now. Perhaps…"

    "Perhaps William and I can remember the more courtly among our manners," Matilda put in smoothly, "and offer you a chance to sit and perhaps have a cup of fine wine. Will you accept?"

    Caela smiled. "Gladly, my lady."

    THEY SAT FOR SOME TIME, SIPPING WINE, CHATTING

    agreeably; every look, every spoken word reinforcing Matilda's growing belief

    that her husband and this queen were only reacquainting themselves rather than establishing an acquaintance.

    William and Caela also focused too much of their discussion on Matilda. What Matilda had expected (before Caela had actually entered their chamber) was that there would be tense verbal parrying as the queen tried to ensure the safety of her people and country, and William tried to ensure every concession possible. Instead, Matilda found herself in the slightly surreal situation of fielding constant questions from both Caela and William as they both tried very desperately not to engage the other one in anything other than banalities about the weather or the state of the rushes on the floor. Caela asked a score of questions about Matilda's children, and about her current pregnancy. William asked Matilda to relate amusing incidents from their life together, and from that time in their youth when they'd had to fight so hard to marry against what felt like all of Europe combined against them.

    It was only during this last topic that there came a very deep and personal interaction between William and Caela.

    As Matilda finished relating the three years of struggling with princely and papal objections, Caela actually looked at William directly.

    "How strange for you," she said, "that you had to spend so much energy and time fighting for the right to occupy your wife's bed. From what I know of you, I should have thought you would only have taken her as you willed, and damned all consequences. I had no idea objections had come to mean so much to you."

    There was a stillness between them as Matilda tried to frantically work out the hidden meaning in what Caela had just said.

    "My sensibilities have changed," William finally said.

    "How fortunate for Matilda," said Caela, and now there was a decided edge to her voice.

    "There have been deeds in my past that I have come to regret," William said. "I wish I had not forced…"

    He stopped suddenly, his eyes sliding his wife's way.

    You! Matilda thought, her face very calm. You! That's what you were about to say.

    "I have learned from my mistakes," he said, and now his voice was as hard as Caela's.

    Caela inclined her head toward Matilda. "Patently, my lord of Normandy."

    "Matilda," William said very slowly, his eyes first on his goblet of wine and then lifting to Caela, "has taught me how greatly I should have treasured…"

    You! Matilda felt like standing and screaming that single word that William was so loathe to utter. Yet for all the implications of this conversation, Matilda still did not feel a single pang of jealousy or of possessiveness. All she wanted

    was to somehow discover what these two were talking about, and how it was— Matilda took a deep breath as she finally allowed the thought to form in her mind—how it was that William and Caela had come to love each other so deeply.

    Then, as Matilda struggled within herself, Caela turned her lovely eyes to the duchess and said, simply, "I am sorry…"

    A pause, as Matilda wondered what that apology referred to.

    "I am tired," Caela continued, "and I admit that my reception had worried me so excessively on the journey to Berkhamsted that now I feel over-weary. I speak nonsense, my lady. Forgive me."

    You weren't speaking nonsense to William, Matilda thought, for you have not begged forgiveness of him.

    "We can find a quiet space for you within this abbey house," Matilda said, "where you might rest. Tonight, perhaps, you and your delegation may sup with the duke and myself."

    Caela inclined her head, but Matilda had not yet done.

    She turned to William. "My lord," she said formally, and she saw the wariness surface in his eyes; "my lord" was only a title Matilda bothered to use when she wanted something of him. "My lord, may I request a boon from you?"

    William, still wary, raised an eyebrow.

    "I wonder if I might request the presence of Queen Caela within my ladies. Not," she added hurriedly, shooting Caela her own look of apology, "as a member of my retinue, but as my honored companion and, indeed, my better. It would ensure your safety," she said to Caela, "if you remained within the duke's company, and would provide me with a companion for whom I would be most grateful. I would like to know you better, Caela. I… you intrigue me."

    There, best to be honest.

    Caela looked at William.

    "You would not object?" he said.

    She shook her head, and smiled back at Matilda. "I, too, would like to deepen my acquaintance with you, Matilda. I will stay awhile, gladly."

    "Good," said Matilda.

    THAT NIGHT, WHEN MATILDA AND WILLIAM ENTERED

    their bed, Matilda turned to her husband, and offered him her mouth.

    He made love to her, sweetly and gently, and for that sacrifice, Matilda loved him more than ever.

    CbAPGGR F1FC66JM

    Caela Speaks

    OH, BY ALL THE GODS OF HEAVEN AND HELL, I could not believe he was so handsome. Brutus had been good-looking enough, but his features had been too blunt for true handsomeness. But William, William… I lay in my bed that night, grateful for its privacy, and thought of him in bed with his wife, and I envied her so desperately that it became a physical pain within my breast.

    I had not expected this: not his handsomeness, his vitality, nor my instinctive gut-longing for him. I do not know if this was simple sexual desire (I cannot imagine any woman coming into the presence of William the duke of Normandy and not feel her belly turn to water as he looked at her), some greater depth of love, or that much greater need I had of him for the future of both this land and the Game.

    I was so grateful for Matilda. I had mooned over William like some virgin girl, and she did not berate me for it. He and I spoke in what were riddles to her, and she did not ask for an explanation. Beyond that, I was most beholden to Matilda, for it was stunningly obvious to me that William's transformation away from that hard-hearted, ambitious brute he had once been into something more reasonable was all her doing. But what I blessed Matilda for most of all was her gut instinct about Swanne's danger, and her actions according to that instinct. I'd heard that she'd come most unexpectedly to Hastings a day or so after the battle, and I had no doubt that it was her arrival that had kept William whole. Safe.

    I had felt that from him the moment I took his hands in mine. He was still safe from Swanne! I swear I almost threw myself at his feet and wept in relief

    at that moment of realization. Instead, I did the better thing and embraced Matilda, for she was the one responsible for his current wholeness.

    Matilda had managed to find for me a small, but, most gratefully, private space within the abbey house. I had no women with me, not even Judith, and so I was almost like a child in my sense of freedom as I did for myself that night (Matilda had offered me one of her women, but I had declined). So I lay there, sleepless as my thoughts tumbled about, thinking almost entirely of William (my thoughts oscillating between relief at his wholeness to a slight feminine numbness at his attractiveness), and occasionally of Matilda.

    Eventually, my thoughts were rudely drawn to Swanne.

    She came to visit me in the small hours of the night.

    I had not been asleep, but the soft footfalls approaching my tiny chamber nevertheless disturbed me. At first I had thought they might be William, and I was terrified, for I did not know what to say to him, but then I realized that whoever it might be was far too light for his tall frame.

    In the end, I wished it had been William, for Swanne was far more terrifying than anything he could have been.

    I had not seen Swanne since that terrible night when I had gone to her as Damson. There had been no reason for us to meet, and I, most certainly, had not tried to instigate a meeting. I had wanted to leave her well enough alone.

    So, as I raised myself to my elbow and studied the dark figure that slipped in my door, I had a sudden, terrifying moment of sheer panic as I realized who my visitor was.

    Could she harm me?

    Could she see whom and what I had become?

    And then I felt a moment of self-loathing for my cowardice. I would need to deal with Swanne eventually and, moreover, I needed Swanne. Nothing in my future could be achieved without her aid.

    Somehow.

    But still, knowing her alliance with Asterion, I simply could not help a tremor of fright as she came to my bed, saw me looking up at her, and then sat down on the edge of the mattress.

    "Well, well, Caela. Come to your man, have you?"

    "He is not 'mine,'" I said, grateful my voice remained steady. "Nor shall he ever be."

    "Good girl," Swanne said patronizingly, and reached out and patted my cheek. "What do you here then?"

    "I come to surrender London into William's hands."

    "And then run back to your convent, I hope."

    I said nothing. It was difficult to see any details of Swanne's features or

    her expression in the dark, but, silhouetted against the faint light coming through the doorway, I could make out an ever-changing landscape of lines and angles about the outline of her face. "Snake," Matilda had called her, and I thought that an apt name for her.

    "I am amazed that you lie here so quietly," Swanne said after a moment's silence, "when William undoubtedly heaves and grunts over Matilda in their chamber."

    "I am unsurprised to find you here so unquietly," I responded, "when William undoubtedly makes love to Matilda in their chamber."

    I saw her stiffen.

    "She is nothing," Swanne said.

    "I do not think so," I said.

    "She is not the Mistress of the Labyrinth!" Swanne hissed.

    "She is far more to him."

    "You simpleton! You have no idea—"

    "To everything a purpose," I said, edging myself up in the bed so that I sat upright. "Is that not what the Bible says?"

    "The Bible is nothing but worthless—"

    "Matilda is your penance," I said, very softly, "for what you did to me in our former life."

    I think I struck her dumb. I know she sat there, rigid with emotion, staring at me for a long time. Finally, she broke the silence.

    "And where have you found your backbone, my lady?" she asked.

    "From life, and experience, and tragedy. Through loss of innocence, Swanne. For that loss, I think, I have you to thank."

    Again, a silence. I considered her, and I remembered how powerful she had been as Genvissa, both as MagaLlan and as Mistress of the Labyrinth. I remembered also her years as Harold's wife, when she had been so influential within the court. Yet, as Swanne, Asterion's creature, she had lost all power, whatever she may have thought. Oh, she was still dangerous, and could command magic, but she had lost completely that aura of extraordinariness that had once so set her apart from everyone else.

    I realized that Swanne now, even as menacing as she remained, had become little more than a shadow flitting like a forgotten ghost through the unlit hallways of whatever court she thought to seek power within. Few people paid any attention to her, most people had likely forgotten her existence, or ceased to care about it.

    For the first time since I had even known her, either as Swanne or as Genvissa, I felt sorry for her.

    At that thought, my mouth opened and words tumbled forth from some dark, intuitive place.

    "Swanne, if ever you need shelter, I will give it to you."

    "What?"

    "If ever you need harbor, I am it." This is what I should have said and done when I went to her as Damson! Suddenly I knew what I was doing. It had become clear to me, as I had trusted it would. In offering Swanne shelter, in offering to be her friend, I was opening the way to the day when Swanne would hand to me the powers of the Mistress of the Labyrinth. Willingly. As Damson, I had tried to bargain with Swanne, tried to exact the powers of the Mistress of the Labyrinth from her as payment for services rendered. That had been a foul thing to do. Instead, I should have offered her friendship.

    Freely. No conditions.

    Swanne started to draw back, but I reached out a hand and grabbed her wrist. "Swanne, if ever you need harbor, then I am it!"

    "Let me go!" She wrenched her wrist from my grip and rose, almost stumbling in her haste. "Your wits are gone, Caela!"

    "If ever you need a friend, Swanne, then I am it." Suddenly, as I said that, I no longer hated her, nor even feared her very much. Poor Swanne…

    She took a step backward, again almost stumbling as her heel caught in her skirts.

    "If ever you need a friend, Swanne…" then I am it.

    Then she was gone, and I found that, as I lay back down to my pillow, sleep came easily to me, and I slept dreamlessly until the following morning, when the sound of Normans clattering down to their breakfast awakened me.

    MATILDA AND I SAT, CHATTING, PASSING THE DAY IN

    idleness while about us men and horses bustled about the courtyard outside as William prepared to march on London.

    London had been given; he wasted no time taking.

    It seemed to me that I had wasted a lifetime in idle chatter over needlework. I had certainly wasted most of my marriage to Edward bent submissively over wools and silks. And here I was yet again, a former queen with the queen yet to be crowned, talking of children and babies and childbirth and, of course, wools and silks.

    Thus it was that when Matilda sighed, placed her needlework to one side, and said, "I am curious as to how it can be that William loves you so deeply," I was somewhat dumbfounded.

    Then, as I stared at her with, I am afraid, my mouth hanging slightly open,

    wondering how on earth to respond, she smiled with what seemed like genuine amusement.

    "I have misphrased that question," Matilda said, "for I did not mean to suggest that it could not be possible for William, or any other man, to love you, for you are a greatly desirable woman, but that how it is that William can have come to love you. Has he fallen in love only with rumor? Or did he somehow hold you as an infant, he but a small boy, and conceive then his great passion for you?"

    There was absolutely nothing in her voice but intense curiosity, and I think that surprised me as much as… as the idea that William loved me.

    He hated me. He'd always hated me.

    "I… he can't love me," I said.

    In response, Matilda simply nodded to my lap. "You're bleeding," she said.

    I looked down. At some point in the last few moments I'd stuck my needle almost completely through my left index finger. I pulled it out hastily, wincing, and sucked at the pinprick of a wound, feeling like a child.

    "On our marriage night," Matilda said, "William paid me the courtesy of being honest. He said that I would never be the great love of his life. Ah, do not fret, Caela. I accepted that then, and I accept it now. But for these past sixteen or so years I have thought my great rival to be Swanne. Now I realize that it is you that William loves beyond all others—and you him. Caela, I ask again, and in simple curiosity and not in judgement, how can this be so?"

    My left hand was back in my lap, and now I looked down at it, and wondered what to say.

    "And all my marriage," Matilda continued in a soft voice, "I have known that William was somehow very, very much more than 'just' the duke of Normandy. That there is another level, another purpose to his life that he has kept entirely from me. Is it you, or are you just a part of it?"

    "A mere part of it," I said.

    She was silent, waiting.

    "Matilda, to tell you would be to involve you in such dark witchery that—"

    "Swanne is dark witchery," Matilda said. "You are not. Swanne had the power to ruin my life. You have the power to enrich it. I am not afraid nor threatened by you, Caela. Please—"

    "Matilda."

    We both jumped slightly, and looked to the door.

    William stood there, leaning against the door frame, his arms folded, his eyes unreadable.

    I had no idea how long he had been standing there.

    "Matilda, my love," he said, unfolding his arms and walking into the room. "I would speak privately with Caela for a time. Do you mind?"

    "Of course not," Matilda said. She rose, kissed first me and then William on the cheek, almost as if she were blessing us, and left.

    Finally, my heart pounding, I raised my eyes and looked into William's face.

    ?OU ARE WELL SERVED IN YOUR WIFE," CAELA SAID after a long, uncomfortable pause. "She is a better wife to me than you were," William said, taking Matilda's chair.

    "She has made you into a better husband than I managed," Caela said.

    The skin about William's eyes crinkled in humor. "So Cornelia is still buried in there somewhere."

    "We are all who once we were, only…"

    "Changed," he said. "You are far lovelier than you were as Cornelia, and that loveliness is not just reflected in your features. You are calmer, more at peace with yourself. Stronger. Wiser." And more still, he thought, but could not put words to that difference.

    "And you?"

    "As you said, I am a better husband."

    Silence, as both looked away from each other.

    "Why did you lie with my father?" William said eventually.

    "You saw?"

    "Yes. My father, Caela?"

    "What care is it of yours?" she said.

    "Why?" His voice was very soft now.

    She lowered her gaze, her wounded hand making a helpless gesture. "He reminded me of you. He had your look, save gentler, and kinder. More weary, I was lonely and in need, William. I was in no mood to reject what he offered. He was a mistake. I lay with him only that once."

    "Did he please you?" His black eyes were steady on her face.

    "No." She paused. "Not as once you did. He was your father, but he was not you."

    "You should not have lain with him, Caela."

    "What concern is it of yours? What?"

    Now it was William who spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "None. I know that. I just… I just wish you had not. Not with my father…"

    "I'd wished it was you," she said, "but I could not have you. I thought Silvius could fill the void. I was wrong."

    "I heard what Matilda said to you, Caela. But I do not love you. There is too much shared hatred for us to—"

    "I know. You do not have to explain."

    "Dammit," he muttered, looking away.

    "William—"

    "I did not come here to talk to you of love," William said. "There are more urgent matters, as I am sure you realize."

    "Yes."

    "Caela, do you remember those bands I wore about my limbs?"

    Her shoulders tensed»at this change in subject, and he did not miss it. "Yes."

    "Someone has been moving them."

    "Yes."

    There was a long, heavy pause. "Do you know who?"

    "Yes." Another pause, and Caela kept her eyes directly on him. "I have."

    William's mouth dropped open, and he stared at her for so long and so incredulously that Caela eventually had to look away.

    "You shifted the bands?"

    "Yes."

    "How? How? Only I or the Mistress of the Labyrinth could have touched those bands! And possibly Silvius, as he was once their Kingman also." William's voice was rising, and Caela flinched as he slid forward on the chair then stood up. "How could you have moved them, Caela?"

    She studied her hands clenched in her lap a long moment, then looked up. "The Troy Game has changed, William."

    "What do you know of the Game?"

    Caela visibly steeled herself. "The Game was left alone a long time, William. Uncompleted. It changed." She gave a small, helpless shrug. "It became attuned to the land, and the land to it. William, the Troy Game is no longer the passive thing I think that maybe you believe it to be. Something that waits for your touch. Yes, it wants completion. Yes, it wants the strength that will come with that. But it also wants that completion and strength on its terms." She paused. "And this land wants the Game completed on its terms as well. The land and the Game are agreed on how this should be done."

    William stared at her for a long moment in silence. How was it that she spoke on behalf of the Game and the land? He spoke one single, expressionless word: "Yes?"

    "The Game wants the male and female elements of this land to complete it, William. It means it will become one with the land. Completely melded with it."

    "Explain that to me," William said, his voice now dangerously quiet.

    "In simple terms—"

    "How good of you."

    Caela winced. "The Game wants the female and male elements of this land, the ancient gods Mag and Og, to complete the Game as the Mistress of the Labyrinth and the Kingman. It does not want you or Swanne to—"

    "What have you done?"

    "I have done nothing! William, the Game has—"

    "Are you still Asterion's pawn?"

    "No! William, I beg you, listen to—"

    "This Game is mine, and Swanne's!"

    She took a moment to respond, steadying her nerves and her voice. "The Game is its own, in partnership with the Mistress of the Labyrinth and the Kingman."

    "Who you say are to be Mag and Og."

    She nodded.

    William abruptly stood and walked over to a window. He stood for long minutes, staring outside. "I have not come all this way to be told that," he said finally, turning about. "I have no reason to believe you."

    Caela stood, and approached William. He tensed slightly as she neared, but made no move to stop her when she lifted his hand and placed it flat against her breastbone. "See who I am," she whispered, holding his eyes with her own.

    He found himself standing within the circle of stones he had once known as Mag's Dance.

    Save that the stones were no longer solid, nor even stationary, but instead appeared to have become creatures of wraith and movement and song.

    He spun about, both scared and disorientated, and saw that a woman approached him through the spinning circle of dancers.

    It was Caela, clothed only in mist and her loose, blowing hair and with such power in her eyes as William could never have imagined her—or any woman— possessing.

    "See," she said, and looked to one side of the circle.

    A white stag lay there, its head crowned by bloodred antlers.

    "He is my lover," she whispered.

    William snatched his hand back from Caela. "By all the gods," he whispered.

    "You are Mag?"

    She hesitated, then nodded. "I am what she once was, yes."

    "Ah," he said. "Now I understand you. And to think that once all I thought

    O

    you wanted was my attention and my babies. No. You wanted power. You wanted revenge, against both me and Swanne. And this is it. You have now taken Swanne's place in the Game, or at least fooled the Game into thinking you were what it wanted, which is why it allowed you to touch the bands, and—"

    "I am to this land what Mag once was. And yes, I am what the Troy Game now wants—one half of it, at least. I did not 'fool' it, William. I only accepted the decision of both the Troy Game and the land."

    "I cannot believe that you would do this to me! And yet… how could I not expect it? You always were ready with the dagger to plunge into my back. You were always ready to—"

    "Stop! No, William! No! None of this is my plan, but that of the Game itself, and of the land!"

    "And who do you—oh, I offer my apologies—the Game and the land think to replace me with, then? Loth-reborn, whoever he is?"

    "His name is now Saeweald, William. He is a physician tending the wounded as he tends this land."

    "Saeweald? Well, Saeweald then. Oh, how it would please him to have me crawl to him and offer him my powers! Or Harold? Is Harold the one who you mean to take as your mate and partner? Yes, I can see that. Harold. I imagine you have a plan to raise him from the dead."

    "Don't do this, William," Caela whispered. "Don't become that man of hate again."

    "Did you think that you could walk in here and seduce me with face and body and tender voice into betraying everything I have fought for… through two lives?"

    He topped, swore, and stalked away.

    "William—"

    "You are not the Mistress of the Labyrinth," William said, turning back to face her. "I don't care what else you are, but you are not the Mistress of the Labyrinth. You do not have the power, and you do not know the steps to complete the Game. It cannot teach you. Silvius cannot teach you."

    "One day, eventually, Swanne will hand to me her powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth."

    "What? You have lost your mind! She will never willingly hand over her powers! / will never willingly hand over… oh, I cannot believe I am having this conversation with you!"

    "Will Swanne willingly hand her responsibilities as Mistress of the Labyrinth to me one day? Yes, she will." Caela's voice was very certain.

    "You are a fool, and out of your mind."

    "Swanne has betrayed you to Asterion."

    She could not have said anything else to more stun William into silence.

    He gaped at her, his face paling from its fury-induced red, Caela's words bouncing over and over within his head. Swanne has betrayed you to Asterion. No. Those words could not mean what they seemed to. Swanne could never have betrayed him to…

    The taste of blood and decay suddenly overwhelmed William again, and he grunted, as if someone had punched him in the belly, and he sat suddenly on a chair.

    Caela walked very slowly, very carefully, over to the chair, kneeling before it and taking one of William's hands in hers. "This was none of my doing, William."

    William was not looking at her, slowly shaking his head to and fro.

    "I do not know what powers or persuasions Asterion used to so capture Swanne's heart and loyalty, but that he has is undoubted. William, Asterion does not want to destroy the Game. He wants to control it. He wants to become its Kingman, using Swanne as his Mistress. She has agreed to this, thinking that in Asterion she has a more powerful Kingman than in you. If you ask why I have moved the bands, then that is why. To protect the Game, and through it, the land, from Asterion and Swanne combined."

    William was still shaking his head back and forth, back and forth, but Caela's calm, soft words were beginning to make terrible sense. Asterion wanted to control the Game, become its Kingman, dance his ambitions out with Swanne. Yes, that made sense. Why hadn't he ever considered this before?

    "Who is Asterion?" he asked finally, softly.

    "Aldred."

    William winced. Aldred had been playing both him and Swanne all this time…

    "Asterion and Swanne want to trap you, to use you to find the bands. Then, once they have them…"

    "Stop!"

    "William, listen to me! Swanne is Asterion's creature now! Everything she says and does is said and done on his behalf! Do not trust her. Do not—"

    "And everything you say and do is done on your behalf, yours and Silvius', no doubt!"

    "Everything I say and do is for you, William."

    "That is not what you have just been saying. In one breath you tell me that you want me to relinquish all control I have of the Game into Saeweald's or Harold's hands."

    "I never said that. What I said was—"

    "Get out, Caela! Get out!"

    "William, don't push me away!" The words tumbled out of Caela's mouth, so desperate was she to have him hear them. "Beware of Swanne and Aldred, and trust me. Trust me!"

    "Don't you dare say that to me!" He grabbed at her hands and pushed her away roughly so that she sprawled on the floor.

    "William!" Caela cried. "Don't push me away when I can—"

    "Get out!"

    She rose to her feet. "William, when you need me—"

    "Get out!"

    "When you need me, whether in this life, or in any to follow, seek me out."

    And then she was gone.

    sevejsiGeejsi

    HE ONLY SPACE SWANNE COULD FIND FOR HER-

    self in the abbey house was a small, dusty attic space within the

    ^fc^*¹' roof of the building. It was filthy, there were rats and lice in the thatch, and she was forced to sleep on a pallet that was padded only with her cloak.

    It was an existence far different from the one she'd enjoyed as Genvissa, or even as Harold's wife.

    But Swanne did not allow herself to think of such things. These discomforts became as nothing when she thought of what would be hers, once she'd trapped and killed William, Asterion had the bands, and both of them controlled the Game.

    But for now she could neither dream of future powers and glories, nor even sneer at the terrible state of the thatch, for Asterion was with her, and he was angrier than she'd ever seen him before.

    "I cannot understand," he said in a low hiss, "why it is that you have not yet taken William! How many weeks? How many opportunities?"

    "I have tried!" she said, her words stumbling in her haste to placate Asterion. "But… oh! He has some nauseous commitment to his wife. He is afraid of her. The simpering fool. He says he cannot abide to annoy Matilda. And she, the bitch, she won't allow me near him."

    Asterion's hands were on Swanne's shoulders now, soft and caressing, yet somehow managing to convey an infinite threat in that caress. "Are you sure it is not you he cannot abide?"

    "Ha! I almost had him, even though he is terrified of his wife. I had him on the floor, and then that… that dwarf interrupted us!"

    "What manner of woman are you," Asterion continued, "that you cannot even seduce a man to your bed? What manner of Mistress of the Labyrinth is scared of a mere 'wife'?"

    Swanne wrenched herself away from his tight hands, furious at him, terrified at his anger. "I have done all I can! Rubbed my nakedness against him! Taken his member in my hands and roused him! Do not accuse me of—"

    Asterion grabbed her shoulders again and gave her a hard shake. "I need William dead, you fool! Neither of us can dare to have him wandering about—"

    "You are afraid of him," Swanne said, wonderingly. "Perhaps I was wrong to think you would make a good Kingman, after all. Perhaps William is the preferable—"

    Swanne stopped as if struck, then her eyes widened and a whine of sheer agony escaped her mouth. She tried to say something, but couldn't. Instead, as Asterion let her go, she sank to the floor and curled up about her belly, whimpering in agony.

    "You will do what I need," whispered Asterion. "You will kill William, and you… will… do… it… soon. Before he has a chance to ruin all our plans. Do you understand me?"

    She gave a tiny nod, and then visibly relaxed as the imp within her ceased its vicious nibbling.

    "There's a good girl," said Asterion in a sickenly soothing voice. He leaned down and patted Swanne on the head. "There is no escaping me, my dear, and it is far better to work with me than against me."

    SWANNE LAY ON THE FILTHY FLOOR OF THE ATTIC

    space clutching at her belly for hours after he had gone. She felt as if her world had disintegrated about her.

    Never before had Asterion treated her so cruelly. Why? Did he hate her so much? Had she failed him so badly?

    Swanne succumbed to a fit of weeping. She felt hate sweep over her, but not for Asterion. For Matilda, who stood in her way, and for Caela, who had once thought to stand in her way and who now had somehow managed to retreat into a smug complacency.

    Why, Swanne had no idea.

    She remembered what Caela had said to her last night.

    Swanne, if ever you need shelter, I will give it to you. If ever you need harbor, I am it.

    "Silly bitch," Swanne muttered, and managed to struggle into a sitting position. Shelter from what, for the gods' sakes? All Swanne had to do was murder William, and then Asterion would be grateful, and pleased, and would love her again, and would give her all the dark power she craved.

    "I'll kill Matilda first," she said. "Yes. I'll kill Matilda, and then I'll take William. Easy. Simple. I should have thought of it sooner."

    They would be in London soon, and there Swanne knew she would get what she needed.

    eigbceejM

    CHINKING ONLY OF FLEEING WILLIAM'S NOT unexpected anger, Caela did not immediately register the fact that the door to the chamber had not been closed when she fled. All she could think about was returning to her own small chamber, gathering her cloak, and then making her way to the courtyard where she might prevail upon someone to escort her back to London.

    But the moment she entered her own chamber, leaving the door open, as she only needed to snatch at her cloak, Caela heard a footfall behind her, and then the sound of the door closing.

    She spun about.

    Matilda stood there, staring at her. Caela began to speak, but Matilda waved her to silence. She closed the distance between them, lifted her hand, and placed it firmly on Caela's breastbone.

    "Show me what you showed William," she said.

    "Matilda—"

    "Show me!"

    And so Caela did.

    Eventually, as William had, Matilda stood back, her hand falling away from Caela, her face pale. "Who are you?" she whispered. "What are you?"

    "Matilda, I did not want to involve you in this."

    "I have been involved ever since I married William! Tell me!"

    Caela closed her eyes, and tried one last time. "If I tell you, I will involve you in witchcraft so malevolent that it will destroy…"

    "What? My entire life?"

    "This life, and all future lives," Caela said softly.

    Matilda stared at Caela, and suddenly everything fell into place. "That is why William and you know each other so well… this is not your first life together, is it?"

    Caela shook her head.

    "But how can this be so? Nothing that the Church teaches can explain—"

    "We come from a time long before the Church existed. It cannot know of us, and of what we do."

    "A time of dark witchcraft!"

    "And a time of great beauty," Caela said gently.

    "Tell me," Matilda said.

    "Matilda, are you sure that—"

    "Tell me."

    And so Caela drew Matilda back to the bed where they sat, and Caela told her.

    FOR HOURS AFTER CAELA HAD LEFT HIM, WILLIAM SAT

    in the chair, head in hands, his entire world a turmoil.

    Aldred… Asterion.

    Swanne… perhaps even now lying with Asterion, plotting William's downfall.

    Caela… a part of this land as William had never imagined.

    For the moment, Asterion and Swanne, and what they planned, what they could accomplish, were too frightful to consider, so William concentrated entirely on Caela.

    Oh, God, how beautiful and desirable she had been. Perhaps, strangely, he had no trouble believing what she had told him about her nature as it was now, and not simply because of what Caela had shown him of herself. He remembered how only relatively recently Swanne had told him Caela (and Cornelia) had harbored Mag within her womb. As Cornelia, she had loved this land the instant she'd seen it. He remembered how she'd stood on the deck of the ship, their son Achates in her arms, staring at the line of green cliffs in the distance. He remembered how she had once told him that arriving in this new and strange land was not "strange" at all, but felt rather as if she was finally coming home.

    He remembered how she had instinctively known what the Stone Dances were for, their purpose, their magic.

    He remembered how effortlessly Cornelia had learned the Llangarlian language, as if she'd merely been remembering it, not learning it at all.

    He remembered how immediately close she had been to the people of the land—to Erith and her family.

    To Blangan.

    To Coel.

    Cornelia had walked onto this land and instantly become one with it.

    He, as Brutus, had walked onto this land and instantly become its enemy.

    Why? Because he'd only seen Genvissa? Only seen the power and lust she'd represented?

    William's mind began to worry at him as he tried to piece things together. Genvissa had been Cornelia's instant enemy. Genvissa had done nothing but plot Cornelia's murder from the instant she'd known about her. Genvissa had used the excuse that Cornelia was Asterion's tool—but that wasn't only it, was it? Genvissa had seen within Cornelia a terrible threat, and it had nothing to do with Asterion but everything to do with this land.

    William groaned, wondering how he could have been so blind. How could he have so blithely ignored everything Genvissa was? Everything she did?

    Ariadne had wrapped the Aegean world in catastrophe. Genvissa—and in her rebirth as Swanne—was doing the same.

    No wonder the Llangarlians had been so antagonistic. No wonder they had fought so hard against Genvissa and all she stood for.

    William rose and paced slowly about the room, thinking now on the Game. Caela said it had changed, become attuned to the land.

    Could it? William tried to remember everything he had been taught about the Game, but nothing he had been taught catered to the current situation. No Game had ever been left so long uncompleted between the opening and closing dances.

    Had the Game become attuned to the land to the extent that it had all but merged with the land?

    There was no reason that it should not have. Two thousand years left uncompleted. Gods! It could have done anything in that time.

    Slowly William's mind began to unwind from its turmoil into a peculiar kind of peace, even though he felt disjointed and a little disorientated. He found himself standing in the center of his chamber, seeing not the cold stone walls, but the labyrinth as it had stood atop Og's Hill, the maidens and youths with their flowers, dancing about him and his Mistress.

    He saw the Mistress of the Labyrinth standing before him, dressed only in a hip-hugging white linen skirt. He saw her lithe body, her breasts glowing in the torchlight.

    He saw her deep blue eyes and her smile, as they rested on him. He saw Caela, and William was suddenly hit with such a longing that he again groaned, and doubled over, as if in pain.

    Could Caela be the Mistress of the Labyrinth? Yes, of course she could, if she were taught, but she had to be taught, and it could be none of his teaching. The mysteries of the Mistress were alien to William. He could dance with a Mistress as her partner, but he could never truly understand her power. Was he angry that Caela sought to become the Mistress of the Labyrinth?

    No. Not truly.

    What angered and embittered him—even as he could not understand it— was that she did not want him to dance with her as her Kingman.

    What frightened him was what he had seen when she had lain with Silvius.

    When all was said and done, she had possibly betrayed him as deeply as had Swanne.

    "THERE," SAID CAELA EVENTUALLY. "YOU HAVE IT ALL."

    Matilda felt numbed by what she'd heard, and yet she disbelieved none of it. Everything fit her own experience and observation.

    "You do not seem overly surprised," said Caela, watching Matilda carefully.

    "The details have shocked me," Matilda replied, "but I do not find them difficult to believe."

    Caela took the other woman's hands. "Matilda, listen to me carefully. Do not become involved in this, no more than you are now. I could not bear that you should be injured in a battle that has nothing to do with you. I have hurt and murdered too many innocent people, sometimes willfully, sometimes unintentionally. I could not bear to have your hurt or death on my conscience as well."

    "'Murdered' is a strong word, Caela."

    "What else can I call the death of my father, Pandrasus? And my nurse, Tavia? All the people of Mesopotama? Damson! Oh, Damson…"

    "Damson? How can you blame yourself for Damson's death? Caela—"

    "I used her unwittingly, and sent her into danger. She was a sweet and simple woman who—"

    "A sweet and simple woman? Ah, Caela! Enough! I cannot have you carry this burden. Listen to me… Damson knew precisely what she was doing. And her greatest 'talent' in her life was that she fooled most people into thinking she was 'sweet and simple.'"

    "That is good of you to try and make me feel better, Matilda, but—"

    "For sixteen years, Caela, Damson was my agent within Edward's court."

    Caela's mouth dropped open.

    "Damson was a cunning and knowing woman," Matilda continued, "Not 'sweet and simple' at all. I met her several times in the days before I sent her to Edward's court, and I am very well aware of precisely who and what she was. Do not berate yourself on Damson's account. She had long previously accepted the risks of the life she led, and if you want someone to blame for putting her in Swanne's way, then blame me. I was the one who sent her to Swanne when she moved to Aldred's palace."

    "You sent her to spy on Swanne?"

    "When I discovered that William and Swanne were lovers in the first month or so of my marriage, I sent Damson to be my own personal agent at Edward's court. She was to report on Swanne to me… if Swanne moved to destroy my marriage and my life, then I wanted to be warned of it. Later, my dear, I set Damson to watch you. After Harold came to visit, I became increasingly curious about you."

    "But…" Caela still could not believe what she was hearing.

    "Do not fret." Matilda smiled. "Damson discovered nothing about you that she could report to me, save a sense that you were far more than you appeared to be." Matilda shrugged. "You thought you were using her. She was spying on you. You thought you had sent Damson to her death. I already had. Caela, Damson is not your guilt to bear. Nor mine neither. Damson had responsibility for her own life."

    Caela was silent.

    "And your father Pandrasus, and Tavia? Your fault? No. They were victims not of any single ill will, but of circumstance. Mesopotama was destroyed by the miasma of hate, Caela, not by any single person or action. Everyone hated: you, Brutus, Membricus, Pandrasus, the Mesopotamans, the Trojans. A small boy walking down the streets of Mesopotama could have sparked the disaster that ate it as much as anything you did, or anything Brutus did. Forgive yourself, Caela. Don't carry around a burden of useless and unearned guilt."

    Caela gave a small smile. "I wish you had been with me in my previous life, Matilda. I think somehow it would have been a happier time for me."

    "I can make it a happier time for you in the future," Matilda said, and squeezed Caela's hand where it lay in her lap.

    CAELA AND MOTHER ECUB STOOD ON PEN HILL, THE stones humming gently about them, and watched as William the Conqueror took London.

    His army had been split into four, and it approached the city from four directions, entering from the south via London Bridge, from the northeast via Aldgate, from the west via Ludgate, and the largest column from the north via Cripplegate.

    This last column approached Cripplegate from the northern road, which took them past Pen Hill, and it was with this column that William and Matilda rode.

    Caela and Ecub could just make him out: William was unmistakable in his brilliant jeweled armor.

    "Did you tell him?" Ecub asked.

    Caela shook her head, her eyes not leaving the distant figure. "He did not want to hear. He is not ready."

    Ecub sighed.

    "His wife, however," Caela continued, "did."

    Ecub turned to Caela, an eyebrow raised.

    "Matilda will be coming to visit you," Caela said. "Eventually."

    Ecub laughed delightedly. "Asterion has his own Gathering," she said. "And I shall have mine."

    William saw Matilda glancing at the crest of the hill, and his mouth tightened.

    "They are watching," Matilda said. "Caela, and a woman I think must be Mother Ecub."

    WILLIAM SAID NOTHING, HIS EYES NOW BACK ON THE road before him. He was still furious that Caela had told Matilda.

    Unbelieving that Caela had told Matilda.

    It was not so much anger that Matilda now knew—in a sense William was

    relieved that he no longer had to deceive her, or hold anything back from her—but anger because William was terrified Caela had now trapped Matilda within the same maelstrom of rebirth and disaster that caught so many others. Matilda did not deserve that; she deserved only to live out this life with as much blessing and peace as he could manage to give her, and then to die without lying on her deathbed wondering how and when she would be drawn back.

    William was also angry because, of all things, Matilda's sympathies seemed to be leaning more toward Caela in this mess than to him. Women!

    Is it so bad that Caela might be the Mistress of the Labyrinth? Matilda had asked him the previous night.

    He had not answered her, and, after a silence, Matilda had said softly. You do not mind that at all, do you? You are truly only angry because you think she has not chosen to dance the final enchantment with you. You are riven with jealousy. You love her, you want her, you cannot bear her choosing another over you.

    At that, William had been so infuriated that he had not picked up on Matilda's carefully chosen words. I do not love her! he'd shouted.

    Matilda had only smiled at him.

    "Keep away from them," William now said as, gratefully, the hill slid past.

    Matilda only smiled.

    "I command it!"

    She tipped her head in a gesture that might have been acquiescence.

    Not wanting to fight with her any longer, William nodded. "Good."

    Tonight, he thought, the bands. Tonight I shall retrieve the bands.

    CUDGJslGy

    ONDON! IT LAY SPREAD OUT BEFORE HIM,

    windows and torches glittering in the cold midnight. His't Cy^^^rn^ Finally.

    Few Londoners had taken to the streets to witness the conqueror take his city. Most had stayed indoors, windows shuttered, anticipating, perhaps, riot and pillage.

    But William had his Normans under tight command. He established control of the city within hours, securing it both within and without, then sent the majority of his army to establish encampments a good distance without the walls, so that the Londoners might not feel too severely the humiliation of Norman victory.

    William took for himself and Matilda the bishop of London's great house, preferring for the moment not to remove himself to Westminster. To his captains he said that he wanted to ensure that the Londoners felt the full power of his domination, but privately William could not have borne to remove himself from that for which he had lusted for so long.

    He had entered London.

    He was not going to willingly remove himself from it until he had what he wanted.

    The Trojan kingship bands. His limbs burned for their touch.

    At dusk William had come to St. Paul's atop Lud Hill. There he had brushed aside the murmured concerns of the deacons and monks and strode down the nave toward the small door that gave access to the eastern tower. Waving away his soldiers, saying only that he wanted some solitude with which to gaze upon his new conquest, William climbed the tower's rickety wooden stairs three at a time, emerging on the flat-topped tower just as full night set in.

    Here he'd stood for hours, feeling, sensing out the bands. Oh, William remembered where he'd buried them two thousand years before, but over two thousand years the landscape had changed remarkably. The city had grown, buildings stood where once had spread only orchards, streams had been enclosed… and yet nothing had changed. The Troy Game was still here.

    William could feel it beneath his feet. By sheer luck (or design, perhaps?), this tower stood over the very heart of the labyrinth, by now buried many feet below the crypt of the cathedral. Now the power of the Troy Game throbbed up through soil, wood, stone, and the leather soles of his boots, surging through William's body as strongly as it had done when he stood with naked feet on the labyrinth itself.

    More strongly.

    Caela had said the Game had changed, and William could feel it. It had grown… independent.

    It was going to be very hard to control.

    It would be impossible to control without his kingship bands.

    William shivered, and gazed over the nighttime city. Caela had moved all six of the bands; or, at least, all six had been moved. William could feel four of them very clearly, calling out to him, longing to be touched and slid over his flesh once more. They were now scattered to the west, north, and south of the city, miles away, but he could feel them, and could feel how the Game had grown to meet them.

    The remaining two bands…

    They were not where he'd left them two thousand years earlier. Caela had taken them, but he could not sense them at all.

    What had she done with them? Where had she hid them?

    "My, what a fine man you have grown into. Taller than I imagined. I wonder if those bands will still fit you… if you ever discover them."

    William whipped about. Silvius stood two paces away, his arms folded, dressed in the manner of Troy, with nothing but a white waistcloth and boots.

    His flesh was very dark in the low light, but his good eye flashed, while of his left there was nothing but a seething pit of darkness.

    "What do you here?" William said, trying to keep his voice level. Gods, how much power had both Silvius and the Game accumulated if his father could appear this solid, this real, this… here?

    "Come to see my son. What else?" Silvius let his arms fall to his side, and he took a half pace forward. "Come to wonder."

    "At what?"

    "At you, of course." Silvius paused. "Come to see what my son has made of himself."

    "Do you like what you see?"

    "Does it matter anymore what I think or like?" Silvius paused, his eyes running up and down William's body. "You have seen Caela. Did she tell you that she and I—"

    "Yes," William said curtly. "You have become most intimate with Caela, it seems."

    Silvius' face took on a lecherous cast. "Very intimate. She has changed, and vastly for the better. It seems you have not. Vile corruption has forever been your creed, has it not? You founded this Game on it, and you seek it out still."

    There was a strange note to Silvius' voice, and William did not know what to make of it. "Did it make you happy to lay with her? Did that give you satisfaction? She is not yours, Silvius."

    Silvius laughed. "Oh, yes, she is. She gave herself to me freely. Gave herself to me, William! Freely!" He paused, and when Silvius resumed, his voice was roped with viciousness and contempt. "You lost her two thousand years ago. She can never be yours now."

    William regarded his father with as much steadiness as he could summon. "Why do you interfere, father? What has any of this to do with you?"

    "You made me a part of it! You founded the Game on my murder. I warned you not to found the Game on corruption, that fratricide was no way to—"

    "This is none of your business, Silvius. Crawl away back to your death. Leave Caela alone. Leave me alone. Leave the Game to play out as it will."

    "The Game will play out according to my will, William. Mine."

    William's eyes narrowed, and for a moment it appeared as if he did not breath. Then he said, very softly, "No wonder my mother Claudia died in my birth. It was her only means of escaping you."

    Silvius' lip curled. "You killed Claudia. Not me. You tore her apart."

    William stared at Silvius, his own eyes almost as clouded and dark as his father's empty eye socket.

    "You shall never succeed," he said. "The Game is mine."

    And with that he pushed past Silvius, and disappeared down the stairwell.

    WILLIAM RACED DOWN THE STEPS AS IF HIS LIFE depended on it, his breathing harsh and ragged as it tore through his throat. Four times he stumbled, almost falling, sliding inelegantly down five or six steps before his scrabbling hands managed to find purchase on the stone walls.

    When he finally reached the bottom, he took a moment to steady his breathing, glancing back up the stairwell as if he expected Silvius to come bearing down upon him at any moment, before he stepped out to meet the concerned faces of his men.

    "Robert," William said to one of his most trusted men-at-arms, "there is a priory about two miles out of the city on the northern road. Ride there, and deliver a message to the dowager queen Caela. Let her pick the place, but

    demand that she meet with me tonight] Impress upon her the need for urgency. You have that?"

    Robert nodded, then left at a trot.

    William closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Gods, let her agree! Let her agree!

    The situation had been bad before this night. Now it was almost irreparable.

    When he had been Brutus, and Silvius had been his living father, his mother's name had been Lavinia.

    Not Claudia.

    Never Claudia. When William had left her earlier that evening, Matilda waited until she'd heard the clatter of his horse's hooves as it left the courtyard, and then she'd snapped her fingers at one of his sergeants.

    "Find me a quiet mare to ride," she said, "and an escort. I need to visit a priory just beyond the walls."

    The sergeant thought about arguing with his duchess for all of two heartbeats.

    Then he nodded, and within a half hour was riding with the escort surrounding Matilda through Cripplegate.

    A half hour after that, Matilda stood before the gates of the priory, watching as the door slowly swung open.

    "You are Mother Ecub," she said to the woman who stood there, and Ecub nodded.

    "Sister," she said, and stepped forward and embraced Matilda.

    SWANNE SAT IN HER CHAMBER, ONCE AGAIN WITHIN Aldred's palace. She didn't know where the good archbishop had got to, and she didn't care. Asterion was the only one who came to her now, and for that she was heartily glad.

    All Swanne could think about was Matilda's, and then William's, murder.

    Aldred's palace held many comforts. One of those had been a blessed bath—Swanne had soaked for what seemed like hours within a tub set before a fire—and the other had been having access again to Hawise. Hawise had not accompanied Swanne south (Swanne had told her to stay within London, thinking then that she'd be able to take William and return to London herself within a day or so of the battle), and Swanne had missed her sorely. Not for her company, for Swanne had grown to detest Hawise's prattling, but because Hawise was one of the best people she had ever met for procuring things.

    Now Swanne sat in a comfortable chair, holding in her hands a vial of one of the deadliest poisons she had been able to concoct. Hawise, of course, had no idea she was procuring a poison for Swanne, nor did she have any idea

    what Swanne was going to do with the collection of herbs her mistress had sent her out for.

    But when Hawise had brought those herbs back, Swanne had spent a delightful hour or two mixing and fermenting them, distilling from them the purest, blackest poison she could manage.

    Matilda's death.

    It would look like a miscarriage gone terribly wrong. She would lose the child, and then bleed to death. What could be simpler? All Swanne would have to do was slip the poison into Matilda's wine cup herself or, more like, pay someone a handsome sum to do it for her.

    For gods' sakes, London was full of resentful Saxons who would jump at the chance to hurt the Norman cause in any manner they could.

    And then poor William. Distraught. In need of comfort.

    Swanne smiled, setting the vial to one side. Soon, within the day.

    She closed her eyes and imagined how it would be, when William finally rolled atop her, and entered her, and the imp snatched…

    She looked forward very greatly to his scream of terror and agony, a scream that would, within the moment, disintegrate into a whimper of submission. Then she could roll him away, and leap from their bed, fall to her knees before Asterion, and say, I have done it! I have worked your will! Love me!

    Meantime, she would comb out her hair, and pinch some color into her cheeks, and perhaps Asterion would come to her and would love her again.

    Soon. Swanne closed her eyes, dreaming.

    "Will he love you enough to take your imp, do you think?"

    Swanne's eyes flew open, her heart pounding, then she stumbled terrified to her feet. The far end of the chamber seemed to have opened into a huge hall made entirely of emerald water, and Swanne remembered enough of her previous life to have some idea of what she was seeing.

    "No!" she whispered. "Go back! Go back!"

    Harold was walking toward her out of that watery emerald cathedral. He looked fit and well, better than she could remember having seen him in many, many years.

    He looked as he had before he had touched her, except, more.

    And however much she screamed, and shrieked for aid, he kept walking toward her, closer and closer, until she could see the terrible gleam in his eyes, and she understood it for what it was.

    Vengeance.

    "I will not let you do to William," he whispered, "what you did to me."

    And he reached out his hands, stretched them out over the three or four paces that still separated them, and seized her by the neck.

    ASTERION FOUND HER ON THE FLOOR SOME TWO

    hours later. Her neck had been twisted until it had snapped.

    Her black eyes, dulled by death, were staring at something that Asterion could not even imagine.

    Who had done this? William? Those strange and as yet undetermined companions who had aided Caela to move the bands?

    "Useless bitch!" he snarled, and dealt Swanne's corpse such a massive blow with his booted foot that it skidded away some three or four feet.

    Asterion stepped forward and kicked the corpse again. Curse the idiot bitch! Curse her! Not only had she failed to kill William, but she'd managed to get herself killed instead.

    And now Asterion was left without a Mistress of the Labyrinth.

    Damn her to all hells'. Now they'd have to come back again!

    Another life, another set of years spent scheming, planning, maneuvering. Waiting!

    Asterion's lips curled, and he began to batter Swanne's body with slow, deliberate, hate-filled fists.

    After a long time, time enough to almost cover himself in Swanne's blood, Asterion paused and raised his head.

    She was moving. She!

    She was going to meet with William.

    Suddenly, in all his anger and frustration, Asterion forgot his caution about meeting William face to face.

    "I think it might be time to ruin a life or two," he muttered.

    And grinned.

    Caela Speaks

    RECEIVED WILLIAM'S MESSAGE AFTER SUPPER

    when Ecub and Matilda sat with me.

    I had no choice but to go. He had asked for me, and the last thing I'd said to him that night was that should he need me, then he should seek me out. I could not refuse to go. It was my nature not to refuse him, should he need shelter.

    Besides, I wanted to see him again. I hungered for it.

    So I told Ecub and Matilda not to worry (a useless piece of wordage), and I sent William's man off carrying a message containing place and time.

    The time was unimportant, save that William's need seemed so urgent that it needed to be as soon as possible, but the place… the place…

    I sent word to William that he should meet me over his dead body.

    I thought, if nothing else, that would make his mouth curl in dry amusement.

    So here now I stood, early, wanting to have time before William arrived to contemplate what we had been, what we were, and what we might be one day, all gods permitting.

    This was the first time I had been here (the first time while still breathing, of course). It was unbearably sad.

    The chamber, rounded out of living rock, was bare, save for the two plinths of stone, each of which bore a shrouded corpse. One, that which was Cornelia's corpse, had its wrappings disturbed, and my fingers briefly touched the bracelet that still I wore about my left wrist.

    But my eyes were drawn irresistibly to Brutus' wrapped figure. I stood a long time, staring at it, before I walked over and, hesitatingly, rested a hand on its chest.

    Brutus. Oh, gods, how I had loved him. Why? I wondered. What was there

    about Brutus to love? He had mistreated me and abused me, humiliated me and abandoned me, and still I could not resist him. Still I loved him, when there were others who would have suited me better, and who offered me more than Brutus ever had.

    But perhaps even then I had known.

    My hand drifted slowly up the wrappings covering his chest to his throat. Here had swarmed the growth that had, finally, killed him. I remembered the long months of his dying, his fading from strength into weakness, the rough rasp of his voice as he ordered some servant or the other to remove me from his presence.

    How he had hated me.

    My eyes filled with tears and I tore my mind away from the memory. I slid my hand further up, over his cheek, and then his forehead, imagining the features that lay swathed below my touch, to the crown of his head.

    Did that wondrous, thick, long curled hair still live beneath these tight shroudings? If I unwrapped his beloved head would I be able to run my hand through its blue-black crispness again?

    Would there ever be any way of recapturing that single moment we had, that moment in the hills behind the Altars of the Philistines, when he had lowered his mouth to mine, and for a heartbeat almost loved me?

    A tight hand closed about my throat, jerking me back, and, terrified, I let out a strangled cry.

    "Caela," he said, his mouth close to my ear, and pulled me back against his body.

    His other hand was now about my waist, as hard and as cruel as that about my throat. I was caught, I could not move… I could barely breathe.

    And then he let me go, stood back from me and looked about the chamber. "This is where they buried us? In this chamber?"

    I nodded. I could not take my eyes from him.

    He walked slowly over to the plinth on which lay poor Cornelia's corpse, and he touched the wrappings. "They have been disturbed. Why?"

    I raised my wrist, and showed him the bracelet. "Silvius took this from the corpse, and put it on my wrist."

    William's eyes darkened. "And why did he do that?"

    "He thought to make me remember. At that time I lagged in forgetfulness, remembering nothing. It was a device to make Asterion think me no threat. To make him believe that Mag was dead."

    "And that artifice worked, of course."

    He was looking at me strangely, and I found myself shivering. "Yes." In truth, of course, Asterion had then found out about Damson, and had

    O

    "murdered" poor Mag all over again, but I sensed that now was not the time to leap forth into such explanations.

    What was wrong with William? Why did he regard me with such wild-eyed strangeness?

    "William? What is wrong? Why summon me here?" Sweet gods, was this the time for us? I felt a mad rush of hope and joy within me, and even though I tried to suppress it, I knew I could not keep it entirely from my face.

    He lifted those unsettling eyes from me and began to walk slowly about the chamber, sometimes "running a hand about its walls, sometimes touching briefly one of the plinths. "I have seen Silvius," he said.

    "That cannot have been pleasant."

    He shot me a look, but continued speaking in a normal tone. "From what you said to me, and from what I have gleaned, he has been of great aid to you."

    "And to this land. I owe him a great deal."

    "Be careful you do not owe him too much," he said. "Caela, how much does he know?"

    I frowned. "Know about what?"

    "About the Game, about the bands—and their locations—about you."

    My frown deepened. "He knows many things. He has been at my side for almost a year, now. And at Saeweald's. He has become our closest ally."

    At that, William closed his eyes briefly, as if I had said something so painful he could hardly bear it. And I suppose I had. Brutus had ever hated his father.

    "You lay with him," William said. "You lay with him."

    "I wanted to," I said steadily, wishing William would leave this be. "I had no wish to stay God's eternal virgin concubine."

    "You gave him your virginity," he said, his voice bitter. "That gives any man a powerful hold over a woman."

    "It certainly gave you a powerful hold over me."

    "But with Silvius, even more power, Caela, considering what you are now."

    I shrugged. "He is my friend. He will not think to use it to—"

    "The gods curse you, Caela! Have you no wits?"

    I flinched, taking a step back. William's face was suffused with fury, and something else, which frightened me far more than did his fury: fear.

    "It is not the time now to discover yourself jealous, William. I—"

    "Damn you for your unthinking naive stupidity!" He strode forward and, before I could stop him, before I could even think, or utter a protest, he seized me in cruel hands, and forced his mouth down to mine.

    For an instant I resisted, and then all my want and need, all my desire for him flooded through me, and I opened my mouth under his.

    How many years had I wanted him to kiss me?

    Oh gods… I melted against him.

    "You bitch!" he exclaimed, almost throwing me from him, and, horribly, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand. "You corrupted piece of filth!"

    I could not believe it. How could he possibly say that to me?

    "Don't you understand, Caela?" he spat. "The apparition of Silvius which walks this land is not my father, nor Brutus' father." He paused, and in that instant, seeing the terror in his eyes, I suddenly knew what he was going to say.

    I went cold, frozen with horror.

    "Silvius is Asterion! Asterion may have used Aldred's body from time to time, but Asterion took Silvius' form as well! I tasted it, the corruption in your mouth. You are as much his as is Swanne."

    "No." I gasped the word, taking yet another step back. My stomach coiled and then clenched, and I thought I might vomit. "No!"

    "Yes! Curse you again, Caela! How much does he know?"

    I could not think. My entire world had torn apart around me.

    William had walked up to me, and now he grabbed my shoulders, giving me a little shake. "How much does he know?" he said again.

    "Silvius cannot be… he cannot be…"

    "How much does he know?"

    "Many things," I managed to whisper, my mind churning. "Saeweald and I… we trusted him. We trusted him. He knew so much that… things only Silvius could have known…"

    "And what did you know of what Silvius knew? Answer me that?"

    "He knew the Game… as he would, being your father…"

    "No one knows the Game better than Asterion. And no one knows it less than you, or Saeweald. You were his willing fools. You knew nothing of Silvius, and nothing of Asterion, save for their existence." His mouth twisted, and I could see contempt burning in his eyes. "All he had to do was come to you, wearing my face, and say, T hated Brutus, too. I was his victim, too. I want to help.' And you fell into his arms. Literally. You were so grateful, you lay with him."

    He grunted, disgusted, and pushed me away. "You lay with Asterion. You stupid, sorry bitch, Caela. What have you done?"

    I could say nothing immediately. All I could do was stare at him, appalled more at myself than what he'd said about Silvius. One thing stuck in my mind—how Silvius had known all about glamours.

    Of course he knew, because he used them continually himself.

    Eventually, running my tongue over my lips to soften them away from their dryness, I managed to speak. "How did you know?"

    "When I was Brutus, and you Cornelia, I had a vision. I saw you lying with

    a man in the stone hall, a man you loved. I could not then see his face, but as your loving continued, he changed, changed into Asterion, and before my eyes, he murdered you. You accepted him into your body, thinking he was a man who loved you, and he took that and murdered you with it."

    He paused. "The night you lay with Silvius I again saw a vision, save that this time I did see the man's face. My father's—or at least a glamour of him."

    I was shaking my head, desperate to deny what he was saying, but William continued on. "And last night I saw him, he who pretends to be my father. I spoke to him of my mother and his wife, Claudia. He talked of her as well."

    "I do not understand."

    "My mother's name was Lavinia. My father would have known that. Asterion would not."

    I raised trembling hands to my face, finally facing the fact that William might be speaking the truth.

    "He does not know where the bands are," I said. "Silvius never knew."

    He almost spat in my face. "He doesn't need to know where they are. He has you, Caela. He is going to reel you in at any moment. You are his creature. You will take him to them!"

    He stopped, his face roiling in contempt, and suddenly the full enormity of what he'd told me hit me.

    Everything I'd done had been a jest. All those times I'd laughed with Silvius about fooling Asterion. All the times I'd confided in him.

    I remembered, in a bolt of stunning clarity, how Silvius had made such a point of making me agree that I lay with him freely, that it was my own choice. How he insisted that I had to come to him as myself, and not as Damson.

    I remembered how he'd never appeared with me, or Saeweald, or Judith, or anyone else close to me, when he was within Aldred's body.

    And I'd given myself to him. Freely. I'd given Asterion not only me, but Eaving… this land!

    When I'd become Eaving, I'd felt the shadow which hung over the land, the blight that tainted it. I'd thought that shadow and blight was Swanne. I was wrong.

    It was me.

    "He has you, thus he has the bands," William said softly, driving home each word with cruel intent. "He has Swanne, the Mistress of the Labyrinth. He has the Game, Caela, in his hands, and you and Swanne have given it to him!"

    I gagged, nausea suddenly overwhelming me. I could hear screaming, and I realized it was the Sidlesaghes, atop a hill somewhere, tearing themselves apart in their agony.

    And I, I, I, had done this to them, and to this land.

    I had given it to Asterion.

    There was a step behind me, and strong hands seized my body and held it back hard against foul, muscular flesh.

    And then a voice spoke, its breath caressing my cheek, its sound filling the chamber.

    "Not Gods' Concubine at all," said Asterion. "But mine."

    OT GODS' CONCUBINE AT ALL," SAID ASTERION.

    ¥ I "But mine."

    William sagged, grabbing at one of the plinths for support, only at this moment finally allowing himself to believe what he had shouted at Caela: that she'd given herself to Asterion, that she was his creature as much as Swanne.

    He'd wanted her to somehow deny it, perhaps explain it, account for the stench of foulness he'd tasted in her mouth as he'd tasted it in Swanne's.

    But she was Asterion's creature. Both of them. Asterion's.

    The Minotaur had his eyes fixed on William, kept them on him, even as he lowered his head and nuzzled at Caela's neck as a lover might.

    Caela did not move, but she stared at William, and in those eyes, William saw terror, and guilt, and hopelessness, and desperation.

    And something else.

    An entreaty.

    No!

    Please! She begged him with her eyes as Asterion's mouth moved to the back of her neck, then into her hair, a faint trail of saliva clinging to her skin where his mouth had been. Please! Please!

    No!

    Gods, do this if you never do anything else for me, my love.

    And it was that "my love" that persuaded him. That, and the fact that Caela resisted, where Swanne had succumbed.

    "Caela," William said and, stepping forward, snatched Caela from Asterion's surprised hold.

    "Caela."

    Then, before the Minotaur could move, William lowered his head, kissed Caela as fiercely as he could and, as she grabbed at him, sank his sword deep into her belly.

    Caela!

    ASTERION WATCHED CAELA, STILL SOMEHOW ALIVE,

    sink to the floor, the blood pumping from her belly, saw the expression of torment on William's face—and laughed.

    Caela lifted a bloody hand and grabbed at William's wrist, her eyes locked into his, her lips moving soundlessly.

    "What?" said Asterion, still chortling. "You think that will save you, and your Game? She'll only be reborn, fool, at my behest, and then I shall have her. She shall be mine, all mine—mind, body, and spirit."

    He paused, and the laughter in his face and voice died as he saw that William watched only Caela in her dying, and paid him no attention. "Never yours. Never."

    Caela's hand slipped away from William's wrist, and, as he tried to seize her, and lift her up, she closed her eyes and breathed one last final sigh, blood bubbling from her mouth.

    There was a moment's silence, a vast stillness, and then William let Caela's body slump to the floor.

    He took his sword, lifted it, then tossed it across the chamber toward Asterion, now watching him warily.

    "Kill me, as well," William said. "I see no reason to continue this charade."

    But he said it to empty air.

    Asterion had vanished.

    E DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THE BODY.

    Should he leave it here, in this mausoleum? Carry it to the surface / and lay it before the stunned, angry eyes of those who had cared for her?

    He sank to his knees before the body, gently straightening out its limbs, his eyes avoiding the congealing blood across its abdomen, his heart racing, his mind screaming that this wasn't happening, that this hadn't happened, that he could not have… he could not have…

    He had killed her?

    "Caela," William whispered.

    He had killed her? No, how could that be… Brutus had constantly held his hand, and yet Brutus had hated her.

    Hadn't he?

    William moaned, and bent forward until his forehead rested on Caela's still breast.

    He had killed her.

    That Caela herself had begged him to do so was of no matter. He had killed her.

    "Gods… gods… gods…" he murmured, over and over, everything within him turning to ice.

    "William," said a voice, and William jerked to his feet, wild-eyed, his hands spread defensively to either side of his body.

    Harold stood a little distant away, dressed in the scarlet tunic with the great golden dragon emblazoned across its breast that he'd been wearing when he'd been struck down with Swanne's foul arrow, but without his warrior's chain mail beneath it, merely simple cream linen trousers. His hair was pulled back and tied with a thong in the nape of his neck, his beard close-trimmed to his cheeks, his face calm as he regarded Caela laying dead at William's feet.

    "You promised you would not harm her," said Harold. "You vowed it to me!"

    "I—"

    "This is a bad day," Harold said, then raised his eyes from Caela to William. They were steady, impassive.

    "I had no choice—" William began.

    "This is a bad day that, after all the days and years and aeons you refused her that simple grace of a kiss, the moment you do kiss her, you choose only to taste foulness."

    "I—"

    "Did you taste foulness because that is what you wanted to taste, William?"

    "She had lain with Asterion, willingly. She was his creature."

    "You are a fool, William." Suddenly Harold had closed the distance between them, although William did not actually see him move, and, his hand tight in William's hair, had wrenched William's head back until he screamed in agony.

    "You are a fool! You tasted only what you wanted! I lay with her, did you know that?"

    "I lay with her, and kissed her mouth, and because I loved her, I tasted only sweetness and goodness. You bring corruption to everything you touch, William. No one else. You." He wrenched William's head again, and the man cried out, but made no move to pull himself free. "Who corrupted her, William? Asterion… or you, that first night you lay with her in her father's palace in Mesopotama? That night you raped her."

    Harold let William's head go and the man staggered a little as he regained his balance.

    "No," Harold said, his voice thick with contempt. "No one has corrupted Cornelia-Caela, not even you. She is incorruptible, did you not know that?"

    "But she, too, thought that—"

    "She thought so because she looked into your eyes, and your face as you told her how depraved she was. She looked at the man she has always loved, and what she saw in his eyes and his face made her believe in her own corruption. She had waited aeons for that kiss, William, lived only for it, and you used it to destroy her!"

    Harold paused, his chest heaving, then laughed hollowly. "Have neither you nor Asterion thought, pitiful fools, that if Caela said to Asterion-as-Silvius, thinking he was Silvius, 'Yes, I lay with you willingly,' then that promise was given to your father, even if he was not there, and not to Asterion?."

    William stared at Harold, his eyes unblinking, trying to make sense of what Harold said.

    "You sent her into death believing she is Asterion's creature," Harold said, his voice now expressionless. "What a magnificent parting gift for the one woman who has always loved you, eh? How you must always have hated her."

    "I do not hate her!"

    Harold raised an eyebrow.

    "I do not hate her!"

    Harold turned his back.

    "I have always loved her," William whispered, sinking to his knees and holding out his hands in supplication. "Always."

    Harold turned his head slightly, enough to see William over his shoulder. "Then may mercy save her from a man who loves as you do," he said, and vanished.

    CbAPGGR GUDejMGy-FOUR

    OTHER ECUB HAD SAT IN HER PRIORY WITH

    Matilda at her side and had known the moment Caela died. Concomitant with that knowledge came such a terrible wave of despair and fear that Ecub knew that Caela had died in the worst possible circumstances.

    And then the Sidlesaghes atop Pen Hill had wailed, and then lifted such a cacophony of mourning to the night skies that Ecub understood that even "worst possible circumstances" was possibly being a little too optimistic.

    The women of the priory, known among themselves now as Eaving's Sisters, came to sit with Mother Ecub and with Matilda. They formed a circle, and held hands, and spoke quietly, wondered, and wept.

    Two hours after the knowledge of Caela's death had overwhelmed Ecub, there came a ringing at the priory gate.

    "I will go," said Ecub.

    And she set her face into harsh lines, rose, lifted a lamp, and walked to the gates. Matilda at her heels.

    When she swung them open, she was not overly surprised to find William of Normandy—Brutus—standing there, Caela's bloody body in his arms.

    Matilda gasped, her hands flying to her face. She started forward, but Ecub held her back.

    "Help me," William said. He did not seem surprised to see his wife standing with Ecub.

    "Why?" Ecub said.

    "I loved her," he said. "I want…"

    "It is too late to 'want' now," she said. But Ecub stood back once she had spoken, and beckoned William inside. Having closed and bolted the gate, she led him to the priory's chapel where she directed him to lay Caela's body on the altar.

    Matilda followed behind, crying silently.

    The chapel's altar was clothed in snowy linen, its hemline embroidered with depictions of the running stag and the twists of the labyrinth. The altar's

    O

    surface was bare, derelict of any Christian paraphernalia; waiting, perhaps, for a duty such as this.

    As Matilda straightened Caela's limbs and smoothed her hair away from her brow, Ecub stood behind the altar, arms folded, staring at William. "What happened?" she said.

    William's face was haggard, that of an old man, and when he lifted a hand to rub at his close-shaven beard, Ecub saw that it trembled.

    He began to speak, in a broken, stumbling voice, and he told Ecub everything that had happened in the crypt. Everything that had been said, and everyone who had been present.

    "And so you killed her," Ecub said as he faltered to a close.

    "It was what she wanted."

    Ecub did not reply, not verbally, but her face set into hard, judgmental angles, and Matilda hissed in disbelief.

    "Mother Ecub…" he began, then whipped about, shocked, as a new voice spoke.

    "Well, well, Brutus of Troy, William of Normandy," said the Sidlesaghe, walking slowly forward from where he stood within the chapel doorway. "Grimly met, I fear."

    "Who are you?" William said, one hand at his sword.

    "William—" Ecub began, fearful, but the Sidlesaghe waved her to silence.

    "I am Long Tom," he said. "I am a Sidlesaghe. I keep company, I sing, I watch over her." He nodded at Caela's corpse.

    William addressed the Sidlesaghe again. "What are you?"

    "What I am does not concern you at this moment. Tell me William of Normandy, Kingman of the Troy Game, are you going to retrieve the bands of Trojan kingship now that you are here?"

    "What is the point?" William said. "Asterion will only haunt me if I try to find them, and as for Swanne, well she is so corrupted that—"

    "Swanne is dead," said Long Tom.

    William just stared at the Sidlesaghe, shocked.

    "Harold came to her before he came to you," Long Tom finished.

    "Well, the night has some joy in it, at least," said Matilda, speaking for the first time.

    William shook his head, as if trying to shake some understanding into it. "Gods," he said. "What am I going to do?"

    Ecub and the Sidlesaghe shrugged simultaneously. What William did, so long as he let the bands be, was of no concern to them.

    "Go now," Ecub said finally. "There is nothing more you can do here." William looked at her, then walked forward until he stood by the altar. He

    laid a hand on Caela's face and then, as Matilda had done, smoothed the hair back from her brow. "Next time," he whispered.

    And then, without word or look to either Ecub or the Sidlesaghe, he turned and strode from the chapel.

    Matilda hesitated a moment, looked at Ecub, then hurried after William.

    As the door slammed behind them, the Sidlesaghe smiled at Ecub. "Do not fear, Mother. All is not lost. Asterion does not know about Eaving. He does not know about me. And he does not know…" he raised his eyebrows at the Mother.

    She nodded, understanding. "He does not know about Harold."

    "Yes." The Sidlesaghe's smile broadened. Then he sobered, and looked again on Caela's corpse. "Will you care for her?"

    "Aye. We will wash her, and stitch her wound, and clothe her in fine array, and then we will bring her to you atop Pen Hill."

    "And there," the Sidlesaghe whispered, "we will watch over her."

    epicogue

    Christmas Day,

    Lm ^LDRED' ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, CROWNED

    .-"7j| William of Normandy and his wife Matilda as king and queen of "■ W" England on Christmas Day in a lavish ceremony held in Westminster Abbey.

    It was a celebration day in London also, although there was little in the way of feasting or joy, or even mild cheer. Most craftsmen stayed home, their workshops closed, while the markets were empty of all save children playing hopscotch on the pavements.

    Don't jump on the cracks, or the monster will snatch!

    The ceremony in the abbey went well enough, save for a peculiar episode when Aldred lowered the crown onto William's head.

    "I find this most amusing," Aldred whispered. "Crowning you, most witless of fools, as king of England. Enjoy it while you can, William, for when I return—Caela and Swanne chained to my hand—I will take the Game and bury you. The bands shall be mine, the Mistress is mine, and you shall be irrelevant. Are irrelevant."

    The eyes of the entire abbey were on the king, sitting on his throne, and Aldred, standing with his hands on the crown as it rested on William's head. Aldred had murmured something, but most believed it to be a blessing.

    They were stunned, therefore, when William reached up his hands and seized Aldred's wrists.

    "She promised to Silvius, fool, not to you."

    Aldred gave a small laugh. "Her verbal promise meant nothing. It was a ruse to upset you only. Don't you know how I shall control her? It is what I planted in her womb, as what I planted in Swanne's womb, that binds her to me. She may not be a willing tool, but she will be a tool."

    Aldred stepped back, wrenching his wrists from William's grasp.

    "All hail the king of England," Aldred intoned. "Mighty among men." And then he turned his back and walked slowly away down the center of

    the nave between the ranks of Normans who cheered both their new king and

    their new realm.

    Only their king, sitting on his throne, knew how empty his kingdom truly

    was.

    THE STONE HALL STOOD EMPTY.

    Empty, that is, save for the black imp that sat in the shadowy recesses of one aisle, playing with a red woollen ball to while away the time.

    Waiting.

    It grinned suddenly, and its teeth were white and sharp.

    Waiting.

    Its jaws snapped closed, then chewed as if they had bitten off something delectable.

    The black imp sat.

    Waiting.

  

 

 

NAME INDEX   

    Alan: Second son of harold and swanne.

    Alditha: widow of a Welsh lord, sister to edwin and morcar, wife to harold.

    ALDRED: Archbishop of York.

    ALEXANDER ü: Pope of the Roman Catholic Church, 1061-1073.

    ANSGAR: a member of the WITAN.

    ARIADNE: Mistress of the labyrinth of Crete, sister to ASTERION, foremother of swanne.

    ASTERION: the Minotaur.

    beorn: eldest son of harold and swanne.

    BOLLASON, ORN: one of hardrada's men.

    BOWERTHEGN: the senior chamberlain of the bower, or bedchamber.

    BRUTUS: Kingman and leader of the Trojans. Instigator, with GENVISSA, of the Troy

    Game on the banks of the Thames. Now reborn as William, duke of Normandy.

    CAELA (EADYTH): wife of EDWARD THE CONFESSOR, sister to HAROLD.

    CHENESITUN: a small village to the west of Westminster. Now know by its modern form

    of Kensington.

    CLOPEHAM: a small village some six miles southwest of the City of London. Now known

    as Clapham.

    CNUT: a Dane, and former king of England, he was also EDWARD'S stepfather and his

    hatred of his stepson was the primary reason that EDWARD spent so much of his earlier

    life in exile.

    DAMSON: the middle-aged widow of a stone mason living in Westminster.

    EADWINE: Abbot of Westminster Abbey.

    ECUB: Prioress of ST. MARGARET THE martyr's, a priory established in a convent close to

    Pen Hill north of London.

    EDWARD: king of England, known as the Confessor for his piety. Husband to caela.

    edwin: a northern Saxon earl and sister to alditha, brother to morcar.

    GENVISSA: former MagaLlan, Mistress of the Labyrinth, instigator, with BRUTUS, of the

    Troy Game in England. Now reborn as SWANNE.

    GERBERGA: a midwife.

    GLAMOUR: an enchantment which swaps souls from one body to another.

    godwine: earl of Wessex, father of harold and caela.

    GYRTH: younger brother to HAROLD and CAELA.

    HAROLD: earl of Wessexfrom the death of his father, godwine, brother to CAELA and

    TOSTIG, husband to 1) SWANNE and 2) ALDITHA.

    HAROLD HARDRADA: king of Norway.

    hawise: attending lady to swanne.

    judith: a noble woman attending Queen caela.

    kingship BANDS: the six golden limb bands of Troy's Kingman. Possession of them

    enables the Kingman to control the Troy Game.

    LEO DC Pope of the Roman Catholic Church, 1049-

    leofwine: younger brother to harold and caela.

    LONDON: ancient city of England. Formerly known as Troia Nova. Established in the

    late Bronze Age by BRUTUS.

    LONG TOM: one of the more talkative among the sidlesaghes.

    martel, guy: an envoy of William of Normandy.

    MATILDA: daughter of the duke of Flanders and wife to WILLIAM, Duke of Normandy.

    morcar: a northern earl, brother to ALDITHA and edwin.

    olafson, halldorr: one of hardrada's men.

    POITERAN: a Bronze Age kingdom in the west of France.

    ranuld: Duke William's huntsman.

    regenbald: a member of the witan.

    roussel, alain: Master of the Horse to william of Normandy.

    SAEWEALD: physician.

    ST. MARGARET THE martyr's: a priory at the base of Pen Hill. It is run by Prioress ECUB.

    sidlesaghe: a name meaning "sad songster." A member of the ancient race of Britain.

    silvius: father of BRUTUS.

    southwark: a small community on the southern bank of the Thames from LONDON. It

    is largely grouped about the southern approaches to LondonBridge.

    SPEARHAFOC: bishop of London.

    stigand: the archbishop of Canterbury.

    swanne: Danelaw wife of Earl harold of Wessex.

    THAMES, river: the major waterway which runs through London. In ancient Britain it

    was named the LlanRiver.

    THESEUS: son and heir of the Athenian king, he was sent as tribute and sacrifice to

    CRETE where he was to be fed to the Minotaur asterion. But Theseus, aided by his

    lover ARIADNE, managed to defeat the Minotaur and escape from Crete. Later in life he

    was the first lover of Helen, whose abduction precipitated the eventual destruction of

    TROY.

    THEGN: a Saxon noble

    TOSTIG: earl of Northumbria, brother to harold and caela.

    troy: the fabulous city of Troy sat on the western shores of anatolia (modern-day

    Turkey). Paris, son of the Trojan king Priam, stole away Helen from her husband,

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    Greece united against Troy. Although it survived a long Greek siege, Troy was event

    ally destroyed due to a combination of hubris, the betrayal of the gods, and Gre<

    cunning. Those Trojans who survived the destruction scattered about the lands of tl

    Mediterranean, either as refugees or slaves.

    VEILED hills, the: the six sacred hills of ancient Britain, known in the Bronze age ;

    llangarlia. These sacred hills were clustered above the LlanRiver (ThamesRiver)

    the area now known as London. The six hills are: Tot Hill (where now stands Wes

    minster); the Llandin, the most sacred of the hills (now called Parliament Hill); P(

    Hill; Og's or Lud Hill (now called Ludgate Hill); Mag's Hill (Cornhill); and the Whi

    Mount (Tower Hill). The hills are intersected by three small rivers that flow into tl

    mighty llan: the Magyl (now called the Fleet), the Ty (now called the Tyburn), and tl

    Wai (now called the Walbrook).

    william: Duke of Normandy, husband of matilda.

    witan: council of Saxon earls and elders.

    WULFSTAN: Bishop of Worcester and friend of harold.

    yves: a priest in the employ of aldred, the archbishop of York.