Gods Concubine (74 page)

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 in the land, and that made me realise 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 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 a while, silent, holding my hand in his.

I tried to hope that William would have enough sense to recognise 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 grey, 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 could not blame her for trying to put as much space as possible between her husband’s nemesis and her husband’s unborn children “—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. “God’s 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 towards 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 doubtless here in
that
capacity, not as…as…”

“Asterion,” I whispered. I closed my eyes, and collected myself. I should not fear. Aldred would not recognise me for what I truly was. I had not shown myself to him as Eaving—nor to any except 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 from her time in St Margaret the Martyr’s.

I was more powerful now. I could hide myself and my true nature from him. Besides, he thought he had 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 downtrodden 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 pain. No doubt Aelfstan wished he had died honourably 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…” 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 to him without a fight, and watch him burn the city to the ground.”

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

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

I thought furiously. It was 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 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 withstood 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.

F
OURTEEN

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

But he couldn’t stop himself 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, 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 south-eastern 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 eastwards, 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. He had moved himself, Matilda and his immediate command into a large and comfortable abbey house while his army made do with sleeping in the frosty meadows or, if they were lucky, the outbuildings and barns of local farmers.

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

And, perhaps, to surrender.

Heading the delegation was the dowager queen, Caela.

They were due this afternoon. They had, in fact, arrived, and William and Matilda 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 had 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 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 as much of a threat as Matilda knew Swanne posed. Since Matilda’s arrival Swanne had kept her distance; from Matilda, at least, although Matilda had seen her 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 William draw in yet another deep breath, and again clench and relax his hands.

Sweet Lord Christ,
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 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 recognisable as nothing but a queen.

The second thing Matilda realised 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 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 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.

She nodded, and tears sprang to her eyes.