Gods' Concubine

by Sara Douglass

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

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

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

  There was an utter silence as everyone stared at her.

  “How can you know this?” asked Wulfstan, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Such knowledge is witchery, surely.”

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

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

  “And my fate?” asked Harold. “What is my fate, then, if you speak to angels in your dreams?”

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

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

  Harold stared at her, then his mouth quirked. “That may be read as either a glorious death, or a glorious reign, sister. No! Do not explain yourself, for I regret the asking of the question in the first place. But do tell me, since you seem to know so much, who is it I should fear the most? Who stands as the greatest obstacle between me and the throne of England?”

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

  Harold gave a hard bark of laughter. “You do not want to tell me.”

  Something hardened in Caela’s eyes. “Beware of William, brother, for at his back shall ride the most dangerous enemy this land will ever know.”

  “Now you speak in riddles, Caela. Should I fear his wife, Matilda? But, oh yes, William…” He drifted into silence, one hand rubbing at his short, stubbled beard.

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

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

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

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

  NINE

  “She humiliated me, and you said nothing!” Swanne said as she watched her husband disrobe.

  Harold remained silent, unlacing his tunic, sliding it over his head and tossing it across a chest.

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

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

  She twisted out of his grip. “You’ve always lusted after her.”

  He went white, but said or did nothing.

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

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

  Again Harold turned from her, twisting off his boots and then his trousers and tossing them towards the chest.

  Swanne nursed her wrist, watching him with, finally, all of her loathing and contempt writhing across her face. “And there is nothing for you but the dung heap, Harold. You cast your eyes towards the throne, but you should know that—”

  She stopped suddenly, both her eyes and those of Harold flying to the door which had suddenly opened.

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

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

  His eyes were very wary.

  “Is this the future King and Queen of England I see before me? Nay, I think not. This behaviour cannot surely be that of—”

  “What do you want, Tostig?” Harold said roughly.

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

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

  And, lightning quick, he drew his dagger from the belt at his waist and plunged it towards Harold’s heart.

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

  “For god’s sake, Swanne!” Harold shouted. “Send for aid! Now!”

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

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

  Caela was asleep, when suddenly her innocuous dream slid into horror.

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

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

  And then she heard Swanne laugh…

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

  “Assassins!” Caela screamed, stumbling in her haste to leap from the bed and grabbing her robe as soon as her feet hit the floor. “Assassins! Harold’s chambers. Oh, god…assassins! Help him!”

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

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

  Harold and To
stig twisted across the bed, rolling this way and that, each man grunting with effort, neither man able to gain the upper hand from an opponent as strong and as battle-hardened as he.

  “For the gods’ sakes, Tostig,” Swanne muttered, her look now anxious. “Do not mismanage this as you have so many other matters!”

  At that moment Harold cried out, and Swanne saw a thick smear of blood mar the surface of the creamy bed linens.

  “Good,” she said. “Very good.”

  The palace was awake and in full cry, guards grabbing weapons and rushing through halls and chambers towards exits and, eventually, Harold’s hall to the south of Edward’s palace.

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

  They would never get there in time!

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

  Your lord fights away an assassin! Aid him. Aid him now!

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

  Tostig suddenly cried out, rolling away from Harold, a deep cut across his belly. Harold lurched upright, his own chest and belly covered in blood and, ignoring the dagger, struck Tostig an immense blow to his jaw.

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

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

  When Caela arrived with Judith, the bowerthegn and what seemed like an entire company of guards from Edward’s palace, it was to find Harold sitting on his bed, one of his guards by his side holding a thick wad of bedding to Harold’s chest and belly to staunch bleeding, and Swanne standing by the window, staring out, her face closed, her arms folded.

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

  “It was Tostig,” Harold said, wincing as Caela’s probing fingers bit a little too deeply.

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

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

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

  “Swanne?” she whispered. “Again?”

  Swanne turned around. “Me? Nay, Caela. I was as surprised as any by Tostig’s attack.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  He grunted finally, allowing Caela to wipe away the blood, and sat back. “You’re lucky,” Saeweald said. “The chest wound did not go deep enough to reach either your heart or your lungs. It will be sore enough for a few days, but it will leave you with hardly a scar. The belly wound I will need to stitch, only because of its length, but it is even less deep than that wound in your chest.”

  Swanne laughed, harsh and bitter, making everyone jerk their heads towards her. “Well now,” she said, “what a scene this is. Is it only someone with my sense of humour who could possibly enjoy it? Ah, I see no need to pretend, not with who we have here in this chamber.”

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

  Caela’s face hardened as she opened her mouth to speak, but Harold forestalled her. He pushed aside Saeweald’s hands, strode over to his wife and grabbed her arm in a tight hand.

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

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

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

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

  TEN

  CAELA SPEAKS

  Harold came to see me the day after Tostig’s vile treachery. It was in the late afternoon, and many among the court, my husband included, had gone to vespers services within the abbey church. Edward had only shrugged when told of the drama within Harold’s bedchamber the previous night, and commented: “I’d thought Tostig was a better huntsman than that.”

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

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

  “Harold…are you well? Your wounds?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “You comfort me through all my lives, Harold,” I said as softly and lovingly as I could.

  He looked away, overcome, I think, with emotion, and for long moments we were silent.

  Finally, unable to bear it any longer, I said, “Tostig?”

  He sighed. “Last night’s debacle was my own fault. You remember that when we sat in court in the evening, I mentioned that I’d heard that Hardrada had agents within Westminster, and I had the means to shortly discover them, and their purpose?”

  I nodded.

  His mouth twisted wryly. “Even then I suspected Tostig. I had thought to goad him into action…but I had no idea how deadly that action might be.”

  I closed my eyes momentarily, unable to bear the thought that Tostig might have succeeded. “Have you found him?”

  “No. He slipped away.”

  Aided, no doubt, by Swanne’s witchcraft, I thought. How she must have enjoyed last night.

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

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

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

  “You are very beloved, Harold,” I whispered.