“Aye.” Again he squeezed my hands. “Caela, I must say something. When we reach the band, there will be a shock waiting there for you.”
I did not like the sound of this. “A shock?”
“Brutus,” he said.
TEN
She swallowed, and the Sidlesaghe could see the fear and want and the desperate love in her face.
“I do not know if I dare see him again,” she said, and began to weep.
The Sidlesaghe groaned, and gathered her to him, rocking her back and forth until her weeping had abated somewhat. Caela might face dragons and imps from hell, and the Sidlesaghe knew she would face them with courage and resolve. Confront her with the man she had loved so desperately, however, and Caela’s resolve and courage vanished in an instant.
“You must,” he eventually said. “It will not be as difficult as you think.”
“How so?” she said, leaning back and dashing away her tears with a hand.
“He will not know you are there, but only, only if you do not allow your eyes to meet with his. I will be with you, and I must abide by the same command myself. Neither of us can allow our eyes to meet with his. If we keep our eyes cast down, then he will overlook us, just as the guards in the towers overlooked us.”
She nodded, some of her composure regained. “And if he sees us?”
“Then we, and this land, are undone. The band will vanish, turn to dust. Asterion will have won.”
Caela closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, held it, then let it out. “Long Tom…where are we going to move the band to?”
The Sidlesaghe laughed, and stroked one of her cheeks with a thumb. “We will move this one in honour of your brother, Harold.”
She frowned, puzzled.
“To the west of Westminster,” the Sidlesaghe said, “is a small manor and village where once Earl Harold held court in the hall of a trusted friend.”
Her frown deepened, then suddenly cleared. “Cynesige, who controls the estates and village of Chenesitun. He has ever been a true friend, not only to Harold, but to our entire family.”
“Aye. Chenesitun is the place to where the Game wants this first band moved.”
“Why there?”
“Because the earl’s court will become a focal point in the Game which is yet to be played,” the Sidlesaghe said, then grinned wryly at the confusion on Caela’s face. “Or where it is playing, in some corner of the Game’s existence. This is what the Game requires, and so this is what we shall do. It will make the land a little stronger. Once the band has been moved, you will feel the renewed strength within yourself and within this land.”
“Long Tom,” Caela said, frowning a little, “how is it that you—and your kind—and the Game ‘talk’? How do you know these things?”
The Sidlesaghe laughed, joyous, and Caela realised that he must spend much of his existence laughing. “We sing to each other, my love. Under the starlight. We hum.”
“Oh,” she said, not quite able to imagine this.
The Sidlesaghe grinned. “Now, are you ready?”
She nodded, but the Sidlesaghe saw that her knuckles had whitened where her hands clutched at the cloak.
“We will survive this night, at least,” he said, “if you remember what I said about not meeting Brutus’ eyes.”
Again Caela nodded, and so the Sidlesaghe took one of her hands, and he led her about St Paul’s, first sunwise, then counter-sunwise. He walked deliberately but briskly, keeping Caela close by his side so that they walked almost as one.
Once they had completed the counter-sunwise circuit of the boundary of St Paul’s, the Sidlesaghe led her north along a narrow street, then after a few minutes executed a sharp turn to the east, crossing through a vegetable garden.
“What…” Caela began to ask, then apparently realised the answer herself.
“We are traversing the Labyrinth,” she said.
“Aye. Not quite the same Labyrinth that Brutus caused to be built atop Og’s Hill, but one very similar if a little more convoluted. He hid each band within its own Labyrinth—or, rather, guarded it by its own labyrinthine enchantment—so that only one skilled in the ways of the Labyrinth could find them again.” He paused. “Or one whom the Labyrinth allowed to enter.”
“The Game will not allow Asterion to traverse the labyrinthine ways to the bands?”
“No. There are six labyrinthine enchantments for each of the six golden bands of Troy, and Asterion does not know them. He cannot traverse them.”
“Without either Brutus—William—or you, or another of your kind.”
“Or you,” the Sidlesaghe said, noting, but not laughing at, the sudden frown on Caela’s face. “And he shall not have me, nor as many of the bands as we can hide from William. Come, enough chatter. The night fades, and we have much work to do before morning.”
They continued to walk through London, their pace picking up further speed the greater distance they travelled through the labyrinthine enchantment. The Sidlesaghe led Caela through twists and turns, great circles and tight curves, traversing the larger part of the city west of the bridge.
Eventually the Sidlesaghe brought Caela to a stop before Ludgate.
Save that now the twin towers and the walls and the very gates themselves had vanished.
Instead there rose before them a small circle of standing stones, like, yet unlike, the Stone Dances that Caela had seen in her travels as Cornelia. They were as tall as the uprights in the Stone Dances, but more graceful, being composed of tapered fluted columns which were topped with stone scrollwork. There were twelve of these columns, and they encircled a clear space that was lit with a soft golden radiance.
“These stones,” Caela murmured, transfixed by the sight. “Are they…?”
“Aye. They are of our number as well. When Brutus first constructed this enchantment they were of his world, bloodless, lifeless creatures. But as the years passed we inhabited them, one by one.”
“So now the Sidlesaghes stand guard over the bands.”
“And you, now.” The Sidlesaghe’s hold on Caela’s hand tightened momentarily, then he led her forwards.
As they approached the columned circle, he paused, and whispered against Caela’s ear, “Remember, do not meet his eyes.”
She nodded, her eyes on the radiance beyond the columns.
They walked forward slowly.
As they reached the columns, and paused between two of them, the Sidlesaghe felt Caela tense. “Remember!” he whispered, and she managed a tight nod.
Brutus stood in the centre of the circle.
He was naked save for the six golden bands of Troy he wore about his limbs. His tightly curled black hair flowed down his back, lifting a little in some unfelt breeze.
He was walking very slowly and very deliberately about the centre of the circle, his head down, his eyes fixed on the ground intently, as if he studied it for flaws.
Then suddenly he stopped, and raised his head, and looked directly towards where the Sidlesaghe and Caela stood.
The Sidlesaghe looked at Caela’s face, then tugged urgently at her hand.
Caela had been looking straight at Brutus as he’d stopped and raised his eyes to them, a look of utter want on her face, and she only managed to jerk her eyes downwards in the barest instant before her gaze would have met that of Brutus.
The Sidlesaghe kept his eyes fixed on Caela’s face. “Remember!” he hissed at her.
Brutus walked slowly towards them.
The Sidlesaghe felt Caela tremble.
Brutus halted a pace away and the Sidlesaghe could sense his puzzlement, even if he could not directly see Brutus’ face.
“Genvissa?” Brutus said. “Is that you? Genvissa?”
Caela moaned, then bit her lip, and the Sidlesaghe understood the effort it took her not to look at Brutus.
“Genvissa?” Brutus said. He stood still, looking forward intently, and the Sidlesaghe knew that Brutus felt something.
“Oh gods
,” Brutus said, his voice breaking, “where are you, Genvissa?”
The Sidlesaghe thought Caela would collapse at that moment. Her breath was coming in short jerks, her body was shaking, her head was trembling uncontrollably.
Any moment she was going to lift her eyes to Brutus, and call his name.
“In one of your futures,” the Sidlesaghe said, very softly, “it will not be her name he calls, and then you will be able to lift your head and meet his eyes. Remember that.”
The compassion in his voice steadied Caela. She closed her eyes, gained some control of herself, then squeezed the Sidlesaghe’s hand very slightly.
I will not look.
“Genvissa?” Brutus said one more time, but his tone was less sure now, less urgent, and after a moment he turned and walked back to the centre of the circle.
He stood—fortunately now with his back to the Sidlesaghe and Caela, which meant they could watch him directly—and looked down for a long time, then he sighed and seemed to come to a decision within himself. He lifted his left hand and, slowly, with great precision, slid the golden band that encircled his right forearm down over his wrist.
He hesitated as it reached his hand, then, the muscles of his back visibly clenching, he slid the band over his hand, squatted, and placed the band on the ground before him. He lifted his right hand, and made a complex movement over the band as it lay on the ground.
“He is creating the labyrinthine enchantment that we just traversed,” the Sidlesaghe whispered into Caela’s ear, and she gave a small nod.
Brutus finished, standing upright.
In the space of a breath, he vanished, and both Caela and the Sidlesaghe let out their breaths in long, relieved sighs.
“Take it,” the Sidlesaghe said, nodding to the band where it lay on the ground. “Take it. You will be safe.”
Caela paused, then walked into the circle. She stood before the band, then leaned down and, without any hesitation, picked it up.
Part Five
Late 1065
Don’t jump on the cracks, …
Late 1065
Don’t jump on the cracks, or the monster will snatch!
Children’s hopscotch song, traditional
London, March 1939
“What do you know of Eaving?” Skelton said as he stirred the sugar into his tea. He stared unabashedly at Ecub and Matilda, noting the similarities in their finely-drawn features. True-born sisters now. Twins, he thought, as there was no age difference between them.
Who had controlled their rebirth? Surely not Asterion. They must be a part of the Troy Game itself, their souls entwined with the Labyrinth.
“Very little,” said Matilda. “Jack, you know me, and know what once I was to you. If I knew, I would tell you.”
“Is she with Coel?”
“You asked Loth that last night,” said Ecub. “Would you blame her if she was?”
“Curse you, Ecub!” Skelton said, pushing aside his cup and saucer. “I love her! Where is she?”
“Coel has ever been the gentler choice for her,” Ecub responded.
“Coel is not the man for her,” Skelton responded, very quietly, his eyes steady on Ecub’s. “Now tell me, you ancient witch, where is Eaving? You are bound to her. You must know where she is!”
Ecub looked at Matilda, then back to Skelton. She smiled. “You are going to have to fight for both Eaving and your daughter. Are you prepared to do that?”
“Yes, damn it. Yes!”
“Are you prepared to do everything in your power to—”
“Yes!”
Ecub raised her eyebrows, and shared a look with Matilda.
“I will destroy the world if that is what it takes,” said Skelton. “Please…”
Ecub studied him, seeing in his haggard face all she needed to know.
“What if I said to you,” she said, “that ‘destroying the world’ means giving Eaving to Coel, forever and aye?”
Skelton sat back in his chair and studied Mother Ecub through narrowed eyes. “No,” he said slowly, “you say that only to taunt me. Giving Eaving to Coel is not required. It is not even possible. She cannot be given to Coel. Nor would he accept her.”
“But you having her is possible?” Matilda asked.
Skelton looked at the woman who, so many centuries ago, had once been his wife. His only answer was a small, tight smile and the slightest of nods.
Both Ecub and Matilda burst into delighted laughter as if he were a favourite child who had just passed a crucial test. Matilda rose, and, stepping forward, placed her hand on his bare chest.
His skin was very warm, the muscles beneath very tight, and her touch brought back many memories for both of them.
“Tell me what to do,” Skelton said. “Tell me what I have to do to win Eaving back from whatever darkness consumes her.”
ONE
Matilda was always a light sleeper, drifting in and out of awareness as a night progressed. She would wake to hear William’s heavy breathing beside her, and she would smile, and touch him, knowing all was well with her world, and drift back into a deeper unconsciousness for a time. William lapsed into deep sleep the instant he lay down, slumbering soundly the entire night through, but Matilda did not for an instant begrudge him his deep rest. Those secret, brief moments when she would wake, and touch him, were precious to her.
She woke this night as she so often did, still half-dreaming, and reached out to touch William’s arm.
The instant her fingertips touched his skin, he burst from the bed, shouting, screaming, incoherent with…what? Matilda did not know. She cried out herself, stunned, unable for the moment to make any sense of a world which had so suddenly erupted into the unexplainable.
Were they under attack?
Were there assassins in the bedchamber?
William was raging about the chamber, crying out imcomprehensibly, beating at walls, at his head, smashing a ewer and several wine cups halfway across the chamber.
The door burst open, and men-at-arms and valets and chamberlains, groggy with either sleep or shock or both, staggered into the room to instantly reel out of the way as William continued his maddened rampage.
“William!” Matilda shouted, snatching at a robe to clothe herself as she stumbled from the bed. “William!”
“The band!” he screamed. “The band!”
Matilda burst into terrified sobs, certain that her husband had been struck with a brain fever so appalling he would shortly drop dead. She sank to her knees, unable to cope, her hands laced over her bowed head, while above her William continued to shout, to rage and to roar.
“The band! Who has laid hand to the band?”
Like William, Swanne also knew one of the bands had been touched, handled by someone other than her or William.
Who? Who? Who?
Unlike William, Swanne did not roar and rage. Instead she curled up in her bed, sweating in terror, the coverlets pulled up to her chin, staring frantic-eyed around the darkness of her chamber.
If it was William who had laid a hand to the Kingship band, then she would have known it.
But this was not William’s doing. This was the work of someone else.
Who?
No! No! Not…Asterion?
Swanne whimpered, feeling all her habitual arrogance and surety bleed away into the unknown night. It was no accident, surely, that so soon after Asterion had taunted her (Do you know what Ariadne promised me? Do you know how much she enjoyed me?) a band was moved.
Swanne fought back panic.
She had never felt so alone, so powerless, in her entire life.
Asterion had been awake, torturing with cruel words and spiteful fingers a small naked boy he had tied face down spreadeagled across his bed.
He stopped suddenly, frozen half-bent over the sobbing boy, then he slowly raised his head, his eyes narrowed, his lips drawing back over his teeth in a silent snarl.
“Who?” he hissed. “Who? Who has found a band?”
> William? Had William slunk unnoticed into the country?
Asterion felt a moment of intense fear. He had not expected William to be this bold!
And yet why not, eh? What if William was not willing to dance to Asterion’s tune? What if he had decided to circumvent everything Asterion had so carefully planned?
What if William had donned the garb of a merchant, or a common seaman, and jumped off ship in London dock, seeking out the bands before Asterion was ready to intercept him?
“No!” Asterion said. “It cannot be William. Think, man.”
He looked down to the boy, who continued to cry, save that now his wails grew louder as he twisted his face about and saw the expression on the face of the man standing over him.
The man reached down and touched the boy, tweaked him, and the boy shrieked.
“Not William,” said Asterion softly. “Not William at all.”
Who then?
Her. It had to be. Damn her to all hells. It had to be her.
“But how has she found them? What magic has she employed?”
Was she stronger than he thought?
That thought disturbed Asterion, and he sighed, and considered the boy. It would have been fun to play with him a little longer, but…
He took hold of a large wooden crucifix that hung on the wall next to the bed and dealt the boy a shattering blow to the back of his head, then one to the back of his ribs, and then yet again to the boy’s neck.
When he had done, the boy lay still, barely alive, blood seeping from his battered body.
In any other circumstances, the sight would have stimulated Asterion into the heights of sexual passion. Tonight, however, he merely tossed the crucifix down on to the boy’s body with a grunt, and reached for his robe.
When he had garbed himself, and wiped away spatters of the boy’s blood which marked his face, he left the chamber.
“Throw him in the river,” he said to the shadowy man waiting patiently outside, and the man nodded, and slipped inside the door.
Gods' Concubine Page 33
