Gods' Concubine

by Sara Douglass

  “I have seen how William regards Matilda, his wife. I suspect you will be queen of nothing but the peasant rabble who work your fields.”

  She spat at him, but Harold could see the fear in her eyes, and he smiled coldly.

  “Clothe yourself, Swanne. I have already left instructions with the servants that you will be removing to the country by this afternoon.”

  And with that Harold turned and left the chamber.

  Swanne stared after him for long moments, her eyes wild, her expression a mixture of fear and shock and disbelief. She could not afford to be banished to the countryside!

  Gods…gods! How had Harold known? William could not have betrayed her to Harold.

  He could not.

  Could he?

  TEN

  Harold went straight from his bedchamber to that of Caela, hoping she had returned from St Paul’s by now.

  He burst into Caela’s chamber almost as abruptly as he had into his own to find Judith and two other ladies removing Caela’s outer clothing.

  “Harold!” Caela spun about to face him, waving a dismissal to her ladies at the same time.

  “Caela, thank God you have returned from your worship.” Harold walked across to her as the women left the chamber and, placing his hands on her shoulders, bent to kiss her briefly and dispassionately on the mouth. “You are well?”

  “Aye, I am. But, Harold…ah, thank God to see you well.”

  Harold managed a smile and, checking to see that all of Caela’s attending ladies had left the room, said, “William did not murder me, sister. He is not a man of Tostig’s treachery.”

  She let out a long breath of sheer relief, and placed the palm of her hand against his cheek. “What…ah, Harold, what happened?”

  He took her by the hand and led her back to the bed so they could both sit down. As he talked, relating to her all that he’d seen and heard and talked of with William, he kept her hand tight in his own.

  “He is a good man,” Harold finished. “I cannot find it in my heart to hate him.” He let out a short, dry laugh. “Even to distrust him. And what a thing that is to say about a man who makes no attempt to hide his own ambition for the English throne.”

  “You liked him,” Caela said, her eyes searching Harold’s face.

  “Aye, that I did. In a strange manner, we have become friends, even though our ambitions make us sworn enemies. He is an honourable man, Caela.”

  She smiled, and Harold thought he’d never seen her look lovelier. “How he has changed,” she said. “I am glad. I am so glad.”

  Harold frowned. “‘How he has changed’? But you have never met him.”

  Caela looked away, her face closing over. “I have only heard rumours, brother.”

  And William spoke of Caela in a manner that made me wonder if ever he had met her, Harold thought. He lifted a hand, and gently turned Caela’s face back to meet his.

  “Is Swanne the only one who has been secretly communicating with William?” he said. “William was as interested in you as you have been in him. Why all this interest, Caela?”

  “I have had no communication with William,” she said, her gaze unflinching, and he believed her.

  “And I am interested in William for the same reason you are, Harold. He seeks the English throne.”

  “You do not need to fear him, Caela. Not personally. He has sworn to me that if…if fate favours him in this wrestle for England, then he will do you no harm, nor harm to any of my children.”

  “He said that?” Caela smiled, although it was tinged with sadness. “I had thought he might be vindictive…hard. It is what I had…heard of him.”

  “Vicious rumour only. William is an honourable man.”

  “Ah, Harold, I hope his promises never have to be kept.”

  There was a silence, and Caela became uncomfortable under Harold’s regard. “Harold, tell me, what manner of man is William? Come now, hold nothing back. Tell me of William and Matilda.”

  He laughed softly. “William is a tall man, and strong in build. And handsome, with black, dancing eyes and a magnetism about him that surely draws women to him like bees to the honey pot. Mayhap you will think he will be a prettier face to have about this court than mine.”

  “Never.”

  “Aye, well…I think he looks at no one but Matilda. I do not think even Swanne can draw him away from her.”

  “Do you think that William knows Swanne for what she is, and thus leans to Matilda?”

  “William respects and trusts and treasures his wife. I think he knows it is something he could not achieve with Swanne.”

  Again Caela breathed out as if in deep relief, and Harold looked carefully at her. “Caela, will you promise me something?”

  “Anything.”

  “If by wicked fate William defeats me to take the throne, will you support him?”

  “How can you ask that of me?”

  “If I am defeated I do not want to think that England will tear itself apart trying to resist William. You will be the dowager queen, people will listen to you—”

  “Listen to me? God’s Concubine? The always-dismissed wife of Edward? Harold, I do not think that—”

  “You are far more than that, Caela. Do you think I cannot see? That I do not watch the way you move, and what you say, and watch how other people respond to you? In the past weeks…I don’t know…in the past weeks you have somehow come into your true self. People have always listened to you, and respected you, whatever Edward has said and done. Now, I think there might be something even more than ‘respect’ behind their regard.” He sighed, dropped his eyes, and stroked her hand where it rested in his.

  “Caela, please. Do this for me if you do nothing else. If William takes the throne over my dead body, then support him. The witan will take what you say and consider it. They will not dismiss you. The people will not dismiss you, nor what you say. Caela, please, I ask you this for the sake of the land—”

  Something flitted across her face, an expression Harold could not read, and her hands jumped slightly where they clasped his.

  “—for England, and everything that it is. Will you do this for me? Will you support William if…if it comes to pass?”

  “Oh, Harold…” her voice broke. “Do not speak of your death!”

  “Promise me this!”

  She blinked away her tears, then nodded. “For the land, I promise, Harold.”

  “Thank you.” He leaned forward and kissed her again, but this time did not immediately draw away. Their mouths locked, and Harold’s free hand slipped behind Caela’s head and pressed her the more firmly into him.

  She moaned softly, and probably with desire rather than distress, but it was enough to make Harold draw back.

  “Oh God,” he breathed. “Caela, I am sorry.”

  “No! Never say that. Be sorry for the fact we cannot be together, but not for the fact that you love me.”

  He kissed her again, softly, and then shifted his mouth to her ear. “Cruel fate,” he whispered.

  “Crueller than you realise,” she said.

  For a long moment they sat there, their faces close, feeling the play of the other’s breath over their faces, then Harold sighed, and sat back.

  “I have heard news of Tostig this morning,” he said softly.

  “I do not know if I want to hear of it.”

  “He has gone to Hardrada.”

  She was silent.

  “He will not defeat me. I promise you this. But William…well, William I respect. That’s why I asked you to pledge as you did.”

  “What of Swanne?” Caela said. “Have you seen her since you returned?”

  “Ah, Swanne! I think William distrusts her as much as I do, Caela.”

  “Really?”

  “And, yes, I have finally had done with her. I visited our chamber before coming here. I severed the ties between us. She is gone, and you, my dear,” he hesitated an instant, “must find me a new wife, someone suitable to be a queen
.”

  She looked away, composed herself, then nodded. “I have found a woman,” she said, her face and voice very quiet. “Do you wish to hear of her?”

  “Does she bear your name?”

  “Harold…”

  “I am sorry. Yes, tell me of this woman.”

  “Do you remember Alditha, Harold? She is the sister of—”

  “The earls Edwin and Morcar, aye, I know of her. But she is married to that Welsh lord. Ah! I can never remember his name!”

  “He died some months ago, Harold. And now the pretty Lady Alditha, with all her lands and estates and ancestry and alliances, sleeps unattended in the chamber which once was the Bishop of Kent’s. So close to yours.”

  Harold’s eyes had grown very dark. “I wish it were you lying unattended and alone in the chamber of the Bishop of Kent,” he said. “I wish it were you lying alone and widowed at night.”

  “I cannot,” she whispered, her face stricken. “If you truly want this throne, Harold, then I cannot.”

  “What say you, sister? That should I renounce my ambition for the throne, then you will be mine?”

  “We cannot, Harold.” She shifted on the bed, putting space between herself and Harold. “Alditha is a good woman. I am sure you will manage.”

  “I would rather a woman I could love.” He saw the stricken expression on her face. “Ah, I am sorry, Caela. This does neither of us any good. Aye. Alditha will do well enough for me, and that you have chosen her, well, that will bless the match. If you wish me to go to Alditha and warm her nights, then that I can ‘manage’.”

  Her face closed over, and he sighed. “What happened three nights ago, Caela? Both William and I had evil dreams, and mine was all about you. I thought you in great danger, and thus I hurried from William’s court back home.”

  “What happened? Why, nothing, brother.” She smiled, but it was false, and Harold knew that she kept something from him. “And William dreamed of me as well? What did he say? What did he do?”

  William again! thought Harold. Why does she speak so much about William?

  “He did not say he dreamed of you, Caela. He said he dreamed of great trouble.”

  “Ah. He was angry?”

  “Caela? You said that nothing had happened. Is that the truth?”

  “I am in no danger, Harold. Believe it.”

  Harold didn’t. She was hiding something from him, just as surely as William had hid something from him that night he’d burst into Harold’s chamber.

  What was the interest these two had in each other? Harold felt a wave of jealousy wash over him.

  “Caela—”

  “Trust me,” she whispered, her great blue eyes staring steadily into his. “Trust me. Please.”

  This time he allowed himself to believe her. “Yes,” he said. “I do.”

  Later, when Caela had settled to her ever-present needlework (claiming that a headache kept her from the bustle of Edward’s court), Swanne came to the chamber, and requested an audience with the queen.

  Surprised, Caela allowed the request, then further granted Swanne some privacy by asking Judith and the other ladies to retire some distance away.

  “Harold has doubtless spoken to you,” Swanne said, her voice hard.

  Caela inclined her head. She did not look up from her needlework.

  Swanne’s lips compressed into a hard, vicious line. “Grant me duty within your ladies. I cannot lose my place at court.”

  Caela finally lifted her eyes. “My attending ladies are my only haven of peace, sister. You want that I should shatter it with your presence?” She sighed, shaking her head slightly. “I cannot offer you a place within my own tiny court. It would go against Harold’s wishes.”

  “Harold! Have you slept with him yet, little virgin girl? Are you the reason he has turned so viciously against me?”

  “How dare you ask me that!” Spots of colour reddened Caela’s cheeks. “How dare you, when—” she glanced at her ladies on the other side of the chamber, ensuring they were not within hearing range “—when in our previous life it was you who arranged his death. If he turns ‘viciously against’ you, Swanne, do you think that my doing, or that of fate, weaving out what must be?”

  “There is nowhere for me to go.”

  “You have your own lands and estates, Swanne.”

  “I cannot leave court!”

  “Why not? What mischief do you plan? And if you want a court to shine within, then why not choose William’s?”

  “Oh, I will. You will never have a place at his side.”

  “I do not wish it,” Caela said, calm again, “but neither do I think you will ever have that queenly throne on his right hand, Swanne. From all reports, that is Matilda’s so firmly you could wish the moon from the sky more easily than wish for that seat. But have no fear…perhaps William has planned a back room for you. If you wish, I can inform him of what remote county you linger in, and he can send a horse for you.”

  Swanne rose, her face stiff with anger. “Is this your little victory over me, then? Enjoy it, for one day—and soon—it shall be you cast into the cold, and crying out for succour.”

  When she had gone, Caela leaned her head against the high back of her chair, and closed her eyes. I should not have done that. I should have offered a hand, and my friendship, not harsh words and the door. Oh, merciful heavens, how could I have allowed my own petty need for revenge to dictate my actions?

  ELEVEN

  Aldred, Archbishop of York, was sitting at his noonday meal in his palace just within the walls of London when one of his manservants hurried over to him.

  “My lord,” he said, bowing respectfully. “The Lady Swanne begs audience.”

  Aldred paused with a knife, a tempting piece of juicy meat speared on its blade, halfway to his mouth. He blinked, his mouth hanging open, a dribble of saliva glistening at one corner, and stared at the servant.

  “The Lady Swanne?” he said.

  “Aye, my lord. She begs audience. Urgently. My lord, she is in a state of some distress.”

  Aldred blinked again, then slowly, and obviously very reluctantly, put the knife and its tempting morsel back on the plate.

  “Well, I suppose I’d better see her,” he said. Then, hopefully, “She might not wait until I have finished eating?”

  The servant glanced at the table with its array of over fourteen different dishes. “I think not, my lord. She does appear to be in some need.”

  Aldred sighed, and rearranged his fleshy features into a scowl. “Oh, very well then. Send her in.”

  The servant hurried out, and as he went, one of the corners of Aldred’s mouth upturned briefly, as if in a smile.

  Swanne entered in a swish of skirts and cloak. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed (which fortunately hid the slight bruise that was deepening on one of them) and her abundant black hair artfully arranged atop her head.

  She wore no veil, and Aldred noted that her gown was most unseemly for this hour of the day. It was one a noble lady might more properly wear to a private banquet, for its neck was square cut and low, unlike the high necklines of public gowns.

  “My lord!” she said, and dropped in a deep curtsey.

  Aldred blinked yet once more, finding it difficult to lift his eyes away from the sight of her breasts straining at that low neckline.

  “Ahem,” he managed as Swanne rose to her feet. “What can be the matter, my dear lady?”

  “Harold has abandoned me,” she said. “He has renounced our marriage.”

  Aldred spluttered, then succumbed to a fit of coughing so violent he had to cover his mouth with a napkin lest he spray pieces of half-chewed food over the table.

  “How is this possible?” he finally asked. “Why? Why?”

  “He wants a good wife under Christian law,” Swanne said, sitting down at a bench at the side of the table. “He wants the throne, my good lord archbishop, as you know, and he thinks it more likely the Church, witan and England will accept him
with a Christian-wed wife, rather than a Danelaw one.”

  “But this is…is…so…”

  “After all I have done for him!” Swanne’s eyes filled with tears, and her breasts heaved with the strength of her emotion. “What can I do? What? I have been abandoned…abandoned.”

  “My dear woman,” Aldred said, laying aside his napkin. “You need not pretend such distress to me. Harold has discovered your communication with William, yes? His reaction can hardly be of great surprise to you.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “No. I did not.”

  “Well, that may be as may be. My lord archbishop, I need your aid as never before. Your vast palace has many spaces and chambers. May I not inhabit one of them?”

  Aldred’s mouth dropped open yet again. “My lady! What would people think!”

  Swanne shrugged. “They can think what they like, my lord. Besides, it will do you no harm. Many of the higher clerics keep mistresses, even wives, without any repercussions.”

  “You are offering yourself to me as…as…”

  “No!” Swanne fought briefly with herself, managing to keep the disgust from her face. “No, not at all, my lord. I was only arguing that even should people think the blackest, it would not harm your reputation. Indeed, it may even add to it.” She attempted a coquettish smile, but it faded almost as soon as it had lit her face. “I only want a chamber, my lord.”

  “But…why? You have estates in your own right. I would have thought that—”

  “No! No, I must stay in Westminster, or London.”

  “Why?”

  “For my children’s sake, my lord. I need to be assured that Harold will not forsake them as he has forsaken me. I fear that should I vanish to the country, he will disinherit them.” Swanne felt like screaming: I have to stay in London!

  Aldred sighed. “I asked you not to pretend with me, my lady. You have no thought for your children. You never mention them, never think of them. They have only ever been but a means to keep Harold tied to you, and thus you to Westminster and Edward’s court. You think Edward has not long to live, you think William is coming, you want to be here to greet him. Thus you beg me for a chamber, and care not what rumour suggests happens within that chamber.”