Gods' Concubine

by Sara Douglass

  “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.

  FOURTEEN

  William 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 g
o of Caela’s hands.

  She 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, and 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 laughter deepened, and whatever awkwardness had been in the chamber dissipated. 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 life of Harold’s children, and that of his wife, Alditha. She is currently with child, and 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 to be 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. Will 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 a cup of fine wine. Will you accept?”

  Caela smiled. “Gladly, 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 re-acquainting 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 parrying constant questions from both Caela and William as they both tried very desperately not to engage the other in anything other than banalities about the weather or the state of the rushes on the floor. Caela asked several score 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 have taken her as you willed and damn all consequences. I had no idea ‘objections’ had come to mean so much to you.”

  There was a stillness between them as Matilda tried frantically to 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 towards 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 loath 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 honoured 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 a while, 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.

  FIFTEEN

  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 it became a physical pain within my breast.

  I had not expected this: not his handsomeness, his vitality, nor my instinctiv
e, 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 another reason; it was obvious to me that William’s transformation away from that hardhearted, 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 had come 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 realisation. 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 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.