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sure the string was about to become horribly and irredeemably tangled. But it never did, and the men continued in their dance, their faces sombre, their movements careful and supple.
    Of all the watchers, only Swanne knew what she was truly watching, and only she knew what that ball of string represented: Ariadne’s Thread. The secret to the Labyrinth.
    Gift to Edward be damned. This was a message for her, and her alone!
    “Brutus,” she whispered, now at the very edge of her seat, her eyes staring wildly at the Normans as they continued in their graceful dance, unwinding the twisted walls of the Labyrinth.
    Brutus…none other than William of Normandy!
    “Thank all the gods in creation,” she said, again in a whisper. Her eyes filled with tears and her heart pounded with such emotion that Swanne was not entirely sure that she would not faint at any moment with the strength of it.
    With a concluding flourish the dancers halted, paused, and then in a final, single movement, each laid his portion of the string on the ground, and then moved away from it, his task completed.
    Soon the flagstone area before Edward’s throne was empty save for the golden thread, now laid out in a perfect representation of the pathways of a unicursal Labyrinth.
    Edward had risen to his feet, and his eyes moved slowly between the golden Labyrinth laid out on the floor and Guy Martel.
    “The road to salvation?” he said in a puzzled tone.
    “My lord duke well knows of your piety,” Martel said, “and of your great disappointment that you have been unable to tread those paths within Jerusalem where once Christ’s feet trod. Behold the Labyrinth. Its entrance lies before you, and when you enter it, you do so as a man born of woman, and thus weighted down with grievous sin. But as you traverse the paths of the Labyrinth, thinking only of Christ and his goodness, you will find when you enter the heart of the Labyrinth that Christ and his redemption await you. When you exit the Labyrinth, retracing your steps through its winding paths, you do so in a state of grace, and you will truly be stepping the pathway towards your own redemption. This Labyrinth, great lord and king, represents the pilgrim’s journey to Jerusalem. He goes there weighted down with sin, but having prayed within that land where Christ once lived, he returns to his own land in a state of grace. He retraces his steps into redemption. This, my great lord of England, is Normandy’s gift to you.”
    No , thought Swanne, the tears running freely down her cheeks, this is Brutus-reborn’s gift to me.
    Edward was clapping his hands, his cheeks pink with joy, and he began to converse animatedly with Martel. But Harold was staring at Swanne, and leaned over to her, concerned. “My dear, what ails you?”
    Clearly overcome with emotion, her eyes locked on to the golden Labyrinth, Swanne had to struggle to speak. When she did, her voice was only a hoarse whisper.
    “The child,” she said, and rested a trembling hand on her belly. “The child has caused me some upset. I will retire to our chamber, I think, and rest.”
    Harold leaned closer, worry now clearly etched on his face. “Should I send for the midwives?”
    “No! No, I need only to rest. The heat and the crowd in this hall have made me feel faint. I will be well enough. Please, Harold, let me be.”
    With that she rose and, a little unsteadily at first, made her way from the hall.
    Harold might have followed her, but as Swanne passed behind Caela’s chair, he saw that his sister was staring at the Labyrinth with almost as much emotion as Swanne had been. Harold sent a final glance Swanne’s way—she was walking much more steadily now, and his worry for her eased—then he rose and went to Caela’s side.
    “Sister, what ails you?”
    She tore her eyes from the Labyrinth, and looked at Harold. “How do we know,” she said, “that there is Christ in the heart of the Labyrinth, instead of some dark monster? Promise