Child of the Phoenix (40 page)

‘This is Michael.’ The king too rose. ‘The greatest seer in all Scotland if not all Europe.’ He smiled gravely. ‘He comes to tell my fortune, is that not so, Sir Wizard?’

Joanna had sent for the man, desperate to know the future, but he had talked to her of the waning moon and the obscuration of the firmament and the alignment of the planets and told her nothing.

Eleyne could feel his power. Like Einion’s it came from him in waves, probing, all-seeing, frightening. She stood still, feeling it encircling her like a tangible web, testing her, questing into the corners of her mind. Her fear passed as quickly as it had come, and she met his eyes with something like relief. That he would find a way of talking to her, she was certain. Not now before the king and his court and her husband, but later, alone.

X

‘What did you see for the queen?’ She hardly dared meet his gaze. In the darkness of the deep glen the water flashed white against the stones. He had arranged their meeting as she had known he would, his servant guiding her to this remote corner within the span of the outer castle walls, whisking her past servants and guards as though he had thrown a cloak of invisibility about her shoulders.

‘What I see for the queen is between the gods and her, my daughter.’ The man was as slim as a reed in his cloak of black, upright, though he leaned on a staff.

‘She will have no more children.’ Eleyne hardly dared breathe the words out loud.

‘Yet there will be a son for Scotland.’ Michael smiled coldly. ‘You have power, madam, but it is untrained. That is dangerous.’ Eleyne looked away from him. Her heart was thumping with excitement, hearing only the first part of his statement. A son for Scotland – her son.

‘You must learn to guard the truth and ponder it, for it may not be the truth you seek. The gods are pleased to speak in riddles,’ he went on sententiously. ‘There is danger here in Scotland for you. Did your visions tell you that? Your eyes are full of golden diadems, but first comes death.’

Eleyne felt a cold shiver cross her flesh.

‘Death must always come before the throne passes from one man to another,’ she whispered. She had closed her mind to the fact that the death must be Alexander’s.

He smiled: ‘That much is true. I should like to teach you, lady; it is a long while since I had an apprentice.’

She laughed, relieved at the sudden lightening of the atmosphere, and for a moment she was almost tempted. To have the power – the Sight – to command, and the knowledge it would bring, would be wonderful. But it would also be terrifying, and regretfully she knew her initial reaction had been right. This was something she must turn her back on. ‘I’m afraid that road is not for me,’ she said sadly. ‘My place is with my husband. What pictures I see I must try to understand alone. If only they were clearer, if only they showed me more.’

‘The interpretation of dreams and visions takes study and prayer and fasting, too great a task for a glittering countess.’ His smile was malicious.

She was silent, indignation fighting with temptation as she recognised his challenge. She straightened her shoulders. ‘Then I must remain in ignorance and wait for the will of the gods to be made clear.’ She paused. ‘Will you answer one question for me?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Only one?’

She gave a nervous smile. ‘It’s about the king.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘It’s as if I’ve known him all my life. Yet that’s not possible.’ She raised her eyes to his fathomless silver gaze. ‘Is it?’

He leaned thoughtfully on his staff, looking away from her. ‘It is possible,’ he said, ‘that you have known one another through all eternity.’

A strange shudder touched her spine.
And did I love him?
she wanted to ask.
Did I love him through all eternity?
But she didn’t dare. She too looked away, ashamed and frightened by her thoughts. ‘Why do we have dreams and visions,’ she burst out, ‘if we cannot change our destinies whatever we may see?’

He smiled: ‘That, my lady, is where you are wrong.’ He stared down at the burn which ran at their feet, listening to the gentle chatter of the water in the dark. ‘The gods send us warnings that we may heed them, if we poor mortals can but understand them.’

She swallowed. ‘William? I could have saved William?’

He shrugged. ‘I know nothing of a William. But destiny hangs heavy over you; I see it in the air around you; I hear it in the clash of swords; I see it in the stain of blood. I see it in time past and time to come.’ He looked at her again, but his eyes were unfocused, as if they did not see her. ‘I see you as the mother of a line of kings.’ It was what Einion had said.

‘And will I be a queen?’ Her question was breathless, almost inaudible against the sound of rushing water.

Michael was still for a long time. Then his eyes focused once more. Nearby an owl floated through the trees, a white ghost in the darkness. As it crossed the burn, it screeched once, a harsh defiance of the silence. Michael shook his head: ‘I see no more,’ he said at last.

Above them the trees were thick canopies in front of the stars.

XI

The hall was crowded with people. It stank of wine and roasted ox and sweat and floral toilet waters and perfume. As she threaded her way through the crowds, still wrapped in her cloak and deafened by the roar of music and laughter and shouting, Eleyne’s eyes were on the two men who sat side by side at the centre of the high table. The king and the earl were deep in conversation, seemingly oblivious of the noise around them. As she walked, a slim lone figure swathed in silk of rich scarlet, she saw Alexander lift his head. Their eyes met and she felt the strange shock of recognition shake her as it always did when they looked at one another. Beside him, John, her pale handsome husband, was suddenly like a stranger to her.

XII

Rhonwen stood very straight before the Earl and Countess of Chester, her hands clutched in the soft wet wool of her cloak, her hood, soaked with rain, pushed back on her shoulders. Some frowns, some smiles had greeted her as she threaded her way across the room. She saw them without registering that she had done so, and noted in some secret part of her mind who was still a friend, who an enemy.

Neither the earl nor the countess had smiled as Rhonwen curtseyed before them.

‘I have brought messages from Gwynedd, my lady.’

Eleyne stepped forward and taking Rhonwen’s hands kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m glad to see you.’ There was a note of defiance in her voice.

‘Are you,
cariad
?’ Rhonwen scanned her face. The child looked well; and yet there were shadows in her eyes. All was not as it should be with the Chesters. She looked over Eleyne’s shoulder at John of Chester. He had a half-smile on his face and, catching her eye, he raised an eyebrow.

‘As you see, Lady Rhonwen, my wife is glad to see you. I’m sure she will welcome your company.’

Rhonwen stiffened. Although his voice lacked warmth, there was no particular hostility in the man’s demeanour. It was as if he were distracted – his mind elsewhere.

She hugged Eleyne. One of her worries at least had been allayed, and at last she felt the child relax.

‘My father and mother, Rhonwen, how are they?’ Eleyne pulled her into a private corner.

‘They are both well,
cariad
.’ Rhonwen made sure she was not overheard. ‘As are Gruffydd and Senena. They are free, free at long last! And your father has given Gruffydd part of the lands of Lleyn and he and Dafydd are friends, for now.’ She lowered her eyes and Eleyne smiled.

‘So, Gruffydd still plans to win back his inheritance one day?’

‘He will, soon. He will.’ Rhonwen had ridden to Degannwy from Chester and spoken to Gruffydd before her ride north. After that she had journeyed to Aber and spent an hour in private conversation with Llywelyn. The results of the conversation had surpassed her wildest dreams and put the death of Einion temporarily out of her mind. The prince did not speak of restoring to Gruffydd his birthright of North Wales, but he spoke of a far greater scheme and he had entrusted her with verbal messages for Eleyne and through her to Lord Chester and the King of the Scots. Nothing was to be written; nothing risked. Correctly judging that in this matter at least Rhonwen would be inestimably useful, Llywelyn had trusted her with the secrets of three nations.

‘We must talk alone,
cariad
,’ Rhonwen said softly. ‘Soon. I have messages from your father.’

Eleyne scanned the other woman’s face and nodded. ‘We join the king and queen for supper in the castle hall. After that we’ll talk.’

The candles had burned low, the soft beeswax clotting in sweet yellow lumps on the table. They had talked for a long time of Llywelyn’s plan for an alliance between himself and Alexander and the leaders of the growing baronial opposition in England to King Henry. Later, when he returned from the king’s hall they would talk, in secret, to John, but for now the topic was closed. Rhonwen, whose eyes had burned with cold fanaticism as she described the plan, sat back exhausted, too tired even to reach for the mead the servants had poured before they left the two women alone in the small guest chamber. But still Rhonwen was holding something back. Eleyne leaned forward, her elbows on the table, and looked through the flame of the candle at the other woman’s face with its shifting mask of shadow. The room was intensely quiet after the noise of the great hall.

‘What is it, Rhonwen? What have you not told me?’ Her voice was gentle, persuasive, but Rhonwen noticed there was an undertone of command there, an echo of her father.

She sighed. ‘When the snows were still thick on the ground, you had a letter from Lord Einion.’ There was a long silence. Eleyne’s eyes did not leave her face. ‘He commanded you to go to him on Môn.’

‘And what happened to the letter?’ Eleyne asked.

‘I burned it.’ Rhonwen could feel the cold draught at the back of her neck. Her mouth had gone dry. ‘I wanted you to be happy with your husband. I knew you did not want to come back so soon to Gwynedd.’

‘And did you tell Einion that?’

‘He knows.’ Rhonwen shivered and Eleyne saw her hand go surreptitiously to her throat where the amulet lay hidden beneath her gown. ‘And he was angry with me.’

‘What did he want to tell me, do you know?’ Eleyne asked.

Rhonwen put her hands over her eyes. Silently she shook her head.

‘Then I shall go to see him when we return south. We are going home soon.’

‘No, no,
cariad
, don’t you understand? He’s dead!’ Rhonwen cried. ‘He died after he wrote the letter. Even if I had sent it to you it would have been too late!’

It was no less than the truth, but she didn’t believe it herself. If Eleyne had been coming, he would have waited for her – he would have found a way to stay alive until she came.

‘I wonder what he wanted to say to me,’ Eleyne said after another silence. There was no reproach in her voice, no anger, only curiosity.

Rhonwen swallowed. ‘He’s tried to tell me,’ she whispered, ‘three times he’s tried to tell me …’

Eleyne felt the hairs on the back of her neck lift and stir. Einion and Michael had both seen her destiny. What else could Einion have seen that he would have held death itself at bay to tell her?

CHAPTER NINE

I
ROXBURGH CASTLE
July 1235