Child of the Phoenix (42 page)

The banquet over at last, the bride and groom had departed to their chamber in the great keep. At last she and John had been able to leave the hall with its reek of cooking and wine and hot excited humanity, and pick their way through the dozens of fires to their own. Their servants were mulling wine, and inside the tent she could see in the warm lamplight the piles of rugs and furs unnecessary on such a hot night, but nevertheless a soft bed awaiting them.

John sprawled in one of the chairs and let out a great sigh of exhaustion. ‘Perhaps we can rest a few days here before we ride south.’

‘The burgesses of Berwick won’t thank us; they are already complaining at the number of people camped in the town,’ Eleyne said drowsily. ‘They hope to see us all on our way as soon as possible.’

John snorted. ‘We’ll be gone soon enough. They should be glad their town has been honoured with a royal wedding. Burgesses were ever tight-fisted. You –’ He beckoned a young minstrel who had paused near them, his instrument across his back. ‘Can you play us a lullaby to ready us for bed?’

The boy gave a slow rich chuckle. ‘Aye, my lord.’ He pulled the viol from his shoulders and squatting near the fire tweaked the instrument into tune. Then he began to play.

Eleyne closed her eyes. She had eaten and drunk and danced since dawn, or so it seemed, and she was tired. And she wanted to leave Scotland. She still dreamed of the king; she found herself watching him; her fingers longed to touch his springy golden hair. She spent hours on her knees in prayer begging forgiveness – of whom she was not quite sure – the Holy Virgin who was so pure in thought and body? Would she understand and help a mortal woman fight the sins in her heart? Or St Bride, who was her own goddess, the patron of her birthday, surely she would help? And the Blessed Queen Margaret, whom all Scotland revered as a saint and whose miracles were manifest. She too might intercede.

She must not let herself think about him, must control her dreams. She must leave Scotland; never see him again. She was doubly guilty because she loved her aunt, and Joanna had at last, she thought, come to love her. In spite of herself, she looked once more at the castle walls, their battlements lost in the dark. Desolation and loneliness hung over this place. However loud the music, however joyful the crowds, she could feel the sadness: sadness past and sadness to come. Beyond the encampment, beyond the ditches and palisades which surrounded the town, the black rolling hills stretched out into the dark.

The boy was playing more softly now – the music compelling and clear against the background noise which swelled around them. She leaned forward to hear better and, opening her eyes, found that she was staring into the fire.

IV
DOLBADARN CASTLE, GWYNEDD,
Late August 1235

‘Why? Why must I stay here?’ Isabella glared at the slate-black skies and dark mountains all around her. Standing on its rock on the route from Caernarfon to the upper Conwy valley, Dolbadarn Castle, with its enormous stone keep and majestic hall, lay below high gorse and scree-covered ridges in the heart of the great mountains. It was a desolate place.

‘I want to be with your father’s court. There at least I have some fun.’ Sulkily she turned her back on the window. ‘Is it because Senena is there? Does she object to my Englishness?’ Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.

Dafydd sighed. ‘Gruffydd is in the Lleyn and Senena is with him. We are here at my father’s orders, Bella, you know that as well as I. There are matters here that need sorting out.’

‘I think we are here to keep us out of the way.’ She flounced across the room towards him. ‘And if you are too stupid to see it, I’m not! Your father has something up his sleeve, Dafydd, don’t you see? He’s up to something. And he doesn’t want you there. So it must be something to do with Gruffydd. How can he be so foolish as to trust him!’ In an anguish of frustration, she turned with a swirl of skirts and paced back to the window.

Dafydd smiled ruefully at her back. She was shrewd, his little wife, and as so often right in her assessment of the situation. Save in one respect. The plot Llywelyn and Gruffydd were hatching included him. It was Isabella and Isabella alone they wanted to exclude from Aber.

‘Sweetheart.’ He followed her to the window and put his hands on her shoulders. If it took a lie to allay her suspicions, then lie he must. ‘I can see I must let you in on a secret. It is Gruffydd and I who plan a meeting. I ride to Criccieth to see him tomorrow. I’ll be gone only two days. I want you to remain here so that it seems that I am still here. I’ll be back before you know it, then you and I shall ride together for Caernarfon to join the princess my mother.’ He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. He had no intention of going to Criccieth. The family meeting with Eleyne was at Aber.

It never occurred to him that she would disobey him.

V
GWYNEDD
August 1235

It was Eleyne’s first visit to Aber since Isabella’s miscarriage and her own ignominious return to Chester. Then it had been midwinter. Now the countryside was heavy with summer. The clouds hung low over the mountains and thunder rumbled around the hidden peaks of Eryri. Her party was small: this was a private visit by the Countess of Chester to her mother. Attended by Rhonwen and Luned and two ladies, only a dozen men-at-arms escorted them over the high, rough road from Conwy to Aber through the clinging mist and down towards the river.

Eleyne was silent as she rode, her head whirling with thoughts as she guided her mare over the rough track, all that was left of the broad Roman road which swung high here across the shoulder of the mountains. She had messages from King Alexander and John for her father; she had messages of goodwill, albeit stilted, from Joanna to her half-sister; and she was still thinking about the wedding with all its pageantry and state. Now that she was away from John – he was waiting for her at Chester – she found to her shame that she was thinking even more about Alexander, and guiltily again and again she tried to push all thoughts of him from her head.

‘We’ll be there before dusk.’ Rhonwen rode up beside her. She saw Eleyne’s troubled face. ‘What is it,
cariad
? Don’t you want to go home?’

Eleyne dragged her attention back to the present. ‘Of course I want to go home. I’ve missed Wales.’ Her voice trailed away. Lightning flickered on the horizon and there was an ominous rumble of thunder far away in the west.

‘Will you speak to Einion?’ Rhonwen’s voice was very quiet.

Eleyne frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ she said sharply. ‘Einion is dead!’

‘You can still speak to him,
cariad
. Here in Gwynedd.’ Rhonwen’s tone became urgent. ‘I can feel it. He wants you to contact him, to listen! Here, where his spirit is still strong.’

Eleyne’s eyes opened wide, and she shivered in spite of the oppressive heat. Out of habit, her hand went to her crucifix. Rhonwen saw the movement and scowled. ‘You cannot turn your back on the old gods, you belong to them,’ she said caustically. ‘They won’t let you go.’

‘Of course they will,’ Eleyne retorted. ‘I want nothing to do with Einion. Nothing! I don’t want to know what he wanted to tell me. Do you understand? I don’t want to know!’

VI
ABER

Llywelyn greeted his youngest daughter with a hug. ‘So, Eleyne, you are well, I see.’ Her sparkling eyes and radiant smile told him that much. He held her briefly, looking at her as though hoping for more, then he released her and she found herself hugging Gruffydd and, more restrainedly, Dafydd.

‘And my mother, is she not here?’

Gruffydd looked at his father and shrugged. ‘Your mother does not wish to be here if I am here, it seems. She prefers to wait at Caernarfon, and that is fine by me. What we talk of here does not need the presence of King Henry’s spies.’

‘That is enough, Gruffydd!’ Llywelyn said impatiently. ‘Your stepmother is true and loyal to us all. I’ll hear no word against her.’

There was a moment’s tense silence.

‘And Isabella?’ Eleyne asked at last. ‘Where is she?’

‘At Dolbadarn.’ Dafydd did not volunteer any more information and Eleyne did not ask for any. It was a relief to know Isabella would not be there.

It pleased Eleyne enormously to sit at the long polished oak table between her father and her elder brother, facing her younger brother and taking part in their discussions as an equal. She had been to Scotland and spoken to the king; she knew his views; she was spokeswoman too for her husband. The three Welshmen found her shrewd and well informed. She was no longer the baby of the family, the scapegoat and the trouble-maker. She was proving herself a skilled negotiator like her mother. Their talks went on for two days and Eleyne made careful mental notes of what she was to say to her husband and of the messages she had to take back to the King of Scots.

She had not realised she would have to see him again at once. She almost betrayed herself as the colour rose in her cheeks, but she calmed herself sternly and kept her eyes on the candles which burned in the centre of the table. Outside, the hot August night grew dark and the bats wheeled and swooped beneath the stars, their high-pitched cries reaching her ears in the long measured silences as Gruffydd and her father felt their way towards agreement.

She would have to ride north without John. For the Earl of Chester to meet the King of Scots again so soon would cause comment and speculation, but for his wife to visit her aunt, with whom she had become firm friends, would be regarded as natural.

Her heart began to beat fast again; she felt a frisson of panic. She did not want to see him; she could not cope with the guilt and fear her feelings aroused, but she knew she could not resist; indeed she could not refuse her father’s instructions that she should see Alexander.

Somewhere out beyond the walls she heard an owl hoot.
Tylluan
. The bringer of ill luck. She shivered.

VII

Isabella arrived when the midday sun was at its hottest. Dressed all in white, her raven hair covered by a jewel-studded net framed by a linen fillet with a golden coronet and a barbette beneath the chin, she slid from her horse in the courtyard of the palace and swept unannounced into the presence of her father-in-law. There was a long silence as she stared around the upper chamber, her eyes going immediately to Eleyne. Her face darkened. ‘So. I decide to return to Aber and I find this is where you are! I might have guessed you would be behind all this deceit. Dafydd has never lied to me before.’ She flicked her husband a look of contempt. Approaching the prince she curtseyed low, then she took a seat at the end of the table as far from the others as possible. ‘I am excluded from this conclave, am I?’

Llywelyn smiled at her, the intense irritation which the sight of her always provoked in him carefully concealed. ‘You are welcome, daughter-in-law, as always.’ He rose stiffly from his chair. ‘Our discussions were in any event over for the day. Your presence will serve to lighten what had become too serious an afternoon. Come.’

He put his hand out to Eleyne and, rising, she took it. Her immediate unease at seeing Isabella had lessened as she heard her father’s tone, although the thinly veiled irony had been totally lost on Isabella.

The prince led her towards the door. ‘I have a horse on which I should like your opinion, daughter.’