Child of the Phoenix (43 page)

Gruffydd caught up with them at the foot of the stairs. He bowed to his father with a rueful grin. ‘I have left Dafydd coping with his wife.’ He raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘The gods help him, he is taking a tongue-lashing as meekly as a whipped pup!’

Llywelyn laughed. ‘I fear that lady is not the obedient wife he might have wished, for all her tender years. No more than you, I suspect, Eleyne.’ He smiled fondly at his daughter. ‘Heaven preserve us men from all your sex!’

Isabella found Eleyne later in the solar. The two young women looked at each other in silence. Eleyne had been about to dictate a letter to her sister Margaret to one of Llywelyn’s clerks. Waving the man away she stood up, unaccountably reassured to find she was taller by a head than Isabella.

‘I am pleased to see you, sister,’ she said cautiously.

‘Are you?’ Isabella put her hands on her hips. ‘I am surprised. No one else is. So, you are part of their secrets, are you? Important, beautiful, clever Eleyne. But where is your husband?’ Her voice had taken on the sing-song lilt of the mountains. ‘Can it be that he is ill again? Or don’t you bring him with you on these trips? You leave him at home with your horse. My father’s horse,’ she finished with a sneer.

Eleyne tried to interrupt her, but Isabella swept on. ‘They all hate you, you know. Whatever you are here for, it is only because you are useful. When you are away they forget about you completely. And they all say what a liar and a sneak you are.’

Eleyne took a deep breath. Her first reaction had been to throw herself at Isabella, pull off her fine head-dress and then pull out her hair for good measure, but that would be playing the girl at her own game; that would be childish and stupid. She forced herself to smile, knowing that by remaining calm she would infuriate Isabella more. ‘My, you sound just like the Isabella I played with at Hay. The Isabella who was ten years old. Does Dafydd mind that you never grew up?’ It was true, she realised. Isabella was still the spoiled little girl who had been her father’s favourite child; Dafydd spoiled her now, no doubt to keep the peace, and Isabella had never changed. The disappointment she felt at still being childless had embittered and frustrated her; it had not matured her.

‘Oh, I’ve grown up.’ Isabella’s eyes flashed. ‘I am not the one who is playing games, pretending to be a spy. Tell me, do you still climb trees and ride like a hoyden on men’s horses, or has your husband beaten it out of you?’

‘My husband has never beaten me.’ Eleyne raised an eyebrow, suddenly thoughtful. Was that it? Had Dafydd beaten the girl in an attempt to gain mastery over her? If so, it had not worked. She felt almost sorry for Isabella. ‘Yes, I still ride like a hoyden, and I’d climb trees if I needed to. Why not? One thing I have learned, Isabella, is that if you are one of the highest in the land, you set the fashion as to how a lady behaves, you don’t follow it. That is something you might remember if you wish to succeed as a princess of Gywnedd.’ She walked slowly to the door and pulled it open. It was the perfect exit.

Rhonwen had been listening in the passage outside. ‘You’ve made an enemy for life there,
cariad
,’ she said, shaking her head as they walked together towards the stairs. ‘If you were hoping to patch things up between you, I’d say you’ve put an end to that chance forever.’

‘There never was any chance, Rhonwen. We both know that.’ Eleyne sat on the bottom step of the staircase and buried her face in her hands wearily. She felt very sad. The scurrying servants stared in astonishment at the Countess of Chester sitting on the stairs, then skirted around her with carefully bland faces as Rhonwen stood looking down at the pale silk of the girl’s veil.

‘You should at least try to keep on speaking terms, Eleyne. Think of the mission you are engaged in. You may one day have to act between Dafydd
bach
and the king. What would happen if madam put her oar in and forbade you the
llys
?’

‘Dafydd would not let her.’

‘He’s well under her thumb, that one.’

Eleyne shook her head. ‘He may let her think so, but he’ll never let her make a fool of him again. He knows the whole world has watched her disobey him. If his wife does not obey his authority, why should the people of Wales?’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Dafydd’s ambition will see to it that he keeps Isabella in order, you’ll see.’

‘And if he can’t, there are other ways of putting an end to her nonsense.’ Rhonwen narrowed her eyes. ‘I’ll not let her cross you; and I’ll not let her endanger the chances of Gruffydd inheriting from his father.’ She smiled enigmatically. ‘It’s Gruffydd who favours the Scots alliance, you know. Henry has recognised Dafydd as his father’s heir, so Dafydd keeps his options with the king of the English open. The prince is a fool to trust Dafydd with his secrets.’

‘That’s not true, Rhonwen,’ Eleyne frowned. ‘Dafydd fights for Wales too.’

Rhonwen made a gesture of disgust. ‘Dafydd fights for himself. It is Gruffydd who fights for the truth. And Einion – still. You’d best remember that. Don’t forget which gods you serve for all your jewelled rosaries, and don’t forget whose side you are on with all your importance as a king’s messenger.’

Eleyne’s eyes flashed. ‘That is impudent, Rhonwen.’

‘Yes – and it is your nurse’s business to be impudent if you get above yourself and ignore your duty!’ Rhonwen’s colour had risen. ‘Never forget that, madam, however close to a throne you may be!’ She stormed across the hallway and slammed the door into the courtyard behind her.

Eleyne stood up thoughtfully. Rhonwen was presuming too much. Llywelyn’s decision to use her to carry the first message had given her an exaggerated idea of her own importance. Eleyne mentioned this to her father later, cautiously, not wanting him to be angry with Rhonwen, but worried. To her astonishment, Llywelyn threw back his head and laughed. ‘I used the Lady Rhonwen because I knew her passionate support of Gruffydd would bind her to our cause,’ he said, ‘but also because she is expendable.’

‘Expendable?’ Eleyne echoed the word softly. She had gone cold.

‘Of course. Had she betrayed us we could have denied all knowledge of whatever she claimed. No one would believe the ravings of a servant already suspected of heresy and of having procured the death of an unborn child. She could easily have been disposed of.’

‘You would have killed her?’ Eleyne was appalled. ‘You would have killed Rhonwen?’

‘I will kill anyone who betrays our cause, Eleyne, if it is necessary,’ he said sternly. ‘And you must remember your priorities in this. The woman was your nurse and you love her, but the affairs of princes and kings and of nations take precedence over all personal sentiment, particularly as she is a heretic. I thank Our Lady daily that you have not been contaminated by her heresy.’ He paused. ‘I was afraid once that she and Einion Gweledydd might try to suborn you for their unchristian ceremonies, but your mother persuaded me there was no danger. Now Einion is dead, that little pocket of belief in the old ways is dead with him, Christ be praised.’

He surveyed her shocked white face, then he smiled. ‘Now while I prepare letters for the King of Scots, which you will give him, and upon which you will be able to elaborate personally, I suggest you ride to Caernarfon to see your mother. She would enjoy a visit from you, if only for a day. Her health has not been good.’ He allowed himself a small scowl, and Eleyne saw a worry which he had so far concealed.

‘What is the matter?’ Her indignation over his cavalier and cynical dismissal of Rhonwen was eclipsed by a sudden new fear.

‘She is tired; she is no longer strong.’ There was a moment’s silence; both were thinking of her years of imprisonment and exile in the austere, cold convent. ‘She was happy last time you came when you and she became friends. It would be a kindness to visit her.’

‘She should be at Aber, papa, or Llanfaes. She loves it there, and Caernarfon is a cold bleak place to be if she is ill.’

‘She would not come here. Not while Gruffydd and Senena were here.’

‘But she could come now. Gruffydd goes back to the Lleyn tomorrow.’ Eleyne looked hard at her father. ‘You and she have not quarrelled, papa?’

He shook his head.

‘But she is angry that you and Gruffydd are close again?’

‘She is afraid I shall grow soft and change my mind about Dafydd’s succession. I have told her that there is no need to fear. I have made my decision: Dafydd is my heir. Gruffydd is not the son of my true wife, and even if he were entitled by Welsh law to share in the inheritance, he is too much of a hothead; he does not have the support of the country.’

‘Of course he doesn’t, because you have repeatedly forced your followers to swear allegiance to Dafydd. You have weaned all support from Gruffydd.’ Eleyne kept her voice carefully neutral.

‘And so it will remain.’ Llywelyn was growing irritable. ‘Enough! Go and tell your nurse to pack. Stay two nights with your mother and when you get back I shall have the letters ready. Then you can return to Chester before you ride north. Your husband is well?’ He had asked before, as a formality, but as he peered at her from beneath his bushy eyebrows she sensed a more genuine interest – and worry.

‘He is well, papa. The journey back from Scotland made him cough again, but he has recovered. I left him in the best of spirits.’

‘But still there is no babe?’

Eleyne looked away from her father’s probing eyes and shrugged. ‘God has not seen fit to send us a child yet.’

‘But you are his true wife? The marriage is consummated?’

She could feel the colour rising in her cheeks. She looked defiantly up at him: ‘Yes, papa, the marriage is consummated.’

VIII
CAERNARFON

Joan was in bed when Eleyne was shown into the bedchamber in the new-built stone keep at Caernarfon. She held out her hands to Eleyne with a smile. Her face was pale and drawn, but her eyes were alert and she sat forward on her pillows and drew Eleyne to sit on the bed beside her.

Eleyne felt a sudden rush of sympathy for this woman who was her mother and whom she still barely knew. ‘What is wrong, mama? Are you ill?’

Joan’s ladies had withdrawn to the other side of the room.

Joan shrugged. ‘I get a pain sometimes. It seems to drain my strength. But it is nearly gone. I shall be well enough to get up soon.’ She smiled. ‘Tell me your news. And tell me what your father and those sons of his have been plotting while I have been safely out of the way.’

Eleyne smiled. She kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘Would you not rather hear about Joanna and her life in Scotland and the wedding of Princess Margaret?’

Joan frowned. ‘Joanna and I are not close. You know that. We are only half-sisters. She is unlikely to forget that I was not the child of her father’s queen.’ She sounded bitter.

‘But Uncle Henry declared you legitimate,’ Eleyne reminded her gently. ‘And Joanna speaks of you with much affection. She sends you her fondest greetings.’

‘I’m surprised she can remember me.’ Joan caught her breath as a spasm of pain wrenched at her stomach.

Eleyne jumped to her feet in distress. ‘Can I get you something to drink? Have you medicines? What do the physicians say, mama?’

Joan shook her head. ‘Nothing, nothing. It will pass. Don’t fret! Yes, tell me about the wedding.’ She lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes. Her face was grey.

When she slept at last Eleyne slipped from the chamber and slowly descended the stairs to the great hall, but they spoke again that evening. Joan, her hair brushed and her face sponged by one of her waiting women, looked stronger. She smiled at Eleyne. ‘I wish you and I had been friends sooner,’ she whispered. ‘Eleyne, I should like to see Margaret and Gwladus and Gwenllian and Angharad. Write to your sisters, child. Tell them to come.’

‘Mama,’ Eleyne was afraid, ‘you’re not going to die?’

Joan smiled and shook her head. ‘No, of course not. I am just feeling silly and weak and sentimental. What better reason to ask one’s children to come and see one?’ She reached for Eleyne’s hand. ‘I wish I had not given you to Rhonwen. I stayed much closer to the other girls. She made us enemies, you know.’

‘Rhonwen would not do that.’ Eleyne was on her guard at once.

Joan nodded. ‘Oh yes, she was jealous because she had never given birth. She wanted you for her own. You were so much younger than the others, Eleyne.’ She paused. ‘Rhonwen wanted us to call you Bridget, you know, for the day you were born in the fire, but we named you after St Helena. She was a great ancestress of yours; a daughter of King Coel …’ She seemed to drift away for a few moments, then she opened her eyes again. ‘Someone told me that Ellen too was a goddess; a goddess of light.’ She was silent again. ‘Your father was afraid once that Rhonwen would contaminate you with her heathen ways. I told him she wouldn’t dare.’ She lay staring at the opposite wall. It was freshly plastered and painted with bright roses. ‘One of your father’s bards believed in the old ways. These mountains. They are full of such people … enemies of Christ. Your half-brother, Gruffydd, I sometimes think he is one of them.’ Her voice was growing weak.

Eleyne said nothing, her eyes fixed on her mother’s. Her fingers strayed once more to the beads at her girdle.

‘Eleyne!’ Her mother’s voice was suddenly sharp. ‘Are you paying attention? Remember, Rhonwen is evil. I am so glad she is no longer with you …’