Child of the Phoenix (47 page)

John scanned his face thoughtfully, then nodded curtly. ‘Bring four men, as quick as you can.’

They left the men with their horses on the edge of the woods, cautiously following the hoofprints of Rhonwen’s and Eleyne’s mounts in the moonlight. At the edge of the clearing they stopped, hidden by the tangled undergrowth and the near darkness. The clear low notes of Rhonwen’s chant carried easily in the cold air.

‘What are they doing?’ John breathed. He could see the two women and between them the smoking vessel on the low mound of the grave.

‘It’s the burial place of the seer, Einion,’ Cenydd whispered back.

‘Sweet Christ!’ John crossed himself. He felt the hackles on his neck prickling with fear. His wife, her face almost lost in the shadows of her black hood, looked preoccupied, dazed, as she gazed at the red glow of the smoking brazier. Around it, the melting snow was full of crimson reflections.

The two men looked at each other and, abruptly, Cenydd drew his sword, the rasp of metal ugly against the moan of the wind. ‘We have to stop them,’ he said.

‘Eleyne!’ John pushed his way out of the undergrowth. ‘Don’t you see what that woman is doing?’ His voice was harsh with anger. ‘Stop her!’

Eleyne did not appear to hear him. John grabbed the sword from Cenydd’s hands and reversed it, holding it up to form a cross. ‘Be silent, woman!’ he thundered. His nerves were raw. ‘I forbid this. Eleyne – go. Go now. While you can! Run!’ Holding the sword before him, he stepped forward and stopped. The air around her was like ice: a tangible barrier between him and his wife.

‘
Eleyne!
’

She did not seem to hear him. She was standing completely still, gazing down.

John swore at Cenydd, who was standing as if paralysed behind him. ‘Grab Rhonwen, you fool. Grab her! Stop her mouth! Don’t you see what she is doing? She is summoning the dead!’

Cenydd stepped backwards, his eyes rolling. ‘Don’t touch her, my lord. Don’t go near her!’

Rhonwen whirled to face them, as though conscious of their presence for the first time, and they saw the glint of a knife in her hand. ‘He is here!’ she hissed. ‘Listen, Eleyne, listen! He is here. Listen to his message!’ She raised her hands again and there was a roar from the wind. It whirled into the treetops and rose to a scream, tearing the branches, shredding the clouds to reveal the cold distant moon.

Eleyne raised her head: ‘Einion …?’

In the shadows one of the guards had followed John and Cenydd. He peered petrified from his hiding place in the trees.

‘
No!
’ With a roar of anguish John launched himself at her. He tore the pouch from her hands and hurled it to the ground. ‘Einion is dead! He is
dead
, Eleyne! He has no message for you!’ He couldn’t make himself heard above the scream of the wind. ‘This woman’s mad, don’t you see? She is mad!’ He seized Eleyne’s wrist and dragged her away from the grave. ‘Cenydd, call the men!’

‘Let go of her!’ Rhonwen turned, light-footed as a cat, and positioned herself in his path, the knife still in her hand. ‘She is ours! Look!’ She was triumphant. ‘Look, John of Scotland. Look!’

In spite of himself, John followed her pointing finger. In the streaming moonlight he could see a tall wavering figure with long white hair and a dark robe, a staff in its hand, hovering in the shadows behind the grave.

Rigid with fear, he dropped Eleyne’s wrist and the sword wavered. In his hiding place amongst the trees the guard fell to his knees and covered his face with his hands.

‘Speak, Lord Einion!’ Rhonwen screamed. ‘See, I have brought her to you. Speak. Give her your message!’

‘No, you scheming hellcat, no!’ Cenydd recovered first and threw himself at Rhonwen. ‘You evil witch! You –!’ His hands grappled for the knife and they swayed back and forth together in the shadows.

John threw his arms around Eleyne. ‘Come away. For sweet Christ’s sake, come away!’

‘He’s gone.’ She was staring white-faced at the place where the spectre had been. As suddenly as it had come, the whirling wind had died and the night was silent save for the heavy breathing of the man and the woman as they grappled in the snow.

‘He was never there! It was a trick of the moonlight. He was never there, Eleyne!’ John dragged her towards the trees. ‘Come away, quickly, before – ’

He stopped and swung around as a bubbling scream rang out behind them. Slowly, Cenydd sank to his knees in the snow, his hands clasped to his stomach. The blood welling from between his fingers and from his mouth was black in the moonlight.

‘Guards!’ John’s voice rang out in the silence. ‘Guards!’ He pushed Eleyne aside and flung himself towards Cenydd.

Rhonwen’s eyes were wild. Her teeth bared in a grimace of hatred, she leapt at John, the knife still in her hand. For a moment they wrestled as he tried to dislodge the weapon from her grasp, but it was slippery with blood and his fingers lost their grip.

Behind them the guard had finally recovered his wits enough to scramble to his feet and run to John’s aid as his colleagues burst out of the darkness. As they threw themselves at Rhonwen she thrust the knife with all her remaining strength at John’s heart. The thick folds of his cloak deflected the blade and he felt it graze his arm, but it was over. As the men seized Rhonwen’s arms and pulled her back the knife flew harmlessly to the ground.

Panting, John knelt beside Cenydd’s body and felt below the ear for a pulse. He looked up. ‘He’s dead,’ he said.

Rhonwen ceased struggling. She stood still between her captors, looking down at the earl as he knelt in the snow, and her face contorted with rage. ‘I curse you, John of Scotland!’ she screamed. ‘I curse you in the name of all the gods. May you roast in eternal hell for interfering here tonight!’

CHAPTER TEN

I
LLANFAES

T
he cell had only one window, high under the roof. Through it Rhonwen could see the moon, high and lonely far beyond the cloud wrack which raced across it. They had put chains on her wrists and ankles and given her straw to lie in, like an animal. She could remember screaming – a long high-pitched scream, which went on and on, echoing inside her skull. Cenydd’s blood had dried on her gown. She could feel it, crusted and stiff in the darkness. Dimly she remembered the dagger in her hand. The blade had glinted, and in its reflection she had seen Einion’s anger and frustration, his desperation to speak.

Eleyne had screamed too. Why had she screamed? Was it when Lord Chester flung himself across the grave and tried to snatch the dagger? Had she tried to stab him too? She couldn’t remember. But she could remember the fury in Einion’s eyes before the guards had closed in on her and dragged her away.

Where was Eleyne? Why didn’t she come? And Cenydd. Where was Cenydd? She had always been fond of Cenydd.

She tried to settle herself more comfortably against the wall, linking her manacled wrists over her knees and hugging them for warmth. The cell was quite clean; it had been used as a storeroom over the winter, but the damp and chill of the earth floor struck through the straw and she felt a dull ache beginning to seep into her bones. Quietly, she began to cry.

II

‘Papa! Please let me see her!’ Eleyne was distraught. ‘Please. She did it for me!’

‘She killed your bodyguard, her own cousin, for you?’ Llywelyn stared at her. His anger and horror vibrated in the air around him. Lord Chester had told him what had happened. Sorcery. Necromancy. Murder. Sweet Jesus,
Dew!
His daughter was a necromancer!

Eleyne took a deep breath. ‘Lord Einion wrote to me before he died. He wanted to see me urgently, but Rhonwen burned the letter. When he died it preyed upon her conscience that I would never know his message.’ She caught his hand as she used to when she was a little girl. ‘Please, papa, I have lost my mother. Don’t take away my nurse. I love her.’ There were tears in her eyes.

‘The woman has committed murder, Eleyne. She must pay the price.’ Somehow he kept his voice steady. Eleyne must be kept out of this, and her involvement concealed.

Eleyne clung to him. ‘No, please, you can’t kill Rhonwen! You mustn’t.’ She was sobbing now. ‘She did it for me!’

‘She has killed a man, Eleyne, and by the laws of Wales she must pay the price,’ Llywelyn said heavily. By Our Lady, didn’t she realise the penalty for necromancy was death? Death for both of them! He had aged ten years in the few short days since his wife had died. His strong, lined face had grown puffy, his eyes were swollen from lack of sleep. Across the courtyard in the great wooden hall the funeral feast was still going on. When the prince had been called away, he had given no signal that it should cease.

‘Cenydd was my servant. She must pay the price to me,’ Eleyne said desperately. ‘I will see that she is punished, papa.’

‘Cenydd’s family will require more than that, Eleyne.’

‘Cenydd’s family is her family. They won’t want her life!’ She rushed on. ‘She didn’t mean to kill him. She loved Cenydd, he was her cousin. She trusted him.’

‘Your nurse, Eleyne, is a heretic,’ Llywelyn said. ‘She is in a state of the most mortal sin. As you are.’ He added the last words with terrible emphasis.

Eleyne froze. She looked at her father, then at her husband who was sitting in a chair near the fire. There was blood on his mantle.

‘Papa.’ Eleyne’s words were anguished. ‘You can’t punish us for summoning Einion – ’

‘It was the Lady Rhonwen who summoned him,’ Llywelyn said slowly. ‘Your husband and I have discussed your part in the ceremony, such as it was, and we have decided that you were there in complete ignorance of what she intended. She, as its instigator, must pay the full price. Your husband will deal with you as he sees fit.’ He folded his arms in his mantle. ‘She has caused nothing but trouble as long as I have known her,’ he said grimly. ‘And now she must be punished for her crimes. Your husband agrees.’

Eleyne looked from one man to the other; she was sick with horror. ‘John dislikes her because she loves me, don’t you understand?’

‘The woman has proved herself a common murderer.’ John’s voice was weary. ‘The penalty for that is death.’

‘No!’ She began to sob again, softly. ‘No, you can’t! You can’t put her to death. I won’t let you –’ She flung herself on her knees and clung to the skirt of her father’s gown.

Llywelyn put his hand gently on her head. He sighed. ‘We shall leave it for God to decide, Eleyne. Tomorrow she will stand trial before Him. If He deems her innocent she will go free. I can do no more for her.’

Eleyne’s eyes were round with horror as her hands fell from his gown. ‘What do you mean?’

‘A trial before God. I have given orders that she must face the ordeal of the hot iron …’

‘
No
, papa, no!’ Eleyne was as white as a sheet. ‘Dear sweet Christ – ’

‘Sir,’ John put in quietly, ‘it is some twenty years since the Lateran Council forbade such trials to be conducted by the clergy in Christendom. You cannot mean to …’

Llywelyn swung round. ‘Don’t presume to question my decision, my lord! That woman has defiled my wife’s memory and led my daughter into mortal sin. Only God can judge her fairly for, as Blessed Christ is my witness, I can’t! She will face the ordeal tomorrow. If she is guilty, she will die!’

III

The Chesters had been given a small private room in one of the buildings which surrounded the courtyard. Rugs and furs were spread on the rough bed. Their light came from a tall candlestick which stood in the corner.

It was Luned alone who undressed Eleyne and wrapped her once more in her warm cloak against the cold.

‘Where is she?’ Eleyne whispered. John had gone out into the darkness.

‘They have chained her in a cell.’ Luned bit her lip, her huge eyes brimming with tears. ‘Is it true she must undergo trial by ordeal?’

Eleyne nodded, still numb with horror.

‘And did she … is it true she summoned Lord Einion from the dead?’ Luned crossed herself fervently.

Eleyne stared at her dully. ‘Who told you?’

‘One of the guards followed you into the forest and spied on you. It is being whispered in the hall.’ Luned shivered. ‘He says Einion rose up out of the grave, as tall as a tree, with flames coming from his hands –’ She broke off with a cry of fear as the door opened.