Child of the Phoenix (85 page)

Dafydd had eaten something that disagreed with him in the wild Shrove Tide feasting the night before and had retired to his chamber with a belly ache. A few hours later he had begun to vomit violently and this morning he had been worse. She sighed again; she resented anything which kept him from her bed. She needed him with a deep aching hunger which was more than physical – it had become an obsession. The more often they made love, the more chance that she would conceive. Her hand strayed to her throat. Three amulets hung there now, three amulets to ward off the evil eye and counteract Eleyne’s curse. Because it was Eleyne’s fault that she had no child.

She walked back to the fire and kicked out spitefully at the logs where the letter from Fotheringhay had disintegrated into ash. Perhaps it would happen tonight. The stars were propitious and Dafydd would be recovered by then. She would bathe in rose water in front of the fire and have her servants rub scented oils into her skin. She touched her breasts gently and closed her eyes. Two days before she had vowed her most beautiful necklace to the shrine at Holywell if she should conceive. Surely the Virgin would help her tonight.

But that night Dafydd was worse. He was contorted with pain and now he had developed a fever. Isabella was suddenly afraid. ‘What is it?’ She looked at the ring of learned doctors around the bed. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

Ednyfed was standing near her, his face set with worry. ‘There’s a hard swelling in the belly,’ he said softly. ‘The doctors fear there’s some kind of obstruction.’ He glanced at the huddle of physicians who were examining samples of Dafydd’s urine, holding up their flasks to the candlelight.

‘He’s not going to die?’ she cried, her voice sliding out of a whisper in her panic.

Ednyfed frowned at her sharply. ‘Of course he’s not going to die!’

‘But you sent for the priest to give him the last rites?’ She had only just noticed the man kneeling in the corner. She had begun to shake violently. ‘Dafydd! Dafydd
bach
?’ She threw herself towards the bed. ‘What is it? What’s wrong with you?’

He opened his eyes with an effort. ‘Too much wine and good living, sweetheart, that’s all. I’ll soon be better.’ He reached out for her hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be as right as rain tomorrow, you’ll see. Then we’ll celebrate, eh?’ He managed the ghost of a grin.

She nodded, biting her lip, and she squeezed his fingers.

Soon after that he drifted into an uneasy sleep, but later he awoke, contorted in agony, clutching at her hand. This time he was delirious. He did not know her.

As the grey February daylight began to lighten the chamber he lay still at last and opened his eyes. He gave her the ghost of a smile. ‘The pain has gone,’ he said wonderingly. ‘The Blessed Virgin be thanked, the pain has gone.’

‘Thank God.’ She had not moved from his side all night. She bent and kissed his forehead.

‘Drink this, my lord.’ One of the physicians stepped forward with a phial of medicine. Dafydd sipped it with a grimace then lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes.

Two hours later he was dead.

‘No,’ Isabella cried in disbelief. ‘He was better. No, he’s not dead, he’s asleep.’

‘Princess –’ Ednyfed had tears running down his face.

‘No.’ She went on shaking her head. ‘He’s asleep.’

‘Princess – ’

‘He’s asleep I tell you!’ She threw herself on the bed, and clutched at his hands. ‘He’ll wake up. He was better. He’s not dead. He’s not.’ She pulled at him frantically and his head rolled sideways on the pillow. A little mucus trickled from the side of his mouth and his eyes opened. ‘Dafydd! Dafydd! You see? He’s alive! I told you he was alive.’ Suddenly she was sobbing, her whole body shaking with the strength of her weeping.

It was a long time before they could persuade her to leave the stiffening body and half carry, half drag her to a hastily prepared chamber on the far side of the
llys
. A messenger had already departed to find Owain Goch ap Gruffydd. And already the news was crossing the mountains from mouth to mouth and ear to ear towards King Henry’s court.

X
FOTHERINGHAY
1 March 1246

Eleyne was playing with her little daughter when word came of her brother’s death. She read the letter twice and sat gazing into space, the letter dangling from nerveless fingers. Joanna crawled towards her, reaching for the red wax seal on its ribbon.

Eleyne was numb; she had loved both her brothers and now she had lost them both. She had not seen Dafydd for a long time and she had often disagreed with him violently, but that did not mean she was any less devastated. Her eyes filled with tears and little Joanna, her small fists knotted into Eleyne’s gown, stared up with solemn eyes at her mother’s face. Eleyne stooped to pick the child up with a sad smile, and Joanna stabbed a chubby finger at Eleyne’s cheek. Eleyne hugged her, knocking the letter to the floor and, burying her face in Joanna’s curls, she began to sob.

Nesta wrote to Rhonwen, and Rhonwen came.

‘So Owain Goch is prince now.’ Rhonwen cuddled Joanna and tucked a sweetmeat into the child’s mouth. ‘Gruffydd is avenged.’

‘Rhonwen.’ Eleyne was reproachful.

‘Well? You should be pleased too! I only hope young Llywelyn will be prepared to support his brother. He has no respect for Owain at all; he’s much the stronger character! And you,
cariad
? What are you still doing here at Fotheringhay? Your husband has gone. I had no doubt that you would ride to Scotland as soon as you were recovered from the birth.’

Eleyne frowned. ‘Alexander sent no messages – ’

‘Of course not. No doubt Queen Marie has told him you are lying every night in your husband’s arms. So, you never intend to see him again?’ Rhonwen carried Joanna over to the door.

‘Of course I do …’

‘Then what are you waiting for? Your husband’s permission?’ Her tone was acidic. She handed the child to a nurse and walked back to Eleyne. ‘You still have a child to bear for Scotland,
cariad
. I don’t know how or why, but that is your destiny.’ Her eyes burned with a sudden fanaticism.

‘That’s not true, Einion was wrong.’

‘He was never wrong.’ Rhonwen’s face had become deeply lined over the last months and there was a permanent frown between her eyes. ‘You have a darling child there, but she is not the child the gods have promised you.’ She paused. ‘You must not let her father touch you again.’

‘No.’ Eleyne was watching the nurse carry Joanna from the room.

‘He would be better dead.’ Rhonwen’s voice was very soft.

There was a long pause. ‘Yes.’ Eleyne bit her lip.

Rhonwen gave a quick triumphant smile. ‘I’m glad you agree.’

Eleyne swung round. ‘I will not have him killed.’

‘Why not?’

‘I – am – his – wife.’ The words were scarcely audible.

‘No.’ Rhonwen shook her head. ‘You were forced to make vows that meant nothing, before a god who cares nothing!’ She put her hands over Eleyne’s wrists. ‘And you hate him!’

‘Yes, I hate him.’ Eleyne’s eyes flashed. She snatched her hands away. ‘But I will not be responsible for his death.’ She moved away from Rhonwen. ‘I didn’t go to Scotland because I won’t crawl to Alexander. If he wants me he must send for me.’ She straightened her shoulders.

Rhonwen smiled. ‘I am sure he will,
cariad
,’ she said meekly, ‘I am sure he will.’

XI
DYSERTH
March 1246

Philip de Bret, Constable of Dyserth Castle, bowed gravely to the cleric who stood before him. He glanced at Isabella. ‘The Princess of Aberffraw has been a most welcome guest here, my lord abbot.’

The Abbot of Basingwerk bowed back. Both men looked as if they were tiptoeing on thin ice as they turned as one to Isabella. She stared back at them resentfully. ‘So? Why did you want to see me, my lord abbot?’

‘As you know, princess, your late husband was a patron of our abbey …’

‘And endowed it handsomely.’ Her voice was waspish. ‘If you come for a donation, my lord abbot, you are out of luck. I have no money until my dower is arranged.’

‘You misunderstand me, princess.’ The abbot bowed again. ‘I have not come to ask for your generosity.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I have come at the command of the king.’

‘Oh?’ She looked at him suspiciously.

‘It appears that his grace has decided that for now –’ he paused and licked his lips nervously – ‘he would like you to go to the sisters at Godstow.’

‘What exactly do you mean?’ Isabella’s hands had gone cold.

Henry had after all allowed Owain to succeed Dafydd, but only after he and his brother, Llywelyn, had acknowledged the King of England as their overlord.

The abbot glanced at de Bret for support. ‘His grace commands that I escort you to Godstow. He feels that as a highborn widow – ’

‘He is not going to turn me into a nun!’ Her voice rose sharply. ‘I hope his grace does not intend to try to make me stay there.’

The abbot shrugged. ‘I have my orders, madam. To deliver you to the Lady Flandrina, Abbess of Godstow. That is the king’s command.’

‘I won’t go! I’ll marry again.’ She looked from one man to the other wildly. ‘It’s because I can’t have children, that’s it, isn’t it? No man will want me if I’m barren. But I can have children! Ask anyone. I was cursed. But the curse can be lifted – ’

‘Princess.’ The old abbot shook his head. ‘Please don’t distress yourself. I am sure the arrangement is only temporary.’

‘Sure? How can you be sure?’ Her hands were shaking. ‘The king doesn’t confide in you, does he? No, of course he doesn’t. Suppose they lock me up and keep me there forever?’

‘Why should they do such a thing?’ Philip de Bret forced himself to speak calmly. He disliked excitable women in general and he was beginning to dislike this one in particular. Since her arrival at Dyserth the smooth running of the royal castle had been relegated to the least of his worries. Instead he had found himself summoned to a series of increasingly stormy interviews with the princess, who had been packed into his care by Henry and her two nephews the moment Dafydd’s death had been announced.

‘When Eleyne was widowed, the king didn’t send her to a nunnery.’ Isabella’s voice had risen to a tight, nervous whine. ‘Why should he send me there? And to Godstow. It’s so far away. No, I won’t go. I shall return to Aber until the matter of my dower is arranged.’

The abbot sighed. ‘Princess, I’m sorry, but that is not possible. The King of England’s command must be obeyed, and it is also the wish of the new Prince of Aberffraw.’ He nodded to himself smugly. Those two boys had not been able to wait, so he had heard, to get rid of her!

‘Not if I refuse.’ She shook her finger under his nose. ‘I’m sorry, my lord abbot. I hate to disappoint you but you must return without me.’

She took his hand and kneeling to give his ring a perfunctory kiss – some inches above the cold amethyst on an equally cold finger – she rose and swept from the room.

De Bret shrugged. ‘I had hoped we could avoid using force.’

‘And I.’ The abbot stared sadly at the door which still reverberated from the force with which Isabella had flung it shut behind her. ‘Poor woman. She is still young for such an incarceration.’