Child of the Phoenix (95 page)

Malcolm dismounted and bowed. ‘Lady Chester! It has been too long.’

She smiled at him. ‘You are welcome.’

‘I hope so.’ He followed her into the great hall of the manor house as she gave orders for the fire to be rekindled and lights to be placed in the sconces.

‘You have ridden a long way, Sir Malcolm,’ she commented as she sat in her chair and gestured him towards the other, ‘if you have come all the way from Scotland.’

‘I have come from Fife.’

‘And you are on your way south? To Bristol perhaps to see the king?’

‘No.’ He sat down and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his eyes on her face. ‘I came for you.’

She smiled guardedly, her apprehension returning. ‘For me?’

‘Your husband is dead, Eleyne. You are free to remarry.’ He kept his voice low, aware of the curious glances in their direction from Eleyne’s sleepy household.

‘Dead?’ The shock of his words cut through her fear like a knife. ‘Robert is dead?’

‘Didn’t you guess? You haven’t heard from him for two years.’

‘Who told you? Who told you Robert was dead?’

‘I have my informants.’ He leaned back in his chair with a smile. ‘The fate of Robert de Quincy was, after all, of special importance to me. The reports I received seem conclusive. He is dead and buried. He will not come back to pester you again. You are free.’

Her immediate sense of relief was short-lived as she considered what Malcolm had said. ‘If I am, I intend to stay that way.’ She was painfully aware of her helplessness. She had opened the gates. She had invited him in and now some three dozen fully armed men were inside her walls, men who, while accepting the wine her servants had offered, had not laid down their swords. Conscious of the sudden stillness in his expression, she forced herself to soften her voice. ‘You do me great honour, my lord, but I will never marry again. And I have the assurance of my uncle, the King of England, on that.’ She hadn’t, but Malcolm would never know.

‘I do not intend to ask the king your uncle, madam.’ Malcolm’s voice dropped slightly. ‘I have waited too long. You are mine now.’

‘Perhaps we could discuss this in the morning?’ She was thinking frantically. Nearby she could see Michael standing, his hand on his sword. She frowned. She had never seen her horse marshal wear a sword before. ‘You and your men must be tired and such important matters must be talked about with due ceremony.’

He laughed softly. ‘There is nothing to talk about. We leave tonight.’

‘No!’ Her eyes were blazing. She stepped towards him, aware of the silence in the hall. ‘Leave my house, now, before I call my guard!’

Cautiously Nesta crept closer to her. Her small embroidery shears were hidden in her hand.

‘I thought this was your guard.’ With a smile Malcolm looked around the shadowy hall.

They were all there: her maids, her ladies, Hal, Michael, most of the stable lads, even Kenrick, her cook, and his kitchen boys and the three pages who were serving her until they moved to a household where the head of house was a knight from whom they could learn the chivalric arts. She was sick with fear for them all. The only people absent were Sam and Rhonwen and Annie and the children. She breathed a little prayer that Rhonwen had taken them into the woods as she had asked, then she looked Malcolm full in the eyes. ‘Please leave my house, sir. I am sorry, but your attentions are not welcome.’ There was a sudden coldness in the air.

‘I am sure you will learn to like me, Eleyne, and I am sorry I have to do this, but as you say, your uncle is the king, and it would be more politic if he didn’t know what had become of you. We’ll leave quietly, and disappear into the darkness forever. If you do as I say, no one will be hurt.’

‘No.’ She raised her voice. ‘I’m not coming with you!’

‘Then I am afraid I must use force. You have condemned these people to death, Eleyne of Chester, out of your own mouth.’ He snapped his fingers and his men in the hall drew their swords, the rasp of steel ugly in the peaceful old house.

Michael did not hesitate. With a shout of anger, he raised his sword and ran towards her, but he had taken only half a dozen steps before he was cut down.

‘
Michael!
’ She heard herself scream as Malcolm lunged forward and caught her wrist, swinging her into his arms. Nesta, sweet faithful Nesta, raised her hand, the wickedly sharp shears glinting in her fist. A man-at-arms stepped towards her and Nesta doubled up with a soundless gurgle, his sword through her stomach. There was nothing Eleyne could do. Malcolm had pinioned her arms as he carried her through the uproar, striding towards the door, ignoring her frantic struggles. The shadowy hall was splashed with gore. Women lay in pools of blood on the floor amongst the men and in the far corner she saw a sheet of flame race across the hangings which backed the dais, as one of Malcolm’s men snatched up a torch and touched it systematically to the tapestries.

The courtyard was cool and silent after the horror of the hall. Without a word, he carried her to his horse and threw her across the saddle, mounting behind her and kicking the animal into a gallop almost in the same movement. Two of his men were behind them. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was a glimpse of them through her streaming hair as the horse thundered through the gates and up the dust road in the moonlight.

II
GODSTOW

Isabella opened the letter with shaking hands. The seal of Chester was sharp and defiant beneath her fingers, the seal of a woman who was her own mistress and free. She grimaced with a glance at the almoner who sat near her, her beads twisted in her arthritic fingers. Did they think she wouldn’t notice that the letter had been opened? That the seal had been lifted with a knife blade and then melted – probably with the same knife but hot this time from the fire – long enough to hold it closed?

Eleyne’s letter was short. It was dated St John’s Eve, two days before. ‘Be patient, dear Isabella. I have written to the king on your behalf and I am sure he will allow you to journey to me on my undertaking to keep you here …’

Her undertaking! Isabella echoed the words furiously. Then she shrugged. What did it matter what undertakings Eleyne gave if it got her out of this damned convent? It was the mention of the king’s name which had forced them at last to give her this letter. They were afraid to burn it, which they would have done if they had dared. Never mind. She had it now. She clenched her fist over the crackling parchment. Let Eleyne promise anything she wanted; once she was out of the convent it would take more than Eleyne of Chester to imprison her again.

III

The children; she had to get to the children
.

The thought pounded in her head, round and round, in time to the beating hooves of the horse.

The children; Sweet Virgin, the children
.

She tried to move, but her limbs were like lead and her head swam sickeningly when she tried to open her eyes. She realised it was now bright day: was it two days they had been on the road, or three? She had lost all track of time. She could feel the sun beating down on the hood of her cloak; she was so hot she could hardly breathe and the iron band around her ribs grew tighter every minute.

‘Joanna, Hawisa –’ Their names came out as a whisper, but someone heard. Abruptly the horse’s pace slackened and the band around her waist loosened. It was a man’s arm.

‘Are you awake?’ Malcolm peered at her, pulling the heavy cloak away from her face. ‘We’ll stop and rest as soon as we’re across the border.’

‘The border?’ Her lips were so dry she could hardly speak.

He grinned. ‘Aye, it’ll not be long now.’

‘Joanna, Hawisa.’ She tried to push his arm away, but he didn’t seem to notice. Kicking the horse back into a slow canter, he turned and shouted to his men to follow. Her mind was blank; she remembered nothing of the killing; only the terrible overwhelming fear for her two little girls. ‘Joanna, Hawisa.’ Her lips framed the words again, but no sound came.

They stopped in the wild empty hills as the sun was setting and bivouacked in the heather. Eleyne staggered away from the men and sinking down beside a peaty pool of brown water bathed her face, trying to clear her head. She was dizzy and her temples throbbed sickeningly. Malcolm followed her and stood, hands on hips, watching her. Her hands and face were dripping as she knelt on the coarse heather stems. ‘What happened?’ she asked. The past days were a blur of terror and confusion. She could remember nothing but shouting and fire. Her mind refused to work properly. ‘Joanna, Hawisa!’

‘Don’t you bother about them.’ His face was hard. ‘Forget them.’

‘How can you say that?’ Her eyes blazed at him. ‘There was a fire! My children! My two little girls! What have you done to them? Where are they? What’s happened to them?’

‘Nothing happened to them.’ For a moment he dropped his gaze. ‘I saw no children. The people scattered when we burned the place. No one was hurt.’

‘You burned it?’ For a moment she was too shocked to speak. Suckley, her beautiful, peaceful home. ‘And the horses? You burned the stables too?’

He shook his head emphatically. ‘You know me better than that. The stables were untouched.’

‘You spared the horses.’ She seemed able only to repeat everything he said. Her mind had blotted out most of what had happened.

Malcolm nodded. ‘Those which can travel are being brought north. I know how much you cared for them.’

‘So, you act like a reiver. You steal my horses and you burn my house.’

‘I’m no horsethief, Eleyne.’ He looked very grave. ‘The horses are yours.’

‘And I am yours?’ It was barely a question.

‘You are mine.’

‘And if I choose not to be yours?’

‘You will, given time.’ He folded his arms. ‘If you want food, you must come to the fire.’

‘I’ll not eat with you.’ She rose unsteadily to her feet and faced him. ‘I’ll not eat with you and I’ll not sleep with you, if that’s what you’re hoping.’

She moved a few paces away. All around them the heather bent stretched empty beneath the crimson sky. In the silence a curlew called.

‘Eat or not as you choose, my lady,’ he called after her. ‘But sleep with me you will. Tonight and every night, for the rest of your life.’

‘No!’ She flung herself round. ‘Never!’

He smiled ‘If it’s your good name you’re worried about, we shall be wed as soon as we reach Falkland. Though I always got the impression that your reputation didn’t worry you much.’ He put his head on one side. ‘I’ve waited a long time for you, Eleyne – an unconscionable long time. I don’t intend to wait any longer. But for now, I can see you won’t be satisfied until you’ve tried to run. Go on then, see how far you get. I’ll come for you when I’m ready.’

She watched as he strode towards the fire where already venison was roasting on the makeshift spit. She could smell the cooking flesh and her stomach turned with revulsion even as it growled with hunger. She knew it was no use. There was nowhere to hide. The folded ground was a wilderness of heather and grass, dotted with stunted thorn and pine. All round her the wild Cheviot Hills formed a barrier of loneliness and desolation. She walked for several minutes, stumbling on the tussocky ground, watching the bog cotton as it bobbed in the falling dusk. Curlew called in the distance, their liquid trills emphasising the emptiness of the hills.

The men settled around their fire. She could hear their laughter and their shouts as they lounged on the soft ground. She stopped at last by an old pine tree and leaned against it, closing her eyes. She could not escape: wherever she went, whatever she did, Malcolm would find her; she suspected he would follow her now to the ends of the earth. It was as if he had been her destiny all along. She smiled grimly to herself. Was this what Einion had predicted? A life and a death, in Scotland.

It was a long time before Malcolm came for her. ‘Are you ready for some food now?’ he asked softly. ‘It’ll do no good to starve yourself.’

She pushed herself away from the tree. ‘I won’t marry you,’ she said.

‘We’ll talk about that tomorrow.’ He took her arm.

His men moved aside for her and she sat down on his folded cloak while they brought her a portion of roast hart from one of the animals Malcolm’s men had hunted down on their ride that morning, laughing that though they stole the king’s stag it was at least in season, and they gave her wine from a leather bottle. While she ate, one of the young men produced a bird-bone pipe and began to play a slow, wistful tune which echoed in the swiftly falling night. It was midsummer – there would be no darkness.

She made no attempt to struggle when at last Malcolm folded her into his cloak a little apart from his men, near the dying embers of the fire. As he pulled up her gown and entered her with almost gentle eagerness, it was another man’s face she saw in the glowing peat over his shoulder – the face of the man who had been his king.

IV
WESTMINSTER
28 June 1253