Child of the Phoenix

  Not giving herself time to think, Eleyne wheeled Invictus around. ‘This way! I can still hear the horn!’ But the other horse barred her way. There was no room to pass and the earl was dismounting. He was a stocky young man, fresh-faced and good-looking with a shock of dark unruly hair. ‘I think he’s lame. Hold a moment, my lady.’ Ducking beneath his mount’s head, he ran a hand down the horse’s foreleg.

  Eleyne trembled with impatience: ‘We’ll lose the king – ’

  ‘Do we need the king?’ Before she knew what he was doing, he had straightened. His hands were on her waist and he had pulled her from her saddle. She did not react, too surprised to resist, then his hands were on her breasts.

  Eleyne froze. ‘My lord – ’

  Pulling her to him, he crushed her lips with his own, bending her backwards over his arm as he devoured her mouth, one hand greedily groping inside her gown. She struggled furiously, but his strength was enormous. She could feel herself losing her balance, feel the soft earth at the edge of the ravine crumble beneath her feet. Clawing at his face, she heard him swear as her gloved finger caught his eye. His grip slackened and she broke away from him, staggering towards Invictus, feeling the tightly braided coils of her hair slipping from beneath her head-dress. Pulling herself into the high saddle, she wheeled the horse and pushed him into a gallop back up the track the way they had come.

  The king was standing among his followers staring down at a magnificent stag. He looked at her quizzically as she rode up: ‘I thought you vowed to be at the kill, my lady,’ he called, teasing. She saw him eyeing her torn gown and dishevelled hair.

  ‘It looks to me as though a little hunting has been done away from the main chase.’ His smile was forced. Beside him Lord Annandale frowned.

  Eleyne felt her face going crimson. ‘One of your lords, your grace, seems to know little of the code of chivalry,’ she retorted. ‘He tried to dishonour me – and my husband …’

  ‘Oh come.’ The king walked across to her. ‘Hardly that, I’m sure. Most ladies take it as a compliment if a man shows them his admiration.’ He reached up and put his hand over hers. If he could feel them shaking he made no sign. His eyes became serious, holding hers. ‘Lord Fife is a hothead, lass, and he’s made no secret of his admiration for you,’ he said with quiet urgency. ‘It was he, I take it?’ He searched for the missing earl among the crowded courtiers. ‘The two have made him a little over-eager for a kiss, that’s all. Least said, the better, don’t you think?’ He was smiling, but she could hear the command in his voice.

  ‘But your grace – ’

  ‘Enough, Eleyne.’ His fingers tightened. He was holding both her hands over the pommel of the saddle, crushing them in his grip. ‘I’ll have a word with Lord Fife.’ His words could be heard by her alone. ‘I’ll tell him to flirt less and remind him you’re a married lady, for all you’re so fresh and young and enticing.’

  Oh, he was the handsomest man she had ever seen, this King of the Scots, with his golden hair and beard and his fierce commanding eyes, but he frightened her! She felt the strength in the hand which so easily held hers imprisoned, sensed the power of his will as he looked up at her. Suddenly shy, she looked away, and at once he released her hands. ‘Enough,’ he said softly, ‘I don’t think any more need be said.’

  She watched as he strode away, once more absorbed in the crowd of huntsmen and courtiers, noblemen and servants who surrounded him, heard the talk and laughter, saw the carcass of the stag being trussed and slung between poles, and she felt terribly alone.

  VI

  ‘Did you enjoy the hunt?’ John asked wearily. His eyes were sore from reading and his head ached.

  ‘Not very much.’ Eleyne tossed her head. ‘I don’t think I like it here, my lord.’ Her pride was still stung by the king’s rebuke and her temper dangerously high.

  John frowned. ‘You have not annoyed the king or his henchmen, Eleyne? You know how important it is for them to like me.’

  ‘Do you not think to ask if they might have annoyed me?’ she flung back at him.

  John stood up, and threw down his pen. ‘What happened?’

  ‘The Earl of Fife forced me to kiss him; he tried to touch me, to force me – ’

  ‘Oh, surely not. The Earl of Fife is one of the most influential men in the kingdom – ’

  ‘And he tried to force your wife!’ she repeated. ‘When my father found another man in bed with my mother, he hanged him like a common thief!’

  ‘De Braose was your father’s enemy, when all is said and done, Eleyne. The cases are not the same. And Lord Fife was not in bed with you. He snatched a kiss, that’s all.’

  ‘And you don’t mind?’

  ‘Yes, I mind.’ He folded his arms beneath his cloak. ‘But I am not going to be foolish about it. No harm was done. He paid you a compliment. Just make sure you are not alone with him in future.’

  ‘And that is all you are going to say?’ She was almost speechless with indignation. Her cool, stern husband was not even ruffled by her news. ‘You are like the king. You think it a joke! The great Earl of Fife tried to kiss Lady Chester in the woods. Oh, she’s not dishonoured, she’s not even supposed to be angry! She is supposed to laugh it off and consider herself flattered!’

  ‘You told the king?’ John frowned. ‘Eleyne, I don’t want him to think you are going to cause trouble among his followers.’

  ‘Cause trouble!’ Eleyne was incensed. ‘Perhaps, my lord and husband, if you had been there, hunting with everyone else, it would not have happened! Perhaps if you were in the great hall more often after supper it would not happen – ’

  ‘That is enough!’ he exclaimed angrily. ‘May I remind you that neither would it have happened if you had remained here with me! In future you will stay here, at my side, and behave like a dutiful wife. Then men will remember that is what you are.’

  That night he slept with his back to her, a bed cloak wrapped around his thin shoulders against the damp and cold of the rain which had swept north across the Forth in the darkness and which seeped in through the very stones of the building. At dawn he began to cough again.

  VII

  The great castle of Edinburgh was black on its rain-soaked rock. Staring up at it, Rhonwen felt her heart clench with fear. Was this where Eleyne would spend the rest of her days? Her carefree, bright child a prisoner in this cold northern land. She huddled into her cloak and looked around intently. Her servants and horses were as tired as she was after the long ride north, and now they were disappointed. The court, they had been told, had been in Dunfermline across the broad River Forth for many weeks. They had farther yet to go.

  It was already growing late. They had to find somewhere to sleep in Edinburgh and in the morning go on to find the Queen’s Ferry which, they had been told, would take them on their journey. They were fighting their way down the busy high street with its market crowds, and Rhonwen was mentally counting out the last of her precious hoard of silver coins. Were there enough left to buy bread and meat and sleep tonight in a clean bed with a minimum of others to share it? And then to pay for a guide and the ferry in the morning?

  She watched wearily as one of her servants stopped a tall, thin-faced man with high cheekbones and dark hooded eyes, asking him for somewhere to stay. She saw the puzzled looks on both their faces as they struggled to understand one another’s tongues, then the Welshman turned, nodding. He waved ahead down the street. ‘We are to go out of the town by the Nether Bow Port and on through the canon’s burgh, then we’ll find a guesthouse at the Abbey of the Holy Rood on the edge of the forest,’ he called. ‘It’s not far to the ferry in the morning.’

  Rhonwen kicked her horse on down the steep road through the thronging market crowds. Now that she was so close to Eleyne, she was beginning to feel nervous; what would Eleyne say when she saw her and when she heard, as she must, that Rhonwen had burned Einion’s letter with all its urgency, and – the fact which had terrified Rhonwen into starting her frantic journey
north – that the old man was dead and with him the message which had been so important it needed Eleyne’s immediate return to Mô n?

  VIII

  DUNFERMLINE

  That night Eleyne dreamed again about the king. She awoke, her husband’s implacable back turned towards her in the darkness, aware that her body was alive with longing, that her skin was warm and eager beneath the sheets, her nipples hard, her thighs flaccid and welcoming. It was the third time she had dreamed of Alexander in as many nights, and each time she had buried her face, hot with shame, in the pillows. What kind of wanton was she that she dreamed of her husband’s cousin – her aunt’s husband – in such brazen detail? She stroked her hand surreptitiously across her flat belly and up to her breasts, feeling them tense beneath her fingers. Outside she could hear the heavy summer rain pouring endlessly on to the lead roofs of the guesthouse and gurgling from the gutters. The rich smell of the earth, newly drenched, rose through the open windows and filled the room. Beyond the bed curtains she heard a movement from one of the truckle beds which lined the room, then a whisper and the creak of wood followed by a stifled giggle.

  She turned over, staring towards the heavy tester over the bed. Beside her was John’s deep regular breathing. Cautiously she reached out and touched his back, running her fingers down the length of his spine. He moved slightly and groaned, then he slept again. Beyond the curtains the room had grown silent.

  IX

  ‘Lady Chester!’

  Sometimes the king addressed her formally; sometimes he called her Eleyne and sometimes he addressed her, as he addressed his wife, as ‘lass’. She never knew which was coming or, when she looked into his face, if he were serious or teasing.

  ‘We have a visitor who will interest you.’

  Beside him on the dais Joanna was sitting near the smouldering fire, attended by Robert Bruce, Eleyne’s nephew, newly raised from page to squire in the queen’s household and celebrating the fact by sticking his tongue out at Eleyne when he thought no one else was looking. The queen’s face was pale and she had grown even thinner over the last few weeks, but her eyes were calm now, and no longer red with weeping. Robert alone was sometimes able to make her smile.

  The visitor, as Eleyne made her way across the hall beside her husband, was a tall man, dressed in a black gown and mantle, his white hair and beard moving silver in the light of the flickering candles. He’s a bard, she thought, like Einion. Perhaps he’s a seer – and she was afraid.

  She walked towards the dais at John’s side, aware that many eyes had followed her from the moment she entered the hall, aware that she was being gossiped about, her name linked with the Earl of Fife even though she had never been alone with him again or hunted since that fateful day. And even though she slept every night with her husband and seldom left his side at all, by his decree.

  She raised her eyes and met those of the queen, who smiled at her. The two had become friends after a fashion during the long weeks of their stay, Joanna’s resentment tempered by Eleyne’s warmth and open friendliness, so different from the bitchy, manoeuvring ladies of the court. Reaching the dais, Eleyne curtseyed to the king and queen. Near them the tall man rose. He bowed. His eyes were clear quicksilver in his face; depthless, swift-moving, all-seeing.

  ‘This is Michael.’ The king too rose. ‘The greatest seer in all Scotland if not all Europe.’ He smiled gravely. ‘He comes to tell my fortune, is that not so, Sir Wizard?’

  Joanna had sent for the man, desperate to know the future, but he had talked to her of the waning moon and the obscuration of the firmament and the alignment of the planets and told her nothing.

  Eleyne could feel his power. Like Einion’s it came from him in waves, probing, all-seeing, frightening. She stood still, feeling it encircling her like a tangible web, testing her, questing into the corners of her mind. Her fear passed as quickly as it had come, and she met his eyes with something like relief. That he would find a way of talking to her, she was certain. Not now before the king and his court and her husband, but later, alone.

  X

  ‘What did you see for the queen?’ She hardly dared meet his gaze. In the darkness of the deep glen the water flashed white against the stones. He had arranged their meeting as she had known he would, his servant guiding her to this remote corner within the span of the outer castle walls, whisking her past servants and guards as though he had thrown a cloak of invisibility about her shoulders.

  ‘What I see for the queen is between the gods and her, my daughter.’ The man was as slim as a reed in his cloak of black, upright, though he leaned on a staff.

  ‘She will have no more children.’ Eleyne hardly dared breathe the words out loud.

  ‘Yet there will be a son for Scotland.’ Michael smiled coldly. ‘You have power, madam, but it is untrained. That is dangerous.’ Eleyne looked away from him. Her heart was thumping with excitement, hearing only the first part of his statement. A son for Scotland – her son.

  ‘You must learn to guard the truth and ponder it, for it may not be the truth you seek. The gods are pleased to speak in riddles,’ he went on sententiously. ‘There is danger here in Scotland for you. Did your visions tell you that? Your eyes are full of golden diadems, but first comes death.’

  Eleyne felt a cold shiver cross her flesh.

  ‘Death must always come before the throne passes from one man to another,’ she whispered. She had closed her mind to the fact that the death must be Alexander’s.

  He smiled: ‘That much is true. I should like to teach you, lady; it is a long while since I had an apprentice.’

  She laughed, relieved at the sudden lightening of the atmosphere, and for a moment she was almost tempted. To have the power – the Sight – to command, and the knowledge it would bring, would be wonderful. But it would also be terrifying, and regretfully she knew her initial reaction had been right. This was something she must turn her back on. ‘I’m afraid that road is not for me,’ she said sadly. ‘My place is with my husband. What pictures I see I must try to understand alone. If only they were clearer, if only they showed me more.’

  ‘The interpretation of dreams and visions takes study and prayer and fasting, too great a task for a glittering countess.’ His smile was malicious.

  She was silent, indignation fighting with temptation as she recognised his challenge. She straightened her shoulders. ‘Then I must remain in ignorance and wait for the will of the gods to be made clear.’ She paused. ‘Will you answer one question for me?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Only one?’

  She gave a nervous smile. ‘It’s about the king.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘It’s as if I’ve known him all my life. Yet that’s not possible.’ She raised her eyes to his fathomless silver gaze. ‘Is it?’

  He leaned thoughtfully on his staff, looking away from her. ‘It is possible,’ he said, ‘that you have known one another through all eternity.’

  A strange shudder touched her spine. And did I love him? she wanted to ask. Did I love him through all eternity? But she didn’t dare. She too looked away, ashamed and frightened by her thoughts. ‘Why do we have dreams and visions,’ she burst out, ‘if we cannot change our destinies whatever we may see?’

  He smiled: ‘That, my lady, is where you are wrong.’ He stared down at the burn which ran at their feet, listening to the gentle chatter of the water in the dark. ‘The gods send us warnings that we may heed them, if we poor mortals can but understand them.’

  She swallowed. ‘William? I could have saved William?’

  He shrugged. ‘I know nothing of a William. But destiny hangs heavy over you; I see it in the air around you; I hear it in the clash of swords; I see it in the stain of blood. I see it in time past and time to come.’ He looked at her again, but his eyes were unfocused, as if they did not see her. ‘I see you as the mother of a line of kings.’ It was what Einion had said.

  ‘And will I be a queen?’ Her question was breathless, almost inaudible against the sound
of rushing water.

  Michael was still for a long time. Then his eyes focused once more. Nearby an owl floated through the trees, a white ghost in the darkness. As it crossed the burn, it screeched once, a harsh defiance of the silence. Michael shook his head: ‘I see no more,’ he said at last.

  Above them the trees were thick canopies in front of the stars.

  XI

  The hall was crowded with people. It stank of wine and roasted ox and sweat and floral toilet waters and perfume. As she threaded her way through the crowds, still wrapped in her cloak and deafened by the roar of music and laughter and shouting, Eleyne’s eyes were on the two men who sat side by side at the centre of the high table. The king and the earl were deep in conversation, seemingly oblivious of the noise around them. As she walked, a slim lone figure swathed in silk of rich scarlet, she saw Alexander lift his head. Their eyes met and she felt the strange shock of recognition shake her as it always did when they looked at one another. Beside him, John, her pale handsome husband, was suddenly like a stranger to her.

  XII

  Rhonwen stood very straight before the Earl and Countess of Chester, her hands clutched in the soft wet wool of her cloak, her hood, soaked with rain, pushed back on her shoulders. Some frowns, some smiles had greeted her as she threaded her way across the room. She saw them without registering that she had done so, and noted in some secret part of her mind who was still a friend, who an enemy.

  Neither the earl nor the countess had smiled as Rhonwen curtseyed before them.

  ‘I have brought messages from Gwynedd, my lady.’

  Eleyne stepped forward and taking Rhonwen’s hands kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m glad to see you.’ There was a note of defiance in her voice.

  ‘Are you, cariad?’ Rhonwen scanned her face. The child looked well; and yet there were shadows in her eyes. All was not as it should be with the Chesters. She looked over Eleyne’s shoulder at John of Chester. He had a half-smile on his face and, catching her eye, he raised an eyebrow.