Child of the Phoenix

  Gritting her teeth, Rhonwen sawed on as best she could, feeling first one then another strand of the rope loosen and snap. With one final frantic effort, it was done. The rope fell away and she was free. Grimly she forced her limbs to move, crouching, knife in hand, as she waited to see what Madoc was going to do.

  His breath rasped in his throat as he hauled himself to his feet, feeling for the dagger at his belt. She saw its blade catch the light of a stray flame as he held it before him. ‘I’m going to get you, bitch! I’m going to deliver you to your family flayed and gutted!’

  There was a wail of anguish from Annest. Neither gave her so much as a glance. Their eyes locked, they faced one another, knives before them. On the front of Madoc’s jerkin a slow stain, black in the dim firelight, was spreading downwards. He clutched his stomach and when he took his hand away it was wet with blood. ‘Bitch!’ he shouted again. ‘Bitch! I’m going to kill you for this!’ He coughed painfully.

  Rhonwen was totally calm now, the knife handle alive in her hand. She caressed it, waiting. Everything depended on the next few moments. If she was ever to see Eleyne again, she had to win. Straightening a little, she took a step forward and saw the surprise in his eyes. She smiled as she saw that he was afraid. ‘The gods are with me, old man,’ she whispered, ‘you can’t kill me, you are already dead. See your lifeblood is leaking to the floor like so much rat’s piss.’

  ‘Annest!’ His voice was weaker now, piteous. ‘Annest, help me. Kill her– ’

  Rhonwen side-stepped, her back against the wall. She could see Annest now. The girl had not moved.

  ‘She won’t help you, old man, she hates you. You have beaten her once too often,’ she said. ‘Look at the blood. Can’t you feel your life running away between your fingers? You leak like a sieve!’ She laughed softly.

  He looked down and she heard him give a yelp of pain and fear. As if realising for the first time how badly he was hurt, he staggered and fell to his knees. ‘Die, old man, die!’ she said. There was something like elation in her voice. ‘See what happens to those who meddle with the will of the gods!’

  ‘No!’ Annest let out a scream. ‘No, you evil woman! He’s not going to die. He’s not.’ She hurled herself at Rhonwen, her fingers clawed. ‘Leave him alone, you witch!’

  The two women grappled back and forth on the floor, then Annest fell back. With a little sigh, she collapsed at Rhonwen’s feet, the dagger in her heart.

  Rhonwen narrowed her eyes. ‘Stupid child,’ she said quietly, ‘there was no need for you to die.’ She pulled the knife from the girl’s body with an effort and turned back to Madoc. ‘But there’s every need for your death, old man,’ she murmured, ‘you broke the rules of hospitality. And you defied the gods.’ She stepped towards him.

  Madoc cringed, his strength almost gone, his hand still clutched to his belly, the other holding his dagger before him. He snarled like a cornered animal, lunging towards her with the weapon. She dodged back, almost losing her footing as a shaft of pain ran up her leg. Then she went at him again, slowly, holding his gaze, part of her uninvolved, astonished by her own lack of fear.

  It was over in a moment. Her movement was too quick for him. He never saw the blade flash. He felt only for a moment the searing pain in his throat, then all went black.

  For a long time Rhonwen stood without moving, then at last she dropped the dagger and walked to the doorway of the house. The mist had cleared, and in the east, over the rim of the mountains, the sky had lightened a little. The air was fresh and cold and blessedly clean. Somewhere nearby she could hear running water where she would be able to wash away the blood. She must purify herself with water, and the house with fire. Then she would go to Eleyne.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I

  FOTHERINGHAY CASTLE April 1237

  ‘Your father is well again!’ John, followed by his hurrying train of attendants, carried the letter through to the still-room where Eleyne was supervising two of her women as they checked her supplies of herbs and medicines.

  He thrust the letter into her hand with a smile. His face had grown thinner again and he looked very weary. He began to cough and she saw his hand pressed against his chest.

  The letter was from her father’s steward. ‘The prince is much restored, the Lord be thanked. He can speak again and has regained the use of all his limbs. We give thanks every hour that he has been spared and is once again in full control in Gwynedd. He has given part of western Gwynedd to his son, Gruffydd, together with a part of Powys, and trusts his elder son more each day.’

  ‘Happy now?’ He was amused at the radiance which had illuminated her face.

  ‘Very happy.’ She ran to him and threw her arms impulsively around his neck. ‘Oh, I am so pleased!’

  ‘And now we can move on without you constantly worrying about him?’

  ‘We can go tomorrow if you wish.’ She twirled around ecstatically, much to the enjoyment of their attendants.

  The long round was due to begin again: the circuit of their estates, the attendances at court, a visit within a couple of months to Scotland. It would be a busy year.

  At their manor house at Suckley John was taken ill again. As the soft greenness of spring settled over the border countryside and daffodils clouded the riverside fields, he retired to bed, coughing and racked with fever. Eleyne summoned the physician and sent Luned to search the coffers for the tinctures and elixirs they had brought from Fotheringhay. Then she sat beside him, holding his hand. ‘You must get better soon, there is so much for us to do.’

  He nodded. His breath was shallow and harsh, his skin flushed and damp.

  She drew her legs up beneath her skirts and snuggled close to him. ‘There is something I want to tell you.’

  It was too soon to know, too soon even to hope, but for the first time her courses were late and that morning she had awakened feeling sick and heavy. As Luned bathed her forehead they had looked at one another and smiled with hidden excitement. Looking at John, she had felt a sudden panicky terror that he might not get well, that he looked too weary, too grey, and she had known that she must not keep her secret excitement from him. She had to give him hope; to give him the will to live.

  ‘I think I may be going to have a child.’ She saw the sudden leap of joy in his eyes.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s too soon to be sure, but I have a feeling I’m right.’

  ‘Oh, Eleyne, my darling.’ He raised himself on his elbow and drew her to him. ‘I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. It’s been so long. I wondered …’

  ‘You wondered if, like poor Aunt Joanna, I couldn’t have a baby.’ She felt a stab of pain as the thought of Alexander rose unbidden in her mind and as always she pushed it away. ‘Rhonwen said it was because I was too young. All I had to do was wait.’ Her voice faded at the mention of Rhonwen’s name; she still missed her, still thought about her, even though a small guilty part of her was relieved to be rid of her prying and her hostility to John. But, however much she disliked him, Rhonwen would have given Eleyne medicines for John at the first sign of his illness if she had begged her to do so, and her medicines, unlike those of the doctors who followed him everywhere he went, had always worked. She glanced up at him, and was pleased to see how bright and animated his eyes had become. The physician entered and bowed. As Eleyne kissed John and wriggled reluctantly away from him off the bed she saw the doctor reach for her husband’s pulse. She did not notice the man’s worried look when he saw the Earl of Chester’s glowing skin and fevered eyes.

  II

  CHESTER CASTLE May

  Her head wrapped in a white shawl, Rhonwen stayed long enough in the precincts of the castle to find out what she needed to know. The earl and countess were still at Fotheringhay. She had two animals now, her own and a packmule which she had found with the beasts in the byre end of Madoc’s house. She had methodically ransacked the hafod, taken what few possessions they had which were of val
ue – a cooking pot, Annest’s Sunday shoes, their few pennies buried beneath the bakestone, and an extra woollen shawl. Then she had turned the animals loose and set fire to the cottage. There was little that would burn; the turf roof was wet, the walls were stone, but she needed to burn it to cleanse it and to be rid of the bodies. By the time full light had come she had been on the road long enough to put a distance between her and whoever might come to the lonely dwelling on the hill. It had taken four more agonising days to reach Chester, and now she faced another long ride across the middle of England, but her days of skulking in the mountains were over. No one would be looking for her once she was clear of the border march. She had two animals and before she left the city she would have found herself a servant and escort. No one would see her as a woman travelling alone again. And this time she was armed.

  III

  SUCKLEY

  ‘For the love of the Blessed Virgin, Eleyne, you must not ride!’

  John was out of bed within three days. Beyond the walls of the manor house a soft sun coaxed the full leaves to unfurl on the hedges. The buds on the blackthorn were like clusters of tiny seed pearls, catkins hung gold on the hedgerows and the first feathered leaves burst out on the willow trees by the brook. Her hand on Invictus’s bridle she turned to him, astonished. ‘Why? I’m perfectly well.’ It was he who looked unwell, leaning on his servant’s arm, his face ashen.

  ‘Please, Eleyne, don’t do it.’ Pushing the man away, he stood upright with an effort. ‘I forbid it.’

  She felt the familiar rebellion surging through her body, almost choking her with humiliation and rage. It had been a long time since she had felt like this; for weeks they had been friends, lovers. She trusted and respected him. She worried and fretted ceaselessly when he was ill. But when he was ill she was in charge, she ran the household, she did as she pleased and rode when she liked. Her hand tightened on the stallion’s bridle. The groom was watching her, and she saw the shadow of mocking amusement in his eyes. He admired her, she knew, but he enjoyed seeing her discomfited. She bit her lips in fury and reluctantly released the bridle. ‘You take him, Hal. Give him a gallop and then bring him back. I may use him to fly my bird later.’

  Head high she took John’s arm. ‘Leave us,’ she commanded as the servant fell in step behind them, ‘we’ll walk in the garden.’

  There was a lovely garden at the west end of the manor house, near the moat. Bulbs were already pushing up through the grass and the walls were hung with newly budding sweet-briar and ivy.

  As soon as they were alone she dropped his arm and turned to him, her eyes flashing. ‘Why? Why do you humiliate me in front of the servants? Why shouldn’t I ride?’

  ‘Surely I don’t have to tell you that, after what happened to the Queen of Scots.’

  ‘The Queen of Scots’s physicians had warned her not to ride. She had threatened to miscarry. It’s not the same for me. I don’t even know for sure that I am with child!’

  ‘Of course you are.’ He reached across and took her hand. ‘Don’t be angry, sweetheart, I’m concerned for you.’

  ‘Then please don’t stop me riding. If I’m worried about my health I will take care, I promise you.’ She gave him a winning smile. ‘It’s you we must take care of, my husband. You look so tired. Did the physician say you could get up?’

  He hunched his cloak on to his shoulders. ‘The man is a fool. He bleeds me constantly and leaves me weak as a woman. I do better to get up and walk about. And your medicines have always been better than his.’ He gave a sheepish grin. ‘Perhaps that’s why I want you with me. Pure selfishness.’

  Her temper was receding. ‘Those medicines were Rhonwen’s. I do wish she were here, she knew so much of remedies and charms to make people well.’ She paused. ‘John? What is it? Why do you look like that?’

  He had dropped her hand and turned away. ‘Rhonwen had no love for me, Eleyne. Sometimes, I think …’ His voice tailed away and he bent over a rosebush, examining the soft red buds of the leaves.

  ‘You think what?’

  ‘She cursed me, that night, over Einion’s grave. She cursed me.’

  ‘And you think her curse has made you ill again?’

  ‘I did wonder.’

  ‘But she loved me, and she would never harm anyone I loved.’ She caught his arm and hugged him close to her. ‘You must not believe that she would or could hurt you. She was beside herself that night; she didn’t know what she was doing.’

  ‘Oh, she knew.’ He was silent for a moment, then he began to cough.

  ‘No. Please don’t say that.’ Eleyne walked away from him across the long damp grass, with its drift of golden buttercups. ‘Do you think she is dead?’

  ‘Yes.’ His reply was terse.

  ‘You think my father had her killed.’

  ‘I think someone did.’

  ‘One of my mother’s ladies wrote to me. She said Dafydd has had her declared an outlaw and offered a reward for her capture.’

  ‘That had to be done, otherwise they would have been admitting that she was dead. Forget her, Eleyne. She has gone. We’ll never see her again.’

  She frowned. ‘But she hasn’t gone, she haunts you. You told Father Peter at Fotheringhay, didn’t you? What did he say?’

  ‘He sprinkled holy water and swung the incense and muttered prayers. Then when he thought I wasn’t looking he made the sign against the evil eye and touched an amulet around his neck beneath his crucifix. The man is a superstitious fool.’ He grinned. ‘But I am no better. I’m afraid of her.’

  A week later he was stronger and, the rents at Suckley collected, the household set off again. Eleyne rode a gentle old mare next to her husband, Luned on her other side, a huge heavily cushioned wagon close behind in case she should need to rest. She didn’t. That morning the blood had come, flooding between her legs, washing away all her hopes, and she had cried. She had not yet dared to tell John. He looked so much better, so much stronger, so proud as he rode beside her. She straightened her back to ease the nagging pain which dragged between her hips. She wanted Invictus, she wanted to gallop and gallop and gallop until the cold wind and the sunlight had washed her mind clean and empty as her womb, but the horse was at the back of the train somewhere, led by his groom.

  John would understand. He would be disappointed, but not angry. She glanced across at him, wanting to speak, wanting to tell him, but her courage failed. It had to be when they were alone, in case she cried again.

  IV

  FOTHERINGHAY May

  Rhonwen reached Fotheringhay two days after the Feast of the Annunciation. They received her there with honour, if with a few sideways looks and much crossing of fingers, and it was with fresh horses and the addition to her small train of a lady’s maid from the village that she set out once more after the Chesters, retracing her steps towards the Welsh borders.

  V

  John took Eleyne in his arms and kissed her. Outside the window a blackbird was carolling from the branch of an ash tree, and the joyous song poured on and on, liquid and golden in the twilight.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, little love,’ he murmured. ‘I don’t mind, there will be other times, many other times. We will have a dozen children at least! That is your fortune, remember? Your future. You told me: it’s written in the stars.’

  She snuggled up to him, comforted at last. He was quite better now, and they had ridden out that morning after the hounds in pursuit of hare. The day had been glorious and they had returned exhausted. They had eaten well and retired to bed, where they made love until they had fallen at last into a deep sleep. It had been still dark when John had awoken her, his hand questing beneath the sheets for her body, greedily seeking every part of her. When they had made love again, they lay and talked until the first tentative notes of the dawn chorus made its way between the heavy curtains of the bed.

  VI

  DARNHALL, FOREST OF DELAMERE

  The Feast of Helen of Caernarfon

  Rhonwen caugh
t up with them when they were almost back at Chester, on Eleyne’s name day. She halted her horses at the smithy in the village and wearily asked the way to the manor house.

  ‘Is the countess there?’ she asked the smith as he came out into the sunlight, blinking after the darkness of the forge.

  ‘Oh, aye, she’s there, God bless her.’ The smith grinned and rubbed his hands down the front of his leather apron. ‘I went up there nobbut three days ago to shoe that great stallion of hers.’

  Rhonwen closed her eyes with relief. ‘And the earl? He is here too?’

  ‘Oh, aye. He’s here. They’re staying here awhile, so I heard.’ The man ran a professional eye over her mounts. ‘You’ll have come a long way.’

  Rhonwen gave a grim smile. ‘Indeed I have. Here.’ She reached into her scrip and found the last halfpenny of her hoard. She tossed it to him. ‘Take this for your trouble, my friend.’ She hauled on her horse’s reins and set off in the direction he had pointed, her servants trailing in her wake. The smith watched until she was out of sight, then he stared down at the half coin. He bit it tentatively: it was good. The woman must have been mad.

  She rode into an orchard, pink with apple blossom, and dismounted beneath the trees. ‘Go and find Luned, Lady Chester’s maiden. Tell her to come to me here. Speak to no one else, do you hear,’ she directed the serving girl who had dismounted beside her. ‘Hurry.’ Now that she was so close she could not wait to see Eleyne again, but she had to be careful. What if Lord Chester arrested her? What if he sent her back to Gwynedd to face trial? For her sake, as well as Eleyne’s, Lord Chester would have to be dealt with. Leaving the horses to the manservant, she walked slowly across the orchard and leaned on the lichen-covered gate. At last she had found her child.