Child of the Phoenix

by Barbara Erskine

  Now he was looking grim. ‘There will be other ladies for me to marry. Isabella de Braose is no great loss.’

  ‘But you must marry Isabella!’ Eleyne cried. She saw her cherished plans vanishing before her eyes. ‘It’s not her fault that Sir William has to fight for King Henry. Once you are married, he won’t fight any more.’

  ‘Oh sweet naive sister!’ Dafydd was exasperated. ‘You don’t understand anything. You’re just a child!’

  ‘I do understand!’ She stamped her foot. ‘He must still want Isabella to marry you. Gwladus won’t be a de Braose any more now Sir Reginald is dead and he needs the marriage to keep the alliance. Besides, you are a prince.’

  ‘But not the true heir,’ Gruffydd put in quietly. ‘No doubt he has noticed that fact. What a shame for de Braose that the true heir to Gwynedd is already married.’ Gruffydd’s wife, Senena, had recently given birth to their second son, who had promptly and tactfully been named Llywelyn after his grandfather.

  ‘You are not, and never will be, his heir!’ Dafydd put in, through gritted teeth. ‘The eldest you may be, but bastards can’t inherit!’

  ‘I am the heir by Welsh law and custom!’ Gruffydd hit the table with his fist.

  Dafydd smiled. ‘But I have been acknowledged heir by father; by King Henry, by the pope, and by the people. That doesn’t leave much doubt, does it? Welsh custom has been dropped and feudal rules of tenure accepted. Now we all know where we stand! And you, brother, don’t stand anywhere.’ He picked up his cloak which had been lying across the table, and swinging it over his shoulders he walked out of the room.

  Gruffydd closed his eyes in an effort to control his temper. ‘He won’t win, Eleyne. He can’t take my inheritance from me! I have the support of the people, whatever he thinks.’

  ‘And you and papa have been getting on better, haven’t you?’ Eleyne said cautiously. It was not altogether true, she knew. She hitched herself up on to the table, and put her arms around her knees. The atmosphere in the room had relaxed the moment Dafydd walked out. ‘Papa will listen to you, I know he will.’ She smiled hopefully.

  Gruffydd leaned across and ruffled her hair affectionately. ‘You have always been on my side, little sister, haven’t you? Bless you for that.’

  Eleyne bit her lip uncomfortably. ‘You are the eldest. Rhonwen says you are the rightful heir.’

  ‘And, by God, I’ll win father’s recognition of the fact, if I have to fight English-boy David for the rest of my life!’ Princess Joan always called her son David.

  Gruffydd smiled down at his little sister, winding her long, wildly curling hair gently into his hand. ‘So, where is my champion, Rhonwen? It’s not like her to leave you alone. Shouldn’t you be at your lessons?’

  Eleyne smiled. ‘I’ve had my lessons today. Later we’re going across to the island. We’re to wait for my mother at Llanfaes.’

  My mother, Gruffydd noticed, never mama.

  ‘You don’t want to greet her here, at Aber?’ he said gently.

  She shrugged. ‘She’ll have enough to talk about with papa and Dafydd – and you of course,’ she added hastily. ‘She won’t want to see me, or Rhonwen.’

  Gruffydd’s eyes narrowed. ‘That’s not true.’ He hesitated. ‘Your mother and Rhonwen are still enemies, then?’

  ‘It isn’t Rhonwen’s fault – ’

  ‘I know, I know. If anything, it’s mine. Rhonwen served my mother; Princess Joan could never forgive her that. I am sorry you should be so torn between them, little one.’

  Eleyne tossed her head. ‘I am not torn. Papa gave me to Rhonwen the day I was born. My mother had forgotten me! She would have left me to die in the fire if Rhonwen had not rescued me –’ She did not try to hide the bitterness in her voice.

  ‘Your mother was in no state to remember you, Eleyne. She was probably half dead; she was certainly unconscious – ’

  ‘She forgot me.’ Eleyne closed her lips tightly. Rhonwen had told her the story many times. She turned away at the sound of the watchman’s horn, glad of the excuse to avoid Gruffydd’s scrutiny. She did not want anyone to know, ever, how much she hated her mother.

  ‘Perhaps that is them, back already.’ Gruffydd went to the first-floor window and looked down into the courtyard. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the armed men milling around the house. His father’s standard flew jauntily above them, and nearby he saw that of his father’s wife.

  Llywelyn had already dismounted near the door to the great hall and had turned to help Joan from her saddle when Dafydd appeared at the head of the flight of steps. Running down two at a time, he bowed low to his father and kissed his mother.

  Gruffydd frowned. ‘Look how he runs to them. I knew it! He has told father I’m here. Already he is spreading poison.’ Below them all three had turned to look up at the solar window. Eleyne, running to Gruffydd’s side, saw Dafydd’s face, politely inscrutable; saw her mother’s smile vanishing, to be replaced by a frown, and her father’s tired expression blackening to a scowl. She was suddenly afraid for the man at her side.

  ‘Gruffydd, I think you should go.’ She tugged at the sleeve of his tunic. ‘Come back when papa has rested and is in a better mood.’ She looked out of the window again. Her parents and her brother were already mounting the steps to the solar. She saw her father swing around with a curt word to his followers, who fell back and turned away. ‘Please, don’t wait for them.’

  Hide, she wanted to shout. Hide, run away. She wasn’t sure why. It was the strange feeling she got sometimes; the feeling that she knew absolutely what was going to happen. But what was the use? She knew he wouldn’t listen.

  They could hear clearly now the sound of spurs on the slate slabs of the floor as Llywelyn and his son came through the storeroom below, and then their heavy tread as they mounted the wooden stair to the solar. Eleyne slid off the table and slipped across to the window seat, leaving her brother standing alone in the centre of the room. If her mother saw her, she would send her away.

  Llywelyn stopped by the door and stared round. He looked very angry. ‘So, Gruffydd, I do not remember giving you permission to come to Aber.’ At fifty-five Llywelyn ap Iorwerth, Prince of Aberffraw, broad-shouldered and of powerful build, had the figure of a man in his prime. Though his hair and beard were grizzled, they showed still the signs of the red gold which had been his glory as a young man. He wore a corselet of steel over his gown and his sword was still at his waist.

  ‘I wanted to see you, father.’ Gruffydd went to him and knelt down on one knee. ‘Alone.’ He had seen his half-brother waiting in the shadows at the top of the stairs.

  Eleyne pressed herself back into the window embrasure out of sight, but neither of them looked at her.

  ‘There’s nothing you can say to me which can’t be said in front of Dafydd,’ Llywelyn said stiffly. ‘I hope there’s to be no more nonsense about your claim, my son. All that is done with.’

  His voice sounded very weary. Eleyne frowned, as always sensitive to her father’s every mood. He was not well – she could see it at once – and Gruffydd was going to make him worse. Llywelyn might normally look far younger than his years but today, as he unbuckled his sword and laid it on the table, he was stooped as if in pain.

  Behind him his wife had entered the room. She was petite and dark, a contrast in every way to her husband. ‘So, Gruffydd, have you come to plague us again?’ Stripping off her embroidered gloves, Joan sat down in the chair at the head of the table. As always Llywelyn’s face softened as he looked at her. Even when he was at his angriest, Joan could soothe him.

  Gruffydd managed a graceful bow in her direction. ‘I haven’t come to bother anyone, princess. May I ask how your negotiations fared with the king, your brother?’

  Joan gave a tight smile. ‘They went well. I brought back letters from Henry accepting your father’s apology for interfering in England’s affairs.’

  ‘And you think that will stop a war?’ Gruffydd could not keep the scorn from his voi
ce. ‘How could you bring yourself to grovel before Henry of England, father? Henry has ordered de Braose and the others to Montgomery to his standard. He has vowed to subdue you and all the Welsh with you. He is not going to withdraw, surely you can see that? If he invades Welsh territory again you will have to fight!’

  ‘What do you want here, Gruffydd?’ Llywelyn interrupted wearily. ‘I am sure you have not come to tell me of the inevitability of war in Wales.’

  ‘No.’ Gruffydd glanced at Joan. ‘I should like to talk to you alone.’

  ‘Are you afraid of talking in front of me?’ Joan’s tone was mocking. ‘Are you about to put some new hare-brained scheme to your father? He won’t listen, you know. You have tried his patience too far!’

  ‘Father!’ Gruffydd exploded. ‘Does this woman speak for you now?’

  ‘Silence!’ Llywelyn stood up stiffly. ‘I will hear no word against your step-mother. Ever. Do you understand? I want you to leave Aber now. We can have nothing else to discuss.’

  ‘We have to talk, father!’ Gruffydd leaned forward threateningly. ‘My God, if you don’t listen to me here, I’ll make you, later. You’ll regret the day you turned me from your door!’

  In the window embrasure Eleyne put her hands over her ears miserably. Why did it always have to be like this? Why couldn’t Dafydd and Gruffydd be friends? It was her fault. Joan. Her mother. Eleyne’s eyes went to her mother’s face, noting the intent, hard expression, beautiful and youthful still in spite of Joan’s forty-one years, the firm, uncompromising mouth, the steady blue eyes, so like, did Eleyne but know it, her mother’s father, King John.

  As if feeling Eleyne’s gaze upon her, Joan’s attention flicked briefly towards the window and mother and daughter exchanged hostile glances. To Eleyne’s surprise, however, Joan, distracted, said nothing and her gaze returned thoughtfully to her husband.

  ‘Enough, Gruffydd,’ Llywelyn said slowly. ‘If you threaten me, I shall have to take steps to contain you.’

  Eleyne caught her breath, horrified by the threat implicit in the words.

  ‘I do not threaten you, father – ’

  ‘You threaten the peace of this country.’

  ‘No, it’s Dafydd who does that. You have set him against me! You set the people against me! This is my land, father. This was my mother’s land –’ there was no mistaking the emphasis in the words as he glared across his father towards Joan ‘ – and if it came to a choice between Dafydd and myself the people would choose me.’

  ‘The people have already chosen, Gruffydd. Two years ago, the princes and lords of Wales recognised Dafydd as my heir – ’

  ‘No, not the people!’ Gruffydd shouted. ‘The people support me.’

  ‘No, Gruffydd – ’

  ‘Do you want me to prove it to you?’

  There was a long moment of silence. When Llywelyn spoke at last his voice was hard with anger. ‘What you are suggesting is treason, my son.’

  ‘Why do you let him talk to you like this, father?’ Dafydd interrupted at last, abandoning his position by the door. ‘This confirms everything I’ve told you. Gruffydd is a hotheaded fool. He’s a danger to everything you and I believe in – ’

  He broke off as his brother hurled himself across the room and grabbed him, groping for his throat. As the two young men reeled across the floor, Llywelyn closed his eyes in bleak despair. When he opened them, his face was calm and resolved.

  ‘Guards!’ There was no trace now of fatigue in his voice. ‘Guards – ’

  ‘No. Stop! Please –’ Eleyne catapulted herself from the window seat and threw herself at her brothers. ‘Gruffydd, don’t! Please stop!’

  But the guards were already there, leaping up the stairs two at a time, pulling the princes apart, as Llywelyn himself dragged Eleyne away from them. It took three of them to hold Gruffydd and as he struggled furiously to throw them off Dafydd retired to the far side of the room, mopping a cut lip on the sleeve of his tunic.

  ‘Take him away and lock him up,’ Llywelyn commanded.

  ‘No, papa, you can’t! Gruffydd is your son!’ Eleyne clung to his arm. ‘Please, he didn’t mean it – ’

  ‘What is this child doing here?’ Llywelyn shook her off.

  ‘I gave orders she should be sent away before we got back,’ Joan put in quietly. ‘The Lady Rhonwen has seen fit to disobey me.’

  ‘She has not!’ Eleyne turned on her furiously. ‘We all knew you had no time for me, so we were leaving this afternoon. You came back too soon.’

  ‘That is enough, Eleyne! How dare you speak to your mother like that! She loves you, as she loves us all!’ Angry, Llywelyn watched as his guards dragged Gruffydd from the room. They could hear the young man’s curses echoing down the staircase until they were out of earshot. For a moment Llywelyn stood gazing at the empty doorway, then he turned his attention back to Eleyne, looking thoughtfully down at the child with her long untidy hair and her rumpled pale blue gown. His face softened. ‘Go. Go and find Lady Rhonwen and tell her you are to leave at once. Where is she to go?’ He turned to his wife, half regretfully. As a rule he enjoyed the company of his youngest daughter.

  ‘They can go to Llanfaes. Eleyne needs to concentrate on her lessons. There is no room here at Aber and there are too many distractions.’ Joan sounded irritable.

  Llywelyn put his arm round Eleyne and, pulling her to him, dropped a kiss on her unruly curls. ‘So, go to Rhonwen, little one, and tell her you must go now.’

  ‘Yes, papa.’ Eleyne shot a baleful look at her mother and then at her brother. ‘You won’t hurt Gruffydd – ’

  ‘Of course I won’t hurt him. He must cool his heels for a while, that’s all.’ Llywelyn smiled gravely. ‘Go now, Eleyne – ’

  II

  LLANFAES, ANGLESEY

  The prince’s hall of Tindaethwy at Llanfaes had been rebuilt soon after the fire when Eleyne was born. Situated at the south-eastern corner of the island of Anglesey, it faced across the strait towards the great northern shoulder of the Welsh mainland. Rhonwen and Eleyne, with their attendants and guards, rode from Aber that afternoon across the meadows and marshland and over the sands to where the boats waited to take them to the small busy port at Llanfaes. It was a glorious September day, the sun gilding the water, the sands and the mountains as the horses cantered towards the sea.

  Eleyne’s cheeks glowed as they always did when she rode. She smiled across at her companion, Luned, who rode at her side. ‘Race you to the boats!’ Already she had kicked her pony into a gallop. Luned rode gamely after her, screwing up her eyes as the muddy sand, rough with worm casts, flew up in clots from the pony’s hooves.

  Rhonwen, following more slowly, sighed, thinking of the great war horse on which Eleyne had ridden at Hay. The Princess Joan had decreed that a rough-haired mountain pony was good enough for her youngest daughter. Eleyne, strangely, had accepted the dun pony and hugged it, and had not as far as she knew once gone to her father and asked for something larger or faster or with prettier markings. She had christened the animal Cadi and they had become more or less inseparable.

  Now at the edge of the water Eleyne reined Cadi in, laughing, and slipped from the saddle. She looked up at Rhonwen who had followed more sedately. ‘Are we going to spend long at Llanfaes?’

  Rhonwen frowned. ‘We must stay as long as your mother commands it.’

  ‘Or my father. He may call me back.’

  ‘I’m sure he will – if not at once, then certainly when the court moves to Rhosyr.’ Rhonwen smiled.

  Eleyne sighed. That sounded like a typical adult attempt to avoid the truth. She pulled the reins over Cadi’s head and rubbed the pony’s chin. ‘What will happen to Gruffydd?’

  Rhonwen frowned. She had made it her business to find that out before they had left Aber. ‘He is being taken under escort to Degannwy. Your father has ordered that he be held in the castle there for a while.’

  ‘Held there a prisoner?’ Degannwy, a great castle built of stone in the Norman
fashion like the newest parts of Aber, stood on the northern bank of the Conwy River on the eastern side of Llywelyn’s lands. Beyond it, behind the mountains, lay the great earldom of Chester and beyond that the hinterland of England.

  ‘That’s what it sounds like.’

  ‘So he’ll be out of the way, while Dafydd is at father’s side the whole time?’

  Rhonwen nodded.

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘Life is never fair, cariad. But Gruffydd will find a way to make your father trust him again. You’ll see.’ Rhonwen smiled. ‘Go on. Are you going to lead Cadi on to the boat? If she goes, the others will follow.’

  The narrow strait was warm and flat calm. Sitting in the leading boat, Eleyne stared at the receding shore, her eyes following the foothills up towards the distant mountains, hazy in the light of the golden afternoon. Wisps of cloud hung around the invisible shoulders of Yr Wyddfa, drifting into the high cwms where already the shadows were gathering. Her father’s land, the country of her birth – she trembled with suppressed excitement. Eleyne loved the mountains and she loved the sea and here she had both. She leaned over the side of the boat and stared into the glittering water, watching the whirling patterns made by the boatmen’s oars, then she looked at Luned who was sitting beside her and she smiled. Her companion had, as usual, gone slightly green the moment the ferry pushed away from the sand.

  Luned had been introduced into Eleyne’s nursery by Rhonwen when the two girls were three years old. In a family where the nearest sister to her in age, Margaret, was ten years her senior, Eleyne would have had a lonely childhood without her. Now the two girls were friends. Later, Luned, an orphan from birth, would become Eleyne’s maid. Both understood and accepted the situation happily. For both the future seemed very far away.