John snorted. ‘We’ll be gone soon enough. They should be glad their town has been honoured with a royal wedding. Burgesses were ever tight-fisted. You –’ He beckoned a young minstrel who had paused near them, his instrument across his back. ‘Can you play us a lullaby to ready us for bed?’
The boy gave a slow rich chuckle. ‘Aye, my lord.’ He pulled the viol from his shoulders and squatting near the fire tweaked the instrument into tune. Then he began to play.
Eleyne closed her eyes. She had eaten and drunk and danced since dawn, or so it seemed, and she was tired. And she wanted to leave Scotland. She still dreamed of the king; she found herself watching him; her fingers longed to touch his springy golden hair. She spent hours on her knees in prayer begging forgiveness – of whom she was not quite sure – the Holy Virgin who was so pure in thought and body? Would she understand and help a mortal woman fight the sins in her heart? Or St Bride, who was her own goddess, the patron of her birthday, surely she would help? And the Blessed Queen Margaret, whom all Scotland revered as a saint and whose miracles were manifest. She too might intercede.
She must not let herself think about him, must control her dreams. She must leave Scotland; never see him again. She was doubly guilty because she loved her aunt, and Joanna had at last, she thought, come to love her. In spite of herself, she looked once more at the castle walls, their battlements lost in the dark. Desolation and loneliness hung over this place. However loud the music, however joyful the crowds, she could feel the sadness: sadness past and sadness to come. Beyond the encampment, beyond the ditches and palisades which surrounded the town, the black rolling hills stretched out into the dark.
The boy was playing more softly now – the music compelling and clear against the background noise which swelled around them. She leaned forward to hear better and, opening her eyes, found that she was staring into the fire.
IV
DOLBADARN CASTLE, GWYNEDD,
Late August 1235
‘Why? Why must I stay here?’ Isabella glared at the slate-black skies and dark mountains all around her. Standing on its rock on the route from Caernarfon to the upper Conwy valley, Dolbadarn Castle, with its enormous stone keep and majestic hall, lay below high gorse and scree-covered ridges in the heart of the great mountains. It was a desolate place.
‘I want to be with your father’s court. There at least I have some fun.’ Sulkily she turned her back on the window. ‘Is it because Senena is there? Does she object to my Englishness?’ Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.
Dafydd sighed. ‘Gruffydd is in the Lleyn and Senena is with him. We are here at my father’s orders, Bella, you know that as well as I. There are matters here that need sorting out.’
‘I think we are here to keep us out of the way.’ She flounced across the room towards him. ‘And if you are too stupid to see it, I’m not! Your father has something up his sleeve, Dafydd, don’t you see? He’s up to something. And he doesn’t want you there. So it must be something to do with Gruffydd. How can he be so foolish as to trust him!’ In an anguish of frustration, she turned with a swirl of skirts and paced back to the window.
Dafydd smiled ruefully at her back. She was shrewd, his little wife, and as so often right in her assessment of the situation. Save in one respect. The plot Llywelyn and Gruffydd were hatching included him. It was Isabella and Isabella alone they wanted to exclude from Aber.
‘Sweetheart.’ He followed her to the window and put his hands on her shoulders. If it took a lie to allay her suspicions, then lie he must. ‘I can see I must let you in on a secret. It is Gruffydd and I who plan a meeting. I ride to Criccieth to see him tomorrow. I’ll be gone only two days. I want you to remain here so that it seems that I am still here. I’ll be back before you know it, then you and I shall ride together for Caernarfon to join the princess my mother.’ He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. He had no intention of going to Criccieth. The family meeting with Eleyne was at Aber.
It never occurred to him that she would disobey him.
V
GWYNEDD August 1235
It was Eleyne’s first visit to Aber since Isabella’s miscarriage and her own ignominious return to Chester. Then it had been midwinter. Now the countryside was heavy with summer. The clouds hung low over the mountains and thunder rumbled around the hidden peaks of Eryri. Her party was small: this was a private visit by the Countess of Chester to her mother. Attended by Rhonwen and Luned and two ladies, only a dozen men-at-arms escorted them over the high, rough road from Conwy to Aber through the clinging mist and down towards the river.
Eleyne was silent as she rode, her head whirling with thoughts as she guided her mare over the rough track, all that was left of the broad Roman road which swung high here across the shoulder of the mountains. She had messages from King Alexander and John for her father; she had messages of goodwill, albeit stilted, from Joanna to her half-sister; and she was still thinking about the wedding with all its pageantry and state. Now that she was away from John – he was waiting for her at Chester – she found to her shame that she was thinking even more about Alexander, and guiltily again and again she tried to push all thoughts of him from her head.
‘We’ll be there before dusk.’ Rhonwen rode up beside her. She saw Eleyne’s troubled face. ‘What is it, cariad? Don’t you want to go home?’
Eleyne dragged her attention back to the present. ‘Of course I want to go home. I’ve missed Wales.’ Her voice trailed away. Lightning flickered on the horizon and there was an ominous rumble of thunder far away in the west.
‘Will you speak to Einion?’ Rhonwen’s voice was very quiet.
Eleyne frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ she said sharply. ‘Einion is dead!’
‘You can still speak to him, cariad. Here in Gwynedd.’ Rhonwen’s tone became urgent. ‘I can feel it. He wants you to contact him, to listen! Here, where his spirit is still strong.’
Eleyne’s eyes opened wide, and she shivered in spite of the oppressive heat. Out of habit, her hand went to her crucifix. Rhonwen saw the movement and scowled. ‘You cannot turn your back on the old gods, you belong to them,’ she said caustically. ‘They won’t let you go.’
‘Of course they will,’ Eleyne retorted. ‘I want nothing to do with Einion. Nothing! I don’t want to know what he wanted to tell me. Do you understand? I don’t want to know!’
VI
ABER
Llywelyn greeted his youngest daughter with a hug. ‘So, Eleyne, you are well, I see.’ Her sparkling eyes and radiant smile told him that much. He held her briefly, looking at her as though hoping for more, then he released her and she found herself hugging Gruffydd and, more restrainedly, Dafydd.
‘And my mother, is she not here?’
Gruffydd looked at his father and shrugged. ‘Your mother does not wish to be here if I am here, it seems. She prefers to wait at Caernarfon, and that is fine by me. What we talk of here does not need the presence of King Henry’s spies.’
‘That is enough, Gruffydd!’ Llywelyn said impatiently. ‘Your stepmother is true and loyal to us all. I’ll hear no word against her.’
There was a moment’s tense silence.
‘And Isabella?’ Eleyne asked at last. ‘Where is she?’
‘At Dolbadarn.’ Dafydd did not volunteer any more information and Eleyne did not ask for any. It was a relief to know Isabella would not be there.
It pleased Eleyne enormously to sit at the long polished oak table between her father and her elder brother, facing her younger brother and taking part in their discussions as an equal. She had been to Scotland and spoken to the king; she knew his views; she was spokeswoman too for her husband. The three Welshmen found her shrewd and well informed. She was no longer the baby of the family, the scapegoat and the trouble-maker. She was proving herself a skilled negotiator like her mother. Their talks went on for two days and Eleyne made careful mental notes of what she was to say to her husband and of the messages she had to take back to the King of Scots.
She had not realised she would have to see him again at once. She almost betrayed herself as the colour rose in her cheeks, but she calmed herself sternly and kept her eyes on the candles which burned in the centre of the table. Outside, the hot August night grew dark and the bats wheeled and swooped beneath the stars, their high-pitched cries reaching her ears in the long measured silences as Gruffydd and her father felt their way towards agreement.
She would have to ride north without John. For the Earl of Chester to meet the King of Scots again so soon would cause comment and speculation, but for his wife to visit her aunt, with whom she had become firm friends, would be regarded as natural.
Her heart began to beat fast again; she felt a frisson of panic. She did not want to see him; she could not cope with the guilt and fear her feelings aroused, but she knew she could not resist; indeed she could not refuse her father’s instructions that she should see Alexander.
Somewhere out beyond the walls she heard an owl hoot. Tylluan. The bringer of ill luck. She shivered.
VII
Isabella arrived when the midday sun was at its hottest. Dressed all in white, her raven hair covered by a jewel-studded net framed by a linen fillet with a golden coronet and a barbette beneath the chin, she slid from her horse in the courtyard of the palace and swept unannounced into the presence of her father-in-law. There was a long silence as she stared around the upper chamber, her eyes going immediately to Eleyne. Her face darkened. ‘So. I decide to return to Aber and I find this is where you are! I might have guessed you would be behind all this deceit. Dafydd has never lied to me before.’ She flicked her husband a look of contempt. Approaching the prince she curtseyed low, then she took a seat at the end of the table as far from the others as possible. ‘I am excluded from this conclave, am I?’
Llywelyn smiled at her, the intense irritation which the sight of her always provoked in him carefully concealed. ‘You are welcome, daughter-in-law, as always.’ He rose stiffly from his chair. ‘Our discussions were in any event over for the day. Your presence will serve to lighten what had become too serious an afternoon. Come.’
He put his hand out to Eleyne and, rising, she took it. Her immediate unease at seeing Isabella had lessened as she heard her father’s tone, although the thinly veiled irony had been totally lost on Isabella.
The prince led her towards the door. ‘I have a horse on which I should like your opinion, daughter.’
Gruffydd caught up with them at the foot of the stairs. He bowed to his father with a rueful grin. ‘I have left Dafydd coping with his wife.’ He raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘The gods help him, he is taking a tongue-lashing as meekly as a whipped pup!’
Llywelyn laughed. ‘I fear that lady is not the obedient wife he might have wished, for all her tender years. No more than you, I suspect, Eleyne.’ He smiled fondly at his daughter. ‘Heaven preserve us men from all your sex!’
Isabella found Eleyne later in the solar. The two young women looked at each other in silence. Eleyne had been about to dictate a letter to her sister Margaret to one of Llywelyn’s clerks. Waving the man away she stood up, unaccountably reassured to find she was taller by a head than Isabella.
‘I am pleased to see you, sister,’ she said cautiously.
‘Are you?’ Isabella put her hands on her hips. ‘I am surprised. No one else is. So, you are part of their secrets, are you? Important, beautiful, clever Eleyne. But where is your husband?’ Her voice had taken on the sing-song lilt of the mountains. ‘Can it be that he is ill again? Or don’t you bring him with you on these trips? You leave him at home with your horse. My father’s horse,’ she finished with a sneer.
Eleyne tried to interrupt her, but Isabella swept on. ‘They all hate you, you know. Whatever you are here for, it is only because you are useful. When you are away they forget about you completely. And they all say what a liar and a sneak you are.’
Eleyne took a deep breath. Her first reaction had been to throw herself at Isabella, pull off her fine head-dress and then pull out her hair for good measure, but that would be playing the girl at her own game; that would be childish and stupid. She forced herself to smile, knowing that by remaining calm she would infuriate Isabella more. ‘My, you sound just like the Isabella I played with at Hay. The Isabella who was ten years old. Does Dafydd mind that you never grew up?’ It was true, she realised. Isabella was still the spoiled little girl who had been her father’s favourite child; Dafydd spoiled her now, no doubt to keep the peace, and Isabella had never changed. The disappointment she felt at still being childless had embittered and frustrated her; it had not matured her.
‘Oh, I’ve grown up.’ Isabella’s eyes flashed. ‘I am not the one who is playing games, pretending to be a spy. Tell me, do you still climb trees and ride like a hoyden on men’s horses, or has your husband beaten it out of you?’
‘My husband has never beaten me.’ Eleyne raised an eyebrow, suddenly thoughtful. Was that it? Had Dafydd beaten the girl in an attempt to gain mastery over her? If so, it had not worked. She felt almost sorry for Isabella. ‘Yes, I still ride like a hoyden, and I’d climb trees if I needed to. Why not? One thing I have learned, Isabella, is that if you are one of the highest in the land, you set the fashion as to how a lady behaves, you don’t follow it. That is something you might remember if you wish to succeed as a princess of Gywnedd.’ She walked slowly to the door and pulled it open. It was the perfect exit.
Rhonwen had been listening in the passage outside. ‘You’ve made an enemy for life there, cariad,’ she said, shaking her head as they walked together towards the stairs. ‘If you were hoping to patch things up between you, I’d say you’ve put an end to that chance forever.’
‘There never was any chance, Rhonwen. We both know that.’ Eleyne sat on the bottom step of the staircase and buried her face in her hands wearily. She felt very sad. The scurrying servants stared in astonishment at the Countess of Chester sitting on the stairs, then skirted around her with carefully bland faces as Rhonwen stood looking down at the pale silk of the girl’s veil.
‘You should at least try to keep on speaking terms, Eleyne. Think of the mission you are engaged in. You may one day have to act between Dafydd bach and the king. What would happen if madam put her oar in and forbade you the llys?’
‘Dafydd would not let her.’
‘He’s well under her thumb, that one.’
Eleyne shook her head. ‘He may let her think so, but he’ll never let her make a fool of him again. He knows the whole world has watched her disobey him. If his wife does not obey his authority, why should the people of Wales?’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Dafydd’s ambition will see to it that he keeps Isabella in order, you’ll see.’
‘And if he can’t, there are other ways of putting an end to her nonsense.’ Rhonwen narrowed her eyes. ‘I’ll not let her cross you; and I’ll not let her endanger the chances of Gruffydd inheriting from his father.’ She smiled enigmatically. ‘It’s Gruffydd who favours the Scots alliance, you know. Henry has recognised Dafydd as his father’s heir, so Dafydd keeps his options with the king of the English open. The prince is a fool to trust Dafydd with his secrets.’
‘That’s not true, Rhonwen,’ Eleyne frowned. ‘Dafydd fights for Wales too.’
Rhonwen made a gesture of disgust. ‘Dafydd fights for himself. It is Gruffydd who fights for the truth. And Einion – still. You’d best remember that. Don’t forget which gods you serve for all your jewelled rosaries, and don’t forget whose side you are on with all your importance as a king’s messenger.’
Eleyne’s eyes flashed. ‘That is impudent, Rhonwen.’
‘Yes – and it is your nurse’s business to be impudent if you get above yourself and ignore your duty!’ Rhonwen’s colour had risen. ‘Never forget that, madam, however close to a throne you may be!’ She stormed across the hallway and slammed the door into the courtyard behind her.
Eleyne stood up thoughtfully. Rhonwen was presuming too much. Llywelyn’s decision to use her to carry
the first message had given her an exaggerated idea of her own importance. Eleyne mentioned this to her father later, cautiously, not wanting him to be angry with Rhonwen, but worried. To her astonishment, Llywelyn threw back his head and laughed. ‘I used the Lady Rhonwen because I knew her passionate support of Gruffydd would bind her to our cause,’ he said, ‘but also because she is expendable.’
‘Expendable?’ Eleyne echoed the word softly. She had gone cold.
‘Of course. Had she betrayed us we could have denied all knowledge of whatever she claimed. No one would believe the ravings of a servant already suspected of heresy and of having procured the death of an unborn child. She could easily have been disposed of.’
‘You would have killed her?’ Eleyne was appalled. ‘You would have killed Rhonwen?’
‘I will kill anyone who betrays our cause, Eleyne, if it is necessary,’ he said sternly. ‘And you must remember your priorities in this. The woman was your nurse and you love her, but the affairs of princes and kings and of nations take precedence over all personal sentiment, particularly as she is a heretic. I thank Our Lady daily that you have not been contaminated by her heresy.’ He paused. ‘I was afraid once that she and Einion Gweledydd might try to suborn you for their unchristian ceremonies, but your mother persuaded me there was no danger. Now Einion is dead, that little pocket of belief in the old ways is dead with him, Christ be praised.’
He surveyed her shocked white face, then he smiled. ‘Now while I prepare letters for the King of Scots, which you will give him, and upon which you will be able to elaborate personally, I suggest you ride to Caernarfon to see your mother. She would enjoy a visit from you, if only for a day. Her health has not been good.’ He allowed himself a small scowl, and Eleyne saw a worry which he had so far concealed.
‘What is the matter?’ Her indignation over his cavalier and cynical dismissal of Rhonwen was eclipsed by a sudden new fear.
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