On the table beside the bed stood a small empty box. The length of green silk which had tied it lay beside it, in a dust of sugared crumbs.
XIV
SOUTHWARK
‘You deceived me!’ Robert lifted his hand again and struck her across the face. He had come to her room soon after their return from Joanna’s deathbed. ‘Running to the king and begging for a pardon for that woman! How dare you defy me! Do you wish to make me a laughing stock?’ He raised his hand again.
Eleyne faced him, her eyes blazing. ‘Rhonwen is my servant. My nurse. If I chose to speak to the king about her it is none of your business.’
She broke off as with a sharp slap his hand connected once again with her cheekbone. ‘I will not have her in my house,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘May I remind you that the houses we live in are none of them yours, sir.’ She moved out of range, her back ramrod stiff. If he hit her again, she knew she would hit back. ‘This house is your brother’s. Fotheringhay is part of my dower. You married me with nothing but a wagonload of goods and four servants. The church, even the king, may give you nominal rule over me, husband, but God sees what you do. He judges!’ She put the length of the oak table between them. ‘You abuse your power over me, you squander my dower and now you dare to question my dealings with my uncle, the king. The king you hope to serve!’ She leaned forward, her fists on the table. ‘I have only to say to the king that you are unfit for royal service and he will send you to the farthest ends of his kingdom.’
Robert paled, but he managed a thin smile. ‘If he does, you will come with me, wife.’
‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure. I love the wild places, remember? The forests and the mountains are my home. The gods of those places protect me.’ To her great satisfaction, his face grew whiter still. ‘If we are tied together for eternity in hell, husband, it is I who will thrive,’ she went on relentlessly. ‘I love the fire and I love the ice! Wherever hell is it will be my home and your downfall!’
Outside the door Nesta and two serving boys stood, their ears to the thick oak panelling. Nesta held her breath, waiting for his retort. None came. Robert tried to shrug nonchalantly as he threw himself down in a carved chair.
‘I wonder if the king knows he married me to a she-devil,’ he commented at last.
‘Oh, he knows.’ Eleyne pressed her advantage home. Her hands were shaking and she kept them on the table to steady them. Her eyes were emerald green in the candlelight. ‘And he hears every time you strike me, every time you squander my inheritance, every time you abuse my servants, and he waits.’
‘He won’t dare to harm me. He needs my brother – ’
‘And he is afraid that your brother’s allegiance may go to Alexander of Scotland.’ Eleyne hid the wave of grief which threatened to make her voice waver. ‘Which it may. Do you think marrying you to me has had any effect on Roger’s allegiance either way? Give your brother more credit than that.’
‘Ssh!’ Robert looked helplessly towards the door.
‘I won’t ssh! Not now, and not when I next see the king. Not if you persist in your foul treatment.’ Eleyne left the table and walked towards him. In her scarlet gown, over which she had thrown a black mantle as a symbol of mourning for her aunt, she looked very determined and very beautiful. She stopped near him. ‘And don’t think you can stop me seeing the king. He will ask for me if I do not go to the palace.’
‘I wasn’t going to.’
‘If you want to succeed at court, husband,’ she went on without pausing, ‘you have to keep me content, or I swear I will bring you down.’
‘And if I keep you content?’ His eyes narrowed, and there was a sarcastic edge to his voice.
‘Then maybe you will find your fortune at King Henry’s court.’
XV
The body of the Queen of Scotland was taken to the abbey at Tarrant, to which she had bequeathed it in her will, and there laid to rest with great ceremony beneath a marble tomb made in haste by Master Elias of Derham at Salisbury. Two days after her death two prisoners were released for the sake of her soul, by her brother, King Henry. On 13 March sixteen silk cloths of Arras were delivered to offer with the body of the king’s beloved sister, together with silk and gold clothes worth thirty-five shillings each. Wax candles were to burn before her tomb forever. Her husband, the King of Scotland, did not come south for the funeral.
XVI
Lady Day 1238
‘The king still has not given me the pardon!’ Eleyne, swathed in her sable mantle, had fought her way out of the gale and was standing in the hall of Rhonwen’s house. ‘I have asked him a dozen times, but he claims he is too grief-stricken by Joanna’s death to conduct any but the most urgent business!’ She threw down her cloak and walked over to the fire. ‘It makes me so angry. He has but to tell a clerk to write it and affix his seal. It would take him no more time than it takes to draw breath.’
Rhonwen stood near the hearth, her hands pushed into the sleeves of her mantle.
‘And you, cariad? Are you too grief-stricken by Joanna’s death to do anything?’
‘I am upset, of course I am. You know how fond I was of her …’
‘But not so fond as you are of her husband. Why deny it? Your aunt is dead. He is no longer your uncle. There are no blood ties now to make your love a sin.’
Eleyne was shocked. ‘You shouldn’t say such things. Suppose someone heard you?’
‘There is no one to hear, nothing but the wind rattling in the hangings. Your destiny lies in Scotland. Remember Einion’s words. Your future does not lie with that spoiled brat who is your husband; it lies with kings.’
Eleyne stared down at the fire. There was no denying the tight knot of excitement in her stomach. ‘If I could go to him …’
Rhonwen asked, ‘Who better to take the king’s condolences to his brother-in-law?’
‘But Robert would come with me.’
‘You would need him there, cariad, to avoid a scandal. Once there he can be distracted – or disposed of.’
Unbidden the image of a trailing length of green ribbon came to Eleyne’s mind, the ribbon at the bedside of the dying queen. After it flashed the image of the earth-green medicine which had stood beside John’s bed as he too died. Her eyes on Rhonwen’s, she tried to read the woman’s mind. Was she capable of such cold-blooded murder? She was deeply afraid as she stared at her nurse’s face. Rhonwen met her gaze and held it steadily. Her expression was impenetrable but there was a pitilessness there which repelled Eleyne. But it wasn’t true, Rhonwen would never do such a thing; she couldn’t. A picture of Cenydd floated into her mind; quickly, she suppressed it. That had been a terrible accident; they had struggled in the heat of the moment. It was not calculated, it could never have been calculated. Even to think it was a vicious calumny and a projection of her own secret wish for Robert’s death.
She watched as Rhonwen took the chair opposite her, arranging her skirts with meticulous care. The moment had passed.
‘I won’t be able to come with you, cariad. If asking for a pardon causes trouble between you and the king, it is better forgotten for now. I am content now I know how you are. Leave me here. Seek the king’s permission to ride north. Go to Alexander. I will come if you need me.’
XVII
It was so easy in the end. The king agreed that Eleyne should be the official carrier of his condolences; and Robert was to go with her. They set off into the teeth of a violent March gale, a party of some two dozen riders and ten sumpter horses, splashing through the mud, forcing their way against rain and sleet on the long ride north.
Alexander was in Edinburgh. He received Robert and Eleyne on a grey afternoon when snow still whipped through the air, clinging to their eyelashes and freezing their gloves to the reins of their horses. Edinburgh Castle, high on its rock, was cold and draughty, the huge blazing fire in the great hall roaring towards the darkness of the sky far above. The king, a black cloak over his embroidered tun
ic, rose from the table where he had been poring over a pile of letters with a group of his advisers.
Eleyne stopped so suddenly that the servant behind nearly bumped into her, and she realised that her heart was thumping fast as she watched him walk to the edge of the dais.
‘Lady Chester, Sir Robert, greetings.’ His tone was formal.
Beside her, Robert had stopped too, taking his lead from her. She forced herself to walk on towards Alexander, her head high, her eyes on his. At the edge of the dais she curtseyed low. ‘We bring you the King of England’s greetings and condolences, sire. He was – we were with your queen when she died …’ Her voice trailed away and there were tears in her eyes.
Alexander stepped from the dais, took her hand and raised her to her feet. ‘I’m glad you were there. She always loved you, lass. It was good of you to make the long ride north.’ He smiled at Robert and bowed. ‘And you, Sir Robert.’ He looked at him, perhaps a moment longer than was necessary, then he turned his attention back to Eleyne. ‘Come, sit by the fire and take some refreshment. Tomorrow we ride to Dunfermline to prepare for the Easter celebrations, and there I can make you welcome in more style.’
XVIII
DUNFERMLINE CASTLE
It was two days after Easter before she saw the king alone, five days and nights of tormented, sleepless anguish as she tried to hide her hopes and fears from her husband and even from herself. Alexander was in his office at Dunfermline with three of his clerks when he sent for her. As she curtseyed to him, her heart thudded with fear and excitement. She took the proffered chair and he ordered the three men from the room.
On his desk a small coffer lay open, and she could see that it contained jewellery. He leaned against the desk, his arms folded.
‘Joanna made her will twelve days before she died. She wanted you to have something to remember her by. I have chosen some rings and chains which I thought you might like.’
She had dreamed so often of being alone with him, but now she could think of nothing to say. She was drowning in his presence, aching for his touch, yet this small casket of jewels stood between them like a stone wall. They represented Joanna and guilt.
She bit her lip. ‘Thank you, sire, that would please me very much.’
‘Come here and look at them.’ He had not moved from the desk.
She moved numbly towards him. The coffer was in the middle of the desk; to reach it she had to lean past him.
‘Do you wish me to choose something, sire?’
‘They are all yours. Here, let me try some of them on.’ He pulled out a ring of garnets and sea pearls and held it out. She gave him her hand, holding her breath as he placed it on her finger. His touch burned her skin like fire.
‘Are you happy with your new husband?’ he asked quietly, his concentration entirely on her hand.
‘No.’ She did not elaborate.
‘You married him against your will?’
‘Yes.’
‘I cannot believe the fiery Lady Chester allowed such a thing to happen.’ His lips twitched into a quizzical smile.
‘I had no choice, I was forced. By the King of England’s order.’ She looked into his face, unaware of the transparency of her expression. It was all there for him to read – hope, fear, love, longing, frustration and the blind resolution that he should see none of them. ‘They told me that you agreed.’
‘I was not consulted. Henry told me he had arranged a suitable match for you and that you were pleased with it. We were at York – ’
‘And you did not wish to jeopardise the treaty with England.’ Her voice heavy, she pulled her hand from his. ‘And women’s lives are of so little importance.’
‘That is not true, Eleyne. You had enormous wealth, it was important that you marry – ’
‘Why? To give my wealth away? To allow a thriftless callow nobody to run through it, spending a fortune on tabards and herygouds and embroidered garnaches to decorate his person while his wife wears darned gowns, cuts the number of courses at meals by half and can find no money to pay her servants!’ The colour had risen in her cheeks. ‘I shall have to ask you to tell my husband, sire, that you have given me these jewels or he will take them from me to pawn or sell. He would have taken the material Aunt Joanna gave me for new gowns had I not sneaked it away to be made up before he could lay his hands on it.’
Alexander stared at her. ‘I am sorry, his brother is made of finer stuff.’ He walked across to the window; unglazed and unshuttered in spite of the cold, it looked south across the Forth, which gleamed brilliant blue in the icy sunshine. In the far distance was the grey of the Pentland hills, and towards the east the humped shoulder of Arthur’s Seat, brooding next to the black silhouette which was his great rock-bound castle at Edinburgh. When he turned, he had control of his anger.
‘Come, see what else I have for you. Joanna would want you to look at them.’ He cursed himself for speaking her name, but knowing he had to. ‘I shall speak to your husband. He will not take anything from you again.’ There was an underlying note in his voice which made her look up, startled. What she saw in his face brought the colour flooding to her cheeks.
‘Your grace –’ Her voice was breathless. Without realising it, she had taken a step towards him.
For a long time he looked at her in silence without moving, then at last he reached towards her and pulled her into his arms. His mouth was hungry as it found hers, his grip fierce, imprisoning her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want to breathe; she wanted to cease to exist and find herself in eternity. She wanted to melt into him as the cold winter snow melts in the blazing heat of a summer sun. She could feel her body quivering with longing, her hips pressing shamefully against his, her breasts aching for the touch of his hands. She did not think of John or of Joanna. She did not think of Robert. This man was her whole world, her whole existence, her destiny.
Still he had not spoken, nor did she want him to. She did not want words to come between them.
Almost without realising it she was pulling at the fastenings of her gown, offering him her throat, her breasts, gasping as he reached greedily for her nipples. Then he was wrenching her garments from her shoulders, stripping them down, so that she was naked as he bore her to the floor, dragging at his own gown so that flesh met flesh without impediment.
She clung to him, pulling him on top of her, wrapping her legs around his hips, feeling him thrusting inside her with a force which was as agonising as it was exquisite.
When her pent-up excitement was released in a long animal howl of triumph, the king put his hand across her mouth. He smiled down at her, his eyes silver slits. ‘You’ll bring every guard in the castle to us if you scream,’ he said softly, his voice husky with passion. He dropped his mouth to her breast and she felt her breathing quicken again.
‘What if someone comes in?’ she gasped. She could not have pushed him away if she had wanted to. Her whole being had fused with his, cleaving to him as though it had found a part of itself.
‘No one will come in,’ he said softly. Easing his weight slightly, he rested on his elbows, staring down into her face. Then he knelt up, sitting astride her, keeping her imprisoned between his thighs, his gown rumpled around his hips. He groped above his head on the table and brought his hand down laden with jewels from Joanna’s casket. As Eleyne gasped at their coldness, he festooned her naked body with golden chains and precious stones, nestling a circlet of pale river pearls in the silken hair which covered her most secret place.
‘Sweet Virgin, lass, but I have wanted you for so long,’ he murmured at last. He stroked her face. ‘Since I first laid eyes on you.’
‘And I you.’ She gave a languid smile. Her body seemed to be cushioned on air; she was floating on contentment. ‘Have we done wrong?’ She felt no hint of conscience or shame.
‘How could it be wrong?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘My wife is dead, and so is the husband you loved.’ He paused. ‘Your present husband – ’
‘Means nothing.’ For the first time her voice was sharp. ‘I was meant to be yours. Even John …’ she hesitated, then went on, ‘even John told me to come to you.’
‘Had you been free now, I could have made you my queen.’ He stroked her belly almost absent-mindedly, resting his finger thoughtfully on the trinket he had pushed into her navel. ‘Queen Eleyne. You would give me sons, lass, wouldn’t you? Bonny, strong, healthy sons.’ He leaned down and kissed her lips fiercely.
‘I would give you anything.’ She smiled up from beneath her lids. Everything was what she meant, everything.
Neither of them reacted immediately to the knock on the door, then abruptly the king rose. ‘Wait,’ he shouted as he adjusted his gown, pulling the heavy folds straight. Eleyne lay still at his feet, half smiling as the firelight played across her body. The king laughed. ‘Up you get, lass, or I’ll be asking my clerks to step across you to write my letters.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Would they enjoy that, do you think?’
‘No doubt, but I would not.’ He stooped, picked up her gown and tossed it over her. ‘Hurry, there is much to be done and you are distracting me shamefully.’ His voice was stern but his eyes, she checked quickly, were still laughing. She scrambled to her feet and pulled her clothes on, dropping the jewels one by one back into the casket. Her body was languid; contented. For the first time in her life she felt complete.
XIX
DUNFERMLINE CASTLE
Robert found the casket of jewels that same afternoon, concealed in one of her coffers. He picked it up and opened it, pawing over the gems. Then he turned to her. ‘Where did you get these?’ His face was sharp with suspicion.
‘They were bequeathed to me by my aunt.’ She took the box from his hand and put it down on the table next to her mirror.
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