Child of the Phoenix. Barbara Erskine

name, and Eleyne had steadfastly refused to contemplate sending her away. All she had done that first devastating day was to hug her and beg her to stay out of her husband’s sight. Then John had taken her to his bed and Rhonwen had been forgotten. She was fed and clothed and, as a senior lady-in-waiting and Eleyne’s nurse, had status and regular annual payment of clothes and candles. What more could she want?

      Now, as Eleyne sat on a low stool before her mirror allowing Luned to brush out her hair, she caught her eye suddenly in the reflection. ‘I wish Rhonwen were here,’ she said slowly.

      ‘It’s as well she isn’t.’ The young woman dragged energetically at the thick hair with her comb. ‘She knows Lord Chester doesn’t want her near him. She preferred to stay behind. She said you did not need her now.’

      Eleyne frowned. ‘But that’s not true. Of course I need her.’

      Luned shook her head. ‘Not while you sleep in Lord Chester’s bed. That’s what Rhonwen said.’

      Eleyne felt her face colouring. ‘My place is in his bed,’ she said sharply.

      ‘Of course.’ Luned smiled enigmatically. She, at sixteen, had grown into a comely young woman, possessed of a neat waist and high, firm breasts. Her glory was in her eyes. They were a deep seductive grey, fringed by the longest of black lashes, and every young man who saw them fell instantly in love with her. She was being courted by two squires and twice as many pages, and hardly a day went by without her finding small gifts and poems hidden beside her place at dinner or pushed shyly into her hand as she waited on Eleyne in the great hall.

      ‘Rhonwen says she will be there when you need her; when my lord falls ill, or when you are with child. Then you will remember her and ask for her. That is what she said.’ She moved behind Eleyne again and set to once more with the comb.

      ‘When I am with child?’ Caught by the words, Eleyne heard the echo of Rhonwen’s bitterness in them. ‘But I’m not, not yet.’ She caught a ringlet of her hair and twisted it round her finger.

      ‘Plenty of time for that,’ Luned commented tartly, ‘when my lord is stronger.’ So others too had noted the passing weeks and counted. ‘Rhonwen told me she can give you powders to put in his wine that will give him the strength to father children –’ She broke off as she caught sight of Eleyne’s face in the mirror.

      Eleyne jumped to her feet. ‘How dare you! How dare she! What do you mean? There is nothing wrong with my husband! Nothing! He is strong and well. He is completely recovered.’

      ‘I’m sorry, my lady.’ Luned looked frightened by the unexpected burst of temper. ‘I didn’t mean to make you cross. And nor did Rhonwen. She only wanted to please you.’

      ‘Well, she hasn’t.’ Eleyne walked over to the fire and stared down at the smouldering log. The room was cold and damp. ‘And I wanted her here. I wanted to talk to her. I need her.’ For a moment she was a lonely child again.

      It was dark outside and the wind was howling across the moors when John came at last to bed after spending some hours closeted with his chamberlain and the steward of the manor, arguing over the accounts of the previous year’s harvest. Climbing into bed beside Eleyne he reached out, as he so often did, to stroke her hair and touch her shoulder as though to reassure himself that she was really there. Then, as he so often did, he turned wearily away and fell into an exhausted sleep, leaving her staring into the darkness.

      VII

       CHESTER CASTLE April 1233

      The Welshman pulled his rough sheepskin cloak around him and peered furtively over his shoulder. It was some time since he had passed the coin to the servant and asked for the Lady Rhonwen. Behind him the sun had set into a bank of crimson cloud and the cold wind was rising, blowing steadily from the north. With the earl and countess away, the castle was strangely empty. The garrison remained; the administrative officers were still there, but the rest of the great household had moved on to progress around Lord Chester’s vast estates.

      It was nearly dark before she came, muffled as he was against the cold. They stood in the shelter of the stable block and talked for a few minutes in hurried Welsh. A letter passed between them, then some coins, and the Welshman faded back into the night. At first light, when the gates opened, he would be gone on the journey back to Degannwy.

      Rhonwen tucked the letter into her bodice and retraced her steps back to the women’s bower. There were fewer ladies there now; those who served the aged dowager and the chatelaine and two young women near to giving birth, that was all. It was comparatively easy to find a secluded corner and settle with her flickering candle to read the letter which Gruffydd had written to Eleyne.

      Cautiously worded though it was, it was clear in its message. Gruffydd had had meetings with his father and at long last Llywelyn was talking of allowing his eldest son his freedom once again. There had even been a vague promise that Gruffydd would be given the Lleyn Peninsula and that he would be allowed to work again with Dafydd if he would recognise Dafydd as his father’s heir.

      Rhonwen dropped the letter on to her lap and gazed unseeing at the heavy wooden shutter which had been pulled across the window. If only he had the sense to agree; to bide his time. She sighed and pulled from her gown her other letter. There had been two that day, both addressed to Eleyne. This one had been carried by a messenger in the livery of the Prince of Aberffraw. He had been reluctant to give it up to her; he had been paid and well paid to put his letter into the hands of the Countess of Chester and no other, but in the end he had relented. Did not everyone know that the Lady Rhonwen was the countess’s nurse, her friend, her confidante? She could be trusted to pass on the letter the quickest way possible.

      Reading it again now, Rhonwen frowned. Einion’s hand had grown feeble; his writing shook and strayed across the roughly scraped parchment, but the urgency was clear. He wanted Eleyne to return to Mô n.

      Rhonwen frowned again. Eleyne had summoned her to her chamber once when the earl had ridden out for the day. They had hugged one another as they had when Eleyne was a child.

      ‘I am his wife now, Rhonwen,’ Eleyne had whispered, her eyes shining, ‘really his wife.’ She caught Rhonwen’s hands. ‘Oh Rhonwen, I love him so much. Give me time. Please. He will grow to like you. I know he will.’ Rhonwen had suppressed the agonising pang of jealousy which Eleyne’s words had caused her, melting before the excited pleading eyes, and she had not, as she had never, been able to deny Eleyne what she wanted.

      ‘I’ll wait, cariad,’ she had said, hiding her sadness. ‘I’ll keep out of his way, and wait.’ Nevertheless she had been hurt by Eleyne’s attitude in those last few weeks before they left on their progress around the country. It was as if Eleyne had forgotten her existence. But Rhonwen had watched and waited and kept out of the earl’s way as she had promised. And when the time came for the household to leave Chester she had shaken her head and pleaded exhaustion and told Luned to wait on Eleyne with extra care.

      She looked down at Einion’s letter again: it must be important. Einion would never summon Eleyne back unless he felt it was vital; Einion, to whom she had entrusted Eleyne as she would have trusted herself; a man she respected and honoured more even than she honoured the prince. To disobey him would be to disobey the wishes of the gods; to obey him would be to reclaim Eleyne from her husband; to travel with her once more to Gwynedd; to go home.

      She walked slowly across the room, her skirts catching in the dried, dusty herbs strewn upon the ground, her eyes shining. These two letters gave her the power to summon Eleyne back, to bring her home. She stood for a long time before the fire, unaware of the eyes of the other women looking up from their spinning and sewing and watching her warily. Her temper had grown uncertain in the weeks since her return from Gwynedd, her arrogance more defensive. Her beautiful face was drawn now and thin, her eyes haunted, and she seemed unaware of the women around her.

      What would Eleyne want her to do? Would she want to go