Eleyne’s face was white and strained. There were dark rings beneath her eyes. ‘What is he like, can you remember?’ She rode closer to Rhonwen, her small hands steady on the gilded leather rein of her mother’s favourite cream-coloured mare, an outcast as she was from the purge at Aber. She was very afraid.
‘The Earl of Huntingdon?’ Rhonwen too was numb with shock. ‘He’s nephew to the great Earl of Chester, and a prince of Scotland. That’s all I know. And he is waiting at Chester Castle to meet us.’ She tightened her lips. How could Einion have let this happen? Why, when Eleyne had been given to the goddess, had he been unable to prevent it? She closed her eyes wearily and eased herself in the saddle.
Eleyne edged her mare even closer to Rhonwen’s, so that the two horses walked shoulder to shoulder. ‘Will he … will he want to …’ The question hovered on her lips. ‘Will he want to make me his wife properly at once?’ Miserably she blurted it out at last, and she saw Rhonwen’s answering frown.
‘It is his right, cariad, to consummate the marriage.’ The older woman tried to keep her voice steady.
Eleyne closed her eyes. Yet again she saw the picture she could not keep out of her mind: the writhing bodies on the bed; the man between her mother’s contorted thighs, thrusting at her; his great shout of triumph.
‘Does it hurt very much?’ she whispered. She wanted to reach across and hold Rhonwen’s hand for comfort. Instead she wound her fingers into the horse’s silky mane. She and Isabella had so often giggled and speculated about the consummation of their respective marriages, as had she and Luned. In the crowded uninhibited world in which they lived they knew what happened from an early age. Too often they had seen people in the shadows, beneath trees or against a wall, but always dressed, always shielded. Never frightening. Never before – never – had she seen a man and a woman coupling naked with such wild uninhibited lust. Never before had she seen a woman arch her back and thrust back at the man, seen the fingernails raking his back, heard a wild yell of triumph such as Sir William had given that fateful night. That act was now mixed inextricably in her mind with her vision of the man with the noose around his neck, the man whose body had jerked and grown limp and swung all day from the gallows tree on the marsh near Aber.
‘Of course it doesn’t hurt, cariad.’ Rhonwen gave a wry grimace, trying to hide her own fear and anger and her despair: despair which the night before had led her for a moment to consider pressing the soft pillow over Eleyne’s face so that she could die in her sleep rather than submit to this terrible fate. But she could not do it. Even to save Eleyne from marriage, she could not do it. She shook her head slowly. ‘I’ve never lain with a man, but I don’t think it can hurt or people wouldn’t do it so much.’
‘I think it’s only the men who enjoy it,’ Eleyne said quietly and again she thought of her mother’s raking fingernails.
Already in the distance they could see the great red castle of Chester, rising in the sharp angle of the river, and behind it the city huddled around the Abbey of St Werburgh. In a few hours she would meet her husband for the first time since their wedding day, when she had been a babe-in-arms and he a boy of sixteen.
II
CHESTER CASTLE May 1230
John the Scot, Earl of Huntingdon, had been visiting his uncle, Ranulph, Earl of Chester, when the news came of the arrest of Sir William de Braose. The two men discussed the situation gravely but agreed, as men all over England were to agree, that Llywelyn’s death sentence was justified and not a resumption of the war with England.
More surprising was the news which followed only days later that the Prince of Gwynedd intended to proceed with the match between his recognised heir, Dafydd, and Sir William’s daughter, Isabella.
‘A realist, our neighbour Llywelyn.’ Ranulph reached for his goblet and sipped his wine. He was a small, stocky man in his late sixties, even now, dealing as he was with his correspondence, dressed for riding, his gloves and sword near him on the coffer. ‘He wants to keep the alliance.’
‘And no doubt the girl is now heir to at least a quarter of the de Braose estates,’ John said lazily. In his mid-twenties he was a complete contrast to his uncle. He was tall and painfully thin, his handsome face pale and haggard from the illness which had plagued him all the preceding winter. Even now, warm and gentle though the weather was, he was huddled in a fur-lined mantle.
He picked up another of the letters brought by the messenger from Gwynedd and began to unfold it. ‘That makes her a rich and influential young lady. It won’t only be Builth she brings to Llywelyn now, though I doubt there will be much love lost between her and her new husband’s family now they’ve hanged her father! No doubt she has the usual de Braose spirit – Holy Mother of God!’ He stopped suddenly. He had begun reading the letter in his hand.
His uncle looked up. ‘What is it?’
‘It appears Llywelyn is sending me my wife!’ John was silent for a moment, perusing the closely written parchment. ‘He feels Aber is not the place for her at the moment. I should think not,’ he interrupted himself, ‘with her mother in prison and her mother’s lover hanging on a gibbet – and he thinks it’s time she came to me.’
Lord Chester frowned. ‘With a large Welsh entourage, no doubt. So, Llywelyn feels this alliance needs strengthening too.’
John threw down the letter and, walking across to the window, stared out over the river towards the west. It was a glorious May day. From the keep he could see distant hedgerows covered in whitethorn blossom and the orchards beyond foaming with pink. The sun shone blindingly down on the broad river as it cut its way between low cliffs of sand towards the jetties where two galleys were unloading their cargoes.
‘She’s only a child still, uncle.’ He counted on his fingers. ‘She can’t be more than eleven! What on earth will I do with her?’
‘Send her followers packing for a start and take her off to show her your lands as far away as possible from here,’ Lord Chester said succinctly. ‘I want our friendship with that old fox kept firm, and I want the alliance kept watertight, but I would still rather keep him at arm’s length. And you would do well to do the same. Train her up to be the wife you want. Show her who is master and she’ll be an invaluable asset to you, my boy. When I’m gone, and you are Earl of Chester as well as Huntingdon, you will be one of the most powerful men in England. You will be allied to Wales, married to King Henry’s niece and, if Alexander stays childless, you may well be king of Scotland as well. There will be few to oppose you in Christendom.’ He grinned. ‘You’re a lucky man. I think Llywelyn is handing you a great prize.’ He frowned as John turned away with a paroxysm of coughing. ‘And you had better get a son or two on her as soon as she is capable, to safeguard your succession,’ he added a trifle grimly.
John grinned ruefully, wiping his mouth. ‘Perhaps she’ll know some wild Welsh cures for the cough and turn me into a soldier for you, uncle,’ he said quietly. He was well aware of the disappointment he was to his robust relative.
III
Eleyne was trembling by the time she rode beneath the huge archway into Chester Castle. She looked up at the standards flying above the tower and edged yet closer to Rhonwen. For a moment they sat without moving on their horses, then Eleyne saw a group of men appear in the doorway of the keep up a long imposing flight of wooden steps. Ranulph, Earl of Chester, was, she guessed, the shorter, distinguished-looking white-haired man with the ruddy complexion and piercing eyes, and next to him, was that her husband? She stared at the younger man. He was, as she had feared, nothing like the man of her dreams. Clean-shaven, slim, dressed in the robes of a rich cleric, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, he left his companion and ran down the steps towards her. She found she was holding her breath.
He made unerringly towards her. ‘Lady Eleyne?’ He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. ‘Welcome.’
Behind them the wagons and horsemen who had accompanied them were still moving into the courtyard and assembling around th
em. Eleyne did not notice: she was looking down into her husband’s smiling blue eyes.
IV
‘By all the saints, uncle! I can’t bed that child!’ John stared at the Earl of Chester in horror. ‘She’s a baby still.’
‘There are girls on the estates here, a year younger than she is, get themselves with bastards,’ Lord Chester retorted. ‘She’s old enough. And you’d be a fool not to make her your wife quickly. If you don’t some other man will beat you to it and you’ll find yourself raising a bastard as your heir!’ His expression softened. He had not intended to draw attention yet again, even by implication, to his nephew’s ill health. ‘Do as I say, my boy. Send all her servants packing, take her to your bed and get a child on her as soon as possible. She’ll soon develop some curves to titillate your fancy if you feed her up.’
‘Thank you for your advice, uncle.’ John was tight-lipped. ‘But for now, I would rather she had apartments of her own. Aunt Clemence has allotted her and her servants two chambers in the west tower. Once she has grown used to me and the idea of living away from home, I shall consider your advice.’ Turning away, he did not hear his uncle’s exasperated sigh or see his sceptically shaken head.
V
‘What do you think of it?’ John appeared behind Eleyne without a sound as she stood at the high window staring down unhappily across the castle walls into the crowded streets of the city of Chester.
She jumped guiltily. ‘It seems very big and noisy to me, my lord.’ She glanced sideways at him. He had a kind face and gentle hands; he did not seem so frightening. And so far he had shown no inclination to drag her away from Rhonwen to his bed.
‘Cities always are.’ He smiled down at her, studying her thin, freckle-dusted face, her red-gold hair and big green eyes. Tall as she was for her age, she only came up to his elbow. ‘You will have to get used to them. We shall visit many towns and cities each year.’ He sighed. ‘London, Chester, York, Edinburgh, Perth.’
‘You mean we won’t stay here?’ She had known it of course. No one stayed in one place. Even her father toured his palaces and castles in Gwynedd regularly. But Aber was always home, always the favourite. And Aber was comparatively near Chester. She looked up at him, trying to hide her fear and misery. She could hear Rhonwen, bustling about in the next room with Luned. Their voices reassured her as she looked at this tall stranger. ‘We will come back here?’ she asked huskily. She was fighting her terror and despair, and trying to hide her feelings from his probing gaze.
He smiled and his blue eyes softened. ‘We’ll come back here often, I promise,’ he said.
VI
It was two weeks later that the Earl of Huntingdon summoned Rhonwen to his presence. ‘Lady Rhonwen, I understand that you have been my wife’s nurse and companion since she was a baby?’ He was seated by the fire in the solar. He studied her closely. The woman was beautiful in her way: her skin clear, her eyes a deep grey, her carriage erect and proud.
‘I must thank you for taking such care of her all these years.’ He rose stiffly from his chair and walked across to the table. ‘She does you credit, madam, and I hope that this –’ he picked up a purse from the table – ‘will be a just reward for your efforts.’ He put it into Rhonwen’s hand.
She stared at it, feeling the heavy coins inside the soft leather. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It is our gift to you, Lady Rhonwen. My wife and I are anxious you should be rewarded.’ He gave her a slight smile.
‘Your wife …’ Rhonwen lifted her eyes to his, her expression veiled to hide the hatred and jealousy of this man which had devoured her since their arrival at Chester.
‘We should like you to return to Prince Llywelyn with the escort and the other servants when they go back,’ he said gently. ‘We leave soon for my lands in the south. It will not be practicable to take such a large contingent with us.’
‘You are sending me away?’ For a moment she couldn’t grasp what he meant.
‘I have all the servants and ladies my wife needs waiting for us at my castle of Fotheringhay, my lady.’ Under the gentleness of his tone there was a hint of impatience.
‘No, no!’ Rhonwen threw down the bag of coins, her composure shattered. ‘You can’t send me away, you can’t. Eleyne wouldn’t allow it. She loves me – ’
‘She does as her husband commands, Lady Rhonwen.’ John sat down once more and reached for the goblet of wine on the table at his elbow. His hand was shaking slightly.
‘No.’ Rhonwen shook her head. ‘You don’t understand. We’ve never been separated. Not since the day she was born – ’
‘I know it is hard, my lady, and I’m sorry. But it’s better this way.’ There was a sharp edge to his voice. ‘Now, please leave us. I have letters to write.’ He raised his hand to beckon forward his clerk who was hovering near the window.
‘No.’ Rhonwen could feel the waves of panic rising. How she hated this man who now had absolute control over Eleyne’s fate – and her own. ‘You can’t make me leave. You can’t – ’
The clerk came forward and bowed. ‘Shall I call the guard to remove her, my lord?’ he asked, bristling with disapproval.
‘I am sure there is no need.’ John stood up. He put his hand on Rhonwen’s arm and she felt with a vindictive shock of pleasure the physical weakness of the man. ‘Madam, please.’
With a sob, she turned and fled from the room.
VII
Eleyne was with the Countess of Chester, sitting nervously beside her new aunt, watching as the old woman checked some household accounts. They both looked up as Rhonwen burst in.
‘Eleyne, you can’t let him send me away. You can’t! I have to stay with you. I have to.’ Ignoring Lady Chester, etiquette long forgotten, Rhonwen sank to her knees next to Eleyne and, putting her arms around the child, began to sob.
Eleyne stood up, frightened. She had never seen Rhonwen cry before. ‘What is it? Who is going to send you away?’
‘Your husband.’ She did not bother to hide the loathing in her voice. ‘He is sending me, all of us, back to Gwynedd.’ Rhonwen steadied herself with difficulty, suddenly aware of the Countess of Chester’s eyes fixed on her face.
Lady Chester stood up stiffly. She was a small elegant woman in her mid-sixties like her husband, her blue eyes faded, but still shrewd as she looked at the sobbing woman in front of her. ‘I am sure you are mistaken, Lady Rhonwen,’ she said.
Rhonwen shook her head. ‘He gave me a bag of gold and told me to go. I can’t leave her. Please, my lady, I can’t leave her among strangers like this –’ She felt the waves of panic rising. Eleyne was her life; her child; her whole existence.
Eleyne’s face was tense with fear. ‘I am sure it is a mistake, Rhonwen. Lord Huntingdon seems so kind …’ She hesitated, with a nervous glance at her husband’s aunt, uncertain what to do. ‘Perhaps I should speak to him – ’
Lady Chester shook her head. In the short time Eleyne had been with her she had grown extraordinarily fond of the girl. Childless herself, she felt endlessly guilty that she had not provided her husband with heirs to succeed him in his great inheritance. ‘Later,’ she said firmly. ‘Never run to your husband to query anything he has ordered, Eleyne. That is one of the first lessons you must learn. If a wife wishes to get things her own way,’ she tapped the side of her nose with a little smile, ‘she must do it with subtlety. Let things remain as they are for a while. Then later, when you and he are alone and talking, and perhaps becoming closer acquainted – ’ she paused imperceptibly. Her husband had complained to her every evening for the last fortnight that his nephew was a weak-willed, soft-hearted, green-sick, womanly invalid who spent too long talking to the child and hadn’t, as far as he could see, so much as kissed the girl’s hand – ‘then,’ she went on, ‘you can perhaps say to him how lonely you will feel if all your followers are sent away. Persuade him gradually. I know he doesn’t want you to be unhappy.’
VIII
‘Let’s run away!’ Eleyne
pulled Rhonwen into the window embrasure; a heavy tapestry hid them from the body of the room where the Countess of Chester and her ladies were busy about their tasks. ‘You and me and Luned. We could run away and no one would find us.’ She was talking in a frantic whisper.
Rhonwen tried to suppress the quick surge of hope the child’s words raised. ‘But where would we go?’
‘Home, of course.’
‘Eleyne, cariad. We can’t go home.’ Rhonwen put her arms around the child and rested her lips against the veil which covered Eleyne’s head. ‘Don’t you understand? Your father has forbidden you to return. Aber is no longer your home.’
‘Then I shall go to Margaret at Bramber. Or to Gruffydd.’
‘No, Eleyne, they will obey your father. They have to. They would only send you back to Lord Chester.’ She closed her eyes to try to hold back her tears. She had written to Einion, smuggling the letter out of the castle the day after they had arrived at Chester, begging him to do something. He would think of something. He had to. Eleyne was sworn to the goddess.
‘We could hide in the forest.’ Eleyne looked up hopefully. Her eyes were feverishly bright. ‘When Lord Huntingdon sends you all away, you go, as if you were doing as he commanded, and I shall hide in one of the wagons. Once we are out of the castle you and I can slip away. Oh Rhonwen, it would work. I know it would work.’
Rhonwen bit her lip. ‘Cariad …’
‘We can do it … I know we can.’
‘And you would rather live as an outlaw in the woods than with Lord Huntingdon? Here you will be a very great lady.’ It couldn’t work. And yet she found herself seizing the idea, as if there were a chance they could escape.
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