Child of the Phoenix

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘I should like to talk to you alone, my lord,’ she said boldly. Her back straight, her eyes steadily on his, she clasped her hands together to give her courage.

  For a moment she thought he would refuse, then with a curt nod of his head he gestured the clerks towards the door. Bowing, they withdrew.

  ‘If you are wondering where Robin was at breakfast, he has left the castle,’ he commented curtly. ‘He too was afraid of being caught in the snow. He asked me to pass his farewells to you.’

  ‘I did not go downstairs to breakfast, my lord,’ Eleyne retorted. ‘Sir Robert’s whereabouts are of no interest to me.’ Her eyes were heavy from lack of sleep and her head ached. She must not lose her temper; she must keep up her courage; she must remember what she had vowed to do. ‘I came to talk to you about Rhonwen. If it is your wish, I shall send her back to Wales. All I ask is that we give her a dowry to enable her to marry well. I love her as a mother. I should not like her thrown destitute upon the world.’

  John looked at her closely. ‘Have you told her that this is what you intend?’ he asked shrewdly.

  Eleyne hung her head, then once more straightened her shoulders. ‘Not yet, my lord,’ she said honestly. She smiled wearily. ‘I didn’t have the courage. But I shall do so at once if it is your wish.’ The pain in her eyes was obvious, in spite of the resolution in her voice.

  He frowned. ‘You really love that woman, don’t you? Even knowing she is not a Christian.’

  ‘She will attend mass if I ask it of her, my lord,’ Eleyne said firmly. She took a deep breath. ‘I was a child when I came to you. I did not realise that the things I had been told by Einion were bad. He had offered to help me understand my dreams. For that I was grateful. But I know what I did was wrong. I am no priestess of the Welsh gods of ancient times. I am your wife and I am no longer a child. I have put Einion’s teachings behind me, and Rhonwen understands that. I saw Einion …’ She hesitated. To tell him was a risk; it was also perhaps the key to the future. ‘I saw him before I came back to Chester and he confirmed what I already knew in my heart. That my place is at your side. And that our future lies in Scotland.’

  She saw the excitement flare in his eyes, and she felt an answering excitement inside herself.

  ‘In Scotland?’ he repeated. ‘He said that?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. He said that my place was with the King of Scotland and that I would live – and die – in that country.’

  John stood up. He threw the letter which had been clutched in his hand on to the table and watched as it slowly refolded itself. ‘So. It is to happen. When?’ He rounded on her, his face alight with suppressed fire.

  She shook her head. ‘He showed me no calendar, my lord.’ She smiled, her heart thumping with excitement.

  ‘And the future? Did he see children?’ The eagerness and fear in his voice made her blush as she replied: ‘He said I should be the mother of a line of kings.’

  ‘So!’ He smacked his hands together triumphantly. ‘I knew it! I felt it in my bones! And you –’ He reached out and took her hand. ‘You are to be the mother of my heir.’

  She smiled. ‘So it would seem, my lord.’ She looked up at him as he pulled her closer and she could feel her breath coming in small gasps. It was working; working more surely than ever she would have dreamed possible. Let it be now, she thought incoherently as she reached up, seeking his lips with her own, now while he is excited and optimistic and strong. Let it be now.

  As if reading her thoughts he murmured through his kisses, ‘Why don’t we retire to the bedchamber, my Eleyne? Dear God, you’ve been away too long and I have missed you.’ He held her away from him as if trying to reassure himself that she was indeed a grown woman now, eager in his arms. ‘You’re not afraid?’

  Her heart was hammering wildly beneath her ribs. ‘Oh no, my lord, I am not afraid.’ She reached up again to kiss him, her lips tracing the angle of his jaw, finding the soft skin of his cheek beneath the rough neatness of his beard as he caught her hand and pulled her towards the door.

  Outside the three clerks were waiting dutifully to be summoned back to their master’s office. They looked up as the door opened, but neither the earl nor the countess noticed them, even when one sneezed yet again as they walked past. Holding Eleyne by the wrist, John walked swiftly across the stone flags towards the staircase. Almost running to keep up with him, Eleyne was oblivious of the interested faces watching from the shadows as she followed him upwards, concentrating, as he was, only on what was to happen once they reached the privacy of the bedchamber. He flung back the door and stood still.

  Rhonwen sat by the fire with two other women. They were gossiping softly in the intimate warmth of the hearth. The three faces turned in surprise as the door crashed against the wall.

  ‘Out!’ John jerked his thumb towards the door. The women rose and, dropping their spindles, scuttled past him. Rhonwen hesitated for a second as though she were about to speak. One glance at John’s face made her change her mind and she followed the others, closing the door behind her.

  ‘At last.’ John turned the key in the lock. Unclasping his mantle, he let it drop to the floor. ‘Wife –’ He pulled her to him and kissed her. She could feel the strength and power centred within him, so different from his habitual gentle reserve. Lifting her mouth to his, she felt herself grow dizzy with longing. He felt her excitement and smiled. ‘So, you are eager for your husband at last.’

  ‘You know I am,’ she whispered. She longed to tear off her clothes, to feel his hands crushing her breasts, to feel his skin against hers; to throw herself to the ground and roll on the floor naked before the fire. Her whole body sang with life. But then, dimly, in some recess of her mind, she heard a small voice of caution. She must not shock him with her eagerness; she must not let him think her wanton; she must let him lead.

  Closing her eyes she pressed against him, feeling his arms tighten immediately around her. ‘Sweet Eleyne,’ he murmured, his lips against her ear, and now he was slowly, gently, feeling for the lacings of her gown. She stood still, trembling with anticipation as he undressed her, removing each garment slowly and carefully until even her shift had gone. For a long time he did nothing. He stood looking at her with an expression of wonder on his face. ‘I hadn’t dreamed you were so beautiful.’ His voice was hoarse. Not touching her body, he reached up to the braids wound around her head beneath her veil. Unpinning the fine fabric, he began carefully to unplait her hair until it hung in a rippled curtain around her breasts. ‘You are sure you’re not afraid?’ He had felt her trembling.

  She shook her head, her eyes lowered, shy suddenly before the intensity of his gaze. ‘No, I’m not afraid.’

  ‘My love.’ His hand on her shoulder was featherlight. She scarcely felt it as it traced along her collar-bone and down towards her breast. But his gentle touch on her nipple sent a bolt of lightning knifing through her body. She gasped and he looked up, frowning. ‘I didn’t hurt you?’

  ‘No. No, my lord, you didn’t hurt me.’ Her words came in a rush.

  ‘I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, Eleyne – ’

  ‘You won’t, my lord.’ Her voice dropped, instinctively low and seductive as she caught his face in her hands and brought it towards hers. ‘You won’t.’

  He kissed her long and hard, then he drew her towards the bed. She followed him, her breathing quick and shallow, her pale skin flushed in the light of the fire.

  His body was painfully thin, his skin as soft and white as a girl’s. To Eleyne it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Mesmerised by the intensity of his gaze and the light touch of his hands on her belly and flanks, she lay back on the bed, her hair spread loose on the silk sheets and pillows, unaware that as her arms drew him down towards her, her legs had parted as naturally and wantonly as any village girl’s with her man in the hay.

  With a groan, he buried his face in her hair and she felt with a quick exultation his weight come down on her slim body.


  There was very little pain. For the few short moments he was inside her, she felt her exhilaration rise as his sweat turned the skin of his shoulders slippery beneath her clinging fingers and she felt the thundering of his heart against hers. Then it was all over. Triumphantly he rolled away from her. He lay still, breathing heavily as he gazed up at the shadowy tester above their heads. The flickering lights from the fire slid back and forth across the damask till it glowed like a sea of living gems. He heaved himself up on one elbow and looked at her with a smile. ‘Are you happy, my love?’ On the damp sheet below her hips he had seen the small smears of blood. The servants would find them later, and draw their own conclusions. He smiled triumphantly and Eleyne smiled back at him. ‘I’m very happy.’

  ‘And now you are truly my wife.’ He pushed the hair back gently from her face and reached down to pull the covers over her. Tenderly he kissed her on the forehead, then he slipped from the bed. She watched as he pulled on his clothes. The long dark green tunic clasped at the waist with a leather belt, engraved with gold, then the heavy mantle, green too, though a lighter shade, dyed with mountain lichens, the embroidered border gleaming with gold and vermilion threads. His light gold hair, darkened with sweat, framed his face as he pushed his feet into his shoes.

  He came back to the bed and sat down beside her, resting his hand for a moment on her breast. ‘Sweet Eleyne. Sleep now, my darling. We’ll talk later.’ He strode from the room.

  Obscurely she felt a little disappointed. Her body still yearned for his; it felt alive, her skin so sensitive that the slight draught straying over the floor from the doorway touched her like the caress of a man. Never had she felt more alert. But he had gone.

  IV

  DUNFERMLINE CASTLE,

  SCOTLAND March 1233

  In their bedchamber at Dunfermline Castle the King and Queen of Scots were alone at last. Alexander II, a handsome, broad-shouldered man of thirty-six, stood gazing out of the narrow window towards the gleaming blue ribbon which was the River Forth. His flaming hair and beard, already streaked with grey, were glinting in a stray ray of sunlight which slipped through the window and glanced off the deep embrasure wall.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing himself to composure. ‘Are you sure, this time, my love?’ His voice was gentle, but Joanna could hear the uncertainty, the disbelief, above all, the hope.

  ‘I’m sure,’ she whispered. ‘I’m into the third month and all is well.’

  ‘So!’ He smiled exultantly. ‘At last there will be an heir for Scotland!’ He caught her to him. ‘Make sure it’s a boy, sweetheart. A boy to lead Scotland forward to greatness.’

  ‘Scotland is already great with you as her king.’ Joanna reached on tiptoe to kiss her husband’s cheek. She sighed and, wrapping her arms around herself, she danced an excited pirouette. The eldest daughter of King John of England, and the sister of England’s present king, half-sister to Eleyne’s mother, Joan of Gwynedd, Joanna had been married to Alexander since she was eleven years old and she worshipped her handsome husband. She would have done anything in the world for him; she would have died for him. The only thing she had seemed unable to do in their thirteen years of marriage was to produce a child. Month after month, year after year she had offered prayers to the Blessed Margaret, to St Bride, to the Blessed Virgin herself, but month after month her prayers had proved fruitless and she remained barren. Until now.

  ‘When shall we tell everyone?’ She ran to him again and caught his hand. ‘I should so like everyone to know.’

  ‘And I, sweetheart, and I.’ Seeing the joy and excitement in her face, his doubt vanished and he laughed out loud, suddenly aware of the enormous relief which had succeeded his initial caution. A son! An heir! At last Scotland would have the stability she needed, the stability which the succession of his first cousin, the Earl of Chester – English-born and so often ill – would so badly have compromised. He looked again at his wife’s slim body – no trace yet of a thickening at her waist – and at her radiant smile, and again he laughed out loud. Picking her up, he whirled her in the air until she shrieked with laughter, then he took her in his arms and kissed her.

  V

  ANGLESEY March 1233

  As the ice melted and the first small field daffodils turned the sunlit corners of the meadows to palest yellow, Einion, his proud bones weary and aching, walked less and less often to the headland to gaze across the narrow strait towards Eryri and the distant invisible summit of Yr Wyddfa. The snow in the high passes lay thick and undisturbed, blue in the crevices and in the early shadow of the night. The air around him was scented with burning oak and apple from the small settlement of monks at Penmon and, to the west, from the clustered roofs of Llanfaes, but behind and over the smoke and salt of the sea he could smell the clean sweet air of the mountain and its snow.

  He saw her less now: the child, the young woman, for whom he had spent the winter in prayer and supplication; the pictures were fading, the future misty and indistinct, but through the darkness had come one message, the message from the fire, the message which held her destiny. When he understood at last what it meant, he had wept. If she should fail to understand, if she should quail before the wishes of the gods … Once more he had to meet her, to warn her of what was to come. Then she must go forward alone.

  His fingers an agony of rheumatic pain, he managed to clasp the quill and pen the letter to her, commanding her presence without delay in the name of the powers she acknowledged and worshipped as he did, at his retreat on the headland at Penmon. He addressed it formally to the Countess of Chester and entrusted it to a messenger summoned from the prince’s llys at Llanfaes.

  Then he turned his pale, filmy eyes south towards the mountains once more and prayed the gods would grant him a reprieve, a few more weeks of life, to tell her what she had to know.

  VI

  CHESTER April 1233

  ‘We must travel!’ John’s eyes were burning with zeal. ‘Now I’m well again we shall visit all my northern estates. Then, all being well, we’ll go on to Scotland and I shall present you to the king and your aunt.’ He smiled. ‘It is time you became acquainted with our future kingdom.’

  She nodded, pleased as always to see him active and busy with plans for the future. But part of her, a small, cautious part, watched in concern, noting the speed with which he rushed at things, as though afraid there would be no time to accomplish them all, noting the high colour of his skin and the brightness of his eyes. At night sometimes, as she lay beside him, listening to his deep breathing, she would put her hand gently for reassurance on the place where, beneath his ribs, she could feel the steady beating of his heart, as if to comfort herself that all was well with him.

  It was the end of April when they set out from Chester for the east, riding at the head of a long line of attendants, knights, and men-at-arms, servants, wagons and carts. Seated on Invictus, his gilded harness newly sewn and accoutred, her saddle spread with a silken caparison, Eleyne glanced sideways at her husband with enormous pride. He rode upright and calmly beside her, astride a great black destrier which matched Invictus stride for stride. It was an old horse and steady, but it stepped out with style.

  Their first stop was in South Yorkshire at an old manor house which lay in a soft fold of the moors beneath the peaks. It was a small place, barely housing a quarter of the big household, which had to find places to camp around the manor walls.

  Tired after the long ride, Eleyne retired early to the solar. Their own bed had been set up, the hangings, embroidered with the Chester coat of arms, hung in place and their coffers were unpacked. Rhonwen had stayed at Chester. Never again, after that first night back from Aber, had John mentioned Rhonwen’s 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.