Child of the Phoenix

by Barbara Erskine

  ROXBURGH CASTLE August 1246

  The house was on the main street in Roxburgh, not far from the bakehouse where she and Alexander had spent such happy hours. The rich tradesman who owned it was not interested in the identity of the two merchants’ wives who had agreed to rent the ground-floor rooms. They had heavy purses and were well dressed beneath their sober cloaks: that was all that mattered. They had two servants, a nurse for the baby and a great dog. He did not ask their business in Roxburgh.

  He was not there when the elder woman took water from the silver Tweed and setting her bowl on the bank beneath the stars drew down the moonlight into the water with her muttered incantations, stirring glittering circles into the black depths of the pot before taking it indoors and making the younger woman drink. The spell was to hide her identity; to make her invisible to all but the king and in his eyes to make her irresistible.

  XIII

  The great hall of the castle was as always crowded and Alexander was in jovial mood after the midday meal. He had called for his horse and his hawk and was looking forward to an afternoon’s sport after a morning closeted with his nobles. Marie had left the table early to go and fuss over the boy. Even that small respite improved his mood.

  He rose from the table with a contented sigh and began to make his way slowly down the hall towards the door. He could already hear the scraping of the horses’ hooves on the cobbles as they waited in the courtyard and the high piping call of the bird waiting on the fist of his falconer.

  He wasn’t sure why the woman caught his eye; her stillness in the midst of so much confusion? The angle of her head as she waited unobtrusively in the shadows near the door? Shadows made blacker by the wedge of brilliant sunshine which streamed into the high-roofed great hall attended by a myriad of dancing dust motes. He squinted across the sun and stopped dead. Immediately the crowd around him stopped too, but their chatter did not cease; the stamping of the hooves did not cease. And yet it was the woman’s silence he heard: her silence and her power.

  Sweet Christ! She had come back to him at last. At last she had tired of her husband and come back!

  He looked about him swiftly. Whom could he trust? No one else had recognised her; no one else had even noticed her in the general mêlée which accompanied him everywhere.

  He moved on without giving any sign that he had seen her, out on to the steps and down to his horse. Only then did he beckon one of the grooms and whisper into his ear. The groom found her, still standing in the shadows, though she was now alone. He peered at her inquisitively and shrugged; if the king wanted to play riddles with a heavily veiled townswoman who hadn’t even the wit to put on her best gown when she came to court it was none of his business. What was his business was the reward he had been promised if he got the message right.

  Her smile was like the sunrise after a night of rain. He glimpsed it only for a moment beneath her veil as he whispered the message and then he felt a coin pressed into his palm – a coin hot from her own hand. With a flurry of skirts she was gone and by dusk when the king returned the groom would be richer by far than he had ever dreamed.

  XIV

  The mist was lying across the grass, drifting amongst the trees, hiding the river. She rode slowly, the reins loose, her eyes on the hill in front of her. It stood silhouetted against the sky, conical in shape, not very high, the tumbled ruins of the old fort clear in the moonlight. She knew at once why he had chosen it. It belonged now to the old people; to the fairies. The locals would go nowhere near it. She shivered, feeling the skin on the back of her neck stir and tighten and as if sensing her thoughts, Tam Lin laid back his ears and side-stepped at the shadows.

  His horse was already there, tethered beneath the trees. She tied Tam Lin beside it and stood for a moment looking towards the hill top, Donnet at her heels. The moon had drifted higher, farther away from the earth, its light no longer soft and diffused. Now it shed a cold uncaring beam on the soft, sheep-cropped grass. Gathering her skirts, she commanded Donnet to stay and began to climb.

  By the time she reached the top, her heart was pounding and the back of her throat was dry and tight. She stopped and looked around, trying to catch her breath. It must have been a castle of the ancient Picts. The huge, rough-cut blocks of stone lay tossed into the grass at crazy angles, throwing black wedges of shadow on the moon-silvered ground. Far below she could see Tweeddale laid out before her, the low-lying river valley brimming with mist. She closed her eyes and made the sign of protection. They were still here, the old ones, watching.

  Alexander was sitting on a block of masonry, wrapped in his thick cloak, his arms around his knees. A naked sword lay beside him, its blade glinting in the moonlight.

  She went to him without a word and stood in front of him, looking at his face as she raised her veil. If he no longer wanted her, she would know.

  He smiled. Opening his cloak he drew her into its folds and held her close. For a long time neither of them spoke.

  ‘So. Finally you grew tired of your husband?’ he said at last.

  Her eyes widened. ‘I don’t live with my husband; I haven’t seen him since Joanna was born.’

  ‘Joanna.’ His voice was thoughtful, then he went on. ‘So, why did you wait until now to come?’

  ‘I didn’t know if you wanted me.’

  ‘Wanted you!’ he echoed. ‘I wanted you so much I nearly went mad when they told me you had gone back to de Quincy.’

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘King Henry.’

  ‘And you believed him?’

  He was silent for a moment. ‘There must be honour among kings, Eleyne. You had ignored my gifts, my letters. I thought you wanted no more of me. After I heard about the bairn. I suppose I thought that after the two that died …’ His voice trailed away.

  She smiled sadly. ‘I wanted you, my lord. Not letters, or gifts. I wanted you.’

  Slowly he raised his hand and touched her face. ‘Why did you come this time?’ he asked softly.

  ‘You wrote and said you couldn’t live without me any more. I suspect that Rhonwen told you what to say, but it was what I needed to hear.’

  He shook his head. ‘I knew what to say, woman. The Lady Rhonwen merely told me to say it again. Sweet Christ! How could we have wasted so much time? Every day that has passed, I’ve missed you in my arms!’ He pulled her closer. ‘You are defying your king by coming here, Eleyne.’

  She nestled closer to him. ‘I would defy the world, if you wanted me to,’ she said. ‘And I still have a son to carry for Scotland. A son who will live and one day be the ancestor of a line of kings.’ She put her finger against his lips. ‘Don’t frown. I know you and I can never marry. I am content to be your mistress. We’ll leave destiny to see to the legitimacy of our children.’

  As they kissed she pulled open the bodice of her gown. His fingers were calloused and cold from the moonlit rock, and she heard herself gasp as his arms slid around her naked body.

  ‘I’m never going to let you go away again, Eleyne,’ he murmured. ‘I want you to be mine forever.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I

  GODSTOW, OXFORDSHIRE

  Ash Wednesday, 13 February 1247

  Isabella was staring out of the window of her cell towards the dark sky. It was ice-cold in the small room and in spite of the fur-lined cloak over her black habit, her hands and feet were blue. Soon she would go to the warming room and sit with the other sisters, huddled around the fire. They were only supposed to sit near it for short periods between work and prayer, but somehow the majority of them managed to congregate there as often as possible. She sniffed. She had not gone down the night stairs for matins, or lauds or prime. Only when her maid had brought her a hot drink and helped her change her linen would she appear grudgingly at terce. This was a rich convent; many of the ladies were aristocratic relicts like herself, dumped by the king out of sight, out of mind. Some of them would leave the convent; she meant to be one of them.

  T
he moon was high, its face a strange blood-red, shedding a weird half-light over the snow-covered roofs of the convent buildings. She did not remember ever having seen it like that before and for some reason it frightened her. It had upset the animals too. She could hear the horses stirring in the stables behind the dorter and somewhere beyond the convent walls a dog was howling.

  With a shiver, she picked up her candle and carried it to the coffer which served as bookrest, cupboard and table. On it lay a small book of hours and the precious piece of parchment she had bribed from Sister Maude in the scriptorium together with quills and ink. This would be her fifth letter – carried out of the convent by one of the lay sisters to be consigned to the doubtful mercies of anyone passing who looked trustworthy enough to take it at least part of its way towards its destination.

  This one was to go to Eleyne. She knelt before the coffer and nibbled thoughtfully at the feathered end of the quill. Dear Sweet Sister. That was a good start. For the sake of our long love for one another I must ask you one last favour.

  Get me out of here, that was the gist of it. She was desperate, a prisoner in all but name, destined never to see another man unless she counted the old priest who took their services and the bishop who came to scold mother abbess about the slackness of the house and its signs of wealth and comfort. Comfort! Isabella snorted to herself. This place was the nearest thing to hell she could imagine. Eleyne had to get her out; she had the entrée to King Henry’s court. Surely she could help.

  She bent again to the small circle of candlelight, scribbling laboriously, unused to handling a pen, watching in despair as the nib split and spat a fine shower of ink across the page.

  The low rumble in the distance sounded at first like thunder. She looked up, puzzled, then she frowned. The floor she knelt on had seemed to move under her. She dropped the pen and clutched at the coffer. The pewter candlestick rocked violently and fell over. It rolled to the edge of the coffer and fell to the ground. The candle had gone out and she saw that a faint daylight showed at the window.

  The sound of screams in the distance brought her to her feet. Scrabbling for the doorknob, she let herself out into the cold corridor as the whole world around her seemed to shake itself like a dog. Tiles cascaded from the roof of the cloister and in the distance there was a louder sound of falling masonry.

  Then it was over. As suddenly as it had begun, the tremor died away and left total silence.

  Isabella stood still, her heart thumping with fear, watching from the cloister as the other nuns streamed out of the chapel. Some were crying, some had been injured. She could see at least two with blood pouring from their heads; all were shocked. Without warning, as their voices were raised in the ethereal beauty of the plainsong of the morning office, the great rood screen had collapsed and huge chunks of masonry had fallen from the roof into the choir. The lovely rose window which had decorated the western wall had exploded into a million pieces. The abbess, her hands clasped, her face as white as her wimple, made her way from one trembling nun to the next, seeing how many were hurt. It was a miracle that no one had been killed.

  As Isabella joined the others, stooping over the injured to see if she could help, the abbess stopped and stared at her. ‘Where were you? Were you not in the chapel?’ Isabella’s fingers were covered in ink and she still clutched the broken quill in her right hand. There were spots of ink on her wimple and even on her face beneath the dust.

  ‘I was in my cell, writing, mother abbess.’ In her shock Isabella blurted out the truth. ‘What is it? What happened?’

  ‘I believe it was an earthquake.’ The abbess pursed her lips. ‘I have read of such things. They are a sign of God’s extreme displeasure; of his wish to punish the wicked and the backsliders.’ She wrung her hands. ‘Only yesterday I received another letter from the bishop warning me. He said we had fallen into sinful ways. He said we had strayed too far from the rule. He said we would be punished! He said God would not condone our ways. He said I must be stern and now we have been sent a sign.’ She dropped to her knees amongst the broken tiles and the glass and, sobbing, began to pray. Crossing themselves, the other nuns followed suit as the blood moon sank in the west and a pale watery sun began to climb out of the mist behind the chapel.

  That same day the nuns divested themselves of their comforts; they donned hair shirts, the servants were dismissed and the abbess announced that they would double the rigours of their Lenten fast. There would be no more fires, no extra blankets, no wine and no speaking. There would be no further contact with the lay community.

  Isabella, as frightened as the rest, put her unfinished letter to Eleyne on the great bonfire in the garth which consumed so many of their comforts. The food and blankets were given to the poor and the nuns turned back in earnest to their prayers. They had no way of knowing that their fear and their terror at God’s warning was being echoed up and down southern England and Wales; that the newly rebuilt tower of St David’s Cathedral had fallen, that King Henry III was ordering prayers throughout the land and that the end of the world was being predicted.

  II

  ROXBURGH February 247

  Alexander laughed. ‘So God has blasted London and rocked the English to their foundations! I trust Henry takes heed of the warning and spends the next year on his knees!’ He drew little Joanna on to his lap. ‘Have you had any news of your dower lands and property in the south? Has there been much damage?’

  Eleyne shrugged. She was watching the king play with her daughter.

  He glanced up. ‘I think you must find out, Eleyne.’ His expression was suddenly very sober.

  She met his gaze steadily and saw the sadness there with a sinking heart. ‘You are telling me that I must go?’

  He nodded. ‘Marie knows. I don’t know how we have kept your presence here a secret so long, but she has found out. I don’t want you exposed and humiliated before three nations.’

  They had not seen each other more than once a week, sometimes, when he was away, less than that. When they had met, they had not mentioned Marie, but her presence had always been there between them.

  ‘I don’t care about that!’ she cried.

  ‘I know you don’t, my love. But I do,’ he said gently. ‘Let me deal with Marie in my own way. I have to go to the west. I still plan to buy the Western Isles from Norway and settle once and for all the problems caused by the lords and their battle fleets. I must attend to the problems of the far corners of my kingdom and while I’m away you must go. I will call you back very soon.’

  Without his protection, her life would be worth nothing once he had left for the Western Isles. Marie had made that clear. It was not a risk he was prepared to take.

  She would not plead. She rose from her place on the cushions by the fire and took her daughter from him. ‘I can come back? You promise?’ She closed her eyes, waiting for his answer, determined that he would not see her devastating unhappiness.

  He smiled and the smile showed his pain more clearly than any tears could have done. ‘I promise,’ he said gently. He stood up and taking the little girl’s hand used her to draw her mother closer to him. Burying his face in the child’s stomach, he made the little girl giggle. He dropped a kiss into her fist, closed the chubby fingers over it and blew gently to seal the pledge, making her squeal with pleasure. Then he stepped away from her. ‘I have a gift for you – ’

  ‘I don’t want a gift!’ The sharpness of Eleyne’s tone revealed her hurt and her misery and she knew she sounded like a spoiled child.

  ‘You do.’ He grinned, suddenly cheerful. ‘I had it made specially. Look.’ He reached into the velvet scrip which hung from his belt and produced a packet. ‘Open it.’

  She put Joanna on the floor and took it from him. ‘I don’t want anything but your love,’ she repeated.

  ‘You have that. Always.’ He put his hand over hers. ‘But it is not always possible to have me, and this way you can have something of me with you. Our secret pledge. A link between
us, however far apart we find ourselves.’

  She raised her eyes to his and smiled. ‘But I will see you again?’ She needed his reassurance. Somewhere near them, out of sight, a shadow hovered over them. She felt it with a sudden shiver.

  ‘You will see me again. You have my most solemn promise.’

  She held his gaze then, reassured, she turned the small packet over in her hand and began to unwrap the covering. She could tell by its feel and weight that it was some kind of jewellery.

  A fine gold chain tumbled out over her fingers. Attached to it was a jewelled and enamelled pendant. She gasped. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Can you guess what it is?’ He waited while she examined it.

  ‘It’s like an eagle, an eagle rising from the fire.’

  ‘Not an eagle.’ He smiled. ‘A phoenix.’ He raised a finger to her face and gently touched the scars on her temple. ‘For my phoenix, who rose from the fire more beautiful than ever.’

  She gazed down at the jewel. The golden bird had tiny rubies for its eyes and the flames from which it sprang were brilliantly enamelled gold with lapis and ruby flames. ‘Did you know I was born in a fire?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Nothing surprises me about my Eleyne. It’s doubly right then. You are a child of the phoenix in every way. Wear it for me. It will bring us together, always. When you need me, hold it in your hand and think of me. I’ll know and, if I can, I’ll come.’ He smiled, then his face became serious. She could see the anguish in his eyes. ‘If we can’t have each other in this life, Eleyne, then beyond death you will be mine, I swear it. This is a symbol of my undying love through all eternity.’

  Again she felt the shadow hovering near, and with a prickle of something like fear at the overwhelming intensity of his love, she unfastened the chain and slipped it around her neck. ‘I will come back to Scotland. One day,’ she whispered. ‘We will be together one day, my love. I know it.’