Child of the Phoenix

by Barbara Erskine

  Donald looked at his son, not daring to allow himself to hope. ‘What sort of deal?’ He turned away, trying to suppress his cough, aware of his son frowning.

  When he had recovered, Sandy went on. ‘He’s talking of allowing us home if we agree to help suppress the revolt – ’

  ‘Never!’ Donald interrupted.

  ‘Wait.’ Sandy put his finger to his lips. ‘The Scots lords are being asked to attempt – only attempt –’ he grinned – ‘to put down the revolt. So, if we fail, too bad. He also wants us to pledge to serve in the war against France. There’s a new campaign in Flanders, it seems.’ He lowered his voice even further. ‘Edward is under pressure, and he’s unsure of the future. He needs our co-operation. He needs our men.’

  Donald said thoughtfully, ‘It would be a way to get out of here.’

  Sandy nodded.

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘So I hear.’ Sandy reached forward and drew the mug of medication across the table. ‘You’d better drink this and get your strength back, papa. It could be you’ll need it sooner than you ever hoped.’

  II

  ‘No.’ Donald was staring at the king. ‘I will not return to Scotland without my son.’

  ‘Then you will not return to Scotland.’ Edward sat in his carved chair in the great chamber. ‘I need Sir Alexander here – as insurance.’ Edward’s smile was tight-lipped. ‘Just to make sure you abide by the conditions of your release.’

  ‘I have given you my word. That is enough!’ Donald glared at his wife’s cousin with open dislike.

  ‘I’m afraid it isn’t.’ The king’s tone was silky. ‘I shall require assurance from all the lords of Scotland before I release them. Once you have fulfilled your part of the bargain, your son will be returned to you.’

  Sandy’s face paled when Donald told him, but he forced himself to smile. ‘It doesn’t matter, papa. What is important is that you go as soon as possible. For mama’s sake as well as yours.’ He hugged his father and turned away quickly, so that Donald did not see the disappointment and despair in his eyes. ‘It won’t be for long. We’ll all be released in the end, you’ll see.’

  Not to smell again the cold fragrant air of the mountains; not to ride across the moors; not to hawk and hunt and laugh with his twin. He could feel himself weeping deep inside himself as he embraced his father and said his final farewells. Then he turned away. The sense of impending doom which swept over him was like a black cloud from which there would be no escape.

  III

  KILDRUMMY CASTLE

  Eleyne waited on tenterhooks; the castle was en fête, a banquet planned for the earl’s arrival. But there was no sign of him. She was in her solar looking out across the hills when Duncan came to find her. He and Gratney were both at Kildrummy with her.

  ‘I think I should ride south to meet him, mama,’ Duncan said. ‘He could have been delayed for any number of reasons.’ He shivered. For all its warmth and the band of sunshine thrown across the floor from the window, the room was cold and brooding. It was as though something lurked there, unseen. His mother must have noticed too. He saw her glance behind her as she came to kiss him. ‘I’ll hurry him up, never fear.’ He hugged her affectionately. ‘We can’t have him philandering in the borders while we plan a feast for him here!’

  Dismissing her attendants, Eleyne went later to sit on the grass bench in her garden. Wanting to be alone, she frowned and hesitated as she realised that someone else was already there until she saw that it was Kirsty. She sat down next to her daughter-in-law. For a long time neither of them spoke. Their silence was companionable. Around them the flowers were full of bees and butterflies and the warmth of the sunshine was soporific.

  It was Kirsty who spoke first. ‘Have you noticed something strange in the air?’ she asked. Her tone was diffident. ‘Something almost frightening, as though someone or something is watching us all.’ She snapped off a piece of lavender and rubbed it nervously between her fingers. In the clear sunlight of the garden where no shadows lurked, it seemed a foolish question.

  Eleyne closed her eyes. For a moment Kirsty thought she wasn’t going to answer. She watched a bee bumble amongst the flowering heads of the marjoram on the bank behind them.

  When her mother-in-law spoke at last, she was appalled by the pain in Eleyne’s voice. ‘There is someone here, and he doesn’t want Donald to come back.’

  ‘Who?’ It was a scandalised whisper.

  ‘You would never believe me if I told you.’

  ‘Why?’ Kirsty scanned Eleyne’s face. The woman was incredible; in her late seventies, she was still as active as someone half her age. The hair beneath her veil was, Kirsty knew, still predominantly the rich auburn of her youth, streaked with bands of silver. Her eyes were as sharp as ever, her mind agile and acute. Only her body now betrayed a certain stiffness which Eleyne went to great pains to deny. She looked at Eleyne’s face. The high cheekbones, the fair skin, so finely networked with the thousand lines of old age, were still beautiful and still proud. And suddenly Kirsty didn’t want to know the answer to her question. It was too ridiculous, the sudden conviction that her mother-in-law, a woman of nearly eighty, had a lover.

  His presence was everywhere – in the solar, in the bedchamber, in the stables and the stores, in the great hall and even in the chapel with its triple lancet window, where she would go sometimes to sit alone in the cool parti-coloured light. And Kirsty was not the only person to have sensed it; on more than one occasion she had seen people shiver and look over their shoulders as the brooding cloud which seemed to hang over Kildrummy deepened.

  Eleyne was torn; half of her wanted to hide from him, to send him away, to exorcise him from her life so she could welcome Donald back with uncomplicated and unreserved love; the other half, the treacherous side of her, wanted to give in, to stop fighting him, to welcome to her bed a lover who saw her still as a young woman and who coaxed from her body the responses of a young woman.

  ‘Have you heard from Robert?’ It was Eleyne who changed the subject.

  Kirsty shook her head sadly. ‘Not lately. He’s still devastated. He won’t even talk about Isabella. He spends all his time with his friends, plotting and scheming. I suppose that is something: that he commits himself more and more to Scotland’s cause.’ She smiled the indulgent smile of an elder sister. ‘He adores Marjorie, though, so he’ll always come back to us, to visit her. He spoils her terribly.’ Robert had left Marjorie at Kildrummy to be brought up by his sister.

  There was a long silence. When she looked at Eleyne there was a defensive expression on her face. ‘You never ask why Gratney and I have no children yet.’

  Eleyne sighed wearily. ‘I have learned to mistrust my visions of the future, but I am certain all will be well for you. There is no hurry. When God wills it, you will have a baby.’

  God.

  Did she no longer believe then in the gods of her native hills?

  Kirsty was frowning. ‘I hope so, but at the same time I’m afraid. Poor Isabella. It was so terrible for her …’ Her voice trailed away.

  Eleyne took her hand. ‘Isabella didn’t die in childbirth, Kirsty. Whatever unkind fate killed her, it could not have been that. There is nothing to be afraid of, child. Look at me. I have borne eleven children and survived to an irascible old age.’ Apart from her two babies – Alexander’s babies, taken from her by the jealous gods – all her children had lived to grow up. Was she greedy to wish for more? Her children had lived to grow up, but she had seen too many deaths, too soon. Her eldest son, Colban, and his son and grandson. And Isabella. Her eyes filled with tears as she thought again about her beautiful daughter and she turned her head away sharply so that Kirsty could not see.

  IV

  SLAINS CASTLE, BUCHAN

  Morna regarded her daughter in horror. The girl had spoken very softly, her voice lost in the crash of the sea on the cliffs around the lonely castle on its wild shore, but what she had said was devastating.

  Isobel of
Fife, married now to her childhood betrothed, the Earl of Buchan, was rebellious, unhappy, untamable. The fact that there was no child of this disastrous, incompatible marriage was no accident, it seemed. ‘Years ago, mama, I promised Iseabail there would be no baby.’ The soft Gaelic name was a musical whisper on her lips. ‘I have taught her everything I know, everything you taught me –’ The girl smiled her shy, wide-eyed smile. ‘My lady has vowed never to bear Lord Buchan a child. Never.’ She looked behind her into the shadowy corners of the room. ‘And she will stay barren or die.’

  Morna closed her eyes in horror. ‘Why have you never told me this before?’ It was her first visit to her daughter in all the years Mairi had been with Isobel.

  ‘Iseabail made me swear not to. She is terribly afraid.’ Mairi stepped closer to her mother. ‘There are other things, terrible things, things I cannot tell you.’

  But Morna, when she had seen the beautiful face of the Countess of Buchan bruised from her husband’s fist, had already guessed that she had heard only part of the story. She could read it in Isobel’s eyes: the young Countess of Buchan had a lover. And if her husband found out, he would kill her.

  V

  KILDRUMMY CASTLE July

  The parched earth sucked up the rain greedily, filling the air with its rich warm scent, and in her bedchamber Eleyne sat at the window watching it grow dark.

  ‘Shall I light the candles, my lady?’ Bethoc was moving with her slow stooped gait around the room, tidying away Eleyne’s clothes. In her seventies herself now, Bethoc refused resolutely to retire, and Eleyne was glad of her companionship. So many of her old friends and servants had gone, it was good to have someone who remembered the past.

  Morna was with her, seated at the table. There was no sewing, no spinning in her hands. For once she sat unmoving, her fingers idle. Morna too was growing older. In her late sixties now, her hair was snow-white beneath her veil.

  ‘I don’t want lights yet. They will bring in the moths. I’ll call one of the pages when we’re ready.’ She smiled indulgently as the old woman shuffled out of the room and closed the door behind her. With her creaking joints, her swollen legs and her endless quiet grumbling, Bethoc was the only person at Kildrummy who made Eleyne feel she was still comparatively young.

  ‘I’m sorry to bring you such news, but you had to know.’ Morna had waited until Bethoc had gone, then as Eleyne sat opposite her friend at the table she had begun to talk. She shook her head sadly as Eleyne sharply drew in her breath. ‘Lady Isobel has no one to turn to but Mairi and now you.’

  Eleyne, sitting with her elbows on the table, put her face in her hands. ‘Blessed Lady! How could I not have known how unhappy she was? I must ride and see her.’

  ‘She will be with the earl at Stirling by now. They were leaving as I set off home. But I haven’t told you everything yet. There were things Mairi would not tell even me, so I’m guessing.’ Morna hesitated. ‘I think Lady Buchan has a lover.’

  Eleyne looked up quickly. ‘And does her husband suspect this too?’

  Morna shrugged. ‘Mairi is too loyal to her mistress to discuss such things, even with me. She is protective, like a mother hen.’ She smiled indulgently. ‘You made a good decision when you sent her to take care of your great-grand-daughter.’

  Eleyne nodded. ‘I love the child. And for her father’s sake and her grandfather’s I wanted to watch over her. Her mother never cared. I can’t forgive that woman for leaving for England the way she did, abandoning one child while she took the other with her.’ It was the cause of some resentment in Scotland that the young earl was being brought up as an Englishman.

  ‘Lady Buchan is a brave lass; spirited, beautiful.’ Morna smiled. She had fallen completely under the spell of Isobel’s charm. ‘Mairi will take care of her as far as she can, but if Lord Buchan finds out …’ The two women were silent as they contemplated the earl’s fury if he should discover that his wife was unfaithful. ‘I think it would be a good thing if you could speak to her. Let her know she’s not alone. Tell her to be careful.’

  Silence fell on the room again. Suddenly Morna wondered if Eleyne were listening. Her attention had been withdrawn; she seemed to be hearing something far away. Her eyes were fixed blankly on the far wall of the room. Morna studied her expression, puzzled. It wasn’t the first time she had seen that look on Eleyne’s face, that strange luminous quality which shone from her eyes.

  Into the silence of the room came the distant sound of a horn, but Eleyne did not seem to hear it. She was half smiling, a thousand miles away.

  Outside the rain fell in a heavy curtain; the sound of it filled the air and in the empty hearth a succession of stray raindrops hit the flags.

  Morna pulled her shawl around her, then she gave a little cry of fright as a cold wind swept through the open window. A rolled parchment on the far end of the table fell to the floor. It was suddenly very dark.

  Eleyne felt her heart pounding uncomfortably in her chest.

  Go away. The words were unspoken, but it seemed to her that she had screamed them out loud.

  ‘Please, go away.’ This time the whisper was audible and Morna’s eyes became enormous.

  ‘Who are you talking to?’

  But even as she spoke she knew.

  The tall, broad-shouldered figure standing immediately behind Eleyne was so indistinct he was scarcely more than a shadow, but she could see him clearly enough to make out the flaming hair and the beard, and the intense expression as he looked down at the woman seated in front of him.

  From the gatehouse came the sound of the watchman’s horn again, strangely muted by the rain. Neither woman heard it. Morna held her breath. The spirit, if that is what he was, seemed oblivious of her presence. His eyes were fixed on Eleyne as though trying to will her to turn round and face him.

  Eleyne had not moved; she seemed frozen to the spot and her fists were clenched.

  Morna reached out towards the flint and steel which lay on the empty table at the foot of the candlestick. As her hand inched towards them, her eyes were fixed on the figure behind Eleyne. He had leaned forward slightly now and put his hands on her shoulders, a touch so light she showed no sign of feeling it.

  The flint was in her hand. Slowly Morna raised her fists and brought it down on the steel with a snap. The spark flew into the box of tinder and in a second a spiral of blue smoke was rising and a small clear flame showed itself in her cupped hands.

  She glanced up.

  The figure had gone.

  Standing up, she put the flame to the candles, watching Eleyne’s face illuminated by the steadily growing circle of light.

  ‘He must love you very much,’ she said quietly.

  Eleyne seemed to accept that Morna had seen him. ‘I am a lucky woman. To have had two men love me is a great honour, I suppose.’

  ‘Even though they are now rivals for you?’ Morna walked around the table and put her hand on Eleyne’s shoulder where the shadow hand had been. ‘To choose a dead man would be to deny life,’ she said softly.

  ‘I know.’ Stiffly Eleyne rose and walked to a coffer on the far side of the room. She brought out a small casket and found what she wanted. ‘I don’t know how this got here.’ She put the flashing jewel on the table. ‘I had hidden it in the chapel.’

  Morna looked at it without touching it. ‘The phoenix.’

  Eleyne picked it up by the chain and held it so that it swung in the candlelight. The bird’s ruby eyes and fiery feathers gleamed and rippled. ‘I have tried again and again to be rid of it, but always it returns. But if Donald is to come home it must go.’ For a long moment she stared at it, then she turned to Morna. ‘Come with me.’

  The sentry on guard at the postern gate stared after the two women as they walked out into the wet night. Within seconds they were lost to sight. The steps which led down into the back den were steep and rough beneath their feet. In the total darkness, Eleyne felt her ankle turn and she gave a gasp of pain, but she forced herself to
go on.

  ‘It’s only a few steps further. Here, where the burn goes over the waterfall, before it gets all marshy.’ She strained her eyes and gave a false laugh, strangely loud in the silence. ‘I must get them to cut back the scrub here. If ever we should be attacked, our enemies could come up the burn here and get too close to the walls.’

  Morna, who could see in the dark as well as a cat, was following her, sure-footed. ‘Kildrummy will never be attacked. The very idea! Here, in the heartland of Mar?’

  ‘I had to entertain an enemy here, in the heartland of Mar, Morna,’ Eleyne reminded her sharply. ‘If Edward can come in peace, he can come in war.’

  ‘You think he will return?’ Morna could feel the hairs on the nape of her neck stirring.

  ‘Who knows?’ Eleyne’s voice was non-committal. ‘But if he ever did, I would be ready for him.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ Morna stopped to catch her breath.

  ‘Not much further. Here, look, see how the burn tumbles over the rocks?’ Eleyne had stopped on the edge of the water. Below, it disappeared into the darkness, falling into the bottom fo the shallow marshy gorge. At its foot the water was deep.

  Eleyne stood for a moment looking down. She could see nothing. The sound of the water filled her ears. For a long time she did not move, forgetting completely her companion, who stood out of sight in the darkness near her. Then slowly she raised her hand. In it the jewelled pendant gleamed as though it had a light of its own.

  Release me. Leave me for Donald.

  The words were not spoken out loud, but they rang inside her head as she raised her arm and threw the phoenix as hard as she could out over the small waterfall. She smiled grimly to herself. ‘So. Water extinguishes the fire at last. My gift to the gods once more. I hope now they are satisfied.’