‘You are talking about Einion Gweledydd. I warned you, Rhonwen!’ he sighed. ‘I told you not to do it.’
Eleyne looked from one to the other, confused. ‘Rhonwen?’
‘Take no notice,
‘And so I shall!’ Cenydd smiled at her fondly. ‘As soon as I return. I am summoned to Aber,’ he added to Rhonwen in a low voice. ‘There has been renewed fighting in the border march.’
‘And Gruffydd?’
‘He is still at Degannwy. Prince Llywelyn has sent Senena and the boys to join him there and he has kept Dafydd at his side.’
Rhonwen swore softly. ‘So, Dafydd consolidates his position! We have to do something to help Gruffydd – ’
‘Dafydd has a new embarrassment on his hands which could help.’ Cenydd smiled. ‘It seems that the prince has captured de Braose.’
Eleyne’s attention was caught by the name. ‘Isabella’s father?’
‘Exactly.’ Cenydd laughed out loud. ‘It will be interesting to see how the negotiators handle that one. I suspect Llywelyn still hankers after the de Braose alliance. It neutralises Sir William, for all he rides with the king at the moment, and with the marriage formalised Prince Llywelyn will have an ally in mid-Wales.’
‘What will happen to Gwladus now that Sir Reginald is dead?’ Eleyne asked suddenly. ‘Will she come home?’
‘She will marry again,
‘And she’ll want a younger man this time, I’ll warrant!’ Cenydd laughed quietly.
‘Then I shall pray for her sake she gets one. But we will not discuss that now.’ Rhonwen scowled at him.
‘Will they bring Sir William to Aber?’ Eleyne had missed the interchange. ‘I would love it if he came with Invictus.’
‘I don’t know, child,’ Rhonwen frowned again. ‘I doubt if they’ll bring him north. He will probably buy himself his freedom before we know it. We shall have to wait and see.’
VII
Einion had picked a deserted hermit’s cell in the woods behind Penmon.
Rhonwen dismounted, staring at the closed door of the stone-built shack. A haze of smoke was escaping through the holes in the turf roof. Eleyne remained in her saddle, her fingers firmly wound into Cadi’s mane. ‘You won’t leave me.’
‘I must if Einion orders it.’ Rhonwen approached the door and after a slight hesitation she knocked. For several moments nothing happened, then slowly it opened. Einion was wearing a long black mantle over his embroidered tunic. In the shadowy doorway it made him look wraithlike, almost invisible.
‘So, you are here. Where’s the child?’ He peered beyond Rhonwen into the trees where Eleyne waited. It was raining heavily, the raindrops drumming on the leaves, tearing them from the trees. The trunks glistened with moisture and the ground was a morass of mud beneath their horses’ hooves.
Eleyne dismounted. She was wrapped in a heavy woollen cloak against the rain, and it dragged on the ground as she walked unhappily towards him.
‘Good. You may come back for her at dusk.’
‘No.’ Eleyne turned and ran back to Rhonwen, clinging to her arm. ‘No, I want her to stay!’
The old man studied her. ‘Strange, I had not marked you for a coward, princess.’
‘I am not a coward!’ Stung, Eleyne straightened her shoulders.
‘Good. Then you will do well. Come in.’ He stood back, motioning her into the hut. As she stepped hesitantly into the darkness he glared over his shoulder at Rhonwen who hesitated in the rain. ‘Dusk!’ he said brusquely. ‘And not a moment sooner.’
Eleyne peered around the dim interior, her heart thumping with fear as he shut the door. As her eyes grew accustomed to the light, she saw the cell was empty save for a table placed against the wall. On it a rush light burned with a feeble flame. In the middle of the floor a small circular fire had been lit in the centre of a ring of stones. It smoked fitfully, and her eyes burned with the acrid smoke.
She glanced fearfully at Einion. In the faint light his tall figure cast a huge shadow on the wall as he moved slowly to the table and shuffled various small boxes around on it.
‘Sit down, child.’ He spoke softly now, his voice more gentle. ‘Don’t be afraid.’
She looked for something to sit on and saw nothing in the semidarkness save a folded blanket on the floor. After a moment’s hesitation she sat down on it, putting the fire between herself and the man who stood with his back to her. Straining her ears in the silence, she heard him taking the lid off something and the rattle of some object inside a box.
‘Listen.’ He held up his hand. ‘Tell me what you hear.’
Eleyne held her breath. The hut was full of sounds. The crackling and spitting of the fire as drops of water found their way through the roof, the rain outside on the trees, the heavy breathing of the man – but she could hear nothing else.
‘I can’t hear anything,’ she whispered.
‘Nothing?’ He swung round to face her. ‘Listen again.’
She swallowed. ‘There is the rain,’ she stammered, ‘and the fire.’
‘Good.’
‘And our breathing.’
‘Good. Listen now. And watch.’
He threw whatever he had in his hand into the fire. For a moment nothing happened, then there was a burst of clear bright flame and a hum from the burning wood.
Eleyne watched, enchanted. ‘A man told me once the burning logs remember the songs of birds,’ she whispered.
Einion smiled. ‘So they do. And more. Much more. Look. Look close into the flames. Tell me what you see.’
Kneeling up, she peered into the heart of the flames. The heat burned her face and her eyes grew sore. ‘Just the fire. The red centre of the fire.’
‘And now.’ He poured a scoop of some powdered herbs and another of juniper berries on to the logs. At once the fire died and threw off a bitter thick smoke. Eleyne shrank back, coughing, her eyes streaming. She was terrified.
‘There is mugwort and wormwood and yarrow to help you to see. And sandalwood from the east and cedar. Look, look hard.’ His voice was persistent. ‘Tell me what you see.’
‘I can’t see anything – ’
‘Look, look harder.’
‘It’s all black.’
‘Look.’
She stared as hard as she could, her eyes smarting. Now the heart of the fire was burning a deep clear red. She leaned forward, pushing her hair back from her hot face, then she reached out her hands.
‘Look,’ he whispered, ‘look.’
‘I can see -’ She hesitated. ‘I can see a sort of face…’
‘Yes!’ It was a hiss of triumph.
‘A man’s face, in the shadows.’
‘Whose face?’
‘I don’t know. It’s not clear.’ Suddenly she was crying. The picture was fading. Desperately she tried to hold it, screwing up her eyes. Her head was aching and she felt sick.
‘Enough.’ Walking over to her, he put a cool hand on her forehead. ‘Close your eyes. Let the pain go.’ He left his hand on her head for a few moments. She felt the pain lessen. Slowly she relaxed. When she opened her eyes, the pain had gone. He walked over to the door and threw it open, letting the cold woodland air into the hut.
