‘And the scars?’ Her voice was husky.
‘The scars will heal.’
‘I can’t see them, I have no mirror.’ She looked at him pleadingly.
‘Then I shall be your mirror.’ He smiled. ‘See, they don’t upset me at all, except that they hurt you.’ He put his hand over hers and saw her flinch. ‘Was it the pictures again? Our baby’s future in the flames?’
She shrugged. ‘It was the man on the horse. Not you. Someone else. I wanted to touch him, to make him turn so I could see his face.’ She pulled the veil back over her head. ‘I wanted to see if it was my son.’ The tears began to trickle down her cheeks again.
He stood up and walked to the window. ‘Does de Quincy know it isn’t his?’
‘Yes.’
There was a long silence. ‘How long did he intend to leave you here?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps forever.’
The king stayed four days and they were happy days. They walked around the island, they lay together on the bed and he kissed her belly and her breasts and, again, her poor sore face and hands. But when it was time to go he left her there. ‘The castle is in my custody now. You shall have food and wine and servants and guards to keep you safe from de Quincy and his men.’ He paused. ‘It is safer for you here, Eleyne.’
An image of the queen arose unacknowledged between them and she nodded. ‘I don’t want to leave, not now. Not until the baby is born and my face is better.’
To allay her fears, he had sent for a Venetian glass mirror and she spent hours staring at her face, tiptoeing with her fingers around the scars. She wept and Annie had scolded her. ‘They’ll go, I promise. See the ointment I’ve made? It softens the skin and soothes it. It will get better.’
XV
Lord Fife brought Rhonwen back three days after the king left. He brought Eleyne gifts too: lengths of rich silk; ivory combs for her hair as it grew back and a small book of hours. He kissed her hands and left.
Eight weeks later her baby was born. Rhonwen, Janet and Annie attended her and her labour was quick and easy. A priest, brought over from Kinross, baptised the baby John.
He lived only seven hours.
BOOK THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I
The house in Gracechurch Street was very dark. Outside, the sky was black; thunder echoed across the narrow court and the rain poured down, splashing into the puddles and racing down the central gutter carrying a tide of rubbish with it. Though it was noon, the house was lit by candles.
Robert de Quincy was standing by the table. In his hand was a document which bore the seal of the King of England.
Eleyne, standing by the fireplace, was staring at it, but she had made no move to take it.
Robert laid it on the table. ‘There you are. As I promised. The king’s permission to visit your brother Gruffydd in the Tower.’
‘Thank you.’
Her hair had grown back with silver streaks amongst the red-gold, even though she was only twenty-six years old, but her curls were as rampant as ever. Her face was still beautiful; there were scars on her forehead partially concealed by her head-dress, another at the corner of her mouth; one hand was badly marked with tight shiny red scars across the back of her knuckles.
This was only the second time he had seen her in three years. King Henry had made it clear Robert was not to go to Fotheringhay; he had not asked what Henry knew or where the pressure came from to leave Eleyne alone. For a long time he had gone in terror of his life, then, slowly, the fear had receded and he had stopped gazing over his shoulder, expecting a dirk in his back. He had come now to the dowager Countess of Chester’s town house by invitation, to deliver the king’s letter, and at least until he had actually confronted Eleyne at last he had regained something of his old swagger. Now, looking at her cold face, he was not quite so confident.
‘Are you well?’ He smiled tentatively.
‘Yes.’
‘I’d better leave.’ He had come as a messenger, to test the water, thinking to win her favour by arranging for her to see Gruffydd. Her face was not encouraging, as she walked over to the table and picked up the document.
‘Eleyne – ’
‘Please go now.’ Her voice was colourless. She folded her arms, holding the letter across her chest tightly, like a shield.
He shrugged and walking towards the door he opened it, then he hesitated. He turned. ‘Greet your brother from me.’
She made no response. For a long time after he had gone she did not move.
II
Either by accident or design the date of the visit to the Tower had been arranged for St David’s Day. Eleyne and Rhonwen found Gruffydd housed in some comfort in one of the private apartments in the White Tower. He waited until the guard had withdrawn before he spoke.
