Child of the Phoenix

‘Eleyne. At last. How are you, little sister?’

Eleyne stared. Her handsome, red-haired brother was a travesty of his former self: he had grown very fat and he was balding.

‘For pity’s sake, Gruffydd, what have they done to you?’ She threw herself into his arms.

‘The old stomach, you mean? That’ll soon go, girl, when I’m free. You’ll see. Senena called me fifty different names last time she came to see me.’ His face saddened. ‘God, how I miss them! But I’m glad they’ve gone. It was no life for them here. Have you seen her and the boys?’

Owain was still with him in captivity; the others were with Senena at Criccieth.

‘It’s no place for anyone here!’ Eleyne retorted. ‘No, I haven’t seen them. I haven’t been back to Gwynedd since papa died.’

‘So you haven’t seen our beloved brother then?’ Gruffydd’s voice was harsh.

‘No, I’ve not seen anyone.’

Rhonwen had retreated to sit on the window seat which was furnished with cushions; there were hangings on the walls, a table, benches and stools and a chair near the fire. On the table amongst the candlesticks she could see all the paraphernalia for passing the time: a game of chess, abandoned halfway through; parchment and pens, books, a little leather box of dice and several empty wine goblets.

‘Gruffydd, how could you stay here? What has happened to you? How can you live without riding and laughing and fighting?’

‘I have no choice.’ He put his arm around her. ‘I live here because I’m a prisoner, little sister. You know that as well as I do, and you know why. Because of the treachery of our brother!’ His voice was full of bitterness. ‘But we don’t want to talk about me. Tell me about yourself. Why aren’t you in Scotland?’

‘Alexander doesn’t want me any more. I bore him two sons, Gruffydd, and they both died. What use am I to him?’ Her voice was husky and she turned away.

He frowned. ‘I thought he loved you, cariad.’ He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her back to face him. ‘He has a wife to breed for him. He wanted you for love, did he not?’ He was looking into her face with enormous compassion. ‘Have you not seen him at all?’

She shook her head wordlessly.

He had sent messages and gifts, but she had been too sunk in misery to acknowledge them when he did not come himself. She wanted him, not gifts. Two weeks after little John’s burial she had left Loch Leven Castle and begun the long ride south. He had sent no one to stop her.

She had ridden back to England in a daze, unaware of the countryside around her, her face swathed in a black veil. When she reached Fotheringhay she had gone to her bedchamber and begun her mourning for her children and for her love.

It had never occurred to her that Robert might appear at Fotheringhay, and he had not done so, for which she thanked the gods nightly. She did not wonder where he was or who kept him away, it was enough that he did not come. Comforted by her dog and her horses and by the quiet beauty of the countryside, she had recovered. She rode and walked and once more took up the reins of running what estates were left to her as dower lands.

Alexander sent her more gifts and letters there, but she had never replied. He had not come himself, he had left her to mourn alone. Her pride would not allow her to beg him to come, and now it was too late. However much she longed to throw herself into his arms, she couldn’t rid herself of the lump of ice which seemed to fill her heart; the thought of her tiny John, lying so still and white in his royal cradle, devastated her every time she let herself think about Scotland and Scotland’s king.

There had been no word of Robert until that night when she had been on a visit to London to see Luned and her brood of noisy, happy children when she had received the letter from him saying that he had interceded for her with King Henry so that she could visit Gruffydd, something Henry had steadfastly refused to allow before.

‘Have you written to Alexander? Or sent him a message?’ Gruffydd persisted gently.

‘If he wants me he knows where to find me.’

‘Perhaps he is waiting to see if you want him?’

She considered the idea, then she smiled. ‘I don’t think so. He has a wife now to keep him amused.’ She broke away from Gruffydd and walked across to the table. She studied the chessboard, then she picked up one of the carved ivory pieces and moved it thoughtfully. ‘We are a pair of miserable fools, aren’t we?’ she said slowly.

‘Looks like it.’ He grinned.

‘I, at least, have an excuse,’ she went on. ‘You do not. Look at the state you are in, Gruffydd. How could you allow yourself to become such a passive victim? How can you stand by and watch Henry inherit Gwynedd if Isabella never gives Dafydd a son? Don’t you care about your inheritance any more? Doesn’t Owain? Don’t you owe it to him? And to Llywelyn and Rhodri and Dafydd to get out of here?’ Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘Don’t do that to them, Gruffydd. You seem to have few guards. If I had been you, I would have long since escaped. Or do you really like this fat living?’ She tapped his stomach so sharply he winced. ‘I’m surprised at you, brother, I thought you were made of sterner stuff. Wales needs you there, not mouldering away in London!’

He flushed angrily. ‘What am I supposed to do? They keep the doors locked and bolted and didn’t you notice that there are guards? This is the king’s fortress, Eleyne! I’m not here for my health. I’m a prisoner of state!’

‘There are no bars on the window. Go that way!’ she retorted. ‘Think of something! Other people have escaped from the Tower. The boys won’t even remember their father at this rate.’ She sat down crossly on one of the carved stools.

He smiled. ‘Same old Eleyne. Still a firebrand.’

‘No, not any more. I just live in the country with my horses and my dogs like a sturdy yeoman.’

Gruffydd laughed out loud. ‘My yeoman sister! And she dares to criticise me for growing fat!’

‘I am criticising you for giving up.’

‘And what have you done, Eleyne?’ He was goaded into retaliation. ‘You have resigned yourself to living alone, leaving your lover to his shrewish wife! You take no part in politics. You have not even been sufficiently interested in what Dafydd is doing to visit him since he inherited my lands.’ He had grown red with anger.

Through the window they could hear the ravens croaking far below in the courtyard, as they fluttered over the carcass of a dead dog. In their cages nearby two leopards prowled restlessly as they smelled the blood. Rhonwen was studying her fingernails as brother and sister faced each other with sudden hostility.

‘I have no lover,’ she whispered at last.

‘Did he say that?’

‘No, but – ’

‘Eleyne, go to him.’ He sat down and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. ‘I’ll make a pact with you – I’ll try if you’ll try. I’ll wager a hundred pounds that I can be eating my dinner at Criccieth with Senena before you sit on your lover’s knee at Roxburgh.’

She smiled. ‘I don’t have a hundred pounds, Gruffydd.’

‘Nor do I. Sixpence, then, sixpence and a kiss.’

He waited, watching her face, trying to read her thoughts as she stared into the fire.

It had been so long since she had allowed herself any hope; so long since she had allowed herself to think about Alexander at all without the tiny pale figures of her babies coming between them, but now, as she sat in Gruffydd’s chamber in the Tower, she felt a glimmer of optimism.

Gruffydd saw it and smiled. ‘We’re fighters, you and I, and we’ve both forgotten it,’ he said softly.

In the window embrasure Rhonwen listened intently. Gruffydd was succeeding where she had failed. She held her breath, not daring to move lest she break their mood.

‘I suppose it would do no harm to ride north and see.’ Eleyne’s heart had begun to beat rapidly.

‘No harm at all.’ He nodded vigorously. ‘And we must both set off on our journeys within the week. That is part of the wager. By God, Eleyne, you’re good for me. You’re right, I have accepted captivity like a capon waiting for the cook. I’ll go! I’ll go back to Wales and fight for what is mine.’ He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, then he hugged her so tightly she gasped for breath. ‘We won’t meet again here in London.’ He held her at arm’s length, suddenly serious. ‘God bless you, little sister, and keep you safe and happy.’

‘And you, brother.’ Eleyne kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’ll come again to Wales and bring you the King of Scotland’s greetings.’

‘Done!’ Gruffydd spat on his palm and smacked it against hers.