touched her breasts gently and closed her eyes. Two days before she had vowed her most beautiful necklace to the shrine at Holywell if she should conceive. Surely the Virgin would help her tonight.
But that night Dafydd was worse. He was contorted with pain and now he had developed a fever. Isabella was suddenly afraid. ‘What is it?’ She looked at the ring of learned doctors around the bed. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
Ednyfed was standing near her, his face set with worry. ‘There’s a hard swelling in the belly,’ he said softly. ‘The doctors fear there’s some kind of obstruction.’ He glanced at the huddle of physicians who were examining samples of Dafydd’s urine, holding up their flasks to the candlelight.
‘He’s not going to die?’ she cried, her voice sliding out of a whisper in her panic.
Ednyfed frowned at her sharply. ‘Of course he’s not going to die!’
‘But you sent for the priest to give him the last rites?’ She had only just noticed the man kneeling in the corner. She had begun to shake violently. ‘Dafydd! Dafydd
He opened his eyes with an effort. ‘Too much wine and good living, sweetheart, that’s all. I’ll soon be better.’ He reached out for her hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be as right as rain tomorrow, you’ll see. Then we’ll celebrate, eh?’ He managed the ghost of a grin.
She nodded, biting her lip, and she squeezed his fingers.
Soon after that he drifted into an uneasy sleep, but later he awoke, contorted in agony, clutching at her hand. This time he was delirious. He did not know her.
As the grey February daylight began to lighten the chamber he lay still at last and opened his eyes. He gave her the ghost of a smile. ‘The pain has gone,’ he said wonderingly. ‘The Blessed Virgin be thanked, the pain has gone.’
‘Thank God.’ She had not moved from his side all night. She bent and kissed his forehead.
‘Drink this, my lord.’ One of the physicians stepped forward with a phial of medicine. Dafydd sipped it with a grimace then lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes.
Two hours later he was dead.
‘No,’ Isabella cried in disbelief. ‘He was better. No, he’s not dead, he’s asleep.’
‘Princess -’ Ednyfed had tears running down his face.
‘No.’ She went on shaking her head. ‘He’s asleep.’
‘Princess – ’
‘He’s asleep I tell you!’ She threw herself on the bed, and clutched at his hands. ‘He’ll wake up. He was better. He’s not dead. He’s not.’ She pulled at him frantically and his head rolled sideways on the pillow. A little mucus trickled from the side of his mouth and his eyes opened. ‘Dafydd! Dafydd! You see? He’s alive! I told you he was alive.’ Suddenly she was sobbing, her whole body shaking with the strength of her weeping.
It was a long time before they could persuade her to leave the stiffening body and half carry, half drag her to a hastily prepared chamber on the far side of the
X
Eleyne was playing with her little daughter when word came of her brother’s death. She read the letter twice and sat gazing into space, the letter dangling from nerveless fingers. Joanna crawled towards her, reaching for the red wax seal on its ribbon.
Eleyne was numb; she had loved both her brothers and now she had lost them both. She had not seen Dafydd for a long time and she had often disagreed with him violently, but that did not mean she was any less devastated. Her eyes filled with tears and little Joanna, her small fists knotted into Eleyne’s gown, stared up with solemn eyes at her mother’s face. Eleyne stooped to pick the child up with a sad smile, and Joanna stabbed a chubby finger at Eleyne’s cheek. Eleyne hugged her, knocking the letter to the floor and, burying her face in Joanna’s curls, she began to sob.
Nesta wrote to Rhonwen, and Rhonwen came.
‘So Owain Goch is prince now.’ Rhonwen cuddled Joanna and tucked a sweetmeat into the child’s mouth. ‘Gruffydd is avenged.’
‘Rhonwen.’ Eleyne was reproachful.
‘Well? You should be pleased too! I only hope young Llywelyn will be prepared to support his brother. He has no respect for Owain at all; he’s much the stronger character! And you,
Eleyne frowned. ‘Alexander sent no messages – ’
‘Of course not. No doubt Queen Marie has told him you are lying every night in your husband’s arms. So, you never intend to see him again?’ Rhonwen carried Joanna over to the door.
‘Of course I do…’
‘Then what are you waiting for? Your husband’s permission?’ Her tone was acidic. She handed the child to a nurse and walked back to Eleyne. ‘You still have a child to bear for Scotland,
‘That’s not true, Einion was wrong.’
‘He was never wrong.’ Rhonwen’s face had become deeply lined over the last months and there was a permanent frown between her eyes. ‘You have a darling child there, but she is not the child the gods have promised you.’ She paused. ‘You must not let her father touch you again.’
‘No.’ Eleyne was watching the nurse carry Joanna from the room.
‘He would be better dead.’ Rhonwen’s voice was very soft.
There was a long pause. ‘Yes.’ Eleyne bit her lip.
Rhonwen gave a quick triumphant smile. ‘I’m glad you agree.’
Eleyne swung round. ‘I will not have him killed.’
‘Why not?’
‘I – am – his – wife.’ The words were scarcely audible.
‘No.’ Rhonwen shook her head. ‘You were forced to make vows that meant nothing, before a god who cares nothing!’ She put her hands over Eleyne’s wrists. ‘And you hate him!’
‘Yes, I hate him.’ Eleyne’s eyes flashed. She snatched her hands away. ‘But I will not be responsible for his death.’ She moved away from Rhonwen. ‘I didn’t go to Scotland because I won’t crawl to Alexander. If he wants me he must send for me.’ She straightened her shoulders.
Rhonwen smiled. ‘I am sure he will,
XI
Philip de Bret, Constable of Dyserth Castle, bowed gravely to the cleric who stood before him. He glanced at Isabella. ‘The Princess of Aberffraw has been a most welcome guest here, my lord abbot.’
