Eleyne took a deep breath. ‘I want to ride Invictus. Oh please, I know I could.’ She caught his hand and looked up at him, her large green eyes pleading. He was the tallest man she had ever seen, his handsome features framed by wavy chestnut hair, darkened by the rain. His eyes, narrowed in the lantern light, were warm, alight with amusement.
He laughed. ‘Why not? Tomorrow, princess, if the ground has dried a little, you shall take him for a gallop, if you dare. See to it, Thomas.’
‘But, sir -’ Thomas looked far from happy. ‘The Lady Rhonwen would never let her – ’
‘Then we won’t tell the Lady Rhonwen.’ Sir William glared at him impatiently. ‘This child has the heart of a boy, let her enjoy herself while she can. Would that I had a son with half as much courage!’
Thomas watched him thoughtfully as he strode away. ‘Would that he had a son at all,’ he said softly. ‘Four girls, poor man. That bodes ill for the succession to the lordship. Still, there’s time yet, God willing.’
‘My brother will be his son if Bella marries him,’ Eleyne said. She felt, inexplicably, that she had to provide some words of comfort.
‘Aye, God help us all, for the Welsh alliance will only lead to trouble. It always does.’ Thomas frowned, then he shook his head. ‘Forget I said that, little one.’ He began to walk slowly back towards his quarters at the end of the stable lines.
Eleyne followed him. ‘When can I ride Invictus?’
‘When you can escape the Lady Rhonwen. Don’t you come to me with her in tow.’ He gave an exaggerated shudder. Ducking inside he pulled off the sack he had draped over his shoulders against the rain and threw it into the corner. The other grooms and stable hands who shared the room were absent: probably playing knucklebones in the kitchens, he thought with a chuckle. Well and good, he’d have some peace for once. A small fire burned in one corner. Throwing on a branch, he held out his hands to the warmth with a groan of pleasure.
Eleyne had followed him in. She stood warily, staring at the flames. ‘If I came early. At first light. Will that be all right?’ She did not think that Rhonwen was going to be a problem.
‘Whatever you want. Just so long as you come alone.’ He studied her in the flickering light of the flames. She was a tall, thin child, with a fair complexion and deep red-gold hair – so unlike her sister it was hard to think they came from the same parents. He frowned. Lady de Braose – Gwladus Ddu – Black Gwladus – was the crow amongst the golden brood of Llywelyn ap Iorwerth of Gwynedd. He saw Eleyne shiver and he said, ‘Here, come close to the fire and get yourself warm, then you must go.’
Eleyne stayed where she was, but held out her hands to the heat, staring at the fire. ‘Do you ever see pictures in the flames, Thomas?’
‘Of course. Everyone does.’ He grinned. ‘And if you listen to a fire, you’ll hear the logs singing. Can you hear them? Listen.’ He held up his hand. ‘Trees memorise the song of every bird that sings in their branches,’ he went on thoughtfully. ‘When the wood is burned it remembers the songs and sings them in turn as it dies.’ He rubbed his gnarled hands together.
Eleyne’s eyes widened. ‘That’s beautiful. But so sad -’ She drew a step nearer the flames. ‘I can see a house. Look! With flames licking out of its windows and up its walls -’ She was gazing unblinking into its depths.
Thomas gave a superstitious shiver. ‘Enough of that, my girl. Of course there are flames. You’re looking at a fire! Off you go now, and get some sleep. If you’re tired you won’t have the strength to hold that horse when you do ride him.’
Eleyne tore her eyes away from the fire with an effort. ‘I shan’t have to hold him,’ she said after a moment’s dreamy silence. ‘I’ll whisper to him and he’ll do whatever I want!’
Thomas stood deep in thought for a long time after she had gone, a frown on his face. At last he shrugged. He kicked the door closed and settled down beside the fire with a sigh. With a bit of luck he’d get some sleep before the others came back with their winnings.
V
Horses had been part of Eleyne’s life ever since she could remember, and Rhonwen, who in all other matters was strict and even overprotective, never interfered unduly with her when she was in the stables. Horses adored the child; they trusted her; the stout Welsh ponies at her father’s court, the finer palfreys, the great warhorses, let her climb all over them.
‘Let her be.’ Einion Gweledydd had watched her from a distance and nodded his approval. ‘She has the hand of Epona. The animals sense it. They will never hurt her.’
The old man, one of the most revered bards at Llywelyn’s court, was one of those few survivors who, though he paid grudging lip service to the Christian church, in secret embraced the ancient beliefs which existed still in pockets in the mountains and forests of Britain. As a child Rhonwen had been taken to him by her fey, aristocratic mother and given to the great goddess. The rest of the family had disowned mother and child when they found out and later the heartbroken mother had died. Rhonwen was brought up by Llywelyn’s beautiful lady, Tangwystl, his eldest son Gruffydd’s mother. But Rhonwen had always remembered her destiny and remained faithful to her goddess – and obedient to Einion.
It was Einion who secretly supervised Eleyne’s education, although he never went near her himself. Ostensibly it was Rhonwen who taught her everything she knew. How to read and write in Welsh and French and English; how to count; how to sew and weave and how to sing and play the harp; and it was Rhonwen who told her the stories of her father’s principality, of the ancient kingdoms of Wales and the old gods and heroes who walked their mountains and forests. The child was bright and eager and learned quickly. Her father and Einion were both satisfied.
Princess Joan, Llywelyn’s wife, who had in many eyes usurped the position of Tangwystl, and whose son Dafydd was destined to take Gruffydd’s place as his father’s heir, showed no interest in Eleyne, her youngest child. The rest of her brood were grown; her maternal feelings had been exhausted by them. It was left to Llywelyn to show Eleyne parental affection and this he did often. He adored her. The fact that he had married her as a two- year-old baby to the heir of his powerful neighbour, the Earl of Chester, a young man who was also heir presumptive to the King of Scots, was almost forgotten. She would not go to her husband until she was fourteen. Until then she was his daughter and his delight.
Both the Prince of Aberffraw and Eleyne’s distant husband were happy to leave the child in Rhonwen’s care. She was competent and she was dedicated. Joan had been less happy with the choice of Rhonwen when she found out the young woman’s background, but she was quiet and she was dutiful and Joan had better things to think about. After a while she put her objections to Rhonwen out of her mind, although she never bothered to hide her dislike. Had she known Rhonwen’s feelings towards her and the nurse’s passionate attachment to Tangwystl’s son and the native Welsh cause, she would have been far more concerned. As both she and her husband would have been had they known that Rhonwen was still a follower of the ancient faith and that she and Einion Gweledydd had marked Eleyne for their own.
VI
Eleyne gave Rhonwen the slip the next morning, sensing, as old Thomas had, that she would not approve of the ride. Minutes later she was racing to the stables, praying Invictus was there and not out being exercised by one of the knights or a groom. Sir William was, she knew, in the great hall, seated with his father, Reginald, at one of the trestle tables. Reginald de Braose was better this morning. He appeared to have shaken off his fever and had come down to the hall to talk to his son. The two men were in deep discussion, a jug of wine on the table between them. With a quick evasive smile at them, Eleyne pulled her cloak around her and ducked out into the spring sunshine.
The heavy rain of the previous few days had stopped at last and the Wye Valley was brilliant in the clear air. Above her head she heard the hoarse call of a raven and she glanced up with narrowed eyes to watch it tumbling against the blue sky before it closed its wings and dived for the high ruined window of the tower. In daylight she
