In the inner bailey they dismounted. Will came round to Eleyne and patted Invictus’s head. ‘Please let me ride him, Eleyne. He’s tired now. He won’t mind.’
‘No.’ Eleyne stuck out her chin stubbornly. ‘No one rides him but me.’
‘Oh please,’ the boy wheedled. ‘Cenydd could lift me up. Just for a minute.’
‘No!’
The air had grown cold as the shadow of the gatehouse cut out the westering sun. Somewhere in her head Eleyne could feel it again. The warning; the fear. ‘No!’ she repeated. ‘No, you can’t ride him. Not ever. No one rides him but me.’
‘What’s this?’ Margaret and her husband had appeared from the great hall. The two figures stood watching the two children, amused at their bickering.
‘She won’t let me sit on her horse, papa!’ Will whined, his voice heavy with grief. ‘I only wanted to sit on him.’
‘No one rides him but me.’ Eleyne gritted her teeth.
John de Braose came down the steps and put his hand on the stallion’s bridle. ‘This, I take it, is William’s horse?’
‘He gave him to me,’ Eleyne repeated stubbornly. ‘Will is too small. He’d be thrown.’
‘I wouldn’t, papa. I’m a good rider.’ Will, sensing parental support, was pleading, his eyes shining.
‘You don’t think him good enough?’ John raised an eyebrow in Eleyne’s direction. As always, his eyes were flattering, challenging, teasing.
‘He’s good.’ She could feel her cheeks colouring. ‘But no one rides Invictus but me.’
John looked amused. ‘You have a very high opinion of yourself, young lady. You are beautiful and talented without a doubt,’ his hand strayed to her cheek and she felt a small shiver of pleasure at his touch, ‘but I think you will find others can ride him. Here, let me.’ Firmly he took the horse’s rein from her and beckoned one of his squires. ‘Give me a leg up; I’ll see how he goes. I can certainly ride any animal Cousin William could.’ He smiled grimly. Invictus side-stepped as he reached for the high pommel of the saddle. The horse’s ears went flat and he rolled his eyes.
‘No, please,’ Eleyne whispered, white-faced. ‘You mustn’t… you can’t…’ She could feel the fear all around her now. The air was full of anguish, bitterly cold and sharp; brittle, clear and yet shimmering as though reflected in water. As the squire humped John into the saddle, the horse let out a shriek of anger and bucked. ‘Brute!’ John’s smile vanished and he dug his feet deep into the stirrup cups and jerked on the reins. Below the swirl of his long cloak Eleyne saw the huge rowels of his spurs. ‘I’ll tell you one thing: he’s not safe for any child to ride -’ He broke off as the horse, surprised and infuriated by the heavy hand on the savage bit, ran backwards for several steps and then reared up, pawing the air. John clung to the saddle, then with a cry he slipped sideways and crashed to the stone cobbles beneath the massive hooves.
No one moved. John lay absolutely still. Beneath his head a red stain spread slowly over the cobbles.
‘John?’ Margaret let out a small cry of disbelief, then flung herself towards her husband’s still, crumpled body. ‘John?
Behind her the stallion stood trembling, his eyes wild as he pawed the ground. Eleyne ran to him. She soothed his neck gently, but her eyes were on her brother-in-law’s inert body.
Margaret straightened. Still on her knees, her hands on her husband’s cloak, her face was distorted with grief and shock.
‘He’s dead,’ she whispered. ‘He’s DEAD!’
CHAPTER SIX
I
Rhonwen had seen the messengers ride in from the east and had recognised with excited relief the insignia of the Earl of Huntingdon on the surcoats of the escort. Breathlessly she waited outside the hall of the palace, her eyes fixed on the doorway. There had to be a letter for her this time. Eleyne would not, could not have forgotten her.
From within she could hear a low murmur of voices and once a higher, louder shout of laughter, like a wave breaking on the shore.
Princess Joan was inside with her ladies. Two days before, Prince Llywelyn had taken the boat with Dafydd to Caernarfon. They had left the women behind.
Rhonwen hesitated. Princess Joan’s displeasure and dislike were not things she relished; and the Princess of Aberffraw and Lady of Snowdon as she now liked to be called, following her husband’s example, had made it clear that these were all she could expect. The day she had returned to Aber, Rhonwen had been summoned to the princess in the chamber where Rhonwen had last seen her, peering over Eleyne’s head, three years before.
‘So, you have been dismissed by Lord Huntingdon.’ Joan’s eyes were hard.
‘No, highness.’ Rhonwen managed to keep her voice meek. ‘Lord Huntingdon has given me leave to return home for a visit.’
‘A visit,’ Joan repeated. ‘No, you are mistaken if you think you are to go back. Lord Huntingdon’s letter is quite clear. He does not wish you to attend his wife again. Ever.’ She paused. ‘When do you intend to visit your family, Lady Rhonwen?’ Her voice was silky.
‘As you know, highness, I have no family now.’ Rhonwen’s voice, though low, was steady. Cenydd was all the family she had who would acknowledge her and he was with Eleyne.
‘So, if I send you away from here, you will have nowhere to go?’
‘I shall write to Eleyne, highness. She will persuade Lord Huntingdon to take me back.’ Rhonwen managed a note of defiance.
‘I am sure she will.’ The smile on Joan’s face belied her words. ‘But I’m sure there will be no need for that. You may serve me, Lady Rhonwen, as long as -’ her eyes narrowed – ‘there is no suspicion of you ever, ever supporting my husband’s bastard and his cause. Is that clear?’
‘Quite clear, highness.’ Rhonwen looked away from the hard eyes.
‘She doesn’t know!’ It was Isabella who cornered her later. ‘The princess doesn’t know who betrayed her to her husband.’
Rhonwen stepped back in front of the small whirlwind who had entered the bower and slammed the door behind her. The two of them were alone.
‘You were with Eleyne! You could have stopped her! You could have saved my father!’
‘I could have done nothing!’ Rhonwen’s temper flared. ‘If I hadn’t found them, others would have. They were careless, flagrant; the whole court had seen them.’
‘That is not true! She seduced my father…’
‘No, lady, no.’ Rhonwen felt sudden pity for this woman who was no more than a child, only a year older than her own Eleyne. ‘Don’t be under any illusion. They seduced each other. They could no more have stayed apart than could two moths from a candle. If Eleyne had said nothing, others would have spoken. There were too many whispers already. But why talk of it now? The past cannot be undone. Your father is dead, God rest his unhappy soul, and Llywelyn has forgiven his wife. Let it rest, lady.’ She turned and picked up an armful of clean linen to return to the lavender-scented coffer.
‘I’ll never let it rest!’ Isabella’s eyes were blazing. ‘I loved my father and one day I’ll clear his name. I’ll prove she seduced him. And I’ll prove you and Eleyne trapped him deliberately – ’
