if you are one of the highest in the land, you set the fashion as to how a lady behaves, you don’t follow it. That is something you might remember if you wish to succeed as a princess of Gywnedd.’ She walked slowly to the door and pulled it open. It was the perfect exit.
Rhonwen had been listening in the passage outside. ‘You’ve made an enemy for life there,
‘There never was any chance, Rhonwen. We both know that.’ Eleyne sat on the bottom step of the staircase and buried her face in her hands wearily. She felt very sad. The scurrying servants stared in astonishment at the Countess of Chester sitting on the stairs, then skirted around her with carefully bland faces as Rhonwen stood looking down at the pale silk of the girl’s veil.
‘You should at least try to keep on speaking terms, Eleyne. Think of the mission you are engaged in. You may one day have to act between Dafydd
‘Dafydd would not let her.’
‘He’s well under her thumb, that one.’
Eleyne shook her head. ‘He may let her think so, but he’ll never let her make a fool of him again. He knows the whole world has watched her disobey him. If his wife does not obey his authority, why should the people of Wales?’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Dafydd’s ambition will see to it that he keeps Isabella in order, you’ll see.’
‘And if he can’t, there are other ways of putting an end to her nonsense.’ Rhonwen narrowed her eyes. ‘I’ll not let her cross you; and I’ll not let her endanger the chances of Gruffydd inheriting from his father.’ She smiled enigmatically. ‘It’s Gruffydd who favours the Scots alliance, you know. Henry has recognised Dafydd as his father’s heir, so Dafydd keeps his options with the king of the English open. The prince is a fool to trust Dafydd with his secrets.’
‘That’s not true, Rhonwen,’ Eleyne frowned. ‘Dafydd fights for Wales too.’
Rhonwen made a gesture of disgust. ‘Dafydd fights for himself. It is Gruffydd who fights for the truth. And Einion – still. You’d best remember that. Don’t forget which gods you serve for all your jewelled rosaries, and don’t forget whose side you are on with all your importance as a king’s messenger.’
Eleyne’s eyes flashed. ‘That is impudent, Rhonwen.’
‘Yes – and it is your nurse’s business to be impudent if you get above yourself and ignore your duty!’ Rhonwen’s colour had risen. ‘Never forget that, madam, however close to a throne you may be!’ She stormed across the hallway and slammed the door into the courtyard behind her.
Eleyne stood up thoughtfully. Rhonwen was presuming too much. Llywelyn’s decision to use her to carry the first message had given her an exaggerated idea of her own importance. Eleyne mentioned this to her father later, cautiously, not wanting him to be angry with Rhonwen, but worried. To her astonishment, Llywelyn threw back his head and laughed. ‘I used the Lady Rhonwen because I knew her passionate support of Gruffydd would bind her to our cause,’ he said, ‘but also because she is expendable.’
‘Expendable?’ Eleyne echoed the word softly. She had gone cold.
‘Of course. Had she betrayed us we could have denied all knowledge of whatever she claimed. No one would believe the ravings of a servant already suspected of heresy and of having procured the death of an unborn child. She could easily have been disposed of.’
‘You would have killed her?’ Eleyne was appalled. ‘You would have killed Rhonwen?’
‘I will kill anyone who betrays our cause, Eleyne, if it is necessary,’ he said sternly. ‘And you must remember your priorities in this. The woman was your nurse and you love her, but the affairs of princes and kings and of nations take precedence over all personal sentiment, particularly as she is a heretic. I thank Our Lady daily that you have not been contaminated by her heresy.’ He paused. ‘I was afraid once that she and Einion Gweledydd might try to suborn you for their unchristian ceremonies, but your mother persuaded me there was no danger. Now Einion is dead, that little pocket of belief in the old ways is dead with him, Christ be praised.’
He surveyed her shocked white face, then he smiled. ‘Now while I prepare letters for the King of Scots, which you will give him, and upon which you will be able to elaborate personally, I suggest you ride to Caernarfon to see your mother. She would enjoy a visit from you, if only for a day. Her health has not been good.’ He allowed himself a small scowl, and Eleyne saw a worry which he had so far concealed.
‘What is the matter?’ Her indignation over his cavalier and cynical dismissal of Rhonwen was eclipsed by a sudden new fear.
‘She is tired; she is no longer strong.’ There was a moment’s silence; both were thinking of her years of imprisonment and exile in the austere, cold convent. ‘She was happy last time you came when you and she became friends. It would be a kindness to visit her.’
‘She should be at Aber, papa, or Llanfaes. She loves it there, and Caernarfon is a cold bleak place to be if she is ill.’
‘She would not come here. Not while Gruffydd and Senena were here.’
‘But she could come now. Gruffydd goes back to the Lleyn tomorrow.’ Eleyne looked hard at her father. ‘You and she have not quarrelled, papa?’
He shook his head.
‘But she is angry that you and Gruffydd are close again?’
‘She is afraid I shall grow soft and change my mind about Dafydd’s succession. I have told her that there is no need to fear. I have made my decision: Dafydd is my heir. Gruffydd is not the son of my true wife, and even if he were entitled by Welsh law to share in the inheritance, he is too much of a hothead; he does not have the support of the country.’
‘Of course he doesn’t, because you have repeatedly forced your followers to swear allegiance to Dafydd. You have weaned all support from Gruffydd.’ Eleyne kept her voice carefully neutral.
‘And so it will remain.’ Llywelyn was growing irritable. ‘Enough! Go and tell your nurse to pack. Stay two nights with your mother and when you get back I shall have the letters ready. Then you can return to Chester before you ride north. Your husband is well?’ He had asked before, as a formality, but as he peered at her from beneath his bushy eyebrows she sensed a more genuine interest – and worry.
‘He is well, papa. The journey back from Scotland made him cough again, but he has recovered. I left him in the best of spirits.’
‘But still there is no babe?’
Eleyne looked away from her father’s probing eyes and shrugged. ‘God has not seen fit to send us a child yet.’
‘But you are his true wife? The marriage is consummated?’
She could feel the colour rising in her cheeks. She looked defiantly up at him: ‘Yes, papa, the marriage is consummated.’
VIII
Joan was in bed when Eleyne was shown into the bedchamber in the new-built stone keep at Caernarfon. She held out her hands to Eleyne with a smile. Her face was pale and drawn, but her eyes were alert and she sat forward on her pillows and drew Eleyne to sit on the bed beside her.
Eleyne felt a sudden rush of sympathy for this woman who was her mother and whom she still barely knew. ‘What is wrong, mama? Are you ill?’
Joan’s ladies had withdrawn to the other side of the room.
Joan shrugged. ‘I get a pain sometimes. It seems to drain my strength. But it is nearly gone. I shall be well enough to get up soon.’ She smiled. ‘Tell me your news. And tell me what your father and those sons of his have been plotting while I have been safely out of the way.’
Eleyne smiled. She kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘Would you not rather hear about Joanna and her life in Scotland and the wedding of Princess Margaret?’
