The cell had only one window, high under the roof. Through it Rhonwen could see the moon, high and lonely far beyond the cloud wrack which raced across it. They had put chains on her wrists and ankles and given her straw to lie in, like an animal. She could remember screaming – a long high-pitched scream, which went on and on, echoing inside her skull. Cenydd’s blood had dried on her gown. She could feel it, crusted and stiff in the darkness. Dimly she remembered the dagger in her hand. The blade had glinted, and in its reflection she had seen Einion’s anger and frustration, his desperation to speak.
Eleyne had screamed too. Why had she screamed? Was it when Lord Chester flung himself across the grave and tried to snatch the dagger? Had she tried to stab him too? She couldn’t remember. But she could remember the fury in Einion’s eyes before the guards had closed in on her and dragged her away.
Where was Eleyne? Why didn’t she come? And Cenydd. Where was Cenydd? She had always been fond of Cenydd.
She tried to settle herself more comfortably against the wall, linking her manacled wrists over her knees and hugging them for warmth. The cell was quite clean; it had been used as a storeroom over the winter, but the damp and chill of the earth floor struck through the straw and she felt a dull ache beginning to seep into her bones. Quietly, she began to cry.
II
‘Papa! Please let me see her!’ Eleyne was distraught. ‘Please. She did it for me!’
‘She killed your bodyguard, her own cousin, for you?’ Llywelyn stared at her. His anger and horror vibrated in the air around him. Lord Chester had told him what had happened. Sorcery. Necromancy. Murder. Sweet Jesus,
Eleyne took a deep breath. ‘Lord Einion wrote to me before he died. He wanted to see me urgently, but Rhonwen burned the letter. When he died it preyed upon her conscience that I would never know his message.’ She caught his hand as she used to when she was a little girl. ‘Please, papa, I have lost my mother. Don’t take away my nurse. I love her.’ There were tears in her eyes.
‘The woman has committed murder, Eleyne. She must pay the price.’ Somehow he kept his voice steady. Eleyne must be kept out of this, and her involvement concealed.
Eleyne clung to him. ‘No, please, you can’t kill Rhonwen! You mustn’t.’ She was sobbing now. ‘She did it for me!’
‘She has killed a man, Eleyne, and by the laws of Wales she must pay the price,’ Llywelyn said heavily. By Our Lady, didn’t she realise the penalty for necromancy was death? Death for both of them! He had aged ten years in the few short days since his wife had died. His strong, lined face had grown puffy, his eyes were swollen from lack of sleep. Across the courtyard in the great wooden hall the funeral feast was still going on. When the prince had been called away, he had given no signal that it should cease.
‘Cenydd was my servant. She must pay the price to me,’ Eleyne said desperately. ‘I will see that she is punished, papa.’
‘Cenydd’s family will require more than that, Eleyne.’
‘Cenydd’s family is her family. They won’t want her life!’ She rushed on. ‘She didn’t mean to kill him. She loved Cenydd, he was her cousin. She trusted him.’
‘Your nurse, Eleyne, is a heretic,’ Llywelyn said. ‘She is in a state of the most mortal sin. As you are.’ He added the last words with terrible emphasis.
Eleyne froze. She looked at her father, then at her husband who was sitting in a chair near the fire. There was blood on his mantle.
‘Papa.’ Eleyne’s words were anguished. ‘You can’t punish us for summoning Einion – ’
‘It was the Lady Rhonwen who summoned him,’ Llywelyn said slowly. ‘Your husband and I have discussed your part in the ceremony, such as it was, and we have decided that you were there in complete ignorance of what she intended. She, as its instigator, must pay the full price. Your husband will deal with you as he sees fit.’ He folded his arms in his mantle. ‘She has caused nothing but trouble as long as I have known her,’ he said grimly. ‘And now she must be punished for her crimes. Your husband agrees.’
Eleyne looked from one man to the other; she was sick with horror. ‘John dislikes her because she loves me, don’t you understand?’
‘The woman has proved herself a common murderer.’ John’s voice was weary. ‘The penalty for that is death.’
‘No!’ She began to sob again, softly. ‘No, you can’t! You can’t put her to death. I won’t let you -’ She flung herself on her knees and clung to the skirt of her father’s gown.
Llywelyn put his hand gently on her head. He sighed. ‘We shall leave it for God to decide, Eleyne. Tomorrow she will stand trial before Him. If He deems her innocent she will go free. I can do no more for her.’
Eleyne’s eyes were round with horror as her hands fell from his gown. ‘What do you mean?’
‘A trial before God. I have given orders that she must face the ordeal of the hot iron…’
‘
‘Sir,’ John put in quietly, ‘it is some twenty years since the Lateran Council forbade such trials to be conducted by the clergy in Christendom. You cannot mean to…’
Llywelyn swung round. ‘Don’t presume to question my decision, my lord! That woman has defiled my wife’s memory and led my daughter into mortal sin. Only God can judge her fairly for, as Blessed Christ is my witness, I can’t! She will face the ordeal tomorrow. If she is guilty, she will die!’
III
The Chesters had been given a small private room in one of the buildings which surrounded the courtyard. Rugs and furs were spread on the rough bed. Their light came from a tall candlestick which stood in the corner.
It was Luned alone who undressed Eleyne and wrapped her once more in her warm cloak against the cold.
‘Where is she?’ Eleyne whispered. John had gone out into the darkness.
‘They have chained her in a cell.’ Luned bit her lip, her huge eyes brimming with tears. ‘Is it true she must undergo trial by ordeal?’
Eleyne nodded, still numb with horror.
‘And did she… is it true she summoned Lord Einion from the dead?’ Luned crossed herself fervently.
Eleyne stared at her dully. ‘Who told you?’
‘One of the guards followed you into the forest and spied on you. It is being whispered in the hall.’ Luned shivered. ‘He says Einion rose up out of the grave, as tall as a tree, with flames coming from his hands -’ She broke off with a cry of fear as the door opened.
John ducked inside, stamping snow from his boots; the candles dipped and smoked as he pushed the door closed. ‘The wind is rising again.’ He unlaced his cloak at the throat and threw it down. ‘Go, girl. Return to your mistress at daybreak, she will need you then.’ He waited until Luned had slipped into the dark. ‘The trial will be held after terce.’
Eleyne bit her lip miserably. ‘Poor Rhonwen.’
‘She is guilty. She must pay the price.’ John put his arm around her. ‘You must resign yourself to that, sweetheart. You cannot save her. Only God can do that now.’
Her eyes filled with tears again. ‘She did it for me.’
‘Then she was very foolish. You have no need of magic or murder. Christ and Our Lady are all anyone needs for protection.’ He held her at arm’s length, his eyes full of compassion. ‘I know you love her, sweetheart. I have given in to you often enough on the subject of the Lady Rhonwen, but not this time.’ He pulled her to him again.
She gasped; the movement had pushed up the sleeve of his gown revealing an ugly, puckered wound across his
