your nurse with you any more. You are mistress of vast estates. Your husband is a great nobleman. Why should you want your nurse?’ She stooped and scooped up the bundle of money. ‘I shall write to you,
XV
Eleyne put the bundle of herbs in a small coffer beside her bed. The household was packed and ready to leave. At first light the long train of horses and wagons would wind its way the last dozen or so miles to Chester.
She smiled at John, already undressed and wrapped in a heavy bed gown, who was sprawled in a chair near the fire. His face was pale and strained, his cough still bad, but he insisted that he was well enough to travel. He longed for the space and comforts of Chester Castle. This small manor house, at first so beautiful and quiet, had become cramped, and it lacked privacy, save in this small bedchamber above the hall. He watched as Eleyne’s maids undressed her and brushed her hair, then he gestured them away. ‘Come and sit by me.’
She knelt beside him, her head on his knee, and felt his hand gentle on her hair. It was a long time since they had made love.
‘Are you happy to be moving on? It has been a hard few weeks for you, here.’
She smiled up at him. ‘Robin has helped me; I was sad when he left today.’
John nodded. ‘I trust you’ve not grown too fond of him.’
Eleyne smiled again. ‘No, I’ve not grown too fond.’ She thought suddenly of the rumours Luned had said were still rife in the hall: that she was unfaithful to the earl. Some of those rumours linked her name with Robin’s for want of another. She reached for his hand. ‘Shall we go to bed, my love? We have a tiring day tomorrow.’
‘So eager for your husband? Why not? Call the boy to make up the fire.’
They made love tenderly, gently, as if each were afraid that the other might break, then John lay back exhausted on the pillows. Suddenly he began to cough. For a few minutes she lay listening to him, then she slipped from the bed and, lighting a taper from the fire, she brought a candle to the bedside. ‘John, are you all right?’ He was coughing convulsively, his whole body racked with the force of the spasms, and a trickle of blood had appeared on his chin. ‘Shall I fetch the physician?’
He shook his head violently. ‘A drink,’ he gasped, ‘just get me a drink.’
She ran to the coffer on the far side of the room where a jug of wine had been left with two goblets. With shaking hands she poured a cupful. She managed to raise him and hold the drink to his lips while he swallowed a little, then he lay back. He was pouring with sweat. ‘Stupid,’ he whispered, ‘must have got some dust in my throat.’
She smiled, setting down the wine. ‘Rest now, I’ll bring you some medicine to soothe your cough.’
Luned came at once when she called, stoked up the fire and fetched a small cooking pan while Eleyne sorted the herbs from Rhonwen’s pouch. There was wild thyme there, from the sunny hilltops beyond the forest, and cowslips and valerian root, leaves of agrimony and flowers of hawthorn and wormwood and powdered bark of alder. She smelt them, running them through her fingers. There were other things there too, bitter, dark leaves she did not recognise, leaves from the thick forest which Rhonwen now called home. She tipped the whole mixture into the boiling water and drew it off the fire to infuse, sniffing the thick earthy smell which came from the brew. John was dozing now, his breathing laboured, the sweat standing on his forehead.
Luned came over to the bed. ‘Shall I fetch the doctor?’ she whispered.
Eleyne shook her head. ‘Let him sleep. When he wakes I’ll give him Rhonwen’s medicine. It always soothes him.’
She lay down beside him, listening to his laboured breathing. Once or twice she slept, jerking awake at his slightest movement as he shifted uneasily on the pillows.
Dawn came and with it the earl’s chamberlain. He looked at the sleeping man and shook his head. ‘Shall I tell the household we won’t leave today?’ he asked. Eleyne nodded. Servants came and went, tiptoeing about the room as they built the fire and replaced the candles, and at last the physician came with his knives.
Eleyne stood between him and his patient. ‘You are not going to let his blood, he is too weak.’
‘My lady.’ The man clicked his tongue with irritation. ‘It is the only thing which will save him; I have to do it.’
‘No. Let him sleep. He will be stronger when he is rested.’
‘My lady – ’
‘No! Leave us. I won’t have him bled.’
The man scowled. ‘Then be it on your own head, lady, if he dies.’ He turned and swept out of the room.
Behind her John stirred. ‘Well done, my love,’ he whispered, ‘a victory indeed.’
She sat down beside him and took his hand. ‘How are you?’
‘Tired.’ He tried to smile. ‘So very tired. Fetch me some wine, and I should like to see the priest.’
She leaned across to the coffer where the herbal brew, cool now and strained through a piece of muslin, waited in a glazed bowl. The liquid was green as a cat’s eye. She raised John’s head gently and held the bowl to his lips. ‘Not wine, my love, medicine, that is what you need.’
He scowled. ‘And as foul tasting as any of your concoctions, no doubt.’
‘No doubt, but they do you good. Drink it.’
He swallowed it with difficulty and then lay back, his eyes closed. ‘The priest, Eleyne. Please call him.’
She sent Luned and the priest came, shuffling into the room, the viaticum in his hands. He had done this so often before for the earl, he scarcely took notice as he listened to the confession and gave him absolution. His prayers said, the priest gave his blessing and withdrew to the hearth, where he sat down while Eleyne resumed her place at John’s side.
For a long time there was silence and she thought he was asleep, then he opened his eyes. ‘Eleyne, did you ever get your letter from the king?’ He paused, trying to catch his breath. ‘Like your sister, Margaret. Saying you could choose your next husband.’
‘No!’ She caught his hand. ‘You know I didn’t. I never want another husband.’
He grimaced. ‘I think you may find you have to, my love. No, listen.’ He held up his hand and rested his finger against her lips. ‘If… if anything happens to me, I want you to promise me something. I want you to go to Alexander.’ He coughed and she saw him wince with pain. ‘He will take care of you and see you have your rights. Promise me.’
Alexander.
Eleyne shook her head miserably. ‘Nothing is going to happen to you. You are going to get better and tomorrow or the next day we are going to ride to Chester.’
‘I don’t think so.’ His whisper was so faint she could hardly hear it. ‘Promise me, Eleyne. Don’t go to King Henry. I know him, I know what he -’ He coughed again, clutching at her hand with surprising strength as the paroxysms grew stronger.
He never finished the sentence. The blood was brilliant arterial blood, spewing out over the bedcovers, soaking her gown as he began to choke.
It was all over very quickly, but still she sat cradling his head in her arms. Behind her the room filled with people. Luned tried to lead her away, but she would not move. Afternoon came: the sun shone directly into the room through the narrow windows which looked out over the trees. A strange silence hung over the manor house, and the village beyond it, where the news had quickly spread. Messengers had set off to Chester, to Scotland and to the king, despatched by the earl’s chamberlain.
In the bedchamber the silence was broken by the physician. He pushed his way in and stood looking down at the bed. ‘This is your fault, my lady. You killed him,’ he said grimly. ‘You sent me away and gave him potions of which I knew nothing. For all I know they were poisoned – ’
Eleyne stared at him. She was numb; as cold as the body she still held in her arms. ‘No, I loved him.’
The man scowled. He seized the cup on the coffer beside the bed and sniffed at what remained of the medicine. ‘Atropine! There is dwale in this and henbane. The earl has been poisoned!’
Eleyne shook her head.
‘My lady, do you dare to question my knowledge? But of course you do. You have questioned it often. And now
