Child of the Phoenix. Barbara Erskine
had set in. Whatever Eleyne had decided on, and she knew it was Eleyne, she hoped it was indoors.
IV
From her nest in the straw at the horse’s feet Eleyne reached up and stroked the muzzle of the great stallion belonging to Isabella’s father. It nuzzled her hair and blew at her companionably.
‘I wish they’d let me ride you,’ she murmured. ‘We’d fly like the wind, you and I.’
She glanced up sharply as she saw the horse’s ears prick. He raised his great head to stare into the darkness beyond her. A faint light appeared in the doorway and moments later a figure materialised out of the shadows. Thomas, the groom who had special care of his master’s best warhorse, was carrying a lantern as he patrolled down the line of stalls. Small and wizened, his face was as brown as a hazelnut beneath his wild white hair.
‘You again, my lady? I can’t keep you away, can I?’ He put the lantern down carefully, away from the straw, and leaned against the partition of the stall. Unsurprised by the appearance of the girl in the horse’s bed, he pulled a wisp of hay from the net slung by the manger and began to chew it. The horse nudged his tunic hopefully, looking for titbits.
‘You’re not safe down there, child. He might step on you.’
‘He wouldn’t hurt me.’ Eleyne hadn’t moved.
‘He wouldn’t even know he’d done it. Look at the size of his feet!’ Thomas ducked under the headrope and catching her arm swung her to her feet. ‘Up, my little one. You should be in your bed.’
Eleyne pulled a face. ‘Can’t I stay here? Please. I’m not sleepy. And Isabella snores.’ She flung her arms around the stallion’s muscular neck. ‘One day I’ll ride him.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Thomas with a wry smile, ‘but not without Sir William’s permission, you won’t. Now, away with you. I’m the one who’ll get into trouble if you’re caught here.’
Reluctantly she followed him out of the stable. ‘I’ll ask Sir William. I know he’ll let me –’ She stopped abruptly as a tall figure appeared out of the gloom in front of her.
‘And what, little princess, will you ask me?’ William de Braose, Isabella’s father, shook the rain from his mantle as he ducked under the thatched roof. He did not seem surprised to see the child in his horse’s stable so late at night.
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.