Child of the Phoenix. Barbara Erskine
frowned. Eleyne had forgotten, as she was always forgetting, her own marriage to the Earl of Huntingdon, the Scots prince who would one day be Earl of Chester, the greatest earl in England. The reality of her position – that she would not be living at Aber forever – meant nothing to her yet, and it was something Rhonwen preferred not to think about. It would be four years at least before Eleyne would have to go to her husband. All the time in the world. Anything could happen in four years. She took Eleyne’s hand. ‘Look, they’re fighting near the stables now. We must go in. If we go round by the herb gardens we won’t be anywhere near them.’ She dragged Eleyne away from the door and around the base of the tower towards the south side of the castle.
The sun was setting behind the distant peak of Cadair Arthur, Arthur’s Seat, the greatest of the great beacons, sending long shadows from the walls across the ground. It was almost dark in the comparative peace of the little herb garden. Eleyne stooped and picked the heavy golden head of a dandelion and twirled it in her fingers. ‘When will we go home, Rhonwen?’
‘Soon, child. Don’t you like it here?’ In the small oasis of silence away from the fighting Rhonwen found herself glancing round suddenly and she shivered. Was she here too, that unseen presence whom Eleyne saw all too clearly, the woman who had laid out these herb gardens so many years before? She turned a speculative eye on Eleyne. The child was sensitive, but how much could she really see, and how much was due to an overactive imagination?
From the moment of Eleyne’s birth she had watched and waited for the signs of Bride’s hand on the child. Sometimes she thought it was there – the Sight – other times she wasn’t sure.
‘I love it here with Isabella,’ Eleyne went on dreamily, ‘but I miss the sea. And there is something here, something I don’t like.’ She frowned, holding the fluffy golden flower head against her cheek. ‘I sometimes feel strange, as if I’m watching the world from outside, and I’m not really part of it.’ She gave an embarrassed smile. ‘Do you know what I mean?’
Rhonwen looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, but all she said was, ‘It sounds to me as if you don’t go to bed early enough, young lady.’
Eleyne laughed. She tossed away the flower. If she had been going to confide further in Rhonwen, she changed her mind. The strange feelings troubled her. They set her apart, made her feel distant sometimes, as if she were waiting for something to happen, something which never did. It made her restless and uneasy. She had mentioned them guardedly to Isabella, but her friend had laughed and Eleyne had never spoken about them again.
Eleyne moved into the shadow of the wall where it was already dark, and turned to look back through the archway towards the courtyard where sunlight still played across the cobbles. It was happening again now. She could hear the shouts of the men fighting in the distance; she could see Rhonwen standing near her, the blue of her gown vivid, very vivid, against the grey stone wall. Suddenly she could hear so clearly that the least sound hurt her ears. The birds’ singing deafened her; the rush of feathers as a robin flew down near Rhonwen’s feet; the crackle of dead leaves, the chiming of a raindrop as it fell to the ground from the lip of a gargoyle high on the old tower. She stared up to see where it had come from and felt her heart stop with fear. There were flames licking from the top window: the window where she and Isabella had sat in the darkness. For a moment she could not believe her eyes. Then she saw smoke pouring from the roofless walls.
‘Rhonwen! Look! Fire!’
Terrified, she pointed. Figures were running in all directions. The flames were spreading as she watched. The old keep was already engulfed and beyond it the stables against the walls. She could hear the screams of the trapped horses.
‘Sweet Christ!’ She pressed her hands against her ears. ‘Why don’t they do something, Rhonwen? The horses! For Bride’s sake, save the horses! Invictus! Where is Sir William?’
A flame ran along the top of the wall, where the wooden scaffolding had rested, and shot across the archway to the door of the main hall.
Eleyne was rooted to the spot, sobbing with shock. ‘Rhonwen, do something! Where are Isabella and the others? Rhonwen!’
She felt Rhonwen put her arms around her, restraining her, and she pulled away violently. Her nose and mouth were full of smoke, her eyes streaming. ‘Help them. We have to help them!’
‘Eleyne, listen to me!’
She was aware that Rhonwen was shaking her by the shoulders.
‘Eleyne! There is no fire!’ Rhonwen slapped her face hard.
The shock pulled Eleyne up short. Trembling violently, she stared round. The fire had gone. The spring evening was as it had been; the robin still sat on a pile of earth near the bed of knitbone, and as she stared at the bird it began to sing its thin sweet trill into the clear air.
‘What happened?’ Eleyne swallowed hard. She was shaking uncontrollably as she stared round her. ‘There was fire everywhere – ’
‘You had a nightmare.’ Briskly Rhonwen pulled off her cloak and wrapped it around Eleyne’s shoulders. ‘You dozed off for a moment and you had some sort of a bad dream, that’s all. It is all over now. There is nothing to be afraid of.’
‘But I wasn’t asleep – ’
‘You were asleep, cariad!’ In her agitation Rhonwen spoke harshly. She put her arms around the child again. ‘You were so tired you fell asleep where you stood. It is what I told you before. Too much running around the castle at night and not enough rest. You come now, to bed. Do you understand? Then I shall find you some broth in the kitchens and I’ll put some valerian in it to make you sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning and tomorrow I’ll speak to the Lady Gwladus again about going home.’
She gave Eleyne no time to argue. Hustling her inside, she propelled her up the winding stair to the high bedchamber. There she pulled off the girl’s shoes and pushed her, fully dressed, into the bed. Pulling the covers over her, she sat down for a moment beside her, chafing Eleyne’s hands in her own. ‘Don’t think about your nightmare, child. Think about something nice. Think about the horse. He’s well and safe and nothing will happen to him. Perhaps tomorrow you can ride him again.’
Eleyne looked up at her with frightened eyes. The concession alarmed her. ‘You are sure the dream won’t come back?’
‘Quite sure!’ Rhonwen spoke emphatically. At last it had happened, the thing she had dreaded for so many years. A cold breath of icy wind had reached out and touched the child she thought of as her daughter: the kiss of Bride’s fingers. She closed her eyes, holding Eleyne’s hand. When Einion found out she would lose her to him and what would she do then?
‘Rhonwen?’ Eleyne’s voice was still hoarse from her screams. ‘I’m cold.’
Rhonwen pulled another coverlet over her. ‘Wait. I’ll build up the fire, then I’ll go down and get you something hot to drink.’
Reaching into the basket, she threw a couple of logs on to the fire, then with a glance over her shoulder towards the bed, let herself out of the room.
Eleyne lay still for a moment, then she sat up and, pulling the coverlet around her shoulders, she crept out of the bed. She stopped several feet from the fire and stood staring down at it. The damp bark threw off a thick aromatic smoke. She could smell the different woods – the sweetness of apple, the spiciness of oak, the sharp resin of pine; see the red and blue flames licking over the fissures in the bark, just as they had licked up the walls of the tower. She shivered violently. Whatever Rhonwen said, she had not had a dream. She had been awake and she knew what had happened. At last the strange other world, which before she had only glimpsed, had broken through the fragile barrier of her mind.