Barbara Erskine - Child of the Phoenix

Standing in front of his tent, Prince Edward watched with folded arms, his eyes squinting in the darkness as the flames poured upwards, clearly visible above the curtain walls. It was only minutes since the fire had been noticed, but already the highly trained teams of men had run forward to take advantage of the distraction and run the siege towers forward. Beside them ladders were thrown up and already they swarmed with men. There was no opposition. He could already see Englishmen on the battlements when the drawbridge began to fall.

He turned to Sir John who stood beside him, barely suppressing his excitement. ‘So. Your bait was taken.’ Both men watched as a figure appeared at the far end of the bridge – a man, with a child in his arms.

Edward smiled. ‘Your man, I suspect, Sir John, come to claim his reward!’

Eleyne had spent an hour staring into the fire which burned in her hearth. The acrid scent of the herbs still hung in the air. The visions had come. She had seen Robert wearing his crown; she had seen him with his son. She had seen little Marjorie as a grown woman with a child of her own in her arms and she had wept for joy. Then the pictures had changed. She had seen blood; she had heard the clash of steel. She had seen iron bars in the embers, and behind them a succession of faces, hands reaching out in supplication, and she had felt herself grow cold as death. She wept again.

Bethoc had tiptoed into the room. Silently the woman had wrapped a shawl around her mistress’s shoulders as she sat staring into the glowing peats. Eleyne did not notice. There were faces now from the past: her father; her mother; Einion, his hair flying in the raw winds of Gwynedd, his eyes wild as he raised his arms towards her; John of Chester was there, and Robert de Quincy and Malcolm. And her children. The children who had died. Hawisa, a young woman now, her two royal babes, Colban and his son with him, and Macduff, and the twins, and Isabella. Tears pouring down her face, Eleyne held out her hands towards the embers. Donald was there. Donald smiling at her, young again, handsome. And he was pointing. Pointing away towards another time, another place.

She sat forward, the shawl falling unnoticed from her shoulders. ‘Donald,’ she whispered, ‘wait for me. You were right. We will meet again. We will …’

Around her the shadows swirled. The fumes of the herbs filled the room and Bethoc, waiting patiently in the corner, felt herself grow dizzy. Choking, she began to cough.

The pounding feet on the stairs outside brought Bethoc to her feet before the bell began to peal in the darkness of the courtyard. As the door burst open, Eleyne looked up dazed. Lost in her world of dreams, she did not recognise Nigel as he caught her arm.

‘Quickly! For Christ’s sake. Our only hope is to get to the Warden’s Tower. We are betrayed! Help her, Bethoc!’ He was dragging Eleyne to her feet.

‘Betrayed?’ Eleyne’s eyes were still full of visions. The room swam around her and she staggered against the young man’s arm.

‘Betrayed,’ he repeated grimly. ‘Our only chance is to hold the tower. Hurry!’

‘But Robert is coming. He will win. He will be king…’

‘I’m sure he will, but we have to wait for him in the Warden’s Tower.’ Almost lifting her, Nigel hurried her down the long winding staircase of the Snow Tower and out of the open door at its base.

In the swirling smoke they stopped, staring at the mass of flame which had once been the great hall of Kildrummy Castle.

‘Sweet Virgin!’ Eleyne was horror-stricken. Sparks from the hall had carried to the chapel roof, which was already ablaze, as were several of the outbuildings which nestled against the inside of the curtain wall. The heat seared across the ward, smoke hanging above the shimmering, static air.

A figure appeared before them, sword in hand. His surcoat carried the leopards of England. With a shout of anger, Nigel drew his sword, thrusting Eleyne behind him. She staggered and nearly fell as the two men met head on. Behind them was another man-at-arms and then another. She was trying to see through the smoke as she backed away from the whirling sword blades when a tall figure materialised beside her and she recognised Sir John Appleby.

Lowering his sword, he bowed to her. ‘There is no hope. I have a thousand men inside the castle, and I am here to accept your surrender, Lady Mar.’

She drew herself up, her head miraculously clear suddenly. ‘There will be no surrender, Sir John. I hold Kildrummy for my king and for my grandson, the earl.’ Her voice carried proudly across the sound of fighting.

‘I am sorry, my lady, but you hold nothing.’ He looked round and, following his gaze, she saw Nigel backing grimly away from her. His sword had gone, and there were at least three men around him, their sword points at his throat. Beyond him more and more men, wearing the Prince of Wales’s colours, filled the courtyard. The small garrison was overwhelmed as she watched. Behind her there was another crash. The roof of the smithy fell in and showers of sparks shot up into the smoky air. ‘Surrender, my lady. Tell your men to stop fighting,’ Sir John called out.

‘Never!’

She backed towards the chapel. They were dragging Nigel away, and she saw they had bound his hands behind his back. Behind him, she saw old Sir Alan throw down his sword. A figure ran through the smoke and she saw a child in his arms. She heard the high-pitched scream and her heart turned over.

‘Little Donald -’ she cried. ‘Oh Sweet Blessed Lady, Donald! Where is my grandson?’ She whirled to face Sir John.

‘The Earl of Mar is my prisoner, madam.’ The cool voice of her cousin Edward was suddenly at her elbow. ‘As you are. My father will be so pleased to have you in chains at last.’ He laughed out loud, then he held out his arm, in mock gallantry. ‘Please, come this way. The chapel is alight now. There’s nothing left here for you.’

The heat from the burning straw was intense.

Eleyne shook her head. She stared around. She was alone. Bethoc had disappeared – dragged screaming from the castle by two men-at-arms; little Ellie and her nurse had gone, following Donald across the drawbridge to the prince’s camp where the prisoners were being corralled, surrounded by a strong guard. There was no one left to defend her.

Eleyne turned to him. ‘Who betrayed us?’ she cried, through dried, blistered lips. ‘Who?’

‘Your blacksmith, cousin. He was seduced by the thought of English gold!’ Edward smiled. ‘And he has been given his reward. I dislike traitors.’ he added almost as an afterthought. ‘He betrayed you – he would have betrayed me as easily.’

‘So. You’ve killed him?’ Eleyne found herself looking into his face with almost dispassionate curiosity.

‘Oh yes, we’ve killed him, and his spawn with him.’ Edward smiled. ‘We planned something rather special for him. The gold he wanted so much. I had it smelted in my forge while he watched. Apt for a blacksmith, don’t you think? Then it was poured down his throat.’

Eleyne shuddered. ‘And what fate do you reserve for me, cousin? Something equally dramatic?’

He laughed. ‘Still looking for the centre place on the stage, Lady Mar? That’s just as well, because that’s where you will be. I understand my father has planned to immure you in a cage at his Tower in London. So the populace can stare at you to their hearts’ content. A daughter of Llywelyn; a husband-killer; a rebel witch; the mother-in-law of the so-called King of Scots!’ He folded his arms. ‘Your chains await you, Cousin Eleyne.’

His face was illuminated by the flaring flames as they ran across the gaping chapel door. The roof creaked ominously and a shower of sparks flew into the air. Edward flinched. He brushed a piece of burning ash from his surcoat.

Eleyne drew herself up. Her fear and disgust had gone, to be replaced by white-hot anger. She looked him in the eye. ‘You’d cage me like an animal? As you’ve done, so they tell me, to my nephew, Owain? Never! Tell my cousin your father that I decline his invitation, that I am not going to England. I am not going anywhere with you.’

The chapel door was hanging open, only a few paces away up the steps. Inside, the centre of the chapel was dark. Again, the roof creaked and a beam fell before the altar in a blaze of flame. It illuminated the whole interior of the building, and before the altar on the chancel step, silhouetted against the triple window, she saw the figure of a man. He smiled and beckoned, and her heart leaped.

Alexander! Her hand went to the pendant around her neck.

Edward, following her gaze, saw the man: tall, red-haired, a gold coronet on his head, the royal lion of Scotland emblazoned on his surcoat. He opened his arms and called Eleyne’s name.

Edward shrank back, his skin crawling with superstitious terror as the man stepped forward, the flames licking around him. Eleyne could not move – her joy was too intense. She could see him! She could see him clearly, waiting for her. She glanced at Edward, and seeing his expression she laughed out loud and at last she saw her chance. Turning, she ran up the steps towards the chapel door. Before Edward had the time to react, she had vanished through the flaming doorway.

For a brief second, through the smoke, he saw her reach her king and he saw them in each other’s arms. Then, in a blaze as intense as any furnace, the chapel roof fell in and she was gone.

The story of Isobel of Buchan and what happened following the siege of Kildrummy Castle is told in Kingdom of Shadows.

Donald, Earl of Mar, was taken as a prisoner to England, where he was held in Bristol Castle, although the records assure us that he was not fettered because he was so young. Later he was brought up at the English court, where he served King Edward II loyally, not returning to Scotland to be restored to his earldom until 1327. In 1332 he was made Regent of Scotland, in the minority of his eight-year-old cousin, King David II.