He was dragged back from his thoughts by the sight of the woebegone small face before him. He had so few opportunities to speak to the child alone, away from the ever attentive Lady Rhonwen who, however much she might have insisted to Eleyne that she must give herself to her husband when required, had nevertheless seen to it with malevolent care that they had no time together alone.

‘Is there something else bothering you?’ His voice was gentle, coaxing, as it would have been to a small animal. ‘You can and should tell your husband everything, Eleyne. It is what he is there for.’ He said it quietly with a wry inward smile at the quizzical eyebrow a more experienced wife would raise at the comment. ‘Please. I should like to help you.’

She closed her eyes miserably, visibly struggling with herself.

‘Come here.’ He held out a hand to her and reluctantly she went to him. Resisting the urge to pull her on to his knee, he put his arm gently around her. ‘Tell me. Once you have told someone your nightmares will stop.’

Suddenly she couldn’t stop herself. Her voice punctuated by sobs, she told him everything: the visions, the dreams, the strange half-memories of the man with red hair, the meetings with Einion and that first harsh day of instruction in the smoke-filled hut where she had seen Sir William with the rope around his neck and not recognised him.

Christ and His Holy Mother! He could not bring himself to believe all he had heard. Eleyne had never tried to avoid attending mass with him every day in the castle chapel. She had never seemed, as far as he could tell, less than devout, and he had watched her carefully. Yet the child was a pagan, a witch, a sorceress and a seer! And still the words tumbled on. It was she who had caught Sir William in her mother’s bed, and who had told her father.

‘And why did you tell him, sweetheart? Why did you not keep it a secret?’ At last he had a glimmering of the source of her terrible guilt.

‘Because I hated him!’ She stamped her foot, her voice anguished. ‘He was my friend; he was Isabella’s father. He had let me ride Invictus.’ Huge wet tears were rolling down her cheeks and soaking into the soft gold velvet of her surcoat. ‘And I hated my mother. She stole him from me.’ She did not add that she had always hated her mother. That thought too brought anguish.

‘You hated them so much you wanted them to die?’ He was probing very gently.

‘Yes! No! I don’t know.’ Her voice was so husky it was almost a whisper. She rested her head desolately against his shoulder in a movement so trusting and so intimate he found himself unbearably moved.

‘Was anyone there with you when you saw them?’ He had to try very hard to keep his own voice steady.

‘Only Rhonwen.’

‘Ah, Rhonwen,’ he said drily. He paused. ‘And what did she say?’

Again the almost inaudible whisper. ‘She said it was treason.’

‘Which it was. A wife must not ever betray her husband, Eleyne. Your mother not only defiled her marriage bed, but did so with a man who had been her husband’s enemy and was subsequently his guest. She was guilty three times over.’

‘But I shouldn’t have told papa,’ she persisted.

‘If you hadn’t, someone else would have done so. And rightly. He had to know.’

‘Then why was he so angry with me?’ she cried. ‘Why did he send me away? Why did he blame me?’

The desolation in her voice was absolute. He tightened his arm around her, trying to comfort her, and noticed that she no longer shrank away from him. ‘It was just a reaction, sweetheart. He was hurt and angry and some of it rubbed off on you. It will pass.’

‘Will it?’ She eyed him doubtfully.

‘Of course it will. Prince Llywelyn is renowned for the love he bears his children.’

‘And the dreams? Will they stop now?’

‘I am sure they will.’ He tried to sound confident. Dear God, surely a child her age should be occupying herself with dolls, not this nightmare tangle of love and hate and death!

‘Have you had any strange dreams since?’ He tried to make the question sound casual. ‘Any more visions?’

‘No. No more visions.’

‘Your father’s seer was wrong to teach you those things, Eleyne. You know that, don’t you?’ He was feeling his way carefully. ‘They are absolutely contrary to the teachings of Holy Mother Church.’

She shrugged miserably. ‘Einion does not go to mass.’

‘No, I don’t suppose he does. But I thought your father was a good Christian, Eleyne.’

‘He is.’ She coloured defensively.

‘Then why does he allow this worship of ancient gods and spirits in his lands?’

‘I don’t think he knows.’

‘Who told Einion that you could see the future, Eleyne?’

‘Rhonwen.’ It was scarcely more than a whisper.

XIII

‘I should like you to return to Wales, madam.’ John’s lips were tight.

Rhonwen stared at him, her body growing cold. ‘Why, my lord? Have I displeased you in some way?’ Her eyes were challenging.

‘I consider you to be an unwholesome influence, Lady Rhonwen, on my wife.’ Humping his cloak higher on his shoulders, John paced up and down behind the long table. ‘You have deliberately introduced her to practices contrary to our Christian faith.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Heretical practices which I will not condone under my roof.’

‘No.’ Rhonwen refused to meet his eye. ‘That is not true.’

He swung to face her. ‘Are you saying that my wife is a liar?’

‘What did she say?’ Rhonwen looked at him defiantly. She was pleating her fingers into the rich blue silk of her skirt. She could feel the perspiration cold between her shoulder blades.

‘She said you encouraged her to go to this bard of her father’s, Einion Gweledydd, who -’ he stammered in his anger – ‘who initiated her in some way – ’

‘He was helping her, did she tell you that?’ Swiftly her courage returned. She leaned forward and put her hands flat on the table between them. ‘Did she tell you about her dreams? Did she tell you about the visions which possess her? Did she tell you how they tear her apart?’ She waited, her eyes on his.

‘She told me she saw the death of Sir William de Braose long before it happened,’ he said thoughtfully.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘She told you that?’

‘Yes, Lady Rhonwen.’ Looking up quickly, he saw her expression. ‘You look aghast. Did you not think she would confide in me, her husband? Perhaps you are not as indispensable to her as you hoped?’ His voice was harsh now. ‘She will have no more visions, Lady Rhonwen. I shall see to that. Please be ready to leave by the end of the week.’

‘No!’ The whispered denial was anguished.

He ignored it, and strode towards the door. ‘By the end of the week, madam,’ he repeated curtly.

She stood exactly where she was for several minutes after he had gone, staring round the empty room. From outside the deep embrasured windows she could hear the pure liquid trill of a blackbird. Behind it, in the distance, the call of the cuckoo echoed across the flat levels of the Nene. The room itself was silent. Her mouth had gone dry. She could feel a cold knot of fear in her stomach. This man had the power to tear her from Eleyne. He had the power to send her away.

Why had Eleyne betrayed her? Slowly, heavily, she went to the door.

Eleyne was nowhere to be found. With a snap of impatience Rhonwen made her way down the long winding stair which led from her solar into the great hall at the heart of the castle and then out into the courtyard.

Inevitably she was in the stables, watching a two-day-old colt staggering stiff-legged beside its dam as the pair were led out to the pasture.

Dressed in yet more new rich clothes, this time a kirtle of deep green over a saffron gown, the girl smiled at Rhonwen. Already she seemed older, more confident, more independent. Behind her Luned too was brilliantly dressed, and it was she who noticed the grim set of Rhonwen’s features and faded hastily into the background.

‘Why did you tell him?’ Rhonwen caught Eleyne’s arm. ‘Why?’

Nearby two stable boys turned to stare.

‘You broke your sacred oath!’ Her voice though quiet was vibrating with anger.

Eleyne flushed guiltily. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I think you know.’ Rhonwen almost shook her.

‘I had to talk to someone…’

‘You had to talk to someone!’ Rhonwen echoed furiously. ‘Why not me? Why did you not talk to me?’

The child’s crimson cheeks drained of colour. ‘I don’t know why.’

‘Not only did you tell him – Lord Huntingdon – about the hanging, you told him about Einion; about the most secret things…’

‘I didn’t tell him everything.’ Eleyne turned to face her, wrenching her arm from Rhonwen’s grasp. ‘Anyway, I am supposed to tell him things. He is my husband!’ There was defiance in her voice now. ‘I am growing up, Rhonwen. I don’t have to do everything you say.’

Rhonwen stared. What had happened to her? Could it be that he had already claimed her for his wife; seduced her away and she, Rhonwen, had not even guessed? ‘I thought you loved me, Eleyne,’ she whispered.

‘I do -’ The child stared at her stiffly then, relenting, threw herself towards Rhonwen and gave her a hug. ‘I do love you. Of course I do.’

Rhonwen folded her arms around the girl’s slight body, overwhelmed by her feelings of love and protectiveness. ‘He is sending me away,’ she murmured into the white coif which covered Eleyne’s braided hair. As a married woman her hair was no longer permitted to tumble down her back. ‘He is sending me away.’

Eleyne pulled out of her arms and looked up at her. ‘I won’t let him send you away, Rhonwen,’ she said with astonishingly adult composure. ‘I promise. I won’t let John send you away.’ It was the first time she had used his Christian name out loud.