Kitabı oku: «Child of the Phoenix», sayfa 6

IV

Einion stood patiently in the shadow of the wall, his arms folded, his eyes closed. He would know when she was near. He had long ago schooled himself in the absolute control of his emotions. Until he needed them, until he wanted to act he was relaxed, to an outsider indifferent, even asleep as the russet evening sun pierced the boughs of a mountain ash tree near the doorway to the great hall at Aber and warmed the rusty black of his mantle. In the silence he could hear the chuckling water in the river below as it tumbled over its rocky bed.

When Rhonwen walked around the corner, he opened his eyes and put out a hand to grasp her wrist.

‘Where is she?’

Rhonwen caught her breath with fear. ‘I left you a message. There was nothing I could do.’

‘Where is she?’

‘With her father.’ The low sun was shining directly into her eyes.

‘You must send her to me.’

‘She won’t come.’

‘She must.’ He tightened his grip. ‘I have to see her again. I have to have her oath, child though she is.’ His eyes were deep and expressionless like still lake water. ‘I do not want to lose her; the gods, my gods, want her for their own. It must be soon or she will slip from me. And without me, without them, she will not know how to control her visions and will live in torment for the rest of her life.’ He paused. ‘You brought her here to avoid me.’

Faced with that cool all-seeing gaze, Rhonwen did not dare to deny it. ‘She was so frightened,’ she heard herself pleading. ‘Besides, I could not stop her. She tried to swim … she’s so young – ’

‘It’s because she is young that she needs me so much.’ He released her suddenly. ‘She’s too young to understand the powers she has been given. She needs strength and guidance.’

‘She doesn’t want to see you again. Please, Lord Einion. Wait a little; just until she is older.’ Rhonwen despised herself for her weakness, but she could not help herself.

He took a deep breath. ‘That is not possible, my lady. I have to see her again. Now, today. Bring her to me.’

‘What if she won’t come?’

‘She will come. Tell her that her father has commanded her to visit the hermit of the woods.’ He smiled cynically. ‘Tell her there is a horse for her to see. Tell her there are blackberries to pick. I am sure you can think of something. Bring her to me, Lady Rhonwen. You begged me to see to it that her marriage is annulled, but I will not do that until she has been initiated and blessed. Only after that shall I see that she belongs to no man. Bring her to me – now. I shall wait by the river beyond the village.’

Rhonwen stared after him. He had not waited for her agreement; he merely turned and walked away from the wall, beneath the gatehouse and down the hill towards the village with its mill and forge and church and the huddle of houses where the harp maker, the silversmith, the potter and the tradesmen and craftsmen lived, side by side with the twenty-four families who farmed the Aber land. He raised his hand in greeting and blessing to the men and women he passed.

Rhonwen swallowed hard. She did not dare to disobey him.

V

Eleyne was playing cats’ cradles with Luned in the window embrasure, where the last of the sunlight lit their entwined hands. In another moment the sun would drop below the mountains and the llys would be in shadow.

‘Is it nearly time for supper, Lady Rhonwen?’ Luned asked.

‘No, it’s not that late.’ Rhonwen was flustered as she came in. ‘Please, Eleyne, come with me, your father has sent for you!’

‘Me too?’ Distracted, Luned let the string slip from her thumb and the intricate net of knots collapsed. Eleyne threw it down. Standing up, she gave Luned a gentle push. ‘No, not you. You’ve got to untie the cradle.’

Luned’s face fell, but she sat down obediently with the tangled string.

Rhonwen breathed a quiet prayer of thanks. Catching Eleyne’s hand, she led her down the stairs and out of the ty hir into the courtyard. They hurried across it to the gatehouse. ‘Down by the river.’ She had to think of some reason for the walk, so that the meeting with Einion would seem an accident. If not, Eleyne would never trust her again. ‘Your father wanted you to see some wild ponies on the hill beyond the village.’

Eleyne stopped. Her eyes were shining, but she looked puzzled. ‘Why? Why especially tonight?’

Rhonwen shrugged. ‘Perhaps he wants to catch one for you before they move away over the mountains now he knows how much you love horses. Perhaps he’s noticed how you’re growing. Soon you’ll be too big for Cadi.’ She hustled Eleyne down the track.

She did not want Einion to have Eleyne, but if the goddess had chosen the child who was she to fight her? Besides, it was better Eleyne stay here in the hills than go to a foreign husband – a man neither of them knew; a man fourteen years the child’s senior. And it would happen. In four years’ time John the Scot, the Earl of Huntingdon, would demand his bride. Rhonwen trembled at the thought of a man touching her child, her baby, mauling her, frightening her, hurting her, using her any way he wished. Almost as much she dreaded the thought that he might seduce her with sweet talk and gentleness, and steal away her loyalty and love. No, that must never happen. Better she be given to the goddess. That way she would remain a virgin; cold, chaste, pure as the silver moon. It was for Eleyne’s good.

She had never lain with a man herself. Dimly in the far-off recesses of her memory before she and her mother had come to the house of Tangwystl, there had been a man; a man who had pawed and hurt her mother and made her cry before he had turned his attention to the little girl. Rhonwen’s mind had blocked out the rest of what had happened, but it had left her with a loathing and horror of men which she seldom bothered to hide.

Holding their skirts off the muddy path as they moved out of sight of the llys and through the village, they ducked beneath the tangled trees which grew down the deserted hillsides to where the river ran swiftly over the rocks. The sun had long gone from the deep valley and the air was cold and sharp. Old trees had fallen, rotting, across the river. The air was full of the rich scent of decay. They could feel the chill striking up from the wet boulders in the icy water. Everywhere carpets of moss and lichen clung to tree trunks, to the rocks, and even to the path beneath their feet.

Eleyne paused and looked round. ‘Rhonwen, we shouldn’t come here. It’s too far from the hall – ’

‘I thought you loved the woods and the darkness,’ Rhonwen retorted. ‘I know you manage to slip out sometimes when you think I’m not looking. Besides, what danger could there be?’ She was picking her way over the slippery stones, resisting the urge to take the girl’s hand and pull her on.

‘I don’t know.’ The skin at the back of Eleyne’s neck was prickling. ‘There’s something wrong here. Please, Rhonwen, let’s go back. We can come and look at the ponies tomorrow. It’s getting too dark to see them anyway.’

‘Only a little further.’ Rhonwen walked on doggedly, praying that Eleyne would follow. The track was soft leafmould here, where the trees grew closer together by the water: alder and birch; hazel, ash and ancient oak, linking branches across the stream.

Einion was waiting by a bend in the river where the water hurtled over a small waterfall. Wrapped in his black mantle neither of them saw him until they were within a few feet of him. Rhonwen let out a small scream of fright, the sound all but drowned by the rush of water.

Eleyne stared at the tall man, paralysed with fear as he rose to his feet in front of her.

‘Your next lesson, princess, will have to be here, as you are no longer at Llanfaes.’ He held out his hand to her and she took it, unable to stop herself.

‘Go.’ He looked over her head at Rhonwen. ‘I shall return her safely at dawn.’

‘Dawn –’ Rhonwen was scandalised.

‘Dawn.’ He nodded. ‘Go.’

VI

They seemed to have walked for hours. At first the woods were thick and the sound of water filled her ears, then they turned away from the river on to the open hillside and the noise of the water receded into the distance. Then they were near it again. Eleyne could see little in the darkness, but the man ahead of her must have had the eyes of a cat as he threaded his way onwards, sure-footed however steep and difficult the climb. When they stopped at last at the head of the valley, she was panting; he was calm, his breathing quiet and even. They had reached, she knew, the great waterfall which hurled itself down the cliffs below Bera Mawr.

‘Here,’ he called exultantly above the roar of the water. He released her hand. ‘The spirits are come to greet you and make you theirs.’

Eleyne stepped back frightened. Her eyes strained into the darkness. In the starlight she saw the luminous flash of water as it hurtled from the falls high above them; felt the sudden cold striking at them from the cliffs.

‘Take off your shoes.’ She heard his voice dimly as he shouted against the noise of the water. She saw he was removing his own, so she followed suit, unable to defy him; still unable to run. He smiled. ‘You’re not afraid?’

Stoutly she shook her head, although she was, desperately afraid.

‘Come.’ He took her hand again and began to lead her nearer the foot of the falls. She could feel the spray; feel the ground shaking. ‘Here, princess, drink this.’ He produced a flask from beneath his cloak. ‘It will warm you.’

She took the flask and, hesitating, sipped: it was mead. She drank eagerly, feeling the sweet warmth in her mouth and in her veins. Then she frowned. There was another taste in the mead beyond the sweetness of the honey. Malt and wine and bitter herbs. She spat some out, but it was too late. She had swallowed enough for the draught, whatever it was, to do its work.

‘Is it poison?’ she heard herself ask him. Her head was spinning. The roar of the water was all around her and inside her head and part of her.

He shook his head. ‘Not poison. Nothing to harm you, princess. Herbs from the cauldron of Ceridwen and water from the everlasting snows. Come.’ Again he took her hand. They seemed to be walking out into the deep pool at the foot of the falls. Stepping from stone to stone with bare cold feet, she felt their rounded smoothness, slippery with moss. He let go of her hand and as he moved away from her she saw him raise his arms. She heard him calling – calling the spirits and gods of the river and of the mountain, the incantation rising and falling with the roar of the water.

She stood still, her feet aching as the icy mountain water splashed over them, feeling her skirts grow wet, her hair soaked with spray. Her head was thick and woolly; she could not think or move and yet she could see. She could see as if it were daylight.

The moon was rising above the falls, its clear light falling through the spray, down the rock face on to the man and the child. She saw the moonlight touch his fingertips, his hands, his arms where the sleeves of his mantle had fallen back. It stroked silver into his hair and touched his face with cold lights. She felt the silver light touch her own skin and wonderingly she raised her hands to it and felt it warm.

As if in a dream she found herself wading deeper into the icy water. Her gown had gone. She was naked, but the water was warm. She felt it lap her body like milk. Then she was on the turf bank and amongst the trees, floating, her feet off the ground; flying up the waterfall, spinning like thistledown in the spray before she found herself again amongst the trees, her back against an old oak. She could feel its bark like soft velvet against her skin. She could not move; her limbs would not obey her. The tree was enfolding her, the moonlight in her eyes.

She saw the man in front of her, naked as she was. He carried water from the falls in a wooden bowl. He raised it to the moon and then dipped his hand in it and traced the secret sign upon her forehead and upon her chest where the small unawakened nipples stirred; then on her stomach and lightly, barely touching her, between her legs.

Then he was gone and she was alone. She tried to move, but the tree held her; the moonlight filled her eyes and she saw the gods of the forest dancing by the waterfall, their bodies half hidden in the spray.

VII

‘Eleyne, for the love of the Holy Virgin, wake up!’ Luned was shaking her shoulder. ‘Come on, Rhonwen has been calling you for hours!’

Eleyne opened her eyes. She was in her own bed in the small chamber in the ty hir which she shared with Luned and Rhonwen. Luned was fully dressed and sunshine poured through the window and across the floor.

‘Come on!’ Luned pulled the covers from her. ‘Have you forgotten you are going to ride Invictus today?’

Eleyne climbed slowly to her feet. She was still enfolded in her dream, still bemused by the roar of water and the numbing cold of her limbs.

There had been faces in her dream: men, women, children, people she had known through aeons of time. There had been love and death and fear and blood. Whirling pictures; laughter and tears; the crash of thunder and splinters of lightning in the black pall which had darkened the sky.

How had she come home? She remembered nothing of the journey back. She raised her arms above her head and lifted her tangled hair off her neck wearily. Her head ached and she felt far away.

She was standing naked in front of the window staring out at the hillside of Maes-y-Gaer, where the russet and gold of the bracken caught the morning sun, when Rhonwen appeared, a heap of green fabric over her arm.

‘Eleyne, what are you doing? You’ll catch your death!’ she exclaimed, shocked at the blatant nakedness. ‘Here. The sempstresses sat up all night to make you a new gown.’ It had helped to pass the time while Eleyne was away; helped to quiet her conscience; and she too had noticed the previous day Eleyne’s shabbiness as the child stood next to her mother.

Chivvying her impatiently, she dressed her charge in a new shift and slipped the gown over the girl’s head.

‘Say nothing to her,’ Einion had said, the unconscious girl still in his arms. ‘She will think it all a dream. The gods have marked her. She’s theirs. In due time they will claim her for their own.’

‘And you will make her father annul the marriage?’

Einion had nodded and smiled. ‘Have no fear. I shall speak to him when she is of an age to choose a man. Then she will take whoever she wishes amongst the Druids. She will belong to no man and to any man as the goddess directs.’

‘No!’ Rhonwen pleaded. ‘She must remain a virgin – ’

‘Virginity is for the daughters of Christ, Lady Rhonwen, for the nuns. The followers of the old gods worship as they have always worshipped, with their bodies.’ He looked at her with piercing eyes and for a moment his gaze softened. ‘If you have kept yourself a virgin, Lady Rhonwen, it was to assuage your own fears, not to please the Lady you serve. Do not wish the same fate on this child.’

Less than an hour of the night remained when Rhonwen tucked Eleyne, still deeply drugged, into her bed, her ice-cold body rigid next to Luned’s warm relaxed form. Looking down at the two girls as Luned turned and put her arm over her friend, Rhonwen felt her tears begin to fall.

It was as Rhonwen was brushing her hair that Eleyne remembered. ‘You knew he would be there, didn’t you!’ She jerked her head away from Rhonwen’s hands and stood up. ‘You knew, and you took me to him!’ Behind her Luned, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed pulling on her stockings, looked astonished at the sudden vehemence. ‘How could you! I thought you loved me, I thought you cared. You betrayed me!’

Eleyne had thought she was safe at Aber. She had thought he would not dare to follow her. She stood up, pushing Rhonwen aside: ‘What did he do to me?’

‘He gave you to the goddess.’

‘Father Peter and the bishop would not like that.’ Father Peter was one of the chaplains at Aber.

‘You mustn’t tell them. You mustn’t tell anyone, ever.’

Rhonwen had realised that Luned was all ears. She turned towards her. ‘Nor you, Luned. No one must ever know, no one.’

‘What will happen to me now?’ Eleyne still had her back to them. Her hands were gripping the stone sill of the window as she tried to clamp down on the horror and fear which had broken through the barriers and flooded through her. She was shaking.

‘It means you can stay here in Gwynedd. When you are old enough Einion will tell your father what has happened.’ Rhonwen’s voice was calm and soothing.

‘I won’t have to go and live with Lord Huntingdon?’

‘No.’

No, you will be given to the Druids; who will use your body for worship; for a temple; or for their plaything. Oh, great goddess, have I done right? Would she have been happier married to Huntingdon, living far away …?

‘I don’t want to see the future, Rhonwen.’ Eleyne was looking out at the russet hillside. There the old gods lived; the stones of their temple lay there still, tumbled on the hillside.

‘You have no choice, child. You have the gift.’

‘Einion would never have known if you hadn’t told him.’

‘I had to, Eleyne,’ Rhonwen said guiltily. ‘It would have destroyed you. Don’t you see? He will tell you how to use your powers for good. To help your father, to help Gruffydd and perhaps Owain and little Llywelyn after him. For Wales. Besides, don’t you see? I have saved you from marriage. I have saved you from going to a stranger like your sisters.’

There was a long silence. Then Eleyne turned back to her. ‘I am not going to stay here. I never want to see him again.’

‘Eleyne! You have no choice, cariad. You belong to him now.’

‘No!’

‘There is nothing to be afraid of – ’

‘No!’ Eleyne was silent, then she turned back to the window. ‘I will never belong to Einion. Never. You should not have allowed him to give me to the gods. My father is a devout follower of holy church, Rhonwen. I know he favours the canons of Ynys Lannog, who follow the way of the old anchorites, and he welcomes the friars and the Knights Hospitaller to Wales. Many feel he is too broad-minded, but he will not want me to turn back to the old faith.’ She said it quietly and with absolute certainty.

Rhonwen felt a clutch of fear. The child had grown up overnight. Far from being more docile, there was a confidence in Eleyne’s voice which brooked no argument. ‘Nonsense,’ she said uncertainly, ‘he reveres the old ways in private.’

‘No, Rhonwen. He respects them and he listens to the bards and the wizards of the mountains, but he had me baptised in the Cathedral of St Deiniol at Bangor. It was you who told me that.’ Eleyne gave a tight little smile. ‘And he will want my marriage to go on. The alliance with the Earl of Chester is vital. I heard him tell my mother. Lord Huntingdon will be Earl of Chester when his uncle dies. Father wants no more wars with Chester.’

‘The days when Gwynedd and Chester were at war are over, Eleyne.’

‘Exactly! And to seal that peace, father married me to Lord Huntingdon. He will not put that treaty at risk because Einion wants me for the old faith. Einion won’t be allowed to take me.’

Rhonwen closed her eyes. ‘It’s too late, Eleyne. He already has you, cariad. You are his.’

Eleyne spun round. ‘Never, I told you, never!’ Suddenly she was a child again. She stamped her foot, then ran across the room and pulled the door open. ‘And if you won’t save me from him,’ she sobbed, ‘I must save myself!’