LITMIR.BIZ

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treat her gently. She has grown into her full powers and she needs my guidance.’ He drew himself up. ‘This is a time of change for Gwynedd, lady, as you are well aware. The English princess and her compatriots are finished.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Under Prince Llywelyn’s rule Wales can become a great and independent nation at last. It is vital that Eleyne takes her place at her father’s side and, after him, at that of her brother, Gruffydd. She can help them. Guide them. We are agreed on that, I think.’

      Rhonwen nodded unhappily. ‘It is a pity that Dafydd’s marriage to the little de Braose has not taken place yet. That would have spoiled his claim to be his father’s heir,’ she said with a sigh.

      Einion gave a harsh smile. ‘There are other ways of discrediting Dafydd bach. He is his mother’s son, after all.’

      ‘You are forgetting that Eleyne has the same blood,’ Rhonwen reminded him, ruefully.

      Einion smiled again. ‘Her Plantagenet blood lies dormant. It is her Welsh blood which rules.’ He put his hand heavily on Rhonwen’s shoulder. ‘Don’t fear for Eleyne, lady. I shall take care of her. Once de Braose is hanged, I shall speak to her father and take her back to Môn.’

      XXII

       ABER 2 May 1230

      Eleyne was sitting alone, huddled behind the stable block, watching the grooms strap the horses. She was still numb. This was the day chosen for Sir William to die. The crowds were increasing hourly – people riding in from all over North Wales to watch the scion of the hated de Braose family hang. No one spoke in his defence. Even had they wished to, how could they? To take another man’s wife when you were a guest beneath his roof was a crime every man understood. Joan had already been sent away to her lonely prison.

      Rhonwen found Eleyne at last in Invictus’s stall. ‘You have to come, Eleyne. It’s your father’s command.’

      Eleyne’s eyes darkened with horror. ‘No.’

      ‘You must, cariad. I’m sorry.’

      Eleyne backed away. Why?’ she whispered.

      Rhonwen shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know.’ She was full of guilt. Why had she not told Llywelyn herself? Why in her haste to destroy Joan and de Braose had she sent the child to find her father?

      ‘You are a princess, Eleyne,’ she said softly, ‘you have to hold your head high and let no one see that you are crying inside.’

      ‘I’m not crying!’ Eleyne retorted unsteadily. ‘He deserves to die!’

      Slowly, head erect, her shoulders defiantly squared, Eleyne walked with Rhonwen out of the palace and down the river to Gwern y Grog, the Gallows Marsh. There she stood beside her brother Dafydd and her father as Sir William de Braose was brought to the gallows. They halted him before the prince and he bowed slightly.

      ‘Your wife was innocent, your highness,’ he said softly. ‘I was the only one to blame.’ He scanned the crowd anxiously as though afraid Joan had been brought to watch him die.

      Beyond the royal party a crowd of several hundred people spread out across the marshy field, its earlier noisy excitement hushed as Sir William appeared. He wore nothing but a short tunic and breeches. They had tied his hands, but he stood proudly before Llywelyn, relaxing imperceptibly when he saw Joan was not there. Then his gaze fell on Eleyne and there was pain in his eyes as he bowed again.

      ‘So, little princess, you come to watch my end. I should like you to have Invictus, sweetheart. My only bequest. With your father’s permission, he is yours.’ His eyes strayed to Rhonwen’s face as she stood behind the child and suddenly he remembered that far-off day in his beloved Hay when he had made an enemy of Eleyne’s nurse. With a wry inclination of his head he acknowledged her victory, then he turned and walked of his own accord towards the high gallows.

      Eleyne closed her eyes, struggling to hold back her tears. She did not look as the hush from the crowd told her that they had put the noose around his neck, or when the deafening roar of cheers told her that it was done. She stared up at the brilliant blue sky and prayed she would not cry as she tried to control the panic which had swept over her. Her whole body had grown cold with horror for, now it was too late, she knew that she had seen this scene before. Sir William, the friend who had betrayed her as he had betrayed her father, was the man she had seen in her vision in the fire.

      She could have saved him! She could have saved her mother and her father. And yet it was she who had told her father of Sir William’s treachery; she who had set the chain of events in motion. She had been given the chance to alter the course of history and she had not understood.

      ‘Eleyne, we can go now.’ Rhonwen came between her and the gallows and put her arm gently around her shoulders.

      Eleyne was clinging desperately to her self-control. She pushed aside Rhonwen’s arm.

      Why? Why had she not understood? She could have stopped it. She could have saved his life!

      Trembling, she stood still, not seeing the crowds of people streaming past her, some with sympathetic glances for the child.

      Rhonwen frowned unhappily. ‘Come back to your room, cariad,’ she whispered. ‘There’s nothing to stay for here.’

      ‘I saw it and I didn’t understand.’ Eleyne’s voice was husky. In the distance she could hear the whistling of the shore birds, feeding on the sands.

      ‘Didn’t understand what?’ Rhonwen ached to take her in her arms. She saw Llywelyn, his face a mask of pain and anger, walking slowly by. He did not glance at his white-faced daughter.

      ‘The hanging.’ Eleyne’s words were almost inaudible. ‘I saw it in the fire …’

      Rhonwen closed her eyes and murmured a prayer.

      ‘I could have stopped it. If I had learned how to control the visions I could have saved him …’

      ‘No, sweetheart, no.’ Rhonwen hugged her now and this time Eleyne did not push her away.

      ‘But don’t you see? That’s why I was allowed to see it. I could have warned him. I could have.’ Suddenly the storm of tears broke. Sobbing, Eleyne clung to her. ‘I could have stopped it, I should have. That was why I saw it in the fire. And yet it was me who betrayed him. Me …’ Her voice broke and she choked on her sobs. ‘Why couldn’t I have saved him?’

      Rhonwen frowned at the sky. ‘Perhaps that was because it was his destiny,’ she whispered.

      XXIII

       7 May 1230

      Einion was with the prince when Llywelyn sent at last for his youngest daughter.

      ‘You cannot stay at Aber.’ Llywelyn looked down at the slight figure of the child with cold dislike.

      ‘Sir, now would be a good time for me to take her to Llanfaes.’ Einion stepped forward quickly. There had been no opportunity to speak to the child alone; he knew what she must be feeling; the fear, the uncertainty, the overwhelming guilt. He alone knew what she knew, had seen what she had seen in the fire. ‘I have already spoken to you of the little princess’s future at your side – ’

      ‘She has no future at my side,’ Llywelyn snapped. He closed his eyes bitterly. Every time in the last few days that he set eyes on Eleyne it was the same: she reminded him of the night when his world had crashed about his ears. His tender fondness for her had been eclipsed by anger and heartache. Now he almost hated her.

      ‘Then, sir, may I take her back to Degannwy, to Prince Gruffydd.’ Rhonwen stepped forward.

      Llywelyn shook his head. ‘No.’ He stood up slowly. ‘My mind is made up. There is no longer a home for her in Wales. Eleyne, you will go

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