Frozen to the spot, Eleyne stared at them for several seconds before she backed out of the room and pulled the door closed.
Blindly she turned. She did not seem surprised to see Rhonwen and her companions standing behind her. The three women had heard the outer door open and run into the solar in time to see Eleyne creep white-faced from her mother’s room.
Eleyne stared from one to the other, wild-eyed. ‘Did you see?’ Her lips were stiff. She could barely speak.
Rhonwen nodded.
‘It was Sir William.’ Eleyne’s voice was tight and shrill. She felt utterly betrayed. How could he? How could he do that with her mother? Her mother who had looked ugly and wild and like a sweating, rutting animal.
‘Your father must be told,’ Rhonwen said quietly at her elbow. She was suddenly, secretly, exultant. Sir William and Princess Joan. The two people she hated most in the world, trapped by their own lust. She bit back her triumph, anguished by the raw pain on the child’s face. ‘He has to know, Eleyne. What you saw was treason.’
Eleyne stared at her for a moment, her lips pressed tightly together. ‘But he will kill them,’ she whispered.
Then she nodded.
XX
Prince Llywelyn had fallen asleep in his great chair by the fire on the dais in the main hall. A half-finished cup of wine stood near him. Most of the men around him lay sprawled asleep across the tables.
Eleyne flew across the great hall and threw herself at him in a storm of tears.
It took Llywelyn a minute or two to understand what his distraught daughter was saying, then, white-faced, he stood up. Striding between his followers, all now awake and staring, he seized a burning torch from one of the sconces and made his way out of the hall, dragging Eleyne with him by the wrist.
‘If you have made this up, I’ll have you whipped,’ he hissed at the terrified child. She had never seen her father like this. His eyes were huge and hooded, his mouth a thin line of pain. Frantically she cast around for Rhonwen, but there was no sign of her amongst the silent curious crowd pushing after them.
Llywelyn strode across the courtyard and into the ty hir. Climbing the stairs, he crossed the women’s bower in long strides and flung open his wife’s bedchamber door, holding the torch high.
Eleyne saw the two figures sit up in the bed, their faces rigid with shock; she saw Sir William snatch the bedcover and wrap it around his naked body as he leaped up, saw her mother’s white skin gleaming with sweat, flaccid, exhausted, before Joan too grabbed at a sheet and pulled it over her. Then she found herself spinning across the room as her father, with an animal howl of grief and anger, pushed her away and threw himself on to Sir William, reaching for his throat. For a moment the two men grappled together by the bed, before the prince’s men rushed forward and dragged Sir William aside. He had lost the sheet and for a moment he stood completely naked, his arms gripped by his captors, as he was dragged out of the room.
Llywelyn stood, panting, looking down at his wife. She stared back, rigid with fear, her beautiful hair matted with sweat.
‘Whore!’ Llywelyn shot the word at her with loathing. ‘Slut! Harlot! You will die for this!’
Eleyne let out a little sob. Scrambling to her feet from the corner where she had fallen, she stood not daring to move, staring at her mother who was rocking backwards and forwards on the bed, moaning with a strange, high-pitched wail.
In the doorway Marared and Ethil hovered, not daring to approach her. It was Ethil who beckoned the frightened child and pulled her from the room. ‘Go to your bed, princess, and don’t say a word to anyone,’ she whispered. ‘Quickly now.’
Of Rhonwen there was no sign.
Eleyne fled to the stables. For a long time she stood staring at Invictus as he nuzzled her empty hands, then she put her arms around his neck and wept.
Rhonwen found her asleep in the hay between his great hooves several hours later. One of the grooms carried the still-sleeping child to her bed.
XXI
The world to which Eleyne awakened had changed forever. The palace was in shock. Sir William and his followers had been imprisoned, as had the Princess Joan. The prince’s anger and grief had hardened into the need for revenge. Llywelyn’s wife and her lover were to die. He refused to see Eleyne; he refused to see Dafydd; he refused repeatedly Joan’s frenzied pleas for an audience. He closeted himself in an upstairs chamber of the new stone keep, admitting only Einion and his trusted friend and counsellor, Ednyfed Fychan.
Word of what had happened had spread like wildfire beyond Aber and across Wales. Already the crowds were gathering, baying for de Braose’s blood.
Eleyne’s mind refused to accept what had happened. She crept repeatedly back to the stables and at last Rhonwen, chilled by the expression on the child’s face, let her stay there to find what comfort she could amongst the horses.
Where others had failed, Rhonwen managed to gain audience with the prince. His face appalled her. He had aged twenty years in as many hours.
‘You must speak to Princess Eleyne,’ she said urgently. ‘The child is in torment.’
‘I am in torment, lady!’ the prince snapped back. ‘Would to God she had not told me!’
‘You would rather not have known your wife made a cuckold of you?’ Rhonwen was deliberately harsh. ‘When the whole court could see it? You had to find out.’
Llywelyn walked heavily across to the fire and threw himself into the chair that stood near it. ‘Then the whole court will see how I repay treachery. Sir William accepted my hospitality at the sacred time of Easter and he abused every law of home and hearth. He will pay for it with his life like a common criminal, with no honour, on the Gallows Marsh.’
Rhonwen suppressed a triumphant smile. ‘That’s only just, sir, but I must take Eleyne away. You must see that. She’s only a child.’
‘Then it’s time she grew up!’ Llywelyn’s face hardened. ‘She can watch him hang.’
‘No!’ Rhonwen paled. This was not what she had intended. ‘He befriended her – ’
‘Then she should learn to choose her friends with more care. It will be a valuable lesson.’
Rhonwen was silent for a moment. ‘And her mother?’ she whispered at last. ‘Must she watch her mother hang too?’
Llywelyn put his face in his hands. He rubbed his cheeks wearily and she heard the rasp of his beard against his palms. He shook his head. ‘I cannot hang her.’ His voice broke. He gave a painful sigh. ‘But she will spend the rest of her life in prison.’
There was a long silence broken only by the distant murmur of the crowds gathering outside the palace.
‘Perhaps I could take Eleyne back to Degannwy?’ Rhonwen persisted gently, ‘afterwards.’
‘Perhaps.’ He stood up. ‘Enough, woman. Leave me.’
Einion was waiting for her outside the door. He took Rhonwen’s arm and pulled her into a quiet corner. ‘I will take the little princess,’ he said, ‘she will be safe in my care.’
‘No.’ Rhonwen shook her head violently, her complacency